Post 360. WITH RESPECT...

THE PUBLIC NEEDS TO KNOW.

IT'S FOR THE GREATER GOOD

BOLLOCKS! is my immediate reaction whenever some sniffily superior citizen confronts me with one or the other of those patronising platitudes. I was never convinced when foot-in-the-door journalists used: 'The public needs to know' as their prime excuse for downright rudeness. The public does not always need to know and seldom ever will if it is a matter of any importance. 'With respect' is an opening I hear from far too many people who clearly intend anything but respect for the person they are about to address. And I have never heard the words 'It's for the greater good' said by somebody who, whatever 'it' was, had been or would be adversely impacted by it. 

Right now we are up to our necks in sound bites. The clever dicks who pied pipered us out of Europe are using the same tactics to put across their pandemic messages. 'Save our NHS' as a slogan from a political party that has spent years undermining it at every turn and would still, given the opportunity, put it entirely into the hands of private enterprise, is hypocritical cant. So, it now seems, was 'Stay at  home.' 'Only go out for essential shopping.' 'We're all in it together,' etc. Many people were fined for failure to comply with fairly clear instructions and I have to admit I was firmly of the belief that the government was doing everything it could in an unprecedented situation. Ah no. Think again. 

CUMMINGSGATE put paid to that. 

While all we normal (?) mortals (including the millions who put this government into power with a massive majority) were abiding by the rules, the Prime Minister's chief aide, Dominic Cummings, decided the rules were not for him and drove his wife and himself, both coronavirus infected, with their small son, to an empty cottage in the grounds of his parents house in Durham. It has all been told too many times now for me to waste blog space churning over it again. Enough to ask: What the hell was he thinking? Did he really believe he was that impregnable? Is he? If so, why? 

One thing is for sure. No matter how much the P.M. may wish to 'move on', this won't go away.

Mr. Cummings has hitherto seemed to relish his 'most hated man around Westminster' image. Now it's biting him on the bum. Well, they never learn. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the way the world now is for his 'most hated man' predecessor, Alistair Campbell, and taken up the bagpipes.

I dunno though. Perhaps his one saving grace is that he hasn't.

LASTLY: A LOSS AND A FIND.

Sad to report the loss from our lives of old friend Jim Plant who died a few nights ago at the age of ninety four. Jim and I became friends after his retirement from the police: he was the station sergeant at Newport I.W. for many years and when he befriended you he became your friend for life: a trait I have been fortunate enough to find in many career services (army, excise, police) personnel over the years.  Jim joined the police as a cadet, from his home in Shanklin I.W., at the age of seventeen and was an Islander through and through. He died of natural causes in a chair at his bungalow, here on the island, with his daughter Carolyn at his side.  RIP old pal, you will be much missed.

The find was a friendly email from Mr. Kym Barnden in Adelaide. South Australia who, while researching Barnden family history, found my blog and has sent a cheerful hello message. I shall get back to him with as much family stuff as I can, but I'm not great on remembering the past. It ain't age, it's idleness. Ne'er mind.

Be in touch, mate.                           

  

. 

  

Post 359. STILL SCRIBBLING.

STILL PUZZLING.

And getting no less forgetful.

I forgot to mention grandson Ellis's fifteenth birthday in my last post. It was a great day, too. Even in lockdown. Roz decorated her living room with lockdown birthday balloons and posters and arranged for the remainder of the family, who do not live here, to gather in their homes that evening with computer, ipad, phone (whatever), set up online to wish the birthday lad every success and a joyful future. There was birthday cake and Roz organised a quiz which enabled us to share with each other our hilarious ignorance of the world at large. Well, none of us ever intended challenging the Eggheads anyway. I think everyone enjoyed themselves, though. Mo and I certainly did. We seldom get all the family together nowadays. Thanks again, Roz.

Thanks for the neat tidying up job in the front garden, too. Along with Mo's driveway border (not pictured) it looks a treat.

