Sam.
In my last post I wrote of an email I had received from an old boy who mentioned “my fishing buddy Sam with the two trout we caught.”
I had intended to include Sam’s picture at the time but my technical know-how proved to be gloriously inept (as it often does) and I chose instead to stay with the solitary, rather nice, picture of Emma Thompson.
However, just in case you have not seen the email and are curious (the old boy’s spouse forbade him fishing again after she had seen it) this is his fishing buddy Sam with as fine a pair of trout as you might see anywhere. I cannot imagine what the spouse’s objection was.
In my last post I wrote of an email I had received from an old boy who mentioned “my fishing buddy Sam with the two trout we caught.”
I had intended to include Sam’s picture at the time but my technical know-how proved to be gloriously inept (as it often does) and I chose instead to stay with the solitary, rather nice, picture of Emma Thompson.
However, just in case you have not seen the email and are curious (the old boy’s spouse forbade him fishing again after she had seen it) this is his fishing buddy Sam with as fine a pair of trout as you might see anywhere. I cannot imagine what the spouse’s objection was.
HOME.
Edinburgh Fringe.
It’s the time of year when every has-been, wannabe, will be, won’t be and loony in the world of acting and comedy descends on Edinburgh to be discovered, rediscovered, vaguely remembered or hastily forgotten.
There are a few regal offerings and a fair amount of …king rubbish; but it’s a good place to be at this time of year.
Come to think of it, it’s a good place to be at any time of year.
Summer‘s over.
The Fringe runs throughout the last three weeks in August and the first week of September. Don’t know how festival and other event people quite manage it, but when it comes to attracting inappropriate weather they do have a considerable knack: it follows most of them around. Surprisingly not so bad at Wimbledon and Cowes this year, but did you see the pictures from Reading?
In the past couple of weeks we have had pounding rain, gale force winds and enough leaves and other people’s bloody rubbish in our garden to keep a troop of bob-a-job lads (remember them?) going for a month.
And it ain’t even autumn yet.
Summer’s over.
But this is England so you never know…
Our space.
We moved here about ten years ago from a nice flat, looking out to sea in Ventnor. We have never regretted the move. When you live in a flat you never really own the place; not even if you’re freehold. This is our space and, within the sometimes irritating constraints of Listed, we are our own masters. This year my Leader filled the front garden and the courtyard at the back with potted flowers, mostly geraniums and petunias she tells me: I don’t know one flower from another. They are just going off now, but the whole place has been a glorious blaze of colour and I have loved it.
Thank you my Mo.
It’s the time of year when every has-been, wannabe, will be, won’t be and loony in the world of acting and comedy descends on Edinburgh to be discovered, rediscovered, vaguely remembered or hastily forgotten.
There are a few regal offerings and a fair amount of …king rubbish; but it’s a good place to be at this time of year.
Come to think of it, it’s a good place to be at any time of year.
Summer‘s over.
The Fringe runs throughout the last three weeks in August and the first week of September. Don’t know how festival and other event people quite manage it, but when it comes to attracting inappropriate weather they do have a considerable knack: it follows most of them around. Surprisingly not so bad at Wimbledon and Cowes this year, but did you see the pictures from Reading?
In the past couple of weeks we have had pounding rain, gale force winds and enough leaves and other people’s bloody rubbish in our garden to keep a troop of bob-a-job lads (remember them?) going for a month.
And it ain’t even autumn yet.
Summer’s over.
But this is England so you never know…
Our space.
We moved here about ten years ago from a nice flat, looking out to sea in Ventnor. We have never regretted the move. When you live in a flat you never really own the place; not even if you’re freehold. This is our space and, within the sometimes irritating constraints of Listed, we are our own masters. This year my Leader filled the front garden and the courtyard at the back with potted flowers, mostly geraniums and petunias she tells me: I don’t know one flower from another. They are just going off now, but the whole place has been a glorious blaze of colour and I have loved it.
Thank you my Mo.
AND ABROAD.
Much ado about nothing - again.
