Post 257. NOT MUCH OF A YEAR.

 JUST HAVE A GOOD CHRISTMAS.

Apropos age.
My Leader recently remarked, when I was ranting about some (probably innocuous) thing or another, that she hoped I would never suffer from dementia because that would make me quite impossible to deal with.
She was right.
Age has not mellowed me nor the years contained. Dylan Thomas would never have exhorted me: "Do not go gentle into that good night."
I sometimes wonder why. I think I'm an affable enough old guy. Could it just be peevish senility? I hope not: don't particularly rue growing old; have always considered it better than the alternative.
It is not personal involvement in the almighty mess brought about by us and other interfering nations in the Middle East, either: our country only sells the cluster bombs, nobody is raining them down on us yet. And it is not seasonal affective disorder, that's for sure: thus far the season here has been delightfully unwintry.
So what, then?
Could it be because, insidiously, many of the things I have always taken for granted have either changed or disappeared?
The UK financially owes a bloody fortune to the world and his wife (don't ask who or what is to blame for that). The last of the mines has closed. The steel business is drifting away. Many respected family concerns have gone. Branch banks and shops long since went to the wall. The post office has become a counter in the local grocery store and the car industry is mostly in foreign hands.
Or could it be more to do with the niggling upsurge of foul-mouthed 'attitude' that seems to have crept into this nation since the twenty first century began?
Whatever it is:
I don't like it Which means I shall do what I invariably do when I don't like something and have nobody I can reasonably blame for it: I shall blame gun totin' America, the land of the rising lawsuit.
Well it really hasn't been much of a year, has it.
As happens when you are old:
Several personally cherished people have died and others have required hospital treatment for cancer. At least a couple of the latter are responding very favourably to current treatment and they, praise be, will surely have A Merry Christmas.
I can only wish the same to you and combine with it the wish that you will have A Happy New Year.

Whether I am back before then:
Will depend on how immersed I have become in the rewriting of my long ago shelved children's book The Badgers of Deep Wood and whether, simultaneously, I have begun work on a crime story containing at least one character I have been promising introduction to the printed word for over seventy years.
Go carefully!
There are a lot of clowns out there.

 

  


 

Post 256. ANOTHER LOOK AT i.

A NEWSPAPER OF EDITORS.

 Former, current and future.
As I must have mentioned sometime in the past - repetition becomes a sadly boring norm nowadays - I have been a reader of i since the first 20p edition in October 2010. It now costs 50p daily throughout the week and 60p on Saturday.
So is it still a worthwhile buy?
To my mind, yes; though, for my sins, I have always preferred good writing to political bullshit and this baby of The Independent seems to have survived its first six years (1) by being a model of good writing and (2) by refusing to pursue any particular party line. As an admirer of good journalism and a political non-believer, that suits me.
The first editor of the paper was Simon Kelner and he is still a regular i columnist. He was followed as editor by Stefano Hatfield in 2011 and the current incumbent, Oliver Duff, in 2013.
Stefano (who is now global editorial director at John Brown Media – a huge job I imagine), continues to make a small (about 500 words) contribution every Monday. Oliver's daily Letter from the Editor  
is now a master class in democracy in that it is often written by the Assistant Editor, Deputy Editor, Political Editor, Chief Reporter, i Correspondent or an Expert in one thing or another. I enjoy all that and just can't wait for the views of i's Hyde Park Corner expert, Piccadilly At Midnight expert, Posh Penthouse Toffs expert, or (and I might even offer my own services for this) Fulminating Old Farts expert.
In addition to the above mentioned cadre of journalistic luminaries, the illustrious Andreas Whittam Smith (original editor of The Independent) and the ubiquitous Janet Street Porter (former editor of just about everything) contribute regular articles to the paper.
The joy of this grand editorial line-up is that none of them fits the screenwriter Danny Brocklehurst's wonderful description of an unseen editor in the TV series Exile: “He couldn't write fuck on a dusty blind.” Any of this lot could and, given a dusty blind as the sole outlet for their talent, probably would (with the obvious exclusion of the lofty Sir Andreas of course).
This much is for sure: had I been a journalist working for any one of 'em I'd have made sure I went back with a good story - even if I'd had to rob a bloody bank myself.
So why have I taken another look at i now?
Well, the newspaper world has been in such disarray since Murdoch scuppered Fleet Street that I wonder how much longer BRITAIN'S FIRST AND ONLY CONCISE QUALITY TITLE can survive.
Gone are the days when the likes of William “Cassandra” Connor wrote a column in the Daily Mirror for thirty years (broken only by his four years in the army during WW2).
Now it seems more likely to be:
here today...television presenting or the dole queue tomorrow.
There was a time when I, like those awful never-made-it mothers who pushed their kids into the Hollywood circus, would have been delighted to see any of my children get a job in journalism. As it turned out, my two daughters are in teaching and my son in graphic art. Life in their professions is currently uncertain; a career in journalism now seems even more so. Personally there is no regret that the journalistic life eluded me, either. I have my cherished NHS pension. Had I been a newspaper employee my pension would probably have been pinched by Robert Maxwell.
Good luck to all at the little i newspaper anyway. I'll keep buying you daily for as long as you're there and I can afford you. Never have indulged in the annual tickets thingy; I'd have lost the lot in a week around here.
Should have published this post yesterday: forgot there are only thirty days in November. 
All being well, back before Christmas.
Mind how you go. 
    

