HOME.
My Leader and I.
Celebrated
our fifty sixth
wedding anniversary this month (this gloriously inept selfie - curse
technology - was taken today).
On the day there were four cards on our mantelpiece. One from each other, one from friends Sheila and John Appleton (married the year after us) and one from friends Jean and Ian Dillow (married two years after us).
I think we all got hitched in September: it had something to do with trying to beat that group of governmental gangsters the Inland Revenue.
We never did. (See PAYE.)
Truth is you need expensive lawyers, costly accountants, friends in parliament, and £billions in offshore bank accounts, to successfully avoid taxation. Working people cannot escape the enforcers of the state's legalized extortion.
Just don't tell me they shouldn't want to.
Birthday month.
My eighty eighth birthday drifted by in a blessing of bright sunshine and, from a variety of nice people, more expressions of love and goodwill than I ever expected. Thank you, my dears. Mo, who writes the majority of our cards to friends and relatives nowadays, mentioned early on that September is far and away the busiest of her months for sending them.
I thought about it for a second or two, then said: “I think most of us born that month were somebody's Christmas present, love.”
She liked that.
Family health.
Roz had her third session of chemotherapy, suffered the expected side effects, plus the pain of a pulled muscle, and has been far from well.
Jess has had a heavy cold and spent the week with her father to avoid endangering her mother's delicate health condition; she went home only to give Roz the daily injection. I believe she is back full time now.
Son Neil, too, had a stinker of a cold.
No matter how good the weather is, it's autumn and it's the UK and you can't escape cold germs.
They're a bit like the Inland Revenue.
TELEVISION.
Killing
Eve (BBC1) which we saw as a
box set (it is still showing weekly), had us decidedly quizzical from
beginning to end.
Sandra Oh, Jodie Comer and Co. are splendid and I believe there is another series on the way. I shan't be waiting too eagerly, but better that than another crap reality show.
The Great British Bake Off 2018
Channel 4 deserves one of the few hand shakes I would proffer to reality television.
This series features the customary cast of self-satisfied overseers and quaking contestants. It apparently took place in last summer's heatwave, too.
What's not to like?
Mystery Road (BBC4) has a strong cast and outback locations. Other than that it does nothing whatsoever for the Australian tourist industry.
Bodyguard (BBC1). So I was wrong.
Jed Mercurio did kill off Keeley Hawes two thirds of the way through the series. I hope she was paid for all six episodes.
I thought the thumb-taped-to-bomb bit was the comedy session of the year.
D'you think the idea might be adapted to use on those tiresome buggers who spend hours a day texting on their mobile phones?
Don't text me about it now.
Next month, perhaps.
Till then, drive carefully
- without texting!
My Leader and I.
On the day there were four cards on our mantelpiece. One from each other, one from friends Sheila and John Appleton (married the year after us) and one from friends Jean and Ian Dillow (married two years after us).
I think we all got hitched in September: it had something to do with trying to beat that group of governmental gangsters the Inland Revenue.
We never did. (See PAYE.)
Truth is you need expensive lawyers, costly accountants, friends in parliament, and £billions in offshore bank accounts, to successfully avoid taxation. Working people cannot escape the enforcers of the state's legalized extortion.
Just don't tell me they shouldn't want to.
Birthday month.
My eighty eighth birthday drifted by in a blessing of bright sunshine and, from a variety of nice people, more expressions of love and goodwill than I ever expected. Thank you, my dears. Mo, who writes the majority of our cards to friends and relatives nowadays, mentioned early on that September is far and away the busiest of her months for sending them.
I thought about it for a second or two, then said: “I think most of us born that month were somebody's Christmas present, love.”
She liked that.
Family health.
Roz had her third session of chemotherapy, suffered the expected side effects, plus the pain of a pulled muscle, and has been far from well.
Jess has had a heavy cold and spent the week with her father to avoid endangering her mother's delicate health condition; she went home only to give Roz the daily injection. I believe she is back full time now.
Son Neil, too, had a stinker of a cold.
No matter how good the weather is, it's autumn and it's the UK and you can't escape cold germs.
They're a bit like the Inland Revenue.
TELEVISION.
Sandra Oh, Jodie Comer and Co. are splendid and I believe there is another series on the way. I shan't be waiting too eagerly, but better that than another crap reality show.
The Great British Bake Off 2018
Channel 4 deserves one of the few hand shakes I would proffer to reality television.
This series features the customary cast of self-satisfied overseers and quaking contestants. It apparently took place in last summer's heatwave, too.
What's not to like?
Mystery Road (BBC4) has a strong cast and outback locations. Other than that it does nothing whatsoever for the Australian tourist industry.
Bodyguard (BBC1). So I was wrong.
Jed Mercurio did kill off Keeley Hawes two thirds of the way through the series. I hope she was paid for all six episodes.
I thought the thumb-taped-to-bomb bit was the comedy session of the year.
D'you think the idea might be adapted to use on those tiresome buggers who spend hours a day texting on their mobile phones?
Don't text me about it now.
Next month, perhaps.
