HOME.
Who is running this country?
So 65 year old former businessman Christopher Tappin and 23 year old Richard O’Dwyer, a Sheffield Hallam University student, have been dealt with in exactly the way the Americans still want us to deal with Scottish hacker Gary McKinnon; by extradition. Mr. Tappin was extradited to the USA in February and, if the Home Secretary has her way, Mr. O’Dwyer will shortly follow him.
Why? Have they broken any of our laws?
If they have, why has our legal system not dealt with them? If they have not, why the hell have we even considered dragooning two British citizens in such a fashion? Are we forever to kowtow to American paranoia? Who is running this country?
I said it way back in Post 132 and I make no apology for saying it again: Sometimes we should simply tell our bullying American cousins to piss off.
Bible bashing bullies.
Something else that seems to have started in the good old US of A is the open intimidation of those entering or leaving so-called abortion clinics. The British Pregnancy Advisory Service’s clinic in Bedford Square, London. has been a particular target recently and now that the tent city fronting St. Paul’s has been cleared, the weather has been good and there’s the usual dross on tele, the number of anti-abortion protesters has magically increased and is reported to be indulging in open harassment of its hapless victims.
Now I do not mind peaceful protest. Everybody has a right to their opinion. But I draw the line when protest is presented in the form of bullying. Matters not how earnestly religious their cause, protesters must not be allowed to intimidate those with whom they are at odds. Bible bashing bullies are no better than football hooligans or protection racket thugs.
The police should disperse them, gently but firmly.
SAD.
So far this year the weather here has been surprisingly clement, which means, as a change from my winter norm, I should be feeling quite chipper.
I don’t.
Oh, I am well aware that Scotland and The North have not fared anything like as well (to the best of my memory, the rain on Fort William only ever eases up long enough to accommodate the snow) but in the subjective world of seasonal depression scant consolation is obtained from open-minded comparison. Rain or shine, winter is winter even when it has been officially designated as spring. It takes more than a show of wild daffodils and the objective reminder that “we’ve had it much better down here,” to dispel the blues.
Next thing you know they’ll be fiddling about with that bloody hour on the clocks again. Phooey!
ABROAD
Really sad news.
The Belgian coach crash in which 28 people, 22 of them children, were killed in a Swiss tunnel, (a further twenty four children were injured, many of them seriously) was surely the most awful accident imaginable.
Back in the mid-fifties when I was in the army and stationed in Germany I was, for military manoeuvre purposes, the sometime troop sergeant of Belgian Liaison Troop, a position for which, since I spoke neither French nor Flemish, I was the ideal British army choice.
I was very fortunate. Many of my Belgian colleagues spoke English and I was put under the wing of Jimmy Ruisshaert, a Flemish-born staff sergeant, who spoke half a dozen languages fluently. We became friends and I was privileged to meet his wife and children and to spend the occasional weekend at their home. After I left the army, through a combination of moves and mishap, we lost touch. Which was a great pity. I have often wondered what became of him and of his family. They were wonderfully friendly, civilized people. The travellers on that coach will doubtless have been of similar stock.
What a sad. sad world this can be.
TELEVISION.
Upstairs Downstairs. (BBC1)
A bearded Art Malik is barely recognisable and, as might be expected with a new take on an old favourite, nothing is as good as it was and nobody is as good as they were. Sorry, Art.
Whitechapel. (ITV1)
Rupert Penry-Jones’s prim police inspector remained an enigma as little Phil Davis’s brusque, kindly sergeant carried him through another six part series of nutty characters and bizarre murders. Still daft, still watchable.
My Life in Books. (BBC2)
Anne Robinson, back for a second series, was slightly less Rita Skeeter than she was in the first. Her celebrity guests included Pam Ayres, who is still our - and, surely, the nation’s - favourite poet and Phil Davis, who is seldom interviewed on television. As might have been expected from a man who has been directed on stage by Joan Littlewood and in films by Mike Leigh, both proponents of improvisation, he was quick, articulate and interesting. He should brave the interview circuit more often.
My Leader and I liked him.
