ON
THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
Time for a breather.
After I finish this post I shall only return briefly in December to wish you the compliments of the season, tidily, at Post 200. After that I shall publish index 4 which will establish a natural break while I contemplate what next. Whether I shall continue with Watching The Detectives is questionable. I have been producing pretty much the same formula since July 2006, when The Oldies began, so the chances are I may still keep it going for the television stuff. I might then open another blog to run with it. Depends whether I can manage the procedure to set up anything else. Nothing comes easy to me nowadays. That particularly applies to...
Windows 8.
I am of the school which teaches don't look a gift horse in the mouth so my comments thus far on this well-meant gift from our son Neil have been muted. Suffice to say, thanks to the modification (to partial Windows 7) introduced by him after the initial instillation, I continue to pootle along making sparse use of the system's enormous potential and abundant use of my repertoire of foul language. I don't know which of your brilliant computer boffins invented it, Windows buddies, but even the modified Windows 8 is over-complicated. To the average computer illiterate it is murder and, from all I hear, even the most devoted nerd regards it as a fatality.
So, on the billions-to-one chance that one of you may ever espy this, the end of term report reads: Could do better. Next time try not to get carried away with your own cleverness, eh? Make it simple enough for everyone to think they're clever, my dears, and you'll make another fortune.
Aldi.
A branch of the supermarket chain Aldi Sud has recently opened over here. Yep, two world wars to keep the Germans out and here they are.
My Leader and I gave the shop a try out at the weekend. They seem to have undercut everybody but Lidl - who got here before them - and their produce is pretty good. On the negative side, when you have deposited your goods at checkout you are required to park the front of your trolley up against a loading spot alongside the counterperson who shoves them back into it, willy-nilly, as they are priced: you are then required to remove yourself and purchases to a long shelf at the front of the store, away from the counter, to pack. It is efficient, soulless and Teutonic. We loathed it.
IN PORTSMOUTH.
Football and The Yard.
They say you can tell the state a city is in by the success or otherwise of its football team. In the nineteen thirties the city of Portsmouth was a Tory stronghold and just about every male who wasn't in the navy worked in the dockyard: butchers, bakers and candlestick makers were in the minority. It was a cocky city with a fine football team.
Portsmouth dockyard (The Yard) has now been closed by a government scared stiff it could be told to piss off by the Scots. The navy dwindles and the manager of Pompey football club has just been sacked. It already looks as though another relegation battle could be facing the team at the end of the season: fifteen or sixteen thousand loyal fans don't deserve that any more than an entire city deserves to be consigned to the scrapheap to suit political expediency. Disgusted Portmuthians should make known their feelings at the polls in 2016. Scotland will already have done so.
IN AUSTRALIA.
Cricket.
I haven't followed cricket for years and from what filters through regarding England's performance in the first match of the 2013 Test series, I haven't missed much. I still remember the Aussie outrage after Douglas Jardine set Harold Larwood onto them in 1932 – 33, though. It went on forever.
Now revenge time, with suitable intimidation, seems to be with us again.
Ask me not the details. I don't care. Haven't followed cricket for years.
TELEVISION.
Fifty Years of Dr.Who. (BBC)
Forget the cooks calling themselves chefs and the junk dealers calling themselves antiques experts and the reality rubbish where unrecognisable celebs vie for unpopularity on an unfamiliar stage; the bright sparks at the Beeb decided to revisit Doctor Who, the first episode of which was screened in November 1963. It was a great deal more simple back then. The main anniversary programme in November 2003, The Day of the Doctor was, to say the least, somewhat complicated. Which leads us nicely to:-
An Adventure in Space and Time.
To
accompany the fifty years anniversary programmes, Mark Gatiss wrote
this fascinating dramatisation about the people who brought Dr.Who to
life. The original Doctor, William Hartnell, was played by David
Bradley, the actor who played creepy caretaker Argus Filch in the Harry
Potter films.