Crikey, no sooner had Emma Thompson announced her intention of taking a year off work than there she was in America advertising The Return of Nanny McPhee (we know it as Nanny McPhee and the Big Bang, so I assume a big bang means something other than a loud explosion in the US). Apparently all went well over there until she appeared on a chat show where she casually offended every sensitive soul on the Isle of Wight (not a difficult undertaking) by joking about Islanders stoning, flogging, shooting or torturing everyone they perceived as undesirable: .
My instant reaction was hearty laughter; and if those who purport to represent us had even the slightest sense of humour, theirs would have been the same. When asked for quotes they could have replied along the lines of: “Tell her she’d be quite safe over here. Not as Sybil Trelawney or Nanny McPhee of course. We still burn witches.”
They chose instead to be affronted by her jocular effrontery…waxed sadly indignant to press reporters…clearly welcomed the opportunity to be mentioned on the same page as an international celebrity…and will now be basking in their brief brush with fame.
She must surely be experiencing a touch of déjà vu. In 1994 she won an Evening Standard British Film Award (Best Actress) for Much Ado About Nothing.
Can there be any more ado about nothing than this?
She should be nominated for another award.
How about Best Bundle of Mischief 2010?
I’d vote for her.
With a great big grin on my face.
TELEVISION.
The Deep. (BBC1)
My earliest memory of Minnie Driver is as Ellie in the 1995 television series My Good Friend with George Cole and Richard Pearson. She was in her mid-twenties, easily kept pace with her experienced co-stars and took off when the first series ended to find further fame and eventually to live in America. In common with most showbiz folk, her private life has been even more erratic than her career, but I liked her in 1995 and I still like her now. I certainly like her far more than I liked The Deep.
Put it down to water on the brain if you will but, just as I didn’t know what to make of it in Post 153, the final episode of this wet series simply left me doing the dog paddle. I couldn’t get to grips with the Russian presence, the possible Chinese intervention, the deadly viruses, the alternative power source malarkey or the big business involvement. I’ll go no further than that; you may have recorded it and I do not intend to launch SS Spoilers for you.
Suffice to say that despite buoyant performances by Minnie, James Nesbitt, Goran Visnjic and the rest of a strong cast, for me it went down like a depth charge threatened submarine.
Dive! Dive! Dive!
BBC Proms 2010. (BBC2)
Rodgers and Hammerstein. I was about to start moaning again at the dearth of tuneful, romantic offerings at the Proms when along came this wonderful evening of much loved music from the mid twentieth century.
In a concert performance arranged and conducted by John Wilson (who masterminded last year’s MGM musicals Prom) we were treated to songs from Carousel, Oklahoma, The King and I, The Sound of Music, South Pacific etc. and we thoroughly enjoyed every minute.
The orchestra consisted of dance-band and classical musicians, hand-picked by the conductor: the Maida Vale Singers provided chorus numbers. Soloists on the night were Sierra Boggess, Anna Jane Casey, Kim Criswell, Rod Gilfry, Julian Ovenden and (off stage) Maureen and Dennis Barnden.
So far no complaints from the neighbours.
The Bill. (ITV1)
So Sun Hill has hung up its truncheon at last. Not a lot to say. I’m sure it will be missed by many; it had been going for 27 years. Lost interest myself just after Bob Cryer (Eric Richard) departed the scene and that was way back in 2001. After that too many know-it-all directors, executive producers or whatever took it in turns to change the format until it went from cop show to just another soap. I believe it had now tried to reverse that trend, but by the time it it was marked for the axe viewing figures had reached a point beyond recapture. The two part final story was well acted and tensely told.
Ah well…
Last of the Summer Wine. (BBC1)
And another goodbye. After 37 years running to 295 episodes we have had to bid a final farewell to Cleggy and Co. I shall miss them. Roy Clarke OBE, the writer, comes across as somewhat humourless in interviews. It has to be a façade. How can a man who has written Open All Hours and Keeping Up Appearances, as well as every single episode of Last of the Summer Wine, be other than full of humour? I doubt he’d thank a body for saying so though. No matter. I wish him good health and continued success. He’s eight months older than me and with any luck he’ll produce a few more comedy classics for me to blog about before either of us kicks the bucket.
My earliest memory of Minnie Driver is as Ellie in the 1995 television series My Good Friend with George Cole and Richard Pearson. She was in her mid-twenties, easily kept pace with her experienced co-stars and took off when the first series ended to find further fame and eventually to live in America. In common with most showbiz folk, her private life has been even more erratic than her career, but I liked her in 1995 and I still like her now. I certainly like her far more than I liked The Deep.
Put it down to water on the brain if you will but, just as I didn’t know what to make of it in Post 153, the final episode of this wet series simply left me doing the dog paddle. I couldn’t get to grips with the Russian presence, the possible Chinese intervention, the deadly viruses, the alternative power source malarkey or the big business involvement. I’ll go no further than that; you may have recorded it and I do not intend to launch SS Spoilers for you.
Suffice to say that despite buoyant performances by Minnie, James Nesbitt, Goran Visnjic and the rest of a strong cast, for me it went down like a depth charge threatened submarine.
Dive! Dive! Dive!
BBC Proms 2010. (BBC2)
Rodgers and Hammerstein. I was about to start moaning again at the dearth of tuneful, romantic offerings at the Proms when along came this wonderful evening of much loved music from the mid twentieth century.
In a concert performance arranged and conducted by John Wilson (who masterminded last year’s MGM musicals Prom) we were treated to songs from Carousel, Oklahoma, The King and I, The Sound of Music, South Pacific etc. and we thoroughly enjoyed every minute.
The orchestra consisted of dance-band and classical musicians, hand-picked by the conductor: the Maida Vale Singers provided chorus numbers. Soloists on the night were Sierra Boggess, Anna Jane Casey, Kim Criswell, Rod Gilfry, Julian Ovenden and (off stage) Maureen and Dennis Barnden.
So far no complaints from the neighbours.
The Bill. (ITV1)
So Sun Hill has hung up its truncheon at last. Not a lot to say. I’m sure it will be missed by many; it had been going for 27 years. Lost interest myself just after Bob Cryer (Eric Richard) departed the scene and that was way back in 2001. After that too many know-it-all directors, executive producers or whatever took it in turns to change the format until it went from cop show to just another soap. I believe it had now tried to reverse that trend, but by the time it it was marked for the axe viewing figures had reached a point beyond recapture. The two part final story was well acted and tensely told.
Ah well…
Last of the Summer Wine. (BBC1)
And another goodbye. After 37 years running to 295 episodes we have had to bid a final farewell to Cleggy and Co. I shall miss them. Roy Clarke OBE, the writer, comes across as somewhat humourless in interviews. It has to be a façade. How can a man who has written Open All Hours and Keeping Up Appearances, as well as every single episode of Last of the Summer Wine, be other than full of humour? I doubt he’d thank a body for saying so though. No matter. I wish him good health and continued success. He’s eight months older than me and with any luck he’ll produce a few more comedy classics for me to blog about before either of us kicks the bucket.
READING.
Graham Hurley.
Still reading Angels Passing. My reading is slow but that has nothing to do with the story which I find moves me to despair. After watching the final episode of The Bill, this warts and all depiction of violent Pompey is a timely reminder that vicious drug criminals are everywhere and far closer to home than most of us imagine. Compulsively written and wincingly accurate..
Final report in the pipeline.
Still reading Angels Passing. My reading is slow but that has nothing to do with the story which I find moves me to despair. After watching the final episode of The Bill, this warts and all depiction of violent Pompey is a timely reminder that vicious drug criminals are everywhere and far closer to home than most of us imagine. Compulsively written and wincingly accurate..
Final report in the pipeline.
SOCCER.
England v. Bulgaria.
“England - Bulgaria at Wembley tonight.” I said to the cat Shadow, “Reckon England to win?”
“Is it a friendly?” he asked.
“Euro 2012 qualifier,” I said. “We did quite well against Hungary, though.”
“That was a friendly,” he said. “I assume this one’s for real.”
“Well…yes, but I think Fabio’s feeling quite confident about it,” I said.
“I think Fabio was feeling quite confident about South Africa,” he said.
I didn’t have an answer to that so I didn’t try to reply.
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