HOME.
Look on the bright side.
Well it happened at last. A few weeks back we became members of that huge club of ill-fated motorists welcomed by the planks in power as "a buoyant source of revenue.”
A short time after Mo came home from the hip operation, and barely a month after she had been granted a blue badge for the car, she mistakenly thought she was free to park in the sole spot available in one of our town’s jampacked streets. Hampered by the crutch she is still using and by limited movement on and off seats, she did not realise that the spot was one where the double yellow lines almost indiscernibly crept up onto the pavement.
So, during the twenty or so minutes that the car was unattended, one of the blue jacketed cash collectors of The Isle of Wight Council kindly put a penalty ticket on it. The spot was a loading bay and, apparently, not even God can park in one of those without a van or lorry to load or unload.
We duly made written representation against the penalty charge and that was duly turned down by whatever plank in power duly turns down such representations.
We then duly joined the ranks of those who duly pay up.
Well, look on the bright side; it was the first time for us and I suppose it will help swell the coffers of whichever bunch of profligates currently thinks it necessary to pay massive salaries to top council employees, extravagant severance and redundancy packages when they are found wanting, and fat retainers when they are miraculously welcomed back as ’advisers.’
It doubtless will also help towards the close on half a million quid filched from the public purse - on this island alone - last year by serial claimants of expenses calling themselves councillors. (The Isle of Wight Council leader, Clr. David Pugh, picked up £35, 370. 70 in allowances and expenses for doing nothing of any consequence and many of his colleagues walked away with far more than the average cleaner will earn in a year and did far less for it.) Over the past few years these pretentious mini ministers have taken on the mantle of ‘cabinet members’ - with or without portfolio would you believe? - and, to ensure that none of their buddies be left out of the trough, have co-opted a bevy of independent (non-elected) members to their ranks.
Frankly, I don’t think any of them could organize a brothel in a red light district, but that’s just my opinion and I must admit to still thinking of council tax as ‘the rates.’
I also, for my sins, believe we were better off in the days when councils - employing public servants, not local government officers - were largely the domain of crooked businessmen and jerry-builders who claimed little in expenses but made up for it by acquiring all the fattest council contracts. You knew where you stood with them. They were honest crooks.
AND AWAY..
US Presidential Election 2012.
Am I alone in wondering why we were bombarded with every aspect of it when America held this 2 billion dollar plus bonanza to elect its president?
Tell me they are that interested in us and listen for the snort of derision.
In the event, President Barack Obama was re-elected and that was the outcome for which I, and clearly the majority of his countrymen, had hoped.
Well the man has done me no harm --- yet.
AND ON TELEVISION.
Royal Variety.
I missed the first hour of this ITV1 offering through watching Rick Stein and Mastermind on BBC2, but soon became aware that I probably hadn’t missed much. I saw the last hour and a half and found it to be the usual combination of obsequious comedians, singers limited to one song and a guest star from across the pond: this year it was Neil Diamond.
With the exception of Heather Headley, star of The Bodyguard musical, I found nothing refreshing in any of it. You can find her live performance on YouTube if you are interested.
Copy and paste: Heather Headley - I Will Always Love You (Live Royal Variety)
Britain‘s best what?
Latest afternoon time filler is yet another cookery programme. This time the participants are cookshop owners and the idea is that a couple of Simple Simon characters swan around tasting the wares of various piemen and finally decide which of them - cue long…long…long… long pause for effect - deserves to stay on the tiresome trail to find Britain’s Best Bakery (ITV1). My Leader is smitten with it and so, I suspect, is half the female population of the nation. I am not.
Where’s the originality? Where’s the urge to present something new?
Nowadays much of my viewing time is taken up asking: “Do we really need this?”
Do we really need more television cookery? Do we have to have another antiques programme? Or another bloody quiz show? Or quite such a glut of reality rubbish?
Can we not do without the array of desperate nonentities and career-faded celebs imprisoned in jungles or glass-walled houses? Clearly the unimaginative producers of goggle box fodder think we can’t, but their world is governed by viewing figures, studio top brass and the whims of advertisers, so to them such bilge has to be an ideal adjunct to endless repeats of Diagnosis Midsomer Murder She Wrote.
Ah well…My TV viewer’s remark at the foot of this year’s report is:
Could do better. Try harder next year.
And that does it for the moans.
SO TO CONCLUDE.
It's almost Christmas.
There have been quite a few bright spots this year, too, but they will have to wait until my next post and that won’t be until the festive season is over. Right now there is quite enough to think about.
Should we be sending cards? Of course we should. The usual nice folk are already sending to us.
Will we get around to well- organized responses? Good lord no!
Are there too many before Xmas lunches planned? Never!
Will the gifts be sorted, wrapped and delivered on time? Ask Mo.
So if you have sent to us, or haven’t, or mean to but forget to, or are expecting to hear from us and don’t, or do but it’s too late anyway…
HAPPY CHRISTMAS, DEAR FRIEND, THANKS FOR BEING WHO YOU ARE.
Look on the bright side.
