Post 352. A DREADFUL MONTH WORLDWIDE.

AN EVENTFUL MONTH AT HOME.

The coronavirus pandemic is upon us and even the global warming deniers, Holocaust deniers, and EU corruption theorists, cannot contradict that fact. It'll be galling for them but there y'go.

No doubt there will still be self-centred sods sidestepping the rules of commonsense right up until there's a copper on every street corner to stop them leaving home, but that's humanity for you.

As I write this nearly thirty two thousand people have died worldwide, around a third of them in that family-oriented and sociable country Italy.

Now poor old Italy's sociability has rebounded on it in the most dreadful way. At close on eleven thousand deaths that lovely country has sounded a stark global warning.

COVID-19 may well be the Black Death of our time.

So let's just do as we're told in the fight against it, eh?

Unless we're embarking on essential work or a truly imperative trip to the shops, let's park our arses at home.

I have a soft spot for Italy. Way back in the nineteen fifties an army 'schoolie' and I were driven from Austria to Italy in a very small sports car owned by R. Signals pal Clive Rook. We finished up at Udine, which turned out to be a place bursting with festive joy. It was one of the most cheerful weekend experiences of my often less than happy military career. In the way that soldiers do, I lost touch with Clive when I left BTA for BAOR. He was a good buddy and I hope he fared well. 

ANOTHER GOOD BUDDY.

Ian Dillow (pictured with his wife Jean) who lives many miles from us in Hampshire, has recently undergone a delicate medical procedure and is having a tough time making his recovery from it.

Sadly it can happen to the best, of which he is one. Our love and heartfelt good wishes go to him and Jean throughout this arduous and worrying period.

HERE ON THE ISLAND.

The happy and the sad. Starting with the half century birthday of daughter Roz, the only one of our brood actually born on the Island. Her birthday was a happy occasion at a time when she is still in a vulnerable health state. The family gathering in our local restaurant was a lucky one: it immediately preceded the coronavirus warning that curtailed our mainland attendance at the funeral of Maureen's sister Pam.

Mo now has only one remaining sister from the original seven. So many goodbyes over so many years.

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST.

Sky Arts can still please. 

No, they have not reintroduced my Barenboim and Vogt recordings yet (well not so far as I can see) but they have provided another one to hold on to. 

Simply Red: Live in Holland. Magic!

Stay safe.

