HOME.
Battle of the Dental Plate.
A routine visit to old friend and long time dental surgeon Keith Fradgley of Ventnor turned out to be more than the customary: “All OK here. I’ll give them a clean and polish…people like you could drive me out of business…” and concluded in a no-holds-barred contest to extract a tooth and a half (an eight and a five I believe) from my bottom jaw.
Tooth and a half? Well, yes, one of the blighters had cracked right through and in the process of taking a mould to extend a small lower dental plate…
Anyway, the final confrontation lasted better part of an hour; the wisdom tooth was a bit of a beast and the remaining half tooth fought savagely.
Keith won on points, but it was a split decision.
I was awarded the Modified Dental Plate for being best opponent of the day.
Music.
Son Neil has sent me a copy of the BBC television programme Harry Nilsson - A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night, a 1973 recording session which made me a lifelong fan. It and many others can be found on You Tube.
All the tunes are golden oldies. Of the five parts, the last two contain my favourite: This is All I Ask, by Gordon Jenkins and Harry’s version of Over The Rainbow which I like very much.
Listen in. There’s not a bad tune among ’em.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9Zsjphc3RI&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dyfnqEADpSY&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lwdePZg9BU&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YNXXSYjWnO4&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWF8wkXvPSM&feature=related
AND AWAY..
Rufus Wainwright at Oxford.
Daughter Jac went to the New Theatre (Formerly Oxford Apollo Theatre) on 26th April to see this young chap in concert again.
Her pal Zoe Farndon travelled from Warwick to go with her.
I gather the first half was a somewhat downbeat tribute to his late mother, but it picked up after the interval and he finished in customary buoyant fashion. They enjoyed it.
Of course they did.
They are loyal, if not uncritical, fans.
TELEVISION.
Foyle’s War.
At the end of this short series Foyle departed for America. Before he left he cleared up a couple of nasty murder cases for D.I. Milner; put paid to a council scheme to build on a Roman burial ground; saved Sam’s future husband from prosecution for assault and, with his last word, cut Milner’s bumptious assistant down to size.
Pity there was no sign of Andrew Foyle.
Could have done with a few decent outfits for Sam, too; even if it was Cripps‘ austerity Britain.
The Prime Ministerial Debate.
So all three of the Brickbats at Five Paces sessions are out of the way. According to the pundits, Nick won the first, Gordon probably shaded the second and David took the third.
Most critics agreed that putting the leaders of the largest parties into American style debate was a good thing.
I think it is too much America and would be better left there.
Gordon probably scuppered his chances before the last session by forgetting he was wearing an open microphone when he ‘privately’ pronounced elderly Gillian Duffy to be a bigot.
Later I thought I saw a damp patch under the television.
It wasn’t the cat, so it must have been Tony Blair wetting himself with laughter.
Joanna Lumley’s Nile.
The ol’ girl was on form here. There was plenty of head prefect enthusiasm and slightly breathless wonder There was the expected touch of raunchy naughtiness (think Purdey in The New Avengers and Patsy in Absolutely Fabulous) and there was the customary lack of vanity.
Joanna’s Nile may have been a far cry from her Girl Friday Island or her quest to view the Aurora Borealis but she is never disappointing.
She holds an MBE.
Why not make her a Dame?
An Ambassador?
Hell, now we’ve seen the other three, why not make her Prime Minister?
READING.
M.C.Beaton.
Have just read Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye by M.C.Beaton. The writer was a Fleet Street journalist and had written 18 Agatha Raisin novels at the time this one was published.. It shows.
Easy reading.
AND POLITICS AGAIN.
The Election.
A former son-in-law used to tell me that if I didn’t vote I deserved whoever I got and had no right afterwards to complain about them.
My reply was that whether I voted or not the winners always turned out to be self-serving pains in the bum and I would most certainly complain about them ad infinitum.
Our polling station is the church just around the corner, My Leader may go to vote on Thursday. The cat Shadow and I will probably not.
We might have done if Joanna Lumley had been standing.
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