Which, considering I don't want WATCHING to be seen only as a published personal diary, is enough about us for the time being.

SO WHAT IS LOCKDOWN TO YOU?

Is it still a sad necessity?

Or are you starting to see it as unnecessary imprisonment? Depends on so many things, doesn't it?

If you are alone. If you are healthwise endangered. If you have elderly or otherwise vulnerable loved ones at risk. If you are in the non-essential work category. If you see financial ruin on the horizon. If you are a seaside/sun/social gatherings worshipper. If you are one of the 'I knows me rights' tribe. If you are of the sort who seriously thinks workers may enjoy not being at work. If you are predominantly of responsible or irresponsible disposition.

Any or many of those things may colour your outlook.

And if you think governmental directives will eventually make sense, think Dominic Cummings and think again.

IN THE MEANTIME.

Music.

It's another bank holiday and, sitting here with the view down a sunny back garden, I have again enjoyed my CD of Lars Vogt (above) and the Royal Northern Sinfonia performing Beethoven's Piano Concertos 1 and 5, and am currently being beguiled by Peter Donohoe's definitive performance of Litolff's Concertos Symphonique. Hard life, ain't it.

Meanwhile, Classic FM has informed us with monotonous regularity that HRH the Prince of Wales will be broadcasting tonight and tomorrow on Classic FM at 8 pm. Both sessions will be of two hours duration. (Doubtless Ts and Cs will apply.)

Apparently Charlie is going to let us in on his musical tastes. Well, if nothing else, it will be the longest Desert Island Discs on record.

Royalists, those who think it has to be better than what's on television, and the downright inquisitive, will tune in.

That's enough about everything for the time being. 
Stay safe.

Post 358. TRUTH TO TELL.

CLINT EASTWOOD IS SO RIGHT.

About we anti-socials.

To those like me who spend far too many hours locked in with a computer I doubt there has been a more apposite view on anti-sociability than this one from Clint Eastwood.

What a wonderfully dry observation.

It was sent to my Facebook account which I mostly forget to look at. My cellphone is switched off most of the time, too. I forget to switch it on. Twenty quid's worth ($24) of pay-as-you-go goes a long way with me.

So, for what it's worth, this is a more accurate view of my pandemic world than any other expressed so far.

Sad, ain't it.

WHEN IT'S NOT CORONAVIRUS.

It's still the weather.

Yes, with we Brits the weather is still probably the most regular topic of our everyday conversation next to the vast number of fatalities from Covid 19 (apparently the highest in Europe).

How long it will be before we can return to normal life again, and whether anything will ever be the way it was, is also much discussed.

The former royals Harry and Meghan, thanks largely to their current press image in the UK, get scant mention.

Ah well. They'll survive.

So will chit-chat about the weather.

Eh? Oh, currently sunny with cold winds.

I know, I know...

THEN THERE'S TELEVISION.

Or house hunting.

Most of it (if the sight of a packed bookcase conveniently situated behind even the most vacuous of television personality is to be trusted) around startlingly bookish people. 
No, I don't believe it either.

I do believe that chat show panellists, accustomed to the approval of a compliant audience, are struggling with lockdown broadcasting: none of the popular shows still making an appearance has a comfortable feel to it. Many of them would have been better served staying away and giving their regulars a rest. Off-screen introverts do not react well to intrusion: they embrace their personal space. 
It shows.

SO FOR THE LAST LAUGH.

Trust a smart kid.

Is this why they want 'em back at school?

Enjoy a bit of relaxation.

Don't go socially berserk.

Post 357. END OF WW2 CELEBRATIONS?

OH, DO GIVE OVER!

It's the cats' birthday.

Yep. Both of them. Spike (above), who insisted on being seen in front of a bookcase because that's what they're all doing nowadays and she's read about as many books as most of them, and Angel – the boy – the other half of a name mix-up by daughter Roz when they were the size of a very small fist: Spike was the spikier one then and she still rules the roost now. Angel and the dog Buddy (a week younger than them) are putty in her tiny but lethal paws. I love 'em all: and they love me when I'm dispensing biscuit treats.