Post 351. Index 7. Posts 301 – 350

Alibhai-Brown, Yasmin: 310, 350 Allen, Lily: 305 Angel, the cat: 323, 328, 332  Anonymous John Appleton: 314, 319, 339, 341 Appleton, Sheila: 314 Baker, Danny: 327 Baker, Hylda: 306 Baker, Matt: 350 Baeva, Alena: 346 Barenboim, Daniel: 346, 347 Barnden, Jacqueline: 315, 330, 334, 341, 342  Barnden, Mo: 303, 311, 315, 317, 320, 323,343,345 Barnden, Neil: 306, 314, 315, 336, 341, 342, 345 Barnden, Pauline: 312, 315, 347 Barnden, Roz: 302, 306 (309 through to 323) 325, 328, 329, 330,332, 333, 336, 341,347  Beaton, M. C. 332 Beecham, Sir Thomas: 312 Bellfield, Levi: 320 Bhaskar, Sanjeev: 334 Birmingham, Mick: 319 Bleksley, Peter: 320 Blethyn, Brenda: 345 Blomstedt, Herbert: 347 Borgnine, Ernest: 312 Bowman, Stuart: 313 Boyd-Kerr, Maxie: 318 Boyd-Kerr, Stuart: 318, 319, 331 Boys, Pamela Rose: 348 Bryson, Bill: 342 Buddy, the dog: 302, 303, 306, 322, 323, 325, 328, 332, 336 Buniatishvili, Khatia: 312 Butler, Philip: 303, 312, 321 Butler, Julie: 312 Butler, Steve: 312 Chesterton, G.K. 321 Christie, Gwendoline: 328 Clunes, Martin: 320 Comer, Jodie: 314 Corbin, Jeremy: 338, 339, 340 Cox, Brian: 330 Crisp, Quentin: 324 Curry, Bishop Michael: 304 Davies, Russell T. 329 Day, Doris: 346 Dayer, Ellis: 312, 319, 320, 322, 323, 325, 329,332,333, 336  Dean: 319, 320  Derek next door, 311 Derham, Katie: 311 Diamond, Anne: 301 Dillow, Ian: 314, 339, 341 Dillow: Jean: 314 Dimbleby, David: 307 Dinklage, Peter: 324, 327 Djokovic, Novak: 331 Dudamel, Gustavo: 347 Dunbar, Adrian: 325 Durrell, Gerald: 326 Elba, Idris: 324 Fairhead, Hannah: 310 Farthing, Jack: 331 Federer, Roger: 331 Fischer, Ivan: 312 Fogle, Ben: 315 Gibson, Sian: 305  Goode, Matthew: 313 Gove, Michael: 324 Green, Robson: 320, 322 Grey, Berkeley: 332 Guetary, Georges: 338 Gurira, Danai: 350 Hackman, Gene: 312 Hanna, David: 339 Hardwick, Chris: 318, 350  Harmon, Mark: 323 Harris, Ed: 345 Hawes, Keeley: 312, 313, 314, 326 Helin, Sofia: 308 Henshall, Douglas: 323 Holland, Jools: 305 Horowitz, Anthony: 342 Howard, Leslie: 312  Huntley, Storm: 350 Hurley, Graham: 343 Irons, Jeremy: 345 Jach, Babs: 348 Jach, James: 348 James, Clive: 342 Jarvi, Paavo: 312 Johnson, Boris: 324, 329, 332, 339,340, 344  Jones, Alex: 350 Jones, Owen: 350 Jones. Suranne: 331 Karyo, Tchéky: 323  Kay, Peter: 305 Keep, Joan: 319 Kennedy, Nigel: 305 Kill, Vic: 348 King, Mark: 305 Kitchen, Michael: 334 Kneale, Nigel: 327 Kuusisto, Pekka: 311, 346 Kyle. Jeremy: 327 Laverne, Lauren: 320, 338 Lewis, Russell: 322 Lincoln, Andrew:316, 318 Lister, Anne: 331  Lumley, Joanna: 315 Lynn, Vera: 344 Madeley, Richard: 301 Madden, Richard: 312, 313 Martin, George R.R. 327, 328 Marvin, Lee: 312  May, Theresa: 324 McEwan, Geraldine: 334 McIntosh, Pollyanna: 318 Meghan (Duchess of Sussex) 304 Mercurio, Jed: 313, 314, 325, 326  Mortensen, Viggo: 345 Nesbitt, James: 313 Nilssen, Harry, 338 Norton, James: 320 Nye, Simon: 326 Oh, Sandra: 314 David Owen: 311 O'Sullivan, Kevin: 310 Palmer, Teresa: 313 Parker, Milo: 326 Parker, Robert B: 345 Payne, Tom: 318 Powell, Enoch: 310 Pratchett, Terry: 325 Prince Charles: 304 Prince Harry (Duke of Sussex): 304 Prince Philip (Duke of Edinburgh): 304 Pullman, Philip: 329, 336, 342, 344  Queen Elizabeth II: 304, 310 Ratner, Gerald: 307 Rattle, Sir Simon: 320 Rees-Mogg, Jacob: 324  Rix, Brian: 344 Rowling, J.K. 347 Scales, Prunella: 330 Selleck. Tom: 345 Shadow, the cat: 317, 322, 323, 326, 329, 330, 335, 336, 341.  Shriver, Lionel: 307 Simm, John: 316 Sky Arts Team: 347 Slim, Fatboy: 329 Smith, Maggie: 345 Soderbergh, Steven: 350 Spike, the cat: 323, 328, 332  Stanley, Thelma: 319 Staunton, Imelda: 345 Suchet, David: 334 Sutton, Colin: 320 Tomlinson, Eleanor: 331 Trevor, William: 325 True-May, Brian: 307 Trump, Donald: 301, 302, 309, 310, 329 Turner, Aidan: 331  Venables, Philip: 311 Vine, Jeremy: 310, 350 Vogt, Lars: 320, 346, 347  Walker, Nicola: 334 Walsh, Barney: 345 Walsh, Bradley: 345 Warhol, Andy: 304 West, Timothy: 330 White, Daryl: 312, 313 White, Jess Daisy: 303, 306, 312, 313, 314, 317, 332,333 Widmark, Richard: 312 Wilkening, Anne: 306, 325 Williams, Mark: 320 Wingate, Orde: 342 Woods, Hannah: 333, 336 Woods, Mike: 330, 333 Wright, Matthew: 301, 307, 310 Young, Kirsty: 320 Zellweger, Rene: 345 Zephaniah, Benjamin, 329

Post 350. NOW IT'S COMPULSORY.