Post 255. A SOUND OF THUNDER.

 

RAY BRADBURY PREDICTED IT.
And was only thirty nine years out.

So we woke up this morning to the news that during the night the hunter Eckels panicked, ran off the levitating path and crushed a butterfly. That fine writer the late Ray Bradbury had him do that in 2055, but Mr. Bradbury was writing in 1952 so for him to be only thirty nine years out was a pretty damned good prediction. If you've not read the short story A Sound of Thunder look it up on Wiki - and for Deutscher think Trump.
Christ, America! Is there no limit to your paranoia? TELEVISION.
In wake of that election.

The Walking Dead (FOX TV UK) American actor Jeffrey Dean Morgan (above) should be feeling rather pleased with himself. His fellow countrymen have just voted a fat, big-mouthed Negan into the White House. (No doubt the FBI will find somewhere to hide the barbed wire bedecked baseball bat when he gets there.)
Poldark finished its run on BBC One. We watched it. A splendid cast of British actors did their best with an old-fashioned and at times wickedly unacceptable story line. It will be back next year. The Level, also blessed with an excellent cast, came and went on ITV and
Paranoid (ITV), with a superb British-German team of actors, finishes tomorrow night.
I can only repeat my oft-repeated lament: on television I like plays, drama and thrillers, with actors honestly being someone else. I do not like  reality rubbish where 'real' people are dishonestly being themselves.
HOME.
My Leader does not believe the cat Shadow said any of the things I attributed to him last month. She thinks I made the lot up. When I told him what she thought he just shrugged. (How does he do that?)

   All for now.     

Post 254. BEWARE A CONTEMPLATIVE CAT.

FURTHER RECONSIDERATION.
The cat Shadow yawned.

"I've been thinking about it and it lacks subtlety," he said.
"What does?" I enquired with all the naivety of one who really should know better.
"Your new faeces thingy title," he said. "It ain't subtle, it ain't particularly clever and it ain't appropriate to most of what you write."
"And you, of course, have thought up something better," I sniffed.
"As a matter of fact I have," he replied. "Something much better."
I was nettled: "All right, clever dick, spit it out."
"You should call it Watching From The Cat's Eyes," he said, and eyed me expectantly.
"Oh, come on," I grumbled. "You want me to put your eyes in the title now?"
He grinned: "No, not mine y'daftie, the ones in the road; the cat's eyes old Percy Shaw patented."
I blinked; wondered how he came to know the name of an eccentric Yorkshireman whose brilliant invention must have saved millions of lives; concluded I need not ask; said: "O.K. I'm interested. What's your reasoning?"
"Well cat's eyes sees all the passing traffic, don't they?" he said and, before I could reply, hurried on: "But they sees it in a special way: they don't just take in the facade, they sees the muck underneath. I reckon you mostly sees things that way, too."
What a cunning old cat. If you want to convince a man, flatter him.
"Hmm. You could be right," I found myself saying, "but the title really has only just been changed, hasn't it..."
"Never mind that," he interrupted impatiently. "If you're not happy with it, change it again."
"I think this is more a case of you not being happy with it," I said. "I'm only concerned that the nice people who usually look in might get fed up with all this mucking about and give up altogether, or just not be able to find it."
"The word Watching will find it," he said airily. "And don't underestimate the nice people: they might wonder what the hell you're up to, but they'll not be too bothered by the trivia of changing titles. They've had to put up with that bloody pair in the American Presidential campaign for weeks. Anything's an improvement on that."
"You've convinced me," I said. "In November I'll change the title to Watching From The Cat's Eyes."
"Good for you," he said.
On his head be it.
TELEVISION.
I watched:
The last ever Great British Bake Off on the BBC. Doubt I'll ever watch Bake Off again. 
The Walking Dead: season seven, first episode, was almost as vicious as the American Presidential campaign. I may never watch Walkers again, either.
What?
Oh, none of us will be able to avoid watching that bloody pair in America.
What are they thinking about over there?
In the meantime, over here next month I'll be

