HERE…
A lot can happen…
It was five weeks ago last Tuesday that my Leader underwent the hip operation and it is two months since I last ventured a blog post. A lot can happen in a couple of months. Indeed, so much has that I am at a loss where to begin. Let’s start at the unstately pile where we have had an enclosed shower unit installed. It was a no choice situation. Mo would not have been able to climb in and out of the bath for a while yet and I have been showering rather than bathing for longer than I care to remember.
No change is ever entirely straightforward of course - there’s a law that governs it - but the unit is now up and running, I don’t think we’ll miss the bath and we have been able to indulge in the annual splash on our respective birthdays, both of which have been celebrated since last I wrote.
Meantime, we have been on twice weekly visits to surgery for a practice nurse to assess the extent of Mo’s op. recovery. They are taking no chances.
It’s a good practice.
The Anniversary Party.
To my relief I was not called upon to make a speech at our wedding anniversary party. Many nice folk accepted the invitations sent out by Roz who apparently only had Mo’s old phone book in which to find the names and addresses of our friends, some of whom were not listed therein and, when they were, had been entered using Mo’s unique filing system, to wit: first name only; surname only; nickname only; outdated phone number only; both names but only on such page as happened to be handy at time of entry, etc. etc.
We were unaware who was or was not being invited so a few good pals who might have been asked were, regrettably, missed out. It was a nice day, though, and the weather was kind. Our thanks go to Roz, to Pauline and Neil who provided open house and buffet for everybody and to all those friends who did come along or otherwise afforded us their good wishes. Our heartfelt apologies go to those who would have, had they not been unwittingly overlooked.
The Cat Hernia.
Of the several nice gifts we received that day I was particularly intrigued when a hefty parcel was handed to me by a slightly breathless John Appleton with the words: “Careful…it’s heavy.” I was and it was. When, bulging eyed, I finally struggled to a convenient unwrapping spot, it turned out to be a solid stone cat of sleepy demeanour and guaranteed frost/lift resistance. The cat Hernia (choosing the name was not a strain) is now sitting on the kitchen windowsill where he is routinely acknowledged by me and resolutely ignored by the cat Shadow.
Birthday Greetings.
Google’s 14th Birthday, celebrated with a birthday cake logo, happened to fall on the day I celebrated my 82nd, so I have commandeered their cake in recognition of my hefty seniority. Since then both my Leader (last Monday) and our granddaughter, Jess, (yesterday) has celebrated/is celebrating another year on this earth. That means we will have had three birthday get- togethers and pass-the-parcels in a month.
No doubt about it, we know how to live.
A belated happy birthday to Google, too.
AND THERE…
A lot did happen.
Heads rolled at the BBC following the Savile scandal and a botched attempt at PM baiting on ITV by sheep in sheep’s clothing Philip Schofield resulted in a slapped wrist for him. Where will it all end?
Everything that happened happened long ago and many of the protagonists are dead. Victims, real and bogus, have since rushed to seek justice and any compensation that may be harvested.
The lawyers will be having a field day again (Charles Dickens got it so right) and, amidst cries that there is no smoke without fire, there will be indignant demands for public apologies, for the closure of Twitter and Facebook, for a complete shake-up of the BBC, for monitoring of the internet and for Lessons to be Learned. Come to think of it, there might even be a demand for compulsory voting at Police Commissioner elections. (What a waste of public money that lot is!)
AND ON TELE…
Emmy Awards.
Tom Stoppard wrote the scripts and Benedict Cumberbatch had the leading role in this period piece set around the time of the first World War, when social values were being challenged and the suffragette movement was in full flow.
I gather the books were not particularly well received when first published in the nineteen twenties. Pity, but unsurprising in a nation always bedevilled by class snobbery. Writer Ford Madox Ford, an officer in the Welch Regiment during World War 1, depicted the futility of the conflict with an accuracy bred of experience. Neither we nor the Germans learnt sense from it and people like my WW1 conscript grandfather were left pondering the senselessness right through WW2. At least Madox Ford was spared that. He died in June 1939, three months before the second war started.