Well it happened at last. A few weeks back we became members of that huge club of ill-fated motorists welcomed by the planks in power as "a buoyant source of revenue.”
A short time after Mo came home from the hip operation, and barely a month after she had been granted a blue badge for the car, she mistakenly thought she was free to park in the sole spot available in one of our town’s jampacked streets. Hampered by the crutch she is still using and by limited movement on and off seats, she did not realise that the spot was one where the double yellow lines almost indiscernibly crept up onto the pavement.
So, during the twenty or so minutes that the car was unattended, one of the blue jacketed cash collectors of The Isle of Wight Council kindly put a penalty ticket on it. The spot was a loading bay and, apparently, not even God can park in one of those without a van or lorry to load or unload.
We duly made written representation against the penalty charge and that was duly turned down by whatever plank in power duly turns down such representations.
We then duly joined the ranks of those who duly pay up.
Well, look on the bright side; it was the first time for us and I suppose it will help swell the coffers of whichever bunch of profligates currently thinks it necessary to pay massive salaries to top council employees, extravagant severance and redundancy packages when they are found wanting, and fat retainers when they are miraculously welcomed back as ’advisers.’
It doubtless will also help towards the close on half a million quid filched from the public purse - on this island alone - last year by serial claimants of expenses calling themselves councillors. (The Isle of Wight Council leader, Clr. David Pugh, picked up £35, 370. 70 in allowances and expenses for doing nothing of any consequence and many of his colleagues walked away with far more than the average cleaner will earn in a year and did far less for it.) Over the past few years these pretentious mini ministers have taken on the mantle of ‘cabinet members’ - with or without portfolio would you believe? - and, to ensure that none of their buddies be left out of the trough, have co-opted a bevy of independent (non-elected) members to their ranks.
Frankly, I don’t think any of them could organize a brothel in a red light district, but that’s just my opinion and I must admit to still thinking of council tax as ‘the rates.’
I also, for my sins, believe we were better off in the days when councils - employing public servants, not local government officers - were largely the domain of crooked businessmen and jerry-builders who claimed little in expenses but made up for it by acquiring all the fattest council contracts. You knew where you stood with them. They were honest crooks.
AND AWAY..
US Presidential Election 2012.
Tell me they are that interested in us and listen for the snort of derision.
In the event, President Barack Obama was re-elected and that was the outcome for which I, and clearly the majority of his countrymen, had hoped.
Well the man has done me no harm --- yet.
AND ON TELEVISION.
Royal Variety.
I missed the first hour of this ITV1 offering through watching Rick Stein and Mastermind on BBC2, but soon became aware that I probably hadn’t missed much. I saw the last hour and a half and found it to be the usual combination of obsequious comedians, singers limited to one song and a guest star from across the pond: this year it was Neil Diamond.
With the exception of Heather Headley, star of The Bodyguard musical, I found nothing refreshing in any of it. You can find her live performance on YouTube if you are interested.
Britain‘s best what?
Latest afternoon time filler is yet another cookery programme. This time the participants are cookshop owners and the idea is that a couple of Simple Simon characters swan around tasting the wares of various piemen and finally decide which of them - cue long…long…long… long pause for effect - deserves to stay on the tiresome trail to find Britain’s Best Bakery (ITV1). My Leader is smitten with it and so, I suspect, is half the female population of the nation. I am not.
Where’s the originality? Where’s the urge to present something new?
Nowadays much of my viewing time is taken up asking: “Do we really need this?”
Do we really need more television cookery? Do we have to have another antiques programme? Or another bloody quiz show? Or quite such a glut of reality rubbish?
Can we not do without the array of desperate nonentities and career-faded celebs imprisoned in jungles or glass-walled houses? Clearly the unimaginative producers of goggle box fodder think we can’t, but their world is governed by viewing figures, studio top brass and the whims of advertisers, so to them such bilge has to be an ideal adjunct to endless repeats of Diagnosis Midsomer Murder She Wrote.
Ah well…My TV viewer’s remark at the foot of this year’s report is:
Could do better. Try harder next year.
And that does it for the moans.
SO TO CONCLUDE.
It's almost Christmas.
There have been quite a few bright spots this year, too, but they will have to wait until my next post and that won’t be until the festive season is over. Right now there is quite enough to think about.
Should we be sending cards? Of course we should. The usual nice folk are already sending to us.
Will we get around to well- organized responses? Good lord no!
Are there too many before Xmas lunches planned? Never!
Will the gifts be sorted, wrapped and delivered on time? Ask Mo.
So if you have sent to us, or haven’t, or mean to but forget to, or are expecting to hear from us and don’t, or do but it’s too late anyway…
2 comments:
Hi, I just sent you a comment. Did it disappear? I was reminded of when I visited you at Bournemouth and then I walked back to Southampton. I really had sore feet I can assure you.
Ginger
Hi Mr. Barnden, can you remember the day that I stayed with you when you lived in a very small building in Bournemouth and then I walked all the way back to Southampton where I lived. My feet felt like I had been on one of our first route marches. Have a lovely Christmas.
Ginger
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