Post 438. DON'T UNDERMINE OUR EDUCATION SYSTEM.

 WITH ALL THIS WONDERFUL EQUIPMENT.

DON'T BASTARDIZE THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
The smartphone pictured at the end of my last post and the smart ipad shown above are not mine: though I greatly respect machine small talk's constant progressiveness, and am in awe of those who have mastered it, I do not yearn to be a part of it. And I do worry that it may concurrently be undermining our education system. 

Recently on Jeremy Vine (Channel 5) the television show where Mr. Vine jumps up and down from his seat like a hypochondriac on a flight to Australia, the presenter made one of his irksome trips to a blackboard to regale us with the, clearly very  modern, view that the apostrophe should be discarded from our language.

There is, he opined, no appreciable difference between 'your' and 'you're.'
The 'no swearing in this house' rule teetered wildly and, though I balk at insulting a guest in my home, I growled: "Do stop it. Your is one word, as in 'your middle-aged crisis is showing ' and you're is two words, as in 'you're talking a load of bollocks:' isn't that something you mostly do when the topic is bikes and cars?"
He didn't reply. I don't think he heard me.
Well I ain't goin' to ring 'im.
Perhaps, in an age when everything other than the medieval minds of some national leaders is subject to change, concern that our language is being crucified by ignorance masquerading as modernity will be dismissed by the change initiators as reactionary. But in accepting the bastardizing of English, surely we are both pandering to the idle and further undermining our oft unfairly criticised education system.
So do I have a particular axe to grind?  Well...yes....
I did leave elementary school knowing only three (noun, verb, adjective) of the eight parts of speech. I  did learn the others on a 'brush up your English' correspondence course opener at the age of twenty three. I did sit and proudly pass my sole GCE (English) when I was twenty six and otherwise taken up by a two terms 'change of career' course in bookkeeping at Clark's Commercial College, Southampton. I did have a column in the award winning Link W.H.A. newspaper for seventeen years. And I did complete sixteen years of this blog just four days ago. 
Oh, let the technically forward be literally backward if it suits them, but don't use that as an excuse to wreck good English. Some of us have worked to put our words in the right place. 
That's the end of the lesson.
It's footie now.
England v Germany. Women.

Fingers crossed.

Say no more. 

 

Post 437. WE ARE STILL SMILING.

 STILL STUCK AT HOME.

BUT WHO WANTS TO HEAD FOR DOVER?
Our home is located on the main road between Newport and Ryde. It is set well back and we have good double glazing, but our bedroom is at the front of the house so we usually sleep with the windows shut and the door wide open. The recent heatwave put paid to that: our little top window stayed open and sod the traffic. The occasional vehicle or two didn't trouble us.
We slept well enough, though I think that was helped by me closing the window on the way back from my early morning call to the bathroom.
As we sat in bed drinking tea on the first open window morning, Mo said:
"Oh, you've closed the window. When did you do that?"
"At about six o'clock," I said. "I thought by eight we might have the tail end of the traffic queue to Dover lined up out there."

Sorry, unhappy travellers, but how many of you voted to come out of Europe?

On Tuesday morning, at a little after nine o