Despite the sort of glaring fault common to films about the military (British soldiers do not salute when they are hatless, only Americans do that) this was a good series and deserved better than the Friday night viewing spot it was allocated.
Bradley Walsh: Crime Connections (ITV3)
If you were at a bit of a loose end this was an easy enough way to fill in the odd hour one evening a week. There was a decided touch of déjà vu so far as I was concerned because I pretty much invented the idea way back on October 12th, 2008. It can be found in the TELE section of Post 111 - Decidedly Not a Celebrity Diary. The programme makers made a six part series; I did it in a couple of paragraphs. That figures…
Merlin. (BBC1)
Hurray! He’s back! People are still being spellbound, literally, and Arthur is still too thick to realise that his faithful servant is the Wonderful Wizard of Camelot. Old Uther is dead (so only available for guest spots) and Morgana wanders the woods exuding evil from every pore. I’m still an avid viewer no matter who else thinks what.
Strictly Come Dancing. (BBC1)
The professional dancers, singers and musicians remain excellent and the celebrity contestants continue to make incredible progress week by week. Still a top show, with or without the benighted old compere.
Nick Nickleby. (BBC1)
This fine little series (directed by David Innes Edwards) ran every afternoon, starred Andrew Simpson, Linda Bassett and Adrian Dunbar and was the best daily viewing on the box that week.
Gawd bless Charlie Dickens!
AND ON RADIO…
Sunday mornings generally start with Alyd Jones on BBC Radio2. It’s an entrenched God spot but he does have some good guests. A few weeks ago he welcomed that excellent musician and likeable Londoner, Joe Brown.
When Joe was asked his opinion of current British talent shows he expressed the view that the performers were generally more impressive than the judges, many of whom were totally devoid of any talent whatsoever and no, he would never be a judge; he liked people too much for that. Good for him: there are far too many judges in the world anyway. More recently, Irish singer and harpist Mary O’Hara talked about her life, her career, and a faith that included twelve years as a nun. What a charming woman and, singing or talking, what a captivating voice.
BBC Radio 2 spent last week plugging the Beeb’s Children In Need charity and Chris Evans auctioned off all sorts of ‘once in a lifetime’ (i.e. until this time next year) goodies for which the usual moneyed self-publicists flamboyantly bid. Why anybody would offer thousands of pounds to eat, drink, drive a car, play golf or otherwise act the goat with a sports, showbiz or reality show ‘celebrity’ is quite beyond me, but I assume it has more to do with Andy Warhol‘s “15 minutes of fame” than with any compelling urge to embrace a charitable cause.
Genuine philanthropy is usually more self-effacing.
Still, I suppose CIN week helps a lot of children who, too young to vote, are routinely ignored by the government (of whatever party); so it has to be doing some good.
AND SO TO READING.
J.K.Rowling.
Oh dear oh dear…I disliked The Casual Vacancy from start to finish. Perhaps my working class background and 30’s elementary school education has something to do with it, but I found myself at odds with both the no-hopers stuck in the gutter, for whom I might have been expected to muster some sympathy, and the petty power players on the Parish Council who managed to irritate me even more in fiction than they do in fact.
Truth to tell, I didn‘t much like anybody in this small town saga. They seemed like people who had been kept at the back of the author’s mind until she found the right place to publicly embarrass them.
I’m sorry, J.K., but on this evidence Harry Potter is already calling to you from the wizarding world as clearly as Sherlock Holmes called to Arthur Conan Doyle from Reichenbach Falls in 1903,
Without Hogwarts, you see, the magic has gone.
AND TO CONCLUDE..
Another philosophical chat.
Grandson Ellis was concerned to know how his grandmother’s convalescence was progressing.
Everything was going along well, she told him. Recently she had gone back to her Wednesday evening quilting group; had a lovely evening; he had met the ladies there once, did he remember them?
Oh yes, he said. There was a man, too. Was he still there?
