The Cat Shadow.
AT HOME.
An apologetic shrug of the shoulders.
For the first year in the last five I failed to complete my computer diary. Made the last entry on the 15th December, 2009. Not sure what happened after that. There was a load of rain, then an early rush to install Christmas decorations inside and out; then the sudden realisation that nice people were sending us Christmas cards and we were floundering to reciprocate.
I have no idea who we missed or who missed us. My Leader and I agreed to jointly tackle the card writing and that is a fatal mistake. In the end neither of us knew who had or had not done what. To be honest, it was much like last year.
So if you were expecting a card and we missed you, please forgive us and we hope you and yours had a Merry Christmas and will have a Happy New Year.
Rest assured other things were overlooked.
My diary for one.
For the first year in the last five I failed to complete my computer diary. Made the last entry on the 15th December, 2009. Not sure what happened after that. There was a load of rain, then an early rush to install Christmas decorations inside and out; then the sudden realisation that nice people were sending us Christmas cards and we were floundering to reciprocate.
I have no idea who we missed or who missed us. My Leader and I agreed to jointly tackle the card writing and that is a fatal mistake. In the end neither of us knew who had or had not done what. To be honest, it was much like last year.
So if you were expecting a card and we missed you, please forgive us and we hope you and yours had a Merry Christmas and will have a Happy New Year.
Rest assured other things were overlooked.
My diary for one.
And an air of distraction...
“Got the message in the end, did you?” enquired the cat Shadow sniffily.
I feigned faint distraction (something I do rather easily).
“Message?” I murmured: “What message?”
“You know the one,” he persisted. “The drop the diary and concentrate on the blog one. ‘Forget the diary and stick to the blog,’ I said. Remember?”
“Gawdawmighty, that was a long time ago,” I protested. “More than a year I’ll bet.”
“October 2008,” he said smugly.
“And I tried it and you said it was no different from my usual stuff.”
“I think I probably said it was a bit like your usual stuff but with dates instead of headings. That didn’t mean you shouldn’t stick with it.”
“But I suffer from retired geezers’ syndrome. Not a minute to spare. I just can’t find the time to do a daily blog. Anyway, I don‘t think the Blog Eds would welcome that sort of intrusion into their cyberspace.”
“It’s not their bloody cyberspace,” he said. “And if you think they so much as know you exist you’re even more self - delusional than I imagine you to be.”
I sighed my despairing sigh.
“Don’t go lookin’ to heaven either, mate,” he said. “You claim to respect that Giles Turnbull’s computer nous. Well he says you have to keep blogging on a regular basis; if you look at his blog nowadays it’s up to date and full of daily photo stuff.”
“It’s a bit of a while since I looked in at him,” I admitted. “Haven’t found the time.”
I feigned faint distraction (something I do rather easily).
“Message?” I murmured: “What message?”
“You know the one,” he persisted. “The drop the diary and concentrate on the blog one. ‘Forget the diary and stick to the blog,’ I said. Remember?”
“Gawdawmighty, that was a long time ago,” I protested. “More than a year I’ll bet.”
“October 2008,” he said smugly.
“And I tried it and you said it was no different from my usual stuff.”
“I think I probably said it was a bit like your usual stuff but with dates instead of headings. That didn’t mean you shouldn’t stick with it.”
“But I suffer from retired geezers’ syndrome. Not a minute to spare. I just can’t find the time to do a daily blog. Anyway, I don‘t think the Blog Eds would welcome that sort of intrusion into their cyberspace.”
“It’s not their bloody cyberspace,” he said. “And if you think they so much as know you exist you’re even more self - delusional than I imagine you to be.”
I sighed my despairing sigh.
“Don’t go lookin’ to heaven either, mate,” he said. “You claim to respect that Giles Turnbull’s computer nous. Well he says you have to keep blogging on a regular basis; if you look at his blog nowadays it’s up to date and full of daily photo stuff.”
“It’s a bit of a while since I looked in at him,” I admitted. “Haven’t found the time.”
TELEVISION.
Celebrity Mastermind 2009/2010.
The world of television has been beset by celebrity reality and game shows of late, so I almost dismissed this one without looking up from the concise crossword. Glad I changed my mind. It turned out not half bad, even if I didn’t know most of the people taking part.
Episode 9 was won by the actor Nigel Planer with an impressive 17 marks for his specialist subject (Robert Louis Stevenson) and an overall mark of 31.
