HOME.
Leaves.
It’s that time again.
The winds blow and just about every educated leaf from the trees in the school opposite makes a helter-skelter dash for our little front garden, just as every holy leaf from the church trees along the way makes for the courtyard at the back.
We, of course, have no trees.
I go back to sweeping and cursing, particularly out front.
I no longer feel particularly aggrieved with the trees, their mess is nature’s mess, but I do become heartily pissed off with the mucky, uncaring, graceless morons who drop sweet papers, food wrappers, drinks cartons (McDonald’s is down the road) and the rest of their fuck-you-Jack litter for me to shovel up.
Day may yet dawn when I make a collection of everything labelled McDonald’s and post it back through their letterbox.
Meantime, have you ever noticed that it is impossible to sweep up fallen leaves without the assistance of a stiff breeze?
Matters not how still the day, just you start sweeping…
School’s back.
Granddaughter Jess has started at high school this term: grandson Ellis started at primary school.
Youngsters arrive here every morning. Suddenly the world has reawakened.
Both had to be kitted out.
Jess went to a local outfitter where the enthusiast who served her ( a sort of Ollivander’s Wand Shop character) directed her attention to the blazers for her particular school with the words: “You’ll be size…” and he was right.
“Skirt size… “ he was right, remaining outfit ditto, shoes ditto, and finally, gym kit:
“You’ll want this size - trust me…”
She did. He was right.
She looks good in the new uniform. It could have been tailored for her.
As for Ellis, he has adapted to long trousers and shorter hair with the casual ease of a seasoned pre-schooler moving on.
I’m still not sure where the little boy went and the little man came from.
RADIO.
Terry Wogan.
Would you believe it? After the sumptuous - by my standards - praise I lavished on ol’ Tel in Post 129, the rascal came back from holiday on Monday 7th September and summarily announced his retirement.
He won’t be going until the end of the year so it looks like he could finish up with two world records: the longest successful golf putt ever televised (33 yards in 1981) and the longest retirement speech in the history of radio (103 days, less a few weekends and a holiday or two, in 2009).
Oh, for the news gathering impaired, Chris Evans is replacing him.
Anything good on Radio 4?
TELEVISION.
New Tricks.
In the last episode of series six Gerry Standing (Dennis Waterman) was revealed to be one of the sons of a Smithfield Market meat dealer. He was none too happy when his colleagues found out. Don’t ask me why.
In the end a startling case link encompassed team leader Sandra Pullman (Amanda Redman) in an unexpected way.
Something to do with a brother. Don’t ask me about that, either.
Perhaps I was out making a cup of tea.
Doubtless in the not too distant future the entire series will be shown again, will otherwise be made available to the technically au fait and will be marketed on DVD for those who cannot resist the lure.
I enjoyed what I saw but I can wait for series seven.
The Fixer.
John Mercer (the 21st century Callan), played by Andrew Buchan, is back on ITV in a new six part series.
The first story was about child trafficking, presumably to ensure we sided with Mercer no matter who he beat up or killed.
Unbeatable cast; unfathomable plot; unfaltering action.
Them as didn’t like Edward Woodward probably won’t like it: some of them as did like Edward Woodward won’t like it, either.
My leader, a Callan fan, is not sure about it.
Me?
I think it passes an hour.
Waking the Dead.
Another new series. Trevor Eve back again with Sue Johnston.
The stories are generally in two, nightly, parts.
He plays the snarling Detective Superintendent Peter Boyd (a borderline case for Broadmoor) and she plays the charming Doctor Grace Foley (who should ‘section’ him).
The entire concoction is tortuous, brutal and total tosh.
I watch it and scoff.
Agatha Christie’s Marple.
Here we are then. Julia McKenzie finally arrived in the first of four new Marple stories.
Reflecting on former Marple portrayals: on film I only ever saw Gracie Fields as a singing factory girl; Margaret Rutherford was the prize eccentric; Helen Hayes and Angela Lansbury were safe hands; Joan Hickson was the definitive and Geraldine McEwan the slightly cookie.
Ms. McKenzie plays the role more in the Hickson mould, a tad updated.
I think Agatha Christie would have approved.
The policemen in this episode, as played by Ralf Little and Matthew Macfadyen, were - for a change - depicted as sensible, competent coppers.
Well worth watching.
Blue Murder.
And another new series.
Mumsy copper Caroline Quentin back with her floundering squad of male underlings and a host of family distractions.
You can’t dislike it without being boorish.
International Football.
England v Croatia.
"England won 5 - 1 ," I said to the cat Shadow who had been out beating the bounds.
"Did Becks play?" he asked.
"For about ten minutes at the end. Made a few good passes."
He appeared to think about it.
"Anyway, they've qualified for the World Cup," I added cheerfully.
"Oh aye," he said. "We'll see next year then, won't we."
It was the most enthusiastic he has been in a long time.
FILMS.
Proof of Life.
This film, starring Meg Ryan and Russell Crowe, was released in the year 2000 and recently shown on television. We missed it at the cinema.
A strong supporting cast included Alun Armstrong, Michael Byrne, Michael Kitchen and David Caruso pre CSI: Miami: i.e. before he went into acting partnership with the screen- stealing pair of designer sunglasses.
Meg Ryan played a wife whose husband (the believable David Morse) was taken hostage in a South American country.
Russell Crowe played the negotiator for an insurance company who set out to rescue him.
The action scenes were lively. The romance was limp.
I’m not all that sorry we missed it at the cinema.
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
We did originally see this in the cinema but decided it was the best thing on offer when it was screened again on television.
Potter film repeats are quite painless.
Come to think about it, though, we need not have watched an advert littered ITV rerun. We have the DVD.
There’s more out than in.
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