Well…no…the man was the quilting teacher’s husband and, sadly, he died recently.
There was a brief pause for a small boy to muster his thoughts. Then: “That’s a shame,” he said. “How old was he?”
My Leader pondered for a moment: “I think he was about the same age as big Boo, eighty two.”
He eyed me contemplatively. “Hmm…you’re not dead yet, are you.”
“He can’t die,” interposed his grandmother. “He has to look after me.”
“Well when he dies,” he said, “you’ll have to get a butler.”
Don’t you just love the logic of a seven year old?
Thanks for looking in. I’ll be back sooner next time.
A lot can happen…
It was five weeks ago last Tuesday that my Leader underwent the hip operation and it is two months since I last ventured a blog post. A lot can happen in a couple of months. Indeed, so much has that I am at a loss where to begin. Let’s start at the unstately pile where we have had an enclosed shower unit installed. It was a no choice situation. Mo would not have been able to climb in and out of the bath for a while yet and I have been showering rather than bathing for longer than I care to remember.
No change is ever entirely straightforward of course - there’s a law that governs it - but the unit is now up and running, I don’t think we’ll miss the bath and we have been able to indulge in the annual splash on our respective birthdays, both of which have been celebrated since last I wrote.
Meantime, we have been on twice weekly visits to surgery for a practice nurse to assess the extent of Mo’s op. recovery. They are taking no chances.
It’s a good practice.
The Anniversary Party.
To my relief I was not called upon to make a speech at our wedding anniversary party. Many nice folk accepted the invitations sent out by Roz who apparently only had Mo’s old phone book in which to find the names and addresses of our friends, some of whom were not listed therein and, when they were, had been entered using Mo’s unique filing system, to wit: first name only; surname only; nickname only; outdated phone number only; both names but only on such page as happened to be handy at time of entry, etc. etc.
We were unaware who was or was not being invited so a few good pals who might have been asked were, regrettably, missed out. It was a nice day, though, and the weather was kind. Our thanks go to Roz, to Pauline and Neil who provided open house and buffet for everybody and to all those friends who did come along or otherwise afforded us their good wishes. Our heartfelt apologies go to those who would have, had they not been unwittingly overlooked.
The Cat Hernia.
Birthday Greetings.
No doubt about it, we know how to live.
A belated happy birthday to Google, too.
AND THERE…
A lot did happen.
Heads rolled at the BBC following the Savile scandal and a botched attempt at PM baiting on ITV by sheep in sheep’s clothing Philip Schofield resulted in a slapped wrist for him. Where will it all end?
Everything that happened happened long ago and many of the protagonists are dead. Victims, real and bogus, have since rushed to seek justice and any compensation that may be harvested.
The lawyers will be having a field day again (Charles Dickens got it so right) and, amidst cries that there is no smoke without fire, there will be indignant demands for public apologies, for the closure of Twitter and Facebook, for a complete shake-up of the BBC, for monitoring of the internet and for Lessons to be Learned. Come to think of it, there might even be a demand for compulsory voting at Police Commissioner elections. (What a waste of public money that lot is!)
AND ON TELE…
Emmy Awards.
The usual bunch of British hopefuls went across the pond for this television wingding. It seems an Emmy is the American television equivalent of a cinema Oscar and the Downton crowd were particularly optimistic.
In the event, Maggie Smith, who was not present, got best supporting actress and that was it. The only other Brit to win anything was Damien Lewis, an Old Etonian; he took the coveted best actor award for his ongoing performance in the Fox 21 production Homeland. Incidentally, is there any centre stager currently in politics or showbiz who was not at Eton? Oh…all right…Michael Caine… but they‘d have had to blow the bloody doors off to get him in.
Parade’s End. (BBC2)I gather the books were not particularly well received when first published in the nineteen twenties. Pity, but unsurprising in a nation always bedevilled by class snobbery. Writer Ford Madox Ford, an officer in the Welch Regiment during World War 1, depicted the futility of the conflict with an accuracy bred of experience. Neither we nor the Germans learnt sense from it and people like my WW1 conscript grandfather were left pondering the senselessness right through WW2. At least Madox Ford was spared that. He died in June 1939, three months before the second war started.