Described in Wiki as an English actor, comedian, novelist and playwright, he gained my undivided attention when he told John Humphrys:
“I love actors. Actually I think actors are a lot nicer than comedians and a lot less vain than writers.”
Knows what he’s talking about, that one. He’s done it all.
The Hairy Bikers: Mums Know Best.
This male version of Two Fat Ladies has Dave Myers and Si King biking around the country in search of mums’ recipes to be presented by mums at various nosh fairs which I have to admit I had no idea existed.
It’s all as pleasant as the two pleasant blokes presenting it and we wouldn’t miss a single episode.
Finding the recipes on the internet was a losing battle, but perhaps that has been rectified now: they do have a cookbook to sell, though, so perhaps not.
Survivors.
At the end of the first series I thought there had to be a follow up, but realised that would not necessarily be the case because programme producers have their own strange agenda. Nonetheless, goody lethal bug survivors Max Beesley, Julie Graham, Paterson Joseph and friends are back to do bewildered battle with baddie survivors Patrick Malahide, Nicholas Gleaves, Geraldine Somerville and an army of hard-faced extras. It’s still watchable tosh.
CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.
New series and already the ever open door of the CSI lab has been used to lethal purpose, this time by an armed gang of pseudo funeral directors.
Dr. Raymond Langston punched one of them through a plate glass window and with that KO punch - despite the strange reappearance on the team of Sara Sidle - symbolically despatched ol’ Gil Grissom to distant memory.
NCIS.
Episodes 1 and 2 of series six.
Jenny is dead. Gibbs and his acting haircut are left with Abby and Ducky. The new director appears to be the sort of suspect character who, upon appointment, shreds one of the sheets on his own personnel file and disbands the agency team. By the end of episode 2 we have been brought up to speed. There has been yet another infiltration of the NCIS workplace by Russian gangsters/al Qaeda/China/N. Korea…whatever.Part positive action has been taken. (There must be a threat left for future episodes.) The team is gradually being reconstructed. The new director now seems slightly less ominous. By episode 25 he will be entirely trustworthy - until he turns out to be the second cousin of Osama bin Laden. But no matter how poorly the critic in Britain’s Best-Value Digital TV Guide rates it, we shall continue to watch every head smacking, coffee drinking, silly daft second of it.
Dr. Raymond Langston punched one of them through a plate glass window and with that KO punch - despite the strange reappearance on the team of Sara Sidle - symbolically despatched ol’ Gil Grissom to distant memory.
NCIS.
Episodes 1 and 2 of series six.
Jenny is dead. Gibbs and his acting haircut are left with Abby and Ducky. The new director appears to be the sort of suspect character who, upon appointment, shreds one of the sheets on his own personnel file and disbands the agency team. By the end of episode 2 we have been brought up to speed. There has been yet another infiltration of the NCIS workplace by Russian gangsters/al Qaeda/China/N. Korea…whatever.Part positive action has been taken. (There must be a threat left for future episodes.) The team is gradually being reconstructed. The new director now seems slightly less ominous. By episode 25 he will be entirely trustworthy - until he turns out to be the second cousin of Osama bin Laden. But no matter how poorly the critic in Britain’s Best-Value Digital TV Guide rates it, we shall continue to watch every head smacking, coffee drinking, silly daft second of it.
Numb3rs.
Another new series. This is the one with the reasonably unlikely premise that a mathematical genius brother of an FBI special agent based in Los Angeles is able to assist in the solving of crimes by scrawling equations on a blackboard. The leading characters are charming and are played by likeable actors; does anyone dislike Judd Hirsch? I watch it fitfully. At school I was a bored, consequently poor, maths student. So I tend to drop off… What? Oh, the gunfire wakes me up.
CSI: NY.
So the sinister black car from which a machine gun opened up on our heroes did not contain a hit man from the mob but an idiot who did not mean to injure anybody and was just looking for publicity. One of our heroes has been put in a wheelchair - maybe until he agrees the latest pay deal - and the rest are unscathed - but probably on much the same salary as they got for the last series…
Wallander.
Kenneth Branagh has just finished another short series as the Swedish detective. Still solving gory murders, weathering a sad family life, sleeping in his clothes and going to the office unkempt, unshaven and bleary eyed. Branagh‘s a fine actor but I prefer the Swedish production. The English version is too morose and sepia tone. And there’s too much wood. All the English Swedes seem to live in sheds.
QI.