LOCKDOWN.

The schoolroom is open. 

Roz's living room has become grandson Ellis's schoolroom and, in keeping with the irrepressible sense of humour of his mother and teacher, has its own Ofsted report defiantly posted on the door. 

It ain't a fair reflection, but I love it.

TELEVISION.

A real book person.

You can pick out the real book people if you don't just take those camera views into other people's houses as an invitation to check on their wallpaper.

One real book person is the English academic Dame Mary Beard (above) who is an expert on Ancient Roman civilization, a Professor of Classics at Cambridge University and an extremely likeable television personality. 

Her extended, book- filled, den is everything Mo and I feel at home around. 

To add to the ambience, in a recent TV programme she interviewed Sir Simon Schama who, clearly at home, stood in front of the most gloriously chaotic bookcase in the whole learned world. He immediately became our favourite art historian.

LAST BUT NOT LEAST.

YouTube.

If you scramble around you can sometimes come across an unexpected gem. It was my good fortune the other evening to chance upon a great performance of Nessun Dorma sung by Michael Bolton (below}. I have his Vintage album of classic songs, which we cherish, but this is something else. If you like Michael and have not heard this track, look it up. It is followed by Vesti La Giubba, a wonderful duet with Luciano Pavarotti.

Go carefully.

Don't chance your arm. 

Post 356. EVERYONE'S GOT A BOOKCASE.

TO SIT IN FRONT OF.

When they're on television.

Have you noticed? Could you help but notice? Each of 'em has a bookcase to plonk 'emself in front of: even the buggers you sense have never read right through a book in their entire celebrity lives.

I believe the techno nerds who know all about resizing an image (don't look at me) are already picking the titles off books on the shelves behind this diverse bunch of often unlikely academics. Gawdawmighty!

Time to join the club, though, I thought. Get yourself looking a bit educated, Den. Sit yourself down before one of the bookcases in the living room and get your grandson, aided by his grandmother's ipad, to take a 'this is me at home' picture.

So there you are. You don't need be a television 'celebrity.' All you need is a bookcase and a grandson: and a, prefererably eclectic, selection of books.

In case anybody cares, up there behind me on the top shelf is a handful of WW2 ego trips by Winston Churchill (warmongering politician, decent writer), a selection of titles by wonderful novelist Mary Wesley, an Oxford English dictionary, and a 'let's keep it all tidy' miscellany of fillers (don't ask).

On the shelf below that are the complete Harry Potter (and some other) books by J.K. Rowling, the His Dark Materials (and some other) books by Philip Pullman, The Once and Future King by T.H. White, There's a Boy in the Girls' Bathroom by Louis Sachar and my old friend the late George Woodman's Taken at the Flood (which should perhaps be in another bookcase but books get shifted in this house). I won't bore you with any more name dropping. Suffice it to say I have actually read all the books on those shelves written by those authors. I have not just been photographed in front of that particular bookcase because some smart-arse television producer said: “You sit there, Dennis, it'll look more like you're knowledgeable.” If I sound grouchy it's because I am bloody grouchy.

It is not lockdown and it is not

TELEVISION.

Which started unusually well this week.

Sunday evening kicked off with the BBC Young Musician 2020 Keyboard Category final which was won by sixteen-year-old pianist Thomas Luke (above), an Isle of Wight lad. Hurray!

No question the choice was right. One of the judges was the renowned pianist Peter Donohoe (below) and if he says you're the winner, you're the winner.

My evening concluded with:

The last ever episode of Homeland in which arguably the worst mother in the world, Carrie Mathison (she wouldn't pose for a picture), single-handedly averted WW3 and suitably rounded off her career as a spy for Saul Berenson by becoming... guess what?

Ho-hum.

Bye-bye, Carrie.

That's it for now.