WE'RE UNDER HOUSE ARREST. 

Or solitary confinement for those who are living alone. Why? Well, last weekend thousands of numbskulls gathered on beaches and at beauty spots around the country, presumably to prove that irresponsibility is not confined to the few. 

Whether or not that really is the answer, it certainly didn't help. We're facing a pandemic here, folks, not a small town outbreak of the flu.

I suppose the next thing will be policemen who haven't walked a beat for years out on the streets accompanied (in view of the way austerity has cut back the force) by the SAS, whose departure from the Brecon Beacons will leave Talybont Reservoir entirely unguarded: a prospect only slightly less concerning than that of coppers being instructed to implement a zero tolerance policy. 

For those of us who have no intention of going out (nowadays I seldom do anyway), it's going to be months of the book, the radio, the phone, and no matter how irksome it may frequently be...

TELEVISION.

Where, midst the constant mix of reality rubbish, ceaseless cookery, and cheaply produced quiz shows, we have a couple of defiant dramas in the shape of The Walking Dead (picture refers) and War of the Worlds. The former is a tsunami of living dead and dead dead bodies (you'll understand if you watch it) and the latter is abundant with very dead corpses played by very still extras together with distance shots of motorways that look like the M25 ten minutes after a lorry has jackknifed. Neither series is particularly reassuring in today's climate.

Then we have the films. According to this week's TV watch list in my i weekend, if you were desperate enough to look in on ITV2 for a film this week you could have seen Contagion, Steven Soderbergh's drama about a virus outbreak. Yeah. Really.
Never mind, as an antidote to constantly contrary and openly propagandist COVID-19 briefings, we now have chat shows where the main studio participants are kept two metres apart and subsidiaries are drafted in on screen from their homes.

 Ah, the joy of technology.

I follow only three chat shows: prudently.

On BBC One I look in at The One Show every now and then. Less now that Matt Baker has left it. I liked him in partnership with Alex Jones; they were a good tele twosome. Last I heard he was thought to have coronavirus symptoms and was self-isolating. 

Well he's a fit forty-something with a wife and family so he should make a swift recovery. Good luck to him. I have swiftly dismissed most of the males brought in to replace him.

On Channel 5 weekday mornings I sometimes watch Jeremy Vine. Depends who is on his two-metres-apart panel and how attractive Storm Huntley looks in her studio dress of the day. Mr. Vine has currently adopted the mannerisms of a demented schoolmaster, bouncing to a blackboard every few minutes to scribble an instantly forgettable list for viewers to instantly forget. He is clearly missing his 'wandered in off the Thames Embankment' audience. But, to be fair, he and Storm are managing quite well with the help of a solitary 'medical' panellist and a couple of those magic screens for additional input. 

The panel, since Mr. Vine took over, invariably consisted of one reality show celebrity (what?), one newspaper journalist (I bothered to watch only if it was Yasmin Alibhai Brown or Owen Jones), and one fat failed hack now described as a 'broadcaster.' The replacement of the reality celeb with a clinician has been one small seat change for man. If they now get rid of anybody described as a broadcaster or any former MEP they will have made one giant seat change for mankind.

I also watch The Talking Dead which is broadcast directly after The Walking... and is fronted by a little guy called Chris Hardwick. 

I watch it, in common with most Walking viewers, because actors and directors from the popular show appear on the studio settee to discuss the comings and goings and making of it.

Mr. Hardwick has now joined the band of chat show hosts whose studio audience cannot be in attendance and who is interviewing from home to the homes of interviewees. There's a lot of big screen stuff about. Learned this week that Michonne (Danai Gurira) is leaving the show. Well, actors have to move on. Shame though. 

She'll be mightily missed.

That's more than enough for now.

Mind how you go.

Post 349. NO, IT'S NOT WORLD WAR 3.

IT'S WORLD WIDE CORONAVIRUS.