Despite the sort of glaring fault common to films about the military (British soldiers do not salute when they are hatless, only Americans do that) this was a good series and deserved better than the Friday night viewing spot it was allocated.
Bradley Walsh: Crime Connections (ITV3)
If you were at a bit of a loose end this was an easy enough way to fill in the odd hour one evening a week. There was a decided touch of déjà vu so far as I was concerned because I pretty much invented the idea way back on October 12th, 2008. It can be found in the TELE section of Post 111 - Decidedly Not a Celebrity Diary. The programme makers made a six part series; I did it in a couple of paragraphs. That figures…
Merlin. (BBC1)
Hurray! He’s back! People are still being spellbound, literally, and Arthur is still too thick to realise that his faithful servant is the Wonderful Wizard of Camelot. Old Uther is dead (so only available for guest spots) and Morgana wanders the woods exuding evil from every pore. I’m still an avid viewer no matter who else thinks what.
Strictly Come Dancing. (BBC1)
The professional dancers, singers and musicians remain excellent and the celebrity contestants continue to make incredible progress week by week. Still a top show, with or without the benighted old compere.
Nick Nickleby. (BBC1)
This fine little series (directed by David Innes Edwards) ran every afternoon, starred Andrew Simpson, Linda Bassett and Adrian Dunbar and was the best daily viewing on the box that week.
Gawd bless Charlie Dickens!
AND ON RADIO…
Sunday mornings generally start with Alyd Jones on BBC Radio2. It’s an entrenched God spot but he does have some good guests. A few weeks ago he welcomed that excellent musician and likeable Londoner, Joe Brown.
BBC Radio 2 spent last week plugging the Beeb’s Children In Need charity and Chris Evans auctioned off all sorts of ‘once in a lifetime’ (i.e. until this time next year) goodies for which the usual moneyed self-publicists flamboyantly bid. Why anybody would offer thousands of pounds to eat, drink, drive a car, play golf or otherwise act the goat with a sports, showbiz or reality show ‘celebrity’ is quite beyond me, but I assume it has more to do with Andy Warhol‘s “15 minutes of fame” than with any compelling urge to embrace a charitable cause.
Genuine philanthropy is usually more self-effacing.
Still, I suppose CIN week helps a lot of children who, too young to vote, are routinely ignored by the government (of whatever party); so it has to be doing some good.
AND SO TO READING.
J.K.Rowling.
Truth to tell, I didn‘t much like anybody in this small town saga. They seemed like people who had been kept at the back of the author’s mind until she found the right place to publicly embarrass them.
I’m sorry, J.K., but on this evidence Harry Potter is already calling to you from the wizarding world as clearly as Sherlock Holmes called to Arthur Conan Doyle from Reichenbach Falls in 1903,
Without Hogwarts, you see, the magic has gone.
AND TO CONCLUDE..
Another philosophical chat.
Grandson Ellis was concerned to know how his grandmother’s convalescence was progressing.
Everything was going along well, she told him. Recently she had gone back to her Wednesday evening quilting group; had a lovely evening; he had met the ladies there once, did he remember them?
Oh yes, he said. There was a man, too. Was he still there?
Well…no…the man was the quilting teacher’s husband and, sadly, he died recently.
There was a brief pause for a small boy to muster his thoughts. Then: “That’s a shame,” he said. “How old was he?”
My Leader pondered for a moment: “I think he was about the same age as big Boo, eighty two.”
He eyed me contemplatively. “Hmm…you’re not dead yet, are you.”
“He can’t die,” interposed his grandmother. “He has to look after me.”
“Well when he dies,” he said, “you’ll have to get a butler.”
Don’t you just love the logic of a seven year old?
Thanks for looking in. I’ll be back sooner next time.