       WATCHING FROM THE CAT'S EYES

 
 

Post 253. WHEN THE WHAT HITS THE FAN?

SO MUCH FOR CHANGE.

The cat Shadow gave me a disparaging look. (How does he do that?)
"When the faeces hits the fan?" he snorted. "Don't you mean when the shit hits the fan?"
"Well, that may be the common quotation," I said starchily, "but in order to avoid upsetting your delicate cat sensibilities I thought a little light alliteration appropriate."
"Bollocks," he said.
So much for delicate.
So much for change.
TELEVISION.
Sleuths, Spies and Sorcerers: Andrew Marr's Paperback Heroes. (BBC Four)
Based on the first of the series, Mr. Marr's lectures about how detective fiction works are going to be cheerfully predictable. If you are someone of my age and background you may be disappointed that the likes of Margery Allingham (who wrote about the enigmatic Albert Campion) and Ngaio Marsh (with her highly unlikely Inspector Roderick Alleyn and his patronizing artist wife, Agatha Troy) were not considered.
All four of the Queens of Crime (the above pair together with Dame Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers) were purveyors of genteel British snobbery neatly wrapped up as classic whodunit.
My dad and I always preferred detective yarns with a bit more action: writers like John G. Brandon, John Creasey, Leslie Charteris, Raymond Chandler, David Hume and even dear old Berkely Gray aka Victor Gunn (usually chosen by me from the tuppence-a-book lending library), comprised most of our reading list throughout the early nineteen forties.
We were English working class males. The genteel really was not us.    
READING.

Have read two more of M.C. Beaton's Agatha Raisin stories: The Wizard of Evesham and The Witch of Wyckhadden and am halfway through The Fairies of Fryfam. Easy reading while the Windows 8 underwent further modification following the sudden departure of my entire email records including Saved.
Aren't computers a bloody nuisance sometimes?
Ne'er mind, I would probably have overlooked these pleasant little Beaton murder mysteries if Steve, the local computer guru, hadn't taken off for a week with the offending machine. C'est la vie.
HOME.
A birthday treat.
For my 86th birthday last month the family treated me to a neat little 5-in-1 Steepletone music centre. It replaced the piece of equipment I most missed after we moved here last year, my old Aiwa, which was a sad victim of the removal.

 Thank you, my dears, this new little gem works wonderfully and is much appreciated.
That's all for now.
   

     

 

 

 

 

Post 252. ANOTHER CHANGE.

JUST A FEW WORDS.

Regarding this blog. 

Once, at a charity organisation meeting no less, I

found myself sitting beside a gent who had been 

very successful in business and had handed 

on a flourishing enterprise to his sons when he

retired. 

A major factor in the perpetuation of a 

thriving business, he told me, is change: without 

change even the most secure concern will die. 

So, to offset my abject failure in the parallel blog

stakes (see post 251), I have determined to do

again what I did way back when this blog was 

The Oldies (and have considered doing a couple of

times since), change the heading for something a 

bit less Elvis Costello (below) than Watching the 

Detectives. 

"Why oh why?" you may cry aloud, if 

you are the sort of person who instinctively 

questions such trivia or routinely contacts Points 

of View. 

Well...

"Because I can" is no longer an acceptably cliche'd

response and: 

"Because I seldom watch detectives on tele now"

would be a less than honest one. 

