Post 274. I CAN'T SAY I'M J.K. ROWLING.

WRONG AGE. WRONG SEX. WRONG SHAPE.

And you would know it's not true.
I have been producing this blog for over eleven years and doubt it will attract much more than the regular five or six hundred hits (is that the word?) a month.
I don't expect it to.
It's not as if I'm a convicted felon who has miraculously found God and (surprise surprise) written a book about it, or that I am one of that tiresome tribe of here-today-gone-tonight nonentities hailed as 'a refreshing new voice' by 'experts' in the media, or that I am an unrecognisable reality show person described as 'a celebrity' on television chat/game shows.
It's not as if I can accidentally unveil that I am J.K, Rowling, either.
I'm the wrong age, wrong sex, wrong shape and you would know it's not true.
So, without the support of an agent, or a national newspaper, or regular appearances on television, or a publisher (other than the faceless Silent Bobs on Google) and with only my own name to rely on, I shall probably amble along the same old track ad infinitum, happy in the knowledge that a handful of discerning folk still look in, (internet stalkers - whatever they may be - are fortunately not among them) and that my Leader, together with the faithful few, is constantly supportive.
Good luck with writing two books at once, though, J. K. and respect from someone struggling with the very idea of it.
HOME.
Forwarded emails.
A smile - is a sign of joy.
A hug - is a sign of love.
A laugh - is a sign of happiness
And a friend like me?
Hell...that's just a sign of good taste.
How can anyone resist the sort of message that ends like that?
Glad to report a resurgence in the practice of forwarding allegedly funny emails: they remain few and far between, but are very welcome here.
There has even been the occasional new - or beyond memory - offering.
As a result, old pals like Anonymous John (word reached me that you were a bit off-colour recently, John: know the feeling and hope you are fighting fit again), David, Eamonn, Ian, and brother-in-law Mike, have taken up the torch.
It has mirrored former times and I have enjoyed it. Thanks, buddies.
As for the rest of the social network, I still find Facebook slightly hard going and Twitter wholly avoidable.
My loss, perhaps, but I lose no sleep over it.
The Phoenix Choir (amendment to Post 273).
It has been brought to my attention that mention of the Phoenix Choir making around £29,000 for deserving causes was well short of their collection total to date which, I understand, is now in excess of £38,000.
(Bit of a blip on their website-updating front apparently.)
Ne'er mind:
I was absolutely right with the word Bravo!
TELEVISION.

Maureen usually watches: (and I'll be told off for printing this picture again) about the last two thirds of any series of Strictly Come Dancing. She has always found the early stuff tedious.
She likes Claudia Winkleman and Tess Daly, was bored with Bruce Forsyth long before he left the show and thinks it is about time Anton du Beke got into and won a final.
I don't think Anton's too bothered; surely him not winning is just some twat's idea of 'good tele' again (like Alan Davies always coming last on QI).
As for ol' Bruce, I always thought he made a moderate talent go a very long way.
RIP anyway.
We'll still look in on the next series.

Mo also follows Only Connect with Victoria Coren Mitchell (pictured) and any of the (many since she won Great British Bake Off) programmes featuring Nadiya Hussain. 
She enjoys many reality shows that I don't: I couldn't care less whether or not some spoilt young woman in America says 'yes' to a dress. 
Together we watched Game of Thrones series 7 to its exciting conclusion and it will need no spoiler warning (read any newspaper) if I mention that Littlefinger, superbly played by Aidan Gillen, finally got his comeuppance at the hands of the Stark girls - a lovely twist in the tale! I gather that series 8 (next year or the year after) will be the last ever.
We have seen the first two Strike: The Cuckoo's Calling episodes on BBC1. The last of the three part series will be shown next Sunday at 9pm.
It is cheerfully well cast, gloomily ill-lit and I like it. I don't know whether Mo really does. Married to me she gets more than enough tele detective stuff.
You can't always like the same things.
It wouldn't be human.
But the pair of us do jointly avoid (Celebrity?)Big Brother, (Celebrity?) MasterChef, and The Jeremy Kyle Show.
Well, you have to retain some self-respect don't you.
Don't you?
Ah well.
READING.

