Post 346. I'D BE LOST WITHOUT MUSIC.

 IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THERE. 

Though I cannot read a note of it, music is very much a part of me. 
Throughout my boyhood our home was seldom without it. In old age I become more and more dependent on it. 
Now my day starts with Classic FM (Ts and Cs apply) and ends with something musical (when I can find it) on Sky Arts. 
The end of day musical alternative used to be stored in my television recordings: then along came a Sky engineer to transfer our television from the old living room to the new and, in the process, lose my entire collection.

These included a cherished recording of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto played by Pekka Kuusisto (with hilarious encore) at the 2016 BBC Proms, which I'll never get back now. 
It also housed Beethoven's 1st Piano Concerto played by Lars Vogt, and Brahms Piano Concertos 1 and 2 played by Daniel Barenboim: both appeared on Sky Arts, which no longer features them: I have sent a message to Sky and am hoping they may be shown again. 

Meantime, I still enjoy a background of music when I'm writing. Currently I am playing the Beethoven (1 and 5 Piano) CD with Lars Vogt and his beloved Royal Northern Sinfonia on the little Steepletone Music System. Superb.

YouTube has some damn good background listening, too, but even an old guy like me finds it difficult not to keep returning to the film when the soloist is somebody as attractive and talented as the violinist Alena Baeva. Nobody should look that good and sound that good. Which I seem to remember was exactly what I said the first time I saw Doris Day ride off as Calamity Jane singing Secret Love. I was in my early twenties then.

Nothing really changes.

THIS LOT NEVER WILL.

Do beware of zealots.

Every country has at least one organization made up of patriotic zealots bent on strengthening the power of the non-elected. America has many. The Orient, Asia, and rest of the world, is packed with them.

In this country the prominent haven for bureaucratic chancers is Westminster where they are described as 'advisers.' They are invited in by certain of our elected representatives who should know better.

None of these patriots does a worthwhile thing for country or mankind. They are professional nothings. 

But just try getting rid of them. 

Or, until next month anyway, ignore them. 

Hasta La Vista.

Post 345. STILL TAKE IN TELEVISION.

WHEN THERE'S NOWT ELSE.

But it has to be good.

Jesse Stone: Tom Selleck (above) in the leading role, is good - as is the rest of the cast - in this series of television films based on detective stories written by Robert B. Parker. The leading actor is way older than Jesse Stone is in the books, but the author apparently approved the casting. Smart man. 

The books are good, too. I am currently re-reading Night Passage, the first of the series, on kindle. Helps me abide the nonstop flow of quiz and property shows that are grist to the television provider's mill. My Leader likes them: I don't.

Robert B. Parker also wrote the Spenser private detective yarns and the western story Appaloosa, which inspired a decent screen adaptation directed by Ed Harris, who starred along with Viggo Mortensen, Rene Zellweger, and Jeremy Irons.

On the 18 January, 2010, Robert Brown Parker was found dead at his desk. Way to go.
Vera: Dear ol' Brenda Blethyn is back as DCI Vera Stanhope. 

Couldn't be farther from Jessie Stone, but tough and humorous in a British sort of way. Ms Blethyn, who is only a couple of years younger than Mr. Selleck is, like him, totally convincing in the title role.
Breaking Dad: Barney Walsh (22) takes his famous father, Bradley (59), on a tour of America in two short series of gently madcap adventures.

Barney plays passable guitar, sings pleasantly, and puts his father through a wringer of don't-do-this-to-the-old-man physical tests. It is charming and, at times, somewhat worrying. 

Maureen and I had a two line conversation after the last series.

I said: “I wouldn't have let our Neil set me up like that.”

And she replied: “No. But they're in show business, love.”

That says it all.
Downton Abbey: Mo decided that viewing the film at home, whatever the cost, was infinitely preferable to sitting in a cinema with me moaning about the ear-splitting sound, the cost of the refreshments, and the Ill-mannered buggers rustling giant popcorn bags in the row behind.

She didn't say any of this, but I got the message and was happy to sit at my end of the settee, with the recliner up, quietly watching the old tele gang (plus Imelda Staunton) deliver the filmic goods. And does anybody not love Maggie Smith at her autocratic best? 
It was almost as daft as Call The Midwife which, nowadays, is utterly dependent on its wonderful cast to rescue it from some inexcusably saccharine story lines.

Anyway, I quite enjoyed Downton: packed though it may be with the type of person I instinctively detest.

AND FINALLY.

Are we being taken over?

In the nicest possible way?

Toodle pip.