Post 330. TOO HOT TO WRITE.

SUFFERING SUMMER ENNUI. 

And running out of rude remarks. 

Which, you may be inclined to agree, has to be a first for me.

Looked back at some of my old copy – it wasn't bad - and found that I have nothing more scathing to say about my pet hates now than I had then. 

Politicians are still self-serving troublemaking twits and reality television is still dumbed-down dross for dickheads. 

Sitting at a desk for hours hasn't done much to diminish my girth, either, but as long as I am able to do it I will. 

It has to be better for me than sitting on a sofa watching the box.

MORE IMPORTANT MATTERS. 

Daughter Roz. 

In her fight back to fitness, Roz is taking long walks with the dog Buddy and weekly trips to the gym with daughter Jess. She still gets very tired, but looks more her old self every day. 

Another baby cat. 

This is Betty. She is the latest addition to daughter Jac and her partner Mike's household. Don't be fooled by the little legs, apparently she can jump for England and spends unsettlingly long hours exploring her new neighbourhood. 

I like her already and I've not yet seen her. 

Well, you either dote on cats...

TELEVISION. 

We have watched: 

Forces of Nature and The Planets (on BBC Four and BBC Two respectively) presented by the eminently watchable Professor Brian Cox (above). Lots of scenes of the likeable boffin trudging across imitation alien landscapes, but still no evidence of human life beyond earth. 

We enjoyed it for all that. 

We also enjoyed Prunella Scales and Timothy West traversing the canals of Vietnam and Cambodia on their Asian Odyssey. 

I think they must make any of us over eighty feel deflated and inflated in equal proportion. I couldn't steer a model boat across a boating lake, so their canal barge derring-do somewhat humbles me, but their closeness and generosity of spirit then reminds me how lucky I, too, have been to spend the last fifty seven years with my Mo. 

Break a leg, West family! 

London Kills.

Another London cop series apparently shown in America before it got here. Why? It has a good cast and good scripts and deserves better than the afternoon B picture spot given it by the BBC. It ran for a week and finished. Hell, it's Wimbledon again now and nothing, but nothing, must interfere with that.

FINALLY THIS MONTH. 

The cat Shadow.

Has elected himself Guardian of the Slippers. 

It's an age thing.

Yeah, I know.

Post 329. SHADOW SOLDIERS ON.

A SHADOW OF HIMSELF.

The cat Shadow 

The old boy struggles to resist elderly impairment but sadly is no longer the indomitable lad seen in the picture. We keep him going with decent food and drink and a lot of affection. 

He has been part of our family for many years so, come what may, we'll not let him down now. 

Ah! Mistake! 

He caught a glimpse of the above and insisted I add the following contribution of his own: 

Cats need people? 

I'm Shadow, I'm the poetry cat. 

Quite handy with a verse. 

Ready, perhaps, for the knacker's yard. 

But not yet for the hearse. 

My eating habits are becoming erratic. 

I like being cuddled: 

But spend too much time static. 

And my two people pets 

Seem to give not a rap, 

So long as I gets 

To that bloody cat flap. 

As for cats needing people? 

Well, maybe it's true. 

Though never as much 

As their daft pet dogs do. 

So perhaps you'll remember 

When I finally go: 

I'm the cat who did doggerel. 

Not that nice guy below. 

(With apologies to Benjamin Zephaniah.) 

IOW FESTIVAL 2019. 

It's with us again. 

A long weekend of loud music, strobe lighting, traffic juggling, wind, and rain. Roz and Ellis have been. Neither stayed late, but they enjoyed the acts they saw. 

They'll be back there today to see Madness.

 Biffy Clyro are top group tonight. Mo and I won't go. We like Madness and I (in company with the cat Shadow) enjoy Biffy Clyro, but we'll watch them on television. 

We saw about ten minutes of Fatboy Slim's set on the box last night. My conclusion was that those in his audience who did not have an epileptic fit, would be stricken by acute deafness or, at best, a lifetime of recurrent headaches. 

We heard much of it from here and that's some three miles away. Roz assures me the fans enjoyed every moment of it. So clearly I'm not festival fan material. Nothing new there then. 

POLITICS. 

There are lies, damned lies, statistics, and politics. 

In the early days of this blog I seem to remember saying I would avoid politics. That turned out to be about as truthful as the words of most of the contenders in the current bunfight to become Prime Minister of the UK.

Leading the field right now is England's prize liar Boris Johnson, who seems to be favoured by America's prize liar Donald Trump. I think that says it all. 

SO...WHAT? 

So...many people are doing it, that's what. 

Starting a sentence with the word 'so' has become for many people the latest alternative to the insertion of the word 'like' (or the pointless effin' and blindin' spouted by many stand-up comedians) to support every point they make. 

It is an irksome affectation so it will probably go on for longer than I remain alive to swear under my breath when I hear it. 

TELEVISION. 

My Leader and I 

Have been watching The Looming Tower. 
No wonder the world is in such a shambles. What a shower of weird egotistical nutcases. 
And that's only the CIA and FBI. 

I have been watching Years and Years, the Russell T. Davies version of 1984. 

Every bit as frightening as Orwell. 

AND FINALLY. 

Our Roz - pictured below with her daemon, Buddy – (see Philip Pullman's Dark Materials) is making steady progress and it shows. We like the blonde look.