Post 334. NOTHING REALLY CHANGES

AS THIS POST SHOWS.

 On the 13th August 2008 (Post 109) I wrote: 

Perhaps I should feel more urgency about things, but I try not to kid myself that my views are of earth shattering importance. A month free of my meanderings will not have global repercussions. For that matter, I do not think the opinions of most people, no matter how honestly held, are of particular consequence. If they think anybody gives a toss they are sadly mistaken. 

In the same post (remarking on an email I had received from a blatant racist) I opined: 

Seems to me most of the trouble in this world is caused by religious fanatics and politicians of every persuasion. I cannot be bothered with them: or the blinkered morons who support them. 

No change there then. 

No change either in the following disclosure from the same post: 

I sometimes think I would like to have been an actor: but know I could never have made it. I have a dread of being regarded as a show off, suffer excruciating stage fright and am mortified by rejection. As compensation, I get great pleasure from watching professional actors skilfully practise their craft and enjoy putting together a few words about them when they have particularly impressed me. I feel I need not worry that they may read it. The good ones will be too busy learning their lines. 

Heck! This is an elderly chap's occasional blog, not a column in a national daily. 

Anyway, for what it is worth, as a scribbler I suffer depression occasionally and fools not at all. The depression usually comes at the outset of winter or when the fortnight which constitutes summer has gone. It is remedied by bright colours and plenty of light. The remedy for fools is deletion. And if you are the sort of smart arse who says it takes one to know one...

Click! 

Yep! Nothing really changes. 

Cheeky television programmers are still swamping us with repeats rescued from the archives: eternal damnation would be theirs were it not for the excellent performances of such fine actors as Nicola Walker, Sanjeev Bhaskar, Michael Kitchen David Suchet and the late Geraldine McEwan (to name but a handful of those currently on our screens). I try to resist second – or even third – viewings, but can still find it beyond me to ignore Ms Walker and Mr. Bhaskar's believability in Unforgotten, lovely old Geraldine McEwan's likeability in Marple, Mr. Kitchen's wry twist of the mouth in Foyle, or Mr. Suchet's definitive depiction of the most overplayed detective in fiction, Poirot. I can still be caught watching Endeavour and Lewis, too. 

I continue to have no interest whatsoever in reality television. 
Big brother? Love Island? Christ no! 

I do have a Facebook account, but I seldom look at it and I determinedly avoid Twitter on the grounds that one-liners are for stand-up comedians. 

FINALLY. 

It has been brought to my notice by daughter Jac that she has been unable to message me on the blog. I have no idea why. 

To anybody who has experienced similar difficulty I can only apologise. 

Go safely, my dears. 

There are few of you left.