Fact is I have only recently 

read ol' Elvis's Watching the Detectives lyrics. 

Whatever he was on at the time, good luck to 

him. It passed me by. My loss I suspect. 

But, in keeping with the need for change, from 

next month this blog will be headed Den  

Barnden: watching when the faeces hits the fan. 

That's change enough for me.

READING. 

Terry Pratchett. Finished The Fifth Elephant

which was right up to the usual Sir Tel standard. 

My money was on the right side, too. If you've 

not read it, it's well worth the trip to your local 

bookshop or library.

TELEVISION. 

Mostly we have been immersed in the sort of 

drop-off-to-sleep stuff that sedate lower middle 

class folk are expected to watch: i.e. nothing too 

foul-mouthed, violent, or hide-behind-the-sofa. 

We have been watching The Great British Bake 

Off and George Clarke's Amazing Spaces [which

can both be a bit close to the knuckle] and my 

Leader is fascinated by Say Yes To The Dress 

which, I believe, is a hive of effin' and blindin.' 

Strictly Come Dancing is back now, too. Is there 

no end to the utter depravity of it all? 

Me? I like Beck (BBC Four) a Swedish detective 

who talks in his own language and has English 

subtitles. Even at my doziest that keeps me awake.

FOOTBALL - as at Post 2(45).

What football? 

What hope now?

You bloody fool. 

THAT'S IT.

All being well, back next month as 

DEN BARNDEN: WATCHING WHEN THE 

FAECES HITS THE FAN. 

Post 251. YEAH, BRACKETS GONE.

GOT FED UP WITH 'EM.

Among other things.

Aware that Google has a plethora of New Blog styles for the entrenched old blogger to adopt, I have (believe it or not) had another abortive shot at adding a new title to run alongside Watching the Detectives. I fell at the first stile. Domains and blog addresses and all that guff totally bemuse me. I was, as I have boringly reiterated ad infinitum, a working class elementary (formerly Poor Law school) schoolboy who, following a couple of relatively untaught war years in blitzed Portsmouth (above), moved twenty miles along the coast in 1941 at precisely the right time to sit and fail the eleven plus in unblitzed Bognor Regis. So it is pointless talking New Blog or anything computer clever to me. I still think of a default as a failure to act and a domain as land owned or governed.To the distinct disapproval of certain PC acquaintances, I also think the press-ganging of the word gay to describe homosexuals was a desecration of the English language that should have been referred to the European Court of Human Rights and all who sail in her.
Anyway, I have never aspired to be a clever clogs, abhor those who think they are and, unless one who really is comes along, shall probably be stuck with this blog format until I jack it in altogether or kick the bucket. Ne'er mind, eh. 

HOME.

Two of ours, Neil and Pauline, went on holiday this week. Cornwall. 

On the way their car overheated and, expelling steam from every mechanical orifice, they pulled off onto the motorway hard shoulder to park behind a similarly stricken motor home. 

Had the owners any water they could spare? 

Sorry. No. Right out. 

They phoned their breakdown service. 

Then the man from the motor home appeared with a container of water. He had emptied his toilet cistern. (Aren't some people gems?) 

Would they like to use this? They would. 

And, with profuse thanks, they were off again. 

Eventually, an anticipated three hour journey took them eight hours. 

As if that was not enough, the following day Neil pulled out onto the A390 in front of a car indicating it was going to turn into the road he was leaving. The car came straight on. 

Thank the gods nobody was killed. The oncoming driver suffered whiplash. Pauline was physically unhurt. Neil sustained a broken finger. 

Their car was a write off: they bought an updated version of the same make at the garage where their wrecked vehicle was taken. 

What a start to a holiday. 

Full report and the comments of friends on Nobby Barnden - Facebook. 

He's not a bad writer, either. 

Maybe one day he'll finish that book.
TELEVISION.

Nothing changes much. 

We still have photogenic young presenters showing picky publicity seekers how much they could buy, abroad or in the sticks, for the million quid they obtained when they sold their single bedroom flat in London. 

Maybe one in fifty ends up buying something: just don't hold your breath. 

I see these programmes as the property equivalent of daytime cookery and antiques shows; cheaply made rubbish for the elderly and retired. 

