2 (5) A precis of sorts.

WATCHING.

A cat at home.

The cat Shadow was so taken by his rooftop picture that he has pestered me for another appearance ever since.

Well, you try telling him he's not a fashion model. 

Another ...king cockup.

This is the genuine last minute flyer. Yesterday I was cheerfully contemplating closing a completed Post 5 when, without warning, the blogspot.doc.odt - Open Office Writer upon which I have thus far recorded all my Part 2 posts, inexplicably jumped to a blank page and the entire preceding scribble was gone. I cannot find it: I know it must be lying in wait somewhere but I have not the slightest idea where. So this hurriedly cobbled together mishmash is the result of – yeah, you've seen the heading - another ...king cockup.
If I ever do suss the way to recover the original I shall publish it, no matter how outdated it may then be. If you, dear reader, have a solution, I can be reached on barndens@talktalk.net and will cheerfully consider it.

(Don't be rude, it doesn't become you.)

I know I could call in Dan the Man again, but he was here no more than a fortnight ago and one lost blog post hardly seems worth wasting his valuable time.

In the meantime, a sort of precis...

254 OBA. 
We attended the Southern Chapter annual reunion at Botleigh Grange Hotel, Hedge End, Southampton.

Most of the regulars were there. We made it despite satnav Hermione who decided to sulk and direct us back to the Royal Pier, Southampton. Ignoring her nonsense cost us an hour and forty-plus minutes of fruitless driving around Hampshire.

When we finally reached the hotel there was an Indian wedding reception on the go. Beautiful bride, handsome groom, brightly coloured turbans, exotic saris, wall-pounding music, Rolls Royce departure car; the lot. Lovely occasion.

Made you proud to be British.

As did the gathering of R. Signals old boys, plus many of their kith and kin, gathered for dinner on Saturday April the 5th. The event was, as usual, organized by Pat and Maureen Soward and presided over by Pat, an excellent Chairman. We thoroughly enjoyed the company and the ambience. Our journey back the following day, with the help of a rejuvenated Hermione, was a doddle. Left the hotel at 10.20am and caught the 11.00am car ferry.

As Our Ernie's dad said: “Daft, I call it.”
WHAT ELSE?
Oh...yes...The Wright Stuff. 
On Monday 7th of April, St. Patrick's Day, columnist Yasmin Alibhai-Brown, there for the week, appeared in a smart green outfit with matching accessories. It later transpired that (for once in her life) she didn't know what day it was. The following Friday – different colour each day – she wore red to herald Sports Relief weekend. Well informed choice, that. 
If I ran The Independent I'd introduce a new fashion page and ask her to edit it. Well, I'm quite brave long range: think brickbats at one hundred yards.

THE DETECTIVES.

The US paranoia persists.

During the second world war we had good reason to produce propaganda films in this country. We were officially at war with Germany, a martial nation, and our national confidence needed regular boosting. In retrospect, most of those wartime films were farcical, low budget and about as believable as snow in the Sahara. But we accepted them without question. Now, without officially being at war with anyone, the Americans are playing the same farcical propaganda game. Watch any US television drama and you will soon find yourself knee-deep in forebodings about the threat from Iraq (usually pronounced Eye-rack), the remainder of the Middle East, Pakistan, China, Russia and anyone whose accent may be hopelessly mangled by a bit part actor. It is all total tosh of course, but the paranoia persists and, I fear, grows. I so prefer detectives who solve whodunnits and get into punch-ups with crooked cops and hoodlums who are not Russian Mafia heavies. 

Come back Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade, all is forgiven!

AND SO TO THIS MONTH'S FOOTNOTE.

Anonymous John.

Word reached me that Anonymous John Appleton was very much under the weather and I should have phoned him. But I'm not much of a conversationalist on the phone. So I hope you won't mind me taking this opportunity to wish you (and your driveway) a rapid and complete recovery, John. 

Cheers, old mate.