Stephen Fry, Alan Davies and assorted guests continue to provide excellent entertainment on this unique show. The episode entitled Genius was particularly good. Messrs. Fry and Davies, together with David Mitchell, Graham Norton and Dara O’Briain, were clever, interesting and funny. It can still be watched on QI, Series 7, Genius (or downloaded at BBC iPlayer) if you missed it. Give it a go.
Popstar to Operastar.
Some production genius suddenly came up with a novel idea.
Another new series. This is the one with the reasonably unlikely premise that a mathematical genius brother of an FBI special agent based in Los Angeles is able to assist in the solving of crimes by scrawling equations on a blackboard. The leading characters are charming and are played by likeable actors; does anyone dislike Judd Hirsch? I watch it fitfully. At school I was a bored, consequently poor, maths student. So I tend to drop off… What? Oh, the gunfire wakes me up.
CSI: NY.
So the sinister black car from which a machine gun opened up on our heroes did not contain a hit man from the mob but an idiot who did not mean to injure anybody and was just looking for publicity. One of our heroes has been put in a wheelchair - maybe until he agrees the latest pay deal - and the rest are unscathed - but probably on much the same salary as they got for the last series…
Wallander.
Kenneth Branagh has just finished another short series as the Swedish detective. Still solving gory murders, weathering a sad family life, sleeping in his clothes and going to the office unkempt, unshaven and bleary eyed. Branagh‘s a fine actor but I prefer the Swedish production. The English version is too morose and sepia tone. And there’s too much wood. All the English Swedes seem to live in sheds.
QI.
Stephen Fry, Alan Davies and assorted guests continue to provide excellent entertainment on this unique show. The episode entitled Genius was particularly good. Messrs. Fry and Davies, together with David Mitchell, Graham Norton and Dara O’Briain, were clever, interesting and funny. It can still be watched on QI, Series 7, Genius (or downloaded at BBC iPlayer) if you missed it. Give it a go.
Popstar to Operastar.
Some production genius suddenly came up with a novel idea.
"Why don’t we try to turn celebrities into dancers - er, no - ice dancers - er, no - singers - that’s it - singers! Eh? No, Andrew Lloyd - Thingy hasn’t done it already. His were unknowns who became Marias or Nancies or something. Ours will be celebs. Tell you what, we’ll get pop stars. We’ll turn ‘em into opera singers. We’ll ask the public to vote for their favourite turn. (So 90% of the public can’t sing…that doesn’t matter…90% of ‘em can’t dance or ice skate, either.) The phone calls will bring in decent revenue and one of the hopefuls will be voted off every week. We’ll have long - long - long waits while they sweat over which of ’em is for the chop. It has to be a hit don’t you think? " Well, yes, I do think. On the first show the judges (even manic Meatloaf) came across as encouraging and responsible, the public vote was reasonable, and there were some rather good voices to be heard. I look forward to marked improvement all round as nerves are conquered, confidence builds, and operatic numbers are more carefully chosen to suit the vocal capability of the individual. I look forward to hearing Darius tackle something like On With The Motley. I do not look forward to the screaming bobbysoxers - or whatever they’re called nowadays - in the audience every week. And I certainly do not look forward to the long - long - long wait to hear which one is for the chop.
Nurse Jackie.
Yet another new series. This one stars New Yorker Edie Falco. Christ! Ain't she a good actress!
READING.
Interruptions on the way to the library.
Finally finished Linwood Barclay’s No Time For Goodbye.
Was intrigued by the opening chapters, enjoyed all the twists and turns, and sussed out the villain long before the end. My sort of thriller. Have just read Dogs Don’t Tell Jokes by Louis Sachar. It is not as good as Holes but it does convey the same degree of empathy with its young protagonists. In the meantime, am still flitting in and out of Corduroy Mansions, harassed by the likes of Louis Sachar and by dear old Terry Wogan pleading: “Where was I ?!”
Finally finished Linwood Barclay’s No Time For Goodbye.
Was intrigued by the opening chapters, enjoyed all the twists and turns, and sussed out the villain long before the end. My sort of thriller. Have just read Dogs Don’t Tell Jokes by Louis Sachar. It is not as good as Holes but it does convey the same degree of empathy with its young protagonists. In the meantime, am still flitting in and out of Corduroy Mansions, harassed by the likes of Louis Sachar and by dear old Terry Wogan pleading: “Where was I ?!”
I’ll have to finish with Corduroy Mansions before my welcome runs out.