The Wright Stuff. Ol' Matthew's morning chat show still attracts enough regular and gotta-spare-week celebrities to adorn the panel alongside the customary line-up of book-pluggers and Channel 5 reality show unknowns. 

He still cuts off any phone-in who disagrees with him, unexpectedly transforms into Anne Diamond or Richard Madely whenever the fishing line beckons, and takes every opportunity to bitch about the BBC. 

Na-a-ah. Nothing changes much.

I may even be back at the end of the month.

2 (50) !ndex 5. Posts 2(01) - 2(49)

Abduraimov, Behzod: (49) 
Alan, Ray and Lord Charles: (41) Alexander, Sasha: (13) Alibhai-Brown, Yasmin: (2)(5)(12)(16)(17)(19)(33) Allsopp, Kirsty:(13) Alsop, Marin: (49) 
Andrews, Chris (15) Appleton, Alistair(13) Appleton, Anonymous John: (5)(7) Appleton, Sheila: (7) Argerich, Martha: (49) Armstrong, Neil: (27) Ashman, Kevin: (7) Askey, Arthur: (43) Attenborough, Richard: (11) Ayres, Pam: (22) Bacall, Lauren: (11) Baker, Hylda: (43) Baker, Simon: (4)(6) Baksi, Arun: (47) Baksi, Bettina: (47) Baksi, John and Ana: (47) Bald-Headed-Barber: (27) Barclay,Linwood (35) Barenboim, Daniel: (49) Barnden, Jac: (2)(26)(38)Barnden, Lilian (my mother)(40) Barnden,Maureen:(2)(7)(14)(18)(22)(24)(26)(27)(28)(31)(34)(42)(44)(45)(47)(48) Barnden, Neil: (2)(7)(8)(18)(26)(29) Barnden, Pauline: (2)(7)(9)(29)(48) Barnden, Roz: (2)(6)(12)(22)(29)(30)(37)(46) Barnden, William (my father): (24)Beatles, The: (26)(30) Beaton, M.C. (23)(27)Berezovsky, Boris: (16) Bevin, Ernie: (39) Blair, Tony:(6)(39)(40) Blethyn, Brenda: (6)(23) Bliss, Julian: (16)Bodnia, Kim: (2) Bolton, Michael: (41) Bowie, David:(38) Boyd-Kerr, Maxie: (14) Boyd-Kerr, Raff: (14) Boyd-Kerr, Ruby: (14) Blake, William: (48) Brian (Bro.): (20)(21) Brown, Gordon: (6)(13)(40) Brown, Sgt:(10) Brydon, Rob: (25) Bugg, Jake: (41) Bull, Dr.David: (16) Bullmore, Amelia:(15) Burghley, Lord: (10) Burrell, Ian:(33) Bush, George: (6) 
Butler, Philip: (46) Byrne Gabriel:(7) Callaghan, James: (32) Calleja,Joseph (25) Cameron, David: (40)(45) Capaldi, Peter:(35) Carson. Frank: (43) Caveizel, Jim: (4)Chamberlain,Neville:(36) Christie, Agatha: (2) Churchill, Winston:(13)(22)(48) Clarke, George: (16) Clarkson, Jeremy:(6)(20) Collins, Nick: (6)(29) Colman, Olivia: (2)(4)(19)Connolly, Billy: (14) Conrad, Joseph: (49) Considine,Paddy: (12) Cooper, Jilly: (47) Cooper, Tommy: (43) Cowan, Jerome: (7) Coward, Noel: (18) Cox, Jo: (44) Crawford, Michael: (41) Cricket, Jimmy: (43) Cripps,Sir Stafford: (18) Crispin, Edmund: (13)(15)(16)Crooks, Richard: (41) Crosby, Bing: (41) Cumberbatch,Benedict: (2) Curry, Edwina: (39) Curtis, Richard: (16)Dan the man: (5) Danson, Ted: (9) Dausgaard Thomas: (49) Davis, Warwick: (47) Dayer, Ellis: (29)(37)(38) Delaney, Dana: (13)(16) Diana, Princess: (39) Dickson, Paul: (37) Dillow, Ian: (30)(38)(42)(49) Dillow,Jean: (42) Dinklage, Peter: (15) Disraeli, Benjamin:(36) Dobson, Anita: (28) Dodd, Ken: (43) Douglas,Barry: (41) Doyle, Arthur Conan: (2) Donat, Robert: (3) Donna (SMH): (28) Dormer, Richard: (19) Douglas,hamster: (7) (8) Dudgeon, Neil: (37) Duff, Oliver: (2) Durante, Jimmy: (41) Eccleston, Christopher: (19)(25) Eden, Anthony: (22) Ellis, grandson: (see Dayer).Emerson, Michael: (4) English, Arthur: (17)(43) Evans, Chris: (47) Falco, Edie: (35)Farage, Nigel: (6)Farndon, Zoe: (7) Fay, Kelvin: (7)(15) Fay, Peter: (15) Felton, Tom: (20)(21) Ferguson, Sarah: (25) Ferrier, Kathleen: (41) Fields, Gracie: (20) Flanagan and Allen: (20) Formby, George: (20) Fowler, Daphne: (7) Fox, Laurence: (14) Freeman, Martin: (2)(23) Front, Rebecca: (14) Galbraith, Robert: (3)(11) Gambon, Michael: (19) Gergiev, Valery (49) Gibson, Sian: (25) Gigli, Beniamino: (41) Giuntoli, David: (35) Glen, Iain: (7) Goode, Richard: (16) Gove, Michael: (45) Grabol, Sophie: (19) Grayson, Larry: (43) Grecian, Alex: (3)(7) Green, Sally: (15)(16) Guilfoyle, Paul: (9)(15) Guitary, George: (41) Hall, Lee: (16) Hamilton, Andy: (14) Hammond, Dame Joan: (41) Handley, Tommy: (43) Hannah, buddy (see Woods). Hansen, Alan: (9) Hare, David: (4) Harmon, Angie: (13) Harmon, Mark: (4) Harold, (Bro.): (20)(21)(22)(49) Harrison, Bill: (48) Harrison, Kath: (48) Hatfield, Stefano: (2)(33) Hawes Keeley: (4) Hayward, Sir Richard: (31) Heath, Ted: (30)(32) Hebdo, Charlie: (18) Helin, Sofia: (2) Henshall, Douglas: (4) Hodgson, Roy: (28)(45) Holder, Noddy: (23)(26) Hollander, Tom: (2)(4) Hollies, The: (41) Horne, Kenneth: (43) Horton, Rima: (25) Howerd, Frankie: (43) Hudson, Jules: (13)Hughes, Chris: (7) Hurley, Graham: (2) Hurst, Lee: (19) Ingle, Red:(41)Jagger, Mick: (27) James, Jimmy: (43) James,