Frost on Interviews. (BBC Four)
Hallo…good morning/afternoon/evening…and welcome,
Well, you’re welcome to Frost. I never could take to the man. Always thought he was a giftless bore even if he did help unseat Richard Nixon.
One president is just like another to me.
This was a good trawl around the changing face of the television interview, though. Oh, there was the occasional lapse into mutual back scratching with other old chat show hosts, but the examples of how interviewing technique has changed over the years were pertinent and well presented,
The Wright Stuff. (C5)
Tony Blackburn’s courtesy son continues to be the best morning alternative to Jeremy Kyle and who, or what, isn’t? Even if you don’t much like young Mr. Wright, his guests are often top-notch and over the past week have included the singer Michael Bolton, whose recording of If I Could is among the eight discs I would choose to accompany me in the unlikely event I should ever become famous enough to be a castaway on that prized Radio 4 desert island. Mr. Bolton was there to plug his album Gems, which includes Field of Gold, a tastefully arranged duet with the late Eva Cassidy.
Nice man, nice Duets Collection.
READING.
Jo Brand.
It’s Different for Girls was first published in 2005 and has left me puzzling over how a matronly former nurse could prove to be quite so multi-talented. This is a woman who is a successful stand-up comedian, popular guest on shows like QI and, now, an infuriatingly competent writer of modern fiction.
I give up.
FILMS.
The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.
After the magic of Harry Potter (our last film outing) the magic of India was a back-to-earth - but no less captivating - experience. Director John Madden assembled a superb cast (Judi Dench, Celia Imrie, Maggie Smith, Penelope Wilton, Bill Nighy, Ronald Pickup and Tom Wilkinson in particular) and, as is generally the way with the best, they did not disappoint. Neither, in such exalted company, did Dev Patel as Sonny, the young man whose misleading advertisement led them to seek retirement perfection at the Marigold Hotel.
“Everything will be all right in the end,” said Sonny. “If it’s not all right then it’s not the end.”
When we left the cinema everything was all right.
TAILPIECE.
We were sitting in bed. Saturday morning. Tea and toast. Radio 2 playing quietly in the background: Brian Matthew with his impeccably researched Sounds of the Sixties (mostly sounds I would not have remembered the day after I first heard them, let alone fifty years later). It was the weekend. It was routine. It was peaceful.
Maureen unerringly broke the spell.
“Vinyl’s back then,” she said.
Don’t ask.
Who is running this country?
So 65 year old former businessman Christopher Tappin and 23 year old Richard O’Dwyer, a Sheffield Hallam University student, have been dealt with in exactly the way the Americans still want us to deal with Scottish hacker Gary McKinnon; by extradition. Mr. Tappin was extradited to the USA in February and, if the Home Secretary has her way, Mr. O’Dwyer will shortly follow him.
Why? Have they broken any of our laws?
If they have, why has our legal system not dealt with them? If they have not, why the hell have we even considered dragooning two British citizens in such a fashion? Are we forever to kowtow to American paranoia? Who is running this country?
I said it way back in Post 132 and I make no apology for saying it again: Sometimes we should simply tell our bullying American cousins to piss off.
Bible bashing bullies.
Something else that seems to have started in the good old US of A is the open intimidation of those entering or leaving so-called abortion clinics. The British Pregnancy Advisory Service’s clinic in Bedford Square, London. has been a particular target recently and now that the tent city fronting St. Paul’s has been cleared, the weather has been good and there’s the usual dross on tele, the number of anti-abortion protesters has magically increased and is reported to be indulging in open harassment of its hapless victims.
Now I do not mind peaceful protest. Everybody has a right to their opinion. But I draw the line when protest is presented in the form of bullying. Matters not how earnestly religious their cause, protesters must not be allowed to intimidate those with whom they are at odds. Bible bashing bullies are no better than football hooligans or protection racket thugs.
The police should disperse them, gently but firmly.
SAD.
So far this year the weather here has been surprisingly clement, which means, as a change from my winter norm, I should be feeling quite chipper.
I don’t.
