HOME.
What’s in an hour?
They did it again a week or so ago, Back went the hour.
“You’ll get an extra hour’s sleep,” said the Saturday night news reader.
No I bloody won’t. I thought: and I didn’t. I just got up at six o’clock instead of seven and took an hour longer drinking the morning cup of tea.
Now there are rumblings from British business people that they suffer huge losses because our time does not match that of the rest of Europe. Good. If enough of them scream poverty perhaps the silly sods in the House of Commons will see sense next year and finally set us at one time for all time
What’s in an hour? Weeks of readjustment, that’s what. And I can’t be having with it.
Neither, for that matter, can I be having with…
Autumn leaves.
Front garden and rear courtyard full of them. Not mine, as I repeat yearly; I have no trees. No, it’s the annual batch of religious leaves from the church along the way and educated leaves from the school across the road.
Well, I’m too old to get elected to the school governors now - anyway, the school across the road is to disappear in 2012 under the more-change-for-the-sake-of-it plans to abolish Island middle schools - so there’s no way I’m going to be able to arrange for the convenient erection of tall tennis fencing to confine falling leaves within the school, or even to convince fellow governors that I think the trees constitute a threat to kiddy winkies and should be removed lest they fall down during playtime.
As for the church…it has a boundary bordered by the tallest, healthiest, most leaf-abundant oak and poplar ever to shed russet recrimination on the irreligious: and we have apparently been chosen to take the rap for all the disbelievers in the terrace. Doesn’t seem fair, but what does?
More sweeping and swearing pending.
Lateral thinking?
Mo had a birthday party this month. She didn’t intend to, but grandson Ellis (who will never relinquish the opportunity for ‘pass the parcel’ and a piece of birthday cake) readjusted his busy social calendar to accommodate it. The coercive power of a five year old with tunnel vision is awesome.
The family assembled.
In the break between parcel passing and birthday cake scoffing I mentioned to son Neil that I have just finished reading a novel by Graham Hurley and hope to re-read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows before the film is generally released; this will mean quite a big read for me, I concluded; six hundred pages in less than a fortnight.
“But you only need read three hundred of them before the first film,” he said, “you’ll have until July next year to read the rest.”
Now that has to be common sense.
Or even lateral thinking?
A Trialist’s language.
Talking to friend Libby Lawless recently, we asked how husband Eamonn had fared in a recent invitation sheep dog trial in Belgium. Apparently it was a mini international event with teams from Holland, France, Belgium and the UK competing. To the best of their knowledge, the Trialists from the UK were the first ever to compete on the continent. Eamonn came a very creditable third.
“Good result after going all that way” I said to Libby. “Does Eamonn speak French or Flemish?”
She smiled: “No…he just whistles.”
Ever find yourself thinking: I wish I’d said that ?
A sort of cold canvassing.
Last week I received an e-mail from a lass with a double-barrelled Christian name (warning enough) telling me that a blog team of which I had never heard was currently reviewing retirement blogs and had included among them a review of my blog, complete with the wizard hat photo.
I read the little review, thought it quite charming and e-mailed back my thanks, along with the comment that I had not realised there were so many of us old buggers clogging up the web.
Almost by return of blog I was sought to write a review of wares they were selling, and/or include an advertising puff, in return for the free sample they would send me to keep.
I shall not take them up on it. I never have, nor ever will, write to order. Anyway, mine is more a BBC blog than an ITV blog.
I don’t carry advertisements.
TELEVISION.
The Pillars of the Earth.
This series, based on a Ken Follett book, starred Ian McShane as the sort of dastardly character he has been playing ever since he left loveable Lovejoy in England and swanned off to join the mighty list of Brits who have become scurvy knaves for American heroes to vanquish. Goes way back to when the likes of Sydney Greenstreet, George Sanders and David Farrar departed these shores.
The Pillars of the Earth struck the right note for those seeking a horribly bloodthirsty alternative to Cadfael.