I am still only half way through
Career of Evil, the third of Robert Galbraith's Strike detective stories.
That I am taking so long to read it is more down to age (mine) than any failure on the author's part to engage me. 
If I have a fault to find it is with those critics who delight in describing these very British tales as Chandleresque.
Have the buggers actually read any of Raymond Chandler's half a dozen or so Philip Marlowe stories? Or any of Dashiell Hammett's hard-boiled (Sam Spade etc.) detective yarns or even, recently, Robert B. Parker's Jessie Stone stuff?
We don't do them in this country.
Peter Cheyney tried hard with his Lemmy Caution and Slim Callaghan offerings, but I don't think he ever quite made it. 
Keep reading, though, whatever your taste.  

Post 273. DON'T LOOK FOR 272.

IT WAS 271 (b).
Computer simplification. 

Last month I turned out a blog post that was too long to suit Google's length of publications policy, if such a thing exists. Whatever.
Every time I set the post up for publication I was frustrated by the squeezed-up-words syndrome (which I am sure I have bemoaned before so won't bore you with again): upshot was the division of post 271 into two posts a) and b) which finally wangled me through the publishing process.
Google then rightly surmised that 272 blog posts had been published and will persist in reminding me so whenever I visit my Blogger posts list.
It's computer simplification, buddies.
Figures are figures and letters are letters and never the twain shall meet.
So that's why this is Post 273.
No, don't lose your temper; count to ten (a?)  HOME.
Here's a little buddy.

Daughter Roz has this little Buddy and a couple of perky kittens, Spike and Angel, in her world now.
The animals are mischievous and charming and she, along with Jess and Ellis, is delighted with them.
I asked the cat Shadow whether he would like me to find him two or three junior companions. "What?" he said. "More food? Bigger vets bills? Don't be daft. You can't afford me."
Tact has no place in his CV.
Inspired by Wight Art Exhibition.

Our daughter-in-law, Pauline Barnden (click on picture for gallery view), will be one of the artists with work on display at Ventnor Botanic Gardens, August 20 - 28.
Daphne Ellman, Anne Toase, Margaret Plant, Susana Watts and Carolyne Viney are fellow artists with work on show at this popular annual event.
A good afternoon out.
Parking is free and there is no entrance fee.
There's a decent cafe, too.
The Phoenix Choir, Isle of Wight. 

Maureen has been a follower of this highly successful Island choir (formed in April 2009 at Wootton Bridge) for a couple of years or so and, to my loss, up until this month I had declined all invitations to go with her to their concerts.
She went with her pal, Mo.
However, last Saturday evening (12th August) the choir was booked to appear at East Cowes Town Hall, just down the road from us, and (after all the positive publicity from my Leader, including the gift of their sell-out CD) I was persuaded to abandon my reclusive tendency and go with her to see them.
What followed was a typical Isle of Wight night out: you meet nice folk you have not seen for years, are reminded again how small the island is, and reflect how wretchedly short-sighted you are not to get out more often.
The choir, directed by its founder Robin Burnett, did not disappoint.
Their programme, varying from Cohen's Hallelujah to the traditional Men of Harlech, was performed with a confidence that would have brought joy to the heart of Gareth Malone and certainly brightened mine. Sadly their final two numbers had to be cancelled when one of the singers was taken ill and an ambulance was summoned. It looked as though the singer (a lady) would be taken to hospital: the ambulance was still standing by when, with apologies, the audience was asked to leave.
I have since learned that the lady concerned was taken to hospital where, fortunately, nothing untoward was found. When musical director Robin Burnett spoke to her the following day she was much improved. Just heat exhaustion perhaps, but very worrying for her and all around her.
Our good wishes go to the lady, and our thanks for an (only slightly shortened) evening of uplifting music go to the entire choir.
Performing under their banner "From Pavarotti to Presley" these splendid amateur singers have already raised close on £29,000 for deserving causes.
What more can one say?
Bravo!