Oh, I am well aware that Scotland and The North have not fared anything like as well (to the best of my memory, the rain on Fort William only ever eases up long enough to accommodate the snow) but in the subjective world of seasonal depression scant consolation is obtained from open-minded comparison. Rain or shine, winter is winter even when it has been officially designated as spring. It takes more than a show of wild daffodils and the objective reminder that “we’ve had it much better down here,” to dispel the blues.
Next thing you know they’ll be fiddling about with that bloody hour on the clocks again. Phooey!
ABROAD
Really sad news.
The Belgian coach crash in which 28 people, 22 of them children, were killed in a Swiss tunnel, (a further twenty four children were injured, many of them seriously) was surely the most awful accident imaginable.
Back in the mid-fifties when I was in the army and stationed in Germany I was, for military manoeuvre purposes, the sometime troop sergeant of Belgian Liaison Troop, a position for which, since I spoke neither French nor Flemish, I was the ideal British army choice.
I was very fortunate. Many of my Belgian colleagues spoke English and I was put under the wing of Jimmy Ruisshaert, a Flemish-born staff sergeant, who spoke half a dozen languages fluently. We became friends and I was privileged to meet his wife and children and to spend the occasional weekend at their home. After I left the army, through a combination of moves and mishap, we lost touch. Which was a great pity. I have often wondered what became of him and of his family. They were wonderfully friendly, civilized people. The travellers on that coach will doubtless have been of similar stock.
What a sad. sad world this can be.
TELEVISION.
Upstairs Downstairs. (BBC1)
A bearded Art Malik is barely recognisable and, as might be expected with a new take on an old favourite, nothing is as good as it was and nobody is as good as they were. Sorry, Art.
Whitechapel. (ITV1)
Rupert Penry-Jones’s prim police inspector remained an enigma as little Phil Davis’s brusque, kindly sergeant carried him through another six part series of nutty characters and bizarre murders. Still daft, still watchable.
My Life in Books. (BBC2)
Anne Robinson, back for a second series, was slightly less Rita Skeeter than she was in the first. Her celebrity guests included Pam Ayres, who is still our - and, surely, the nation’s - favourite poet and Phil Davis, who is seldom interviewed on television. As might have been expected from a man who has been directed on stage by Joan Littlewood and in films by Mike Leigh, both proponents of improvisation, he was quick, articulate and interesting. He should brave the interview circuit more often.
My Leader and I liked him.
Frost on Interviews. (BBC Four)
Hallo…good morning/afternoon/evening…and welcome,
Well, you’re welcome to Frost. I never could take to the man. Always thought he was a giftless bore even if he did help unseat Richard Nixon.
One president is just like another to me.
This was a good trawl around the changing face of the television interview, though. Oh, there was the occasional lapse into mutual back scratching with other old chat show hosts, but the examples of how interviewing technique has changed over the years were pertinent and well presented,
The Wright Stuff. (C5)
Nice man, nice Duets Collection.
READING.
Jo Brand.
It’s Different for Girls was first published in 2005 and has left me puzzling over how a matronly former nurse could prove to be quite so multi-talented. This is a woman who is a successful stand-up comedian, popular guest on shows like QI and, now, an infuriatingly competent writer of modern fiction.
I give up.
FILMS.
The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.
After the magic of Harry Potter (our last film outing) the magic of India was a back-to-earth - but no less captivating - experience. Director John Madden assembled a superb cast (Judi Dench, Celia Imrie, Maggie Smith, Penelope Wilton, Bill Nighy, Ronald Pickup and Tom Wilkinson in particular) and, as is generally the way with the best, they did not disappoint. Neither, in such exalted company, did Dev Patel as Sonny, the young man whose misleading advertisement led them to seek retirement perfection at the Marigold Hotel.
“Everything will be all right in the end,” said Sonny. “If it’s not all right then it’s not the end.”
When we left the cinema everything was all right.
TAILPIECE.
We were sitting in bed. Saturday morning. Tea and toast. Radio 2 playing quietly in the background: Brian Matthew with his impeccably researched Sounds of the Sixties (mostly sounds I would not have remembered the day after I first heard them, let alone fifty years later). It was the weekend. It was routine. It was peaceful.
Maureen unerringly broke the spell.
“Vinyl’s back then,” she said.
Don’t ask.
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