His performance was bloody marvellous and should earn him a BAFTA.
All for now. Back a bit sooner next month.
Time for a breather.
After I finish this post I shall only return briefly in December to wish you the compliments of the season, tidily, at Post 200. After that I shall publish index 4 which will establish a natural break while I contemplate what next. Whether I shall continue with Watching The Detectives is questionable. I have been producing pretty much the same formula since July 2006, when The Oldies began, so the chances are I may still keep it going for the television stuff. I might then open another blog to run with it. Depends whether I can manage the procedure to set up anything else. Nothing comes easy to me nowadays. That particularly applies to...
Windows 8.
I am of the school which teaches don't look a gift horse in the mouth so my comments thus far on this well-meant gift from our son Neil have been muted. Suffice to say, thanks to the modification (to partial Windows 7) introduced by him after the initial instillation, I continue to pootle along making sparse use of the system's enormous potential and abundant use of my repertoire of foul language. I don't know which of your brilliant computer boffins invented it, Windows buddies, but even the modified Windows 8 is over-complicated. To the average computer illiterate it is murder and, from all I hear, even the most devoted nerd regards it as a fatality.
So, on the billions-to-one chance that one of you may ever espy this, the end of term report reads: Could do better. Next time try not to get carried away with your own cleverness, eh? Make it simple enough for everyone to think they're clever, my dears, and you'll make another fortune.
Aldi.
A branch of the supermarket chain Aldi Sud has recently opened over here. Yep, two world wars to keep the Germans out and here they are.
My Leader and I gave the shop a try out at the weekend. They seem to have undercut everybody but Lidl - who got here before them - and their produce is pretty good. On the negative side, when you have deposited your goods at checkout you are required to park the front of your trolley up against a loading spot alongside the counterperson who shoves them back into it, willy-nilly, as they are priced: you are then required to remove yourself and purchases to a long shelf at the front of the store, away from the counter, to pack. It is efficient, soulless and Teutonic. We loathed it.
IN PORTSMOUTH.
Football and The Yard.
They say you can tell the state a city is in by the success or otherwise of its football team. In the nineteen thirties the city of Portsmouth was a Tory stronghold and just about every male who wasn't in the navy worked in the dockyard: butchers, bakers and candlestick makers were in the minority. It was a cocky city with a fine football team.
Portsmouth dockyard (The Yard) has now been closed by a government scared stiff it could be told to piss off by the Scots. The navy dwindles and the manager of Pompey football club has just been sacked. It already looks as though another relegation battle could be facing the team at the end of the season: fifteen or sixteen thousand loyal fans don't deserve that any more than an entire city deserves to be consigned to the scrapheap to suit political expediency. Disgusted Portmuthians should make known their feelings at the polls in 2016. Scotland will already have done so.
IN AUSTRALIA.
Cricket.
I haven't followed cricket for years and from what filters through regarding England's performance in the first match of the 2013 Test series, I haven't missed much. I still remember the Aussie outrage after Douglas Jardine set Harold Larwood onto them in 1932 – 33, though. It went on forever.
Now revenge time, with suitable intimidation, seems to be with us again.
Ask me not the details. I don't care. Haven't followed cricket for years.
TELEVISION.
Fifty Years of Dr.Who. (BBC)
Forget the cooks calling themselves chefs and the junk dealers calling themselves antiques experts and the reality rubbish where unrecognisable celebs vie for unpopularity on an unfamiliar stage; the bright sparks at the Beeb decided to revisit Doctor Who, the first episode of which was screened in November 1963. It was a great deal more simple back then. The main anniversary programme in November 2003, The Day of the Doctor was, to say the least, somewhat complicated. Which leads us nicely to:-
An Adventure in Space and Time.
His performance was bloody marvellous and should earn him a BAFTA.
All for now. Back a bit sooner next month.
1 comment:
Den,
What we, your readers, need is more cat shadow blogging.
Merry Christmas, Kelvin.
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