WATCHING.
Television I nearly didn't mention.
In the
mishmash of easily forgettable tele that has flickered before me of
late, I almost overlooked Crossfire Trail, a decent 2001 western
which turned up a couple of weeks back. I'm sure it had been on
before but the old memory only cut in occasionally; so Mark Harmon as
a smarmy villain and Tom Selleck as "Jesse Stone in a cowboy
hat" were still, after twelve years, compulsive viewing.
Saw the series end of The Returned. What is it about beautiful scenery that brings out the weird in thriller writers? I was able to find no more logic in this fascinating French zomby yarn than I do in the actions of the New Zealand "duelling banjos" characters inhabiting Top of the Lake; but I imagine all will be revealed one day. In the meantime, the daftness is enjoyable and the scenery is exquisite.
Oh, Luther came to an end, too. Rumoured to be the last series ever. Pity, because no matter how dire things became for our hero you could always sense the presence of his psychopathic fairy godmother, Alice, in the background. And when she arrived it became quite another story.
Idris Elba and Ruth Wilson headed a strong cast.
THINKING.
Random scribbling.
I am not, as any decent journalist (and I believe there are still a few about) would quickly surmise, a professional hack; I'm just that sad individual dismissed by Dr. Johnson (on April 5th 1776) with the words: “No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.” I write because I like to write. Sod Samuel Johnson.
Trouble with being a random scribbler, though, is not what you write or how you write it; it's what, in the end, you unintentionally leave out.
My short term memory – mid and long, too, for that matter – does not improve with age. In my last blog post I had intended thanking Kelvin Fay for his message. The thanks were to be made on behalf of the cat Shadow so they were of some import: but, along with something else that I meant not to forget but cannot for the life of me remember, I forgot. Anyway, now that I've reminded myself, thanks Kelvin, hope you and yours are well.
Local council election.
I had also intended making mention of the Isle of Wight Council election held a couple of months ago. Anybody who read Post 188 (and several along similar lines) will know my opinion of our last bunch of elected representatives. Not to put too fine a point upon it, I thought they were overgrown school prefects and serial expenses claimants. I am realistic enough to appreciate, however, that the alternative would be a big mistake: which is why I can never entirely favour the idea of abolishing the royal family; they may be nothing more than unbeatable winners in Britain's most one-sided lottery, but they have to be a better option than palaces packed with pestilential politicians, elected or not. Cromwell was proof that you can do worse than keep a king and his kin.
In the event, the citizens of this little island unceremoniously dumped the controlling Conservative council, electing in its stead a mixed bag of former Tories and Liberals calling themselves Independents. Same meat, different gravy. I am not overly optimistic, but we'll see.
Post 195 revisited.
Heading post 195 "Friends - please email me!" might have been a good idea had I thought it through. Those who regularly read the blog and/or sometimes email their funny forwards to me have mostly got in touch; it simply did not occur to me at the time that there were going to be those who no more had my email address than I now have theirs.
Mine is barndens@talktalk.net and, for the record, I still have no desire to be fiercely friendly on Facebook or tiresomely talkative on Twitter.
But social networks can strike a spark.
My Leader keeps in touch with people by phone, ipad and text and does, occasionally, look in at the Facebook entries of family and friends. The following, glorious, spark of lunacy was posted on Facebook by daughter Roz's pal Michelle:
"I don't have Alzheimer's, I have Sometimers: sometimes I remember and sometimes I don't."
Know the feeling, Mich., know the feeling.
The necessary attitude.
When
Terry Wogan left BBC Radio2 and handed over the breakfast show to
Chris Evans, I was somewhat dismissive of the new lad. Shouldn't have
been. He knows his stuff and has gently remodelled the programme to
suit a wider listening public: nowadays we miss him when he's not
there. He is also a natural radio broadcaster, which has one distinct
drawback; he shares with the illustrious Wogan the disadvantage of
being better heard than seen. Like Wogan, though, he cannot resist
the temptation to appear on the box, so it was no surprise that he
invited us all to look in on him (via the web) when he broadcast from
Glastonbury. It proved to be a masterclass in the art of radio
presentation and not at all what I expected. For a
start, I had always cheerfully imagined the daily offering coming
from a vast studio in which Mr. Evans, Lynn Bowles, Vassos Alexander,
Moira Stuart, a celebrity guest and little Noah were all present and
were joined every Friday by the singing ghost of Sammy Davis Jnr. If
Glastonbury was anything to go by, nothing could be more removed from
fact. Here your garrulous DJ sat alone at a desk faced by a
proliferation of switches and a pile of notes. He spent a lot of time
switching switches, shuffling papers and staring into space. Just
occasionally there would be a physical presence to talk to, but
mostly he talked to his microphone; a lonely man addressing an
invisible audience. It was shoulder shruggingly boring. But he
comes across as a happy chap; which is understandable when one reads
that he is a multi-millionaire who owns a fleet of classic cars and
(apparently without anywhere to put it) a bridge. He has,
without question, the necessary attitude.
Anyway, it makes someone who sits alone in front of a computer and earns bugger all look like a bit of a blockhead, doesn't it?
Don't answer that.
READING.
The Necessary Aptitude.