P.D. (11) Jansen, Janine: (16) Jason, David(23) Jenkin, Guy: (14) Jess, granddaughter (see White) Johnson, Amy: (20) Johnson, Boris: (40)(45) Johnson, Lynn: (10) Jones, Aled: (13) Jones, Owen:(2) Jones, Suranne: (13) Jones, Rhodri: (2) Jones,Toby: (49)Jupp, Miles: (8) Kang, Tim: (4) Kay, Peter:(25)(43) Kelly, Dr. David: (40) Kelner, Simon: (2)(33)Kennedy, J.F. (26) Kennedy, Nigel: (25)(41) Kent, James: (2) Kill, Lorna: (14)(15) King, Ashya: (11)(12)King, Brett: (12) King Edward VIII (20) King, Naghmeh: (12) Kingston, Alex: (14) Kitchen, Michael: (18) Kuusisto, Pekka: (49) Laine, Frankie: (30) Lancashire, Sarah: (7) 
Lang,Maria (12) Lawson, Denis:(11) Lennon, John: (30) Lennox, Annie: (41) 
Leverton, Sarah-Jayne: (4) Lincoln, Andrew: (35)

Longbottom, Neville:(3) Lovegood, Luna:(3) Lowe, David (6) Lympany, Dame Moura: (41) Lyndhurst,Nicholas: (11) Macintire, Ben: (27)(28)(29) Major,John: (39) Mann; Michael, Rachel and Steve: (38) Malcolm X: (27) Mandelson, Peter: (39) Marsh, Ngaio:(11) Martin, Dean: (41) Martino, Al: (41) Maugham, Somerset: (38) Maxie (see Boyd-Kerr).May, Theresa:(45) McCallum, David: (18) McCartney, Paul: (30)McCloud, Kevin: (13) McKenzie, Julia: (2) McKinnon,Gary: (14) McLachlan, Craig: (16) Mercurio, Jed: (4) Merman, Ethel: (41) Minghella, Anthony: (25) Mowlam, Mo: (39) Monroe, Marilyn: (26) Montero, Gabriela: (49) Morecombe, Eric: (43) Morpurgo, Michael: (16) Morris, Chester: (7) Morris, Aubrey: (27) Morris, Wolfe: (27) Mountbatten, Lord: (32)Murphy, Cillian: (16) Murray, Andy: (46) Mussolini, Benito:(4) Nettles, John: (37) Newman, G.F. (4) Newton. A.F.H. (10) Nighy, Bill: (4) Nilsson, Harry: (41) Norman, Matthew: (33) Norton, Graham: (32) Novotni, Tuva: (13) Nurmi. Paavo: (10) Nurse, Denise: (13) O'Donnell, Alison: (4) Outhwaite, Tamzin: (11) Owens, Jessie: (10) Paisley, Ian: (13) Parker, Robert B. (7) Platt, Ken: (43) Plomley, Roy:(41) Powell, Sandy: (43) Pratchett, Terry: (7)(11)(13)(15(16)(19)(20)(23)(26)(27)(28)(29)(35)(37)(48)(49) Preziosi, Alessandro: (4) Prince Philip:(7) Putin, Vladimir: (4) Queen Elizabeth II (7)(20) Rankin, Ian: (2)(37) Ratner, Gerald: (32) Redgrave, Vanessa:(2) Rickman, Alan (25)(38) Robertson, Steven: (4) Robeson, Paul: (41) Rowling, J.K. (3)(19)(32)(48) Russell, Christine: (24) Russell, Christopher: (24) Salmond, Alex: (12) Selleck, Tom: (4) Sewell, Brian: (18) Shadow, the cat: (3)(4)(5)(6)(7)(9)(11)(14)(16)(18)(26)(28)(29)(31)(38)(45)(46)(47) Sharp, Lesley: (13) Shearsmith, Reece: (14) Shinwell, Manny: (39) Smart, Callum: (41) Smith, Andreas Whittam: (2) Smith, Maggie: (32) Snow, Dan: (28) Soward, Maureen: (5)(20) (Soward, Pat: (5)(20) Spall, Timothy: (4) Speer, Hugo: (19) Spencer, Phil: (13) Spielberg, Steven: (16) Stafford, Jo: (41) Steel, Mark: (2) Steph, reporter: (7) Stott, Ken: (2) Streisand, Barbra: (41) Sutcliffe, Tom: (2) Tanel, HD (18) Tauber, Richard: (41) Taylor, Robert: (4) Tennant, David: (19) Thatcher, Margaret: (13)(20)(32)(33)(34)(39) Thorne, Jack: (48) Tomkinson, Stephen: (20) Toogood, Willis: (22) True-May, Brian: (32) Tucci, Stanley: (19) Tunney, Robin: (4)(6) Turner, J.M.W. (48) Twiggy: (27) Urry, Marg: (48) Urry, Mike: (48) Van Dyke, Dick: (18) Vogt, Lars: (41) Wainwright, Sally: (7) Waite, Ralph: (3) Walker-Smith, Derek: (26) Walsh, John: (14) Walters, Julie: (21) Warren, Marc: (23) Warrington, Don: (14) Waterman, Dennis: (11) Wayne, John: (4) Weeks, Honeysuckle: (18) Whately, Kevin: (10)(14) White, Jessica Daisy Patricia (granddaughter) (6)(13) Whistler, James: (48) Whitfield, David: (41) Who, The: (41) Williams, John: (41) Williams, Kenneth (43) Williams, Robin: (11) Wilson, Harold: (6)(32) Wilton, Penelope: (49) Wise, Ernie: (43) Wogan, Terry: (38) Wood, Victoria: (17)Wooderson, Sydney: (10) Woods, Hannah: (34) Wright, Matthew: (16) Yes: (41) Young, Kirsty: (41) Zingaretti, Luca: (10)

N.B. INDEXES: 
(1) Post 131(2) Post 151(3) Post 175
(4) Post 200 (b)