Here we go again.
Yet another balls-up by the human race.  
One way or another mankind does seem intent on wiping itself out, doesn't it? If it's not mines and nuclear weapons it's a pandemic. 
This time the threat is not WW3, it's WWC. 
So are we ready for it? 
Do me a favour...
Last century we weren't ready for either of two world wars.
When have we ever been ready for anything? 
But we'll blunder on. 
Because we always do. 
And somehow we'll come out on the winning side. 
Because we always do. 
And throughout it all we'll keep joking. 
Because - yep - we always do. 
My favourite jokes so far on Facebook:

There will be plenty more.

In the meantime: 
We are sorry for the many old friends whose social get-togethers have now been postponed indefinitely and with all those whose living conditions or personal circumstances will make self-isolation increasingly burdensome. 
We're lucky. We're blessed with space and company. 

Good luck to every one of you.

Post 348. ANOTHER SAD FAREWELL.

ANOTHER SISTER GONE.

 

Pamela Rose Boys 1936 – 2020. 

I sadly record the death of one of Maureen's two remaining sisters, Pamela, who died in the Q.A. Hospital, Portsmouth on 25 February. 
Pam was a lively character whose often oblique turn of phrase never disguised a heart of gold. She enjoyed amateur dramatics, singing, crosswords, and, at their annual “all the sisters” holiday on the Isle of Wight, a daily swim in Puckpool swimming pool with her sister Marg. She outlived three husbands, by whom she had four children, and she will be sadly missed by the entire family. 
RIP, Pam, you were a one-off.

AFTERMATH.

The funeral. 

Pam's funeral was held at The Oaks Havant crematorium on Monday 16 March. We had every intention of attending and arrangements had been resolved for the trip to the mainland.

Then came the updates on COVID-19 and a warning (by scientists from Imperial College, London, no less) of the extreme danger it posed to the elderly and anyone with an existing health condition. Three quarters of the inhabitants of this house come into that category. My flippant conclusion that “It isn't WW3” became sadly inappropriate.

In the event, we and other vulnerable family members, here and on the mainland, made our apologies and stayed at home. Pam's children were extremely kind about it and I know Pam would have understood. 

A small contingent of nieces and nephews did go from the Island so we were not entirely without representation. Thank you Babs, Vic and James.

This has been a very personal post. 

Back next time to as near normal as the wretched epidemic will allow. 

Go safely or don't go at all. 

Post 347. OUR LOVELY ROZ.

IS FIFTY. 

Yes, it's hard to believe, but Rosalind Anne Barnden celebrated her fiftieth birthday on the twelth of this month.

The family gathered at local restaurant Cibo for dinner.

I cannot remember when we last met like that, but it was a long time ago. We had a most pleasant evening. The food was good, the company nonpareil, and - for the first time ever at a family function - I came away better off than I was when I got there. By how much? By the value of two British second class postage stamps: because that, my cheerful finance adviser Pauline informed me, as she presented me with a neat little box containing £1 and thirty two pence, is the total amount of my royalties to date on the Amazon Kindle sales of The Badgers of Deep Wood. Well, it ain't J.K.Rowling but it's a start. I shall keep the box containing the cash in plain sight, as a reminder never to get big-headed.
Many Happy Returns, Roz.

HERE THEY COME.

Out of the woodwork.

Just the suggestion of a coronavirus pandemic and already the scaredy cats and the greedy bastards - in alarmingly equal numbers it seems - have cleared the shelves in many supermarkets around the world.

On Saturday March 7 we popped into our local Waitrose to find (would you believe it?) the toilet roll shelves were almost empty. What do people think this bug is going to do? Cause a mass opening of the bowels? It's fear that'll give 'em diarrhea, not some bloody virus. And that's what it is. A virus.

It isn't WW3.

ALL VIEWER RELATIONS @SKY.UK

Some welcome responses. 

In my concluding blog post last month I mentioned that I had sent a message to Sky regarding the disappearance from Sky Arts of Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 1 played by Lars Vogt with the Orchestre de Paris conducted by Herbert Blomstedt and of Brahms' 1 and 2 Piano Concertos played by Daniel Barenboim with the Staatskapelle Berlin conducted by Gustavo Dudamel.

At first the possibility of their reappearance seemed highly unlikely, but a final message (from Iain at Viewer Relations) has offered some hope of a future emergence.

I do hope they will be brought back and I sincerely thank the entire Viewer Relations team at Sky for their friendly and welcome responses to my emails.

Good luck to them

And to you in these coronavirus times.