The dialogue is excellent throughout this crime novel by Robert Galbraith and the description of people and places is faultless. Plot and action take some time to emerge, but are worth the wait.
Private investigator Cormoran Strike is an updated version of Slim Callaghan, Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade. He even acquires the easy-on-the-eye secretary, Robin Ellacott, who has been sent by a 'temp' agency to which she obviously will not return when the story finishes.
I enjoyed it (do still enjoy 'almost any whodunit by anybody') and have no doubt it will make a good film. I think Mr. Galbraith knows that, too. This may be his first crime story but I believe he has probably been published before. Perhaps in a different genre under a different name, eh.
Anyway, when it is filmed, (and it certainly will be) Strike should be played by Jonathan Cake and Robin by Emma Watson. Won't be, but should.
I very much look forward to Strike 2.
'Bye for now.
Television I nearly didn't mention.
Saw the series end of The Returned. What is it about beautiful scenery that brings out the weird in thriller writers? I was able to find no more logic in this fascinating French zomby yarn than I do in the actions of the New Zealand "duelling banjos" characters inhabiting Top of the Lake; but I imagine all will be revealed one day. In the meantime, the daftness is enjoyable and the scenery is exquisite.
Oh, Luther came to an end, too. Rumoured to be the last series ever. Pity, because no matter how dire things became for our hero you could always sense the presence of his psychopathic fairy godmother, Alice, in the background. And when she arrived it became quite another story.
Idris Elba and Ruth Wilson headed a strong cast.
THINKING.
Random scribbling.
I am not, as any decent journalist (and I believe there are still a few about) would quickly surmise, a professional hack; I'm just that sad individual dismissed by Dr. Johnson (on April 5th 1776) with the words: “No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.” I write because I like to write. Sod Samuel Johnson.
Trouble with being a random scribbler, though, is not what you write or how you write it; it's what, in the end, you unintentionally leave out.
My short term memory – mid and long, too, for that matter – does not improve with age. In my last blog post I had intended thanking Kelvin Fay for his message. The thanks were to be made on behalf of the cat Shadow so they were of some import: but, along with something else that I meant not to forget but cannot for the life of me remember, I forgot. Anyway, now that I've reminded myself, thanks Kelvin, hope you and yours are well.
Local council election.
I had also intended making mention of the Isle of Wight Council election held a couple of months ago. Anybody who read Post 188 (and several along similar lines) will know my opinion of our last bunch of elected representatives. Not to put too fine a point upon it, I thought they were overgrown school prefects and serial expenses claimants. I am realistic enough to appreciate, however, that the alternative would be a big mistake: which is why I can never entirely favour the idea of abolishing the royal family; they may be nothing more than unbeatable winners in Britain's most one-sided lottery, but they have to be a better option than palaces packed with pestilential politicians, elected or not. Cromwell was proof that you can do worse than keep a king and his kin.
In the event, the citizens of this little island unceremoniously dumped the controlling Conservative council, electing in its stead a mixed bag of former Tories and Liberals calling themselves Independents. Same meat, different gravy. I am not overly optimistic, but we'll see.
Post 195 revisited.
Heading post 195 "Friends - please email me!" might have been a good idea had I thought it through. Those who regularly read the blog and/or sometimes email their funny forwards to me have mostly got in touch; it simply did not occur to me at the time that there were going to be those who no more had my email address than I now have theirs.
Mine is barndens@talktalk.net and, for the record, I still have no desire to be fiercely friendly on Facebook or tiresomely talkative on Twitter.
But social networks can strike a spark.
My Leader keeps in touch with people by phone, ipad and text and does, occasionally, look in at the Facebook entries of family and friends. The following, glorious, spark of lunacy was posted on Facebook by daughter Roz's pal Michelle:
"I don't have Alzheimer's, I have Sometimers: sometimes I remember and sometimes I don't."
Know the feeling, Mich., know the feeling.
The necessary attitude.
Anyway, it makes someone who sits alone in front of a computer and earns bugger all look like a bit of a blockhead, doesn't it?
Don't answer that.
READING.
The Necessary Aptitude.
I finished reading Pam Ayres' memoir and then failed to mention it in
my last post; don't know why (Sometimers, perhaps). Suffice to say it
echoes many of my childhood and working life experiences, is quite
beautifully written and provides an uplifting message to anybody who
feels (or has ever felt) they do not have the necessary aptitude.
Lovely work, Pam, you're a good 'un.
The
Cuckoo's Calling.The dialogue is excellent throughout this crime novel by Robert Galbraith and the description of people and places is faultless. Plot and action take some time to emerge, but are worth the wait.
Private investigator Cormoran Strike is an updated version of Slim Callaghan, Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade. He even acquires the easy-on-the-eye secretary, Robin Ellacott, who has been sent by a 'temp' agency to which she obviously will not return when the story finishes.
I enjoyed it (do still enjoy 'almost any whodunit by anybody') and have no doubt it will make a good film. I think Mr. Galbraith knows that, too. This may be his first crime story but I believe he has probably been published before. Perhaps in a different genre under a different name, eh.
Anyway, when it is filmed, (and it certainly will be) Strike should be played by Jonathan Cake and Robin by Emma Watson. Won't be, but should.
I very much look forward to Strike 2.
'Bye for now.