Matthew Macfadyen was a priest with a divine mission. Eddie Redmayne and Hayley Atwell were attractive juvenile leads and the entire cast basked in the OTT mayhem of 12th Century England.
We enjoyed it.
Garrow’s Law.
Alun Armstrong, Andrew Buchan, Rupert Graves and Lyndsey Marshall have reconvened for this prize period tosh, beautifully written by Tony Marchant. .
Upright hero. Faultless heroine. Villainous villains on both sides of the law. Sunday evenings remain good for the goggle eyed.
Love it.
NCIS.
Every now and then the strain of churning out multiple series of this show (we are now on Series 8) becomes somewhat noticeable.
In a recent episode, Royals and Loyals, a major in the British marines turned up dressed like a character from The Student Prince. Where did they get the uniform from? The car park attendant? I expected him to burst into “Drink! Drink! Drink!” at any moment.
The lad who played the part was straight out of Murder She Wrote via ‘Gawdblessyer, Mary Poppinsh!’ and any commanding officer I ever met would have have had him drummed out of the service immediately for impersonating a brigadier - very badly!
Strictly Come Dancing.
The competition hots up. Felicity’s gone. The most painfully self-conscious rugby player on any dance floor anywhere is still there, and the least capable dancer in Strictly history is voted back every week; just for a laugh.
At the risk of being a pompous twit, I do hope public love of the ridiculous will not later result in the removal of talented performers; just for a laugh.
READING.
Graham Hurley.
I have now finished Nocturne. Cannot remember reading such a straightforward, no-nonsense, novel since way back in the days of Philip Gibbs (Thine Enemy) and Nevil Shute (No Highway).
Intriguing and disturbing and ultimately heartening.
Great to enjoy a damn good read again.
J.K. Rowling.
Only had to start reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows again to be caught up in the spell cast by J.K. Rowling throughout the entire Potter saga. I care not what any patronising nit-picker may say, she’s magic.
Can’t leave the book now.
Words on the film next time.
What’s in an hour?
They did it again a week or so ago, Back went the hour.
“You’ll get an extra hour’s sleep,” said the Saturday night news reader.
No I bloody won’t. I thought: and I didn’t. I just got up at six o’clock instead of seven and took an hour longer drinking the morning cup of tea.
Now there are rumblings from British business people that they suffer huge losses because our time does not match that of the rest of Europe. Good. If enough of them scream poverty perhaps the silly sods in the House of Commons will see sense next year and finally set us at one time for all time
What’s in an hour? Weeks of readjustment, that’s what. And I can’t be having with it.
Neither, for that matter, can I be having with…
Autumn leaves.
Front garden and rear courtyard full of them. Not mine, as I repeat yearly; I have no trees. No, it’s the annual batch of religious leaves from the church along the way and educated leaves from the school across the road.
Well, I’m too old to get elected to the school governors now - anyway, the school across the road is to disappear in 2012 under the more-change-for-the-sake-of-it plans to abolish Island middle schools - so there’s no way I’m going to be able to arrange for the convenient erection of tall tennis fencing to confine falling leaves within the school, or even to convince fellow governors that I think the trees constitute a threat to kiddy winkies and should be removed lest they fall down during playtime.
As for the church…it has a boundary bordered by the tallest, healthiest, most leaf-abundant oak and poplar ever to shed russet recrimination on the irreligious: and we have apparently been chosen to take the rap for all the disbelievers in the terrace. Doesn’t seem fair, but what does?
More sweeping and swearing pending.
Lateral thinking?
Mo had a birthday party this month. She didn’t intend to, but grandson Ellis (who will never relinquish the opportunity for ‘pass the parcel’ and a piece of birthday cake) readjusted his busy social calendar to accommodate it. The coercive power of a five year old with tunnel vision is awesome.
The family assembled.
In the break between parcel passing and birthday cake scoffing I mentioned to son Neil that I have just finished reading a novel by Graham Hurley and hope to re-read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows before the film is generally released; this will mean quite a big read for me, I concluded; six hundred pages in less than a fortnight.
