2 (15) So you wait, you wait and wait...

GIRL DON'T COME.

It's a matter of height. 

If I still had the Sandie Shaw recording of Chris Andrews' timeless words it would have been getting a considerable airing of late. The girl from the estate agents did not come for quite some time; even as I was bemoaning the fact, however, she arranged a viewing. The prospective purchasers came, declared the ceilings too low, and went.We have a step-grandson who stands six foot four or more and he never seems to have found the ceilings too low. So there y'go. Hagrid height viewers apart, all is quiet on the property front. Oh, the agents have changed the offending Garage and Parking notice: six footers with good eyesight and a clear head will easily be able to decipher the replacement. WATCHING. 

Funeral of Lorna Kill. 

The usual family gathering. If it ain't the (what seems like) annual gathering at Portchester in Hampshire, it's the alternative one on the Isle of Wight. This year it was the Island's turn. I refer, of course, to the gathering of solemn faces at a Crematorium. Last Monday family members and friends of 'our Lorna' met at the I.W. Crem to pay their final respects to her. My introduction to the proceedings would have been more solemn had Maureen and I not reached the crematorium doorway alongside Mo's nephew Kelvin who, taking in the rapidly filling block of pews on either side of the central aisle, inquired quietly:“Bride or groom?” Nothing that came afterward could follow that. The pious pedantry of a Jehovah service certainly couldn't. Ah well, to each their own. 

THE DETECTIVES. 

CSI: Crime Scene Investigation. 

Season 14 ended in strangely abrupt fashion with Paul Guilfoyle (Captain Jim Brass) finding a measure of realignment with his drug addicted murderous daughter and, presumably, choosing that moment to retire from the police. How many writers did it take to come up with quite such a tame ending? Mr. Guilfoyle (and Jim Brass) deserved better – much better. 

Scott and Bailey. 

Another series end, but this time a tidy, two-part, feel-good finale to the illustrious career of station boss DCI Gill Murray (Amelia Bullmore, who also wrote the scripts).They'll be back and, with any luck, Ms Bullmore will continue to contribute scripts; her on screen presence will be greatly missed. 

THE BOOK WORLD. 

Current reading: I am a chapter or three into Half Bad by Sally Green, Buried For Pleasure, by Edmund Crispin and Moving Pictures by Terry (“A month went by quickly. It didn't want to hang around.”) Pratchett. More next month. It will go by quickly...

LAST SAY. 

Clockomania. It's that bloody hour again. “Fall back in the fall” be damned. Fortunately the weather here has been good and the kids are on half term this week, but I'm now wide awake at six in the morning and probably will be for a couple of months. Why? There's absolutely no need for it. I'll vote for the first politicians who promise to retain British Summer Time forever. Well, there's always a faint chance the lying sods will keep their word. 

Halloween. It's that 'intimidate the old folks' time again. Doors will be hammered and “trick or treat” demands will be made. My Leader has just gone out to buy a load of sweets for the little gangsters. I blame the Americans, but I blame them for just about everything. The Google Halloween icons are fantastic though, aren't they? 

Mobile phone pics. Thanks to Facebook, since Mo's sister's funeral took place, we have been sent - with the best of intentions I know - several pictures taken on mobile phones by family members. Might have been tempted to print one or two of them but we are all older now and I am, maybe, a bit wiser. The last pic to arrive had me looking a bit like an elderly, overweight Peter Dinklage. It was sent by Kelvin Fay's younger brother, Peter. I'm not sure whether I should thank or throttle him. The jury is out. That's enough for this month. Trick or treat!