“But you only need read three hundred of them before the first film,” he said, “you’ll have until July next year to read the rest.”
Now that has to be common sense.
Or even lateral thinking?
A Trialist’s language.
Talking to friend Libby Lawless recently, we asked how husband Eamonn had fared in a recent invitation sheep dog trial in Belgium. Apparently it was a mini international event with teams from Holland, France, Belgium and the UK competing. To the best of their knowledge, the Trialists from the UK were the first ever to compete on the continent. Eamonn came a very creditable third.
“Good result after going all that way” I said to Libby. “Does Eamonn speak French or Flemish?”
She smiled: “No…he just whistles.”
Ever find yourself thinking: I wish I’d said that ?
A sort of cold canvassing.
Last week I received an e-mail from a lass with a double-barrelled Christian name (warning enough) telling me that a blog team of which I had never heard was currently reviewing retirement blogs and had included among them a review of my blog, complete with the wizard hat photo.
I read the little review, thought it quite charming and e-mailed back my thanks, along with the comment that I had not realised there were so many of us old buggers clogging up the web.
Almost by return of blog I was sought to write a review of wares they were selling, and/or include an advertising puff, in return for the free sample they would send me to keep.
I shall not take them up on it. I never have, nor ever will, write to order. Anyway, mine is more a BBC blog than an ITV blog.
I don’t carry advertisements.
TELEVISION.
The Pillars of the Earth.
This series, based on a Ken Follett book, starred Ian McShane as the sort of dastardly character he has been playing ever since he left loveable Lovejoy in England and swanned off to join the mighty list of Brits who have become scurvy knaves for American heroes to vanquish. Goes way back to when the likes of Sydney Greenstreet, George Sanders and David Farrar departed these shores.
The Pillars of the Earth struck the right note for those seeking a horribly bloodthirsty alternative to Cadfael.
Matthew Macfadyen was a priest with a divine mission. Eddie Redmayne and Hayley Atwell were attractive juvenile leads and the entire cast basked in the OTT mayhem of 12th Century England.
We enjoyed it.
Garrow’s Law.
Alun Armstrong, Andrew Buchan, Rupert Graves and Lyndsey Marshall have reconvened for this prize period tosh, beautifully written by Tony Marchant. .
Upright hero. Faultless heroine. Villainous villains on both sides of the law. Sunday evenings remain good for the goggle eyed.
Love it.
NCIS.
Every now and then the strain of churning out multiple series of this show (we are now on Series 8) becomes somewhat noticeable.
In a recent episode, Royals and Loyals, a major in the British marines turned up dressed like a character from The Student Prince. Where did they get the uniform from? The car park attendant? I expected him to burst into “Drink! Drink! Drink!” at any moment.
The lad who played the part was straight out of Murder She Wrote via ‘Gawdblessyer, Mary Poppinsh!’ and any commanding officer I ever met would have have had him drummed out of the service immediately for impersonating a brigadier - very badly!
Strictly Come Dancing.
The competition hots up. Felicity’s gone. The most painfully self-conscious rugby player on any dance floor anywhere is still there, and the least capable dancer in Strictly history is voted back every week; just for a laugh.
At the risk of being a pompous twit, I do hope public love of the ridiculous will not later result in the removal of talented performers; just for a laugh.
READING.
Graham Hurley.
I have now finished Nocturne. Cannot remember reading such a straightforward, no-nonsense, novel since way back in the days of Philip Gibbs (Thine Enemy) and Nevil Shute (No Highway).
Intriguing and disturbing and ultimately heartening.
Great to enjoy a damn good read again.
J.K. Rowling.
Only had to start reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows again to be caught up in the spell cast by J.K. Rowling throughout the entire Potter saga. I care not what any patronising nit-picker may say, she’s magic.
Can’t leave the book now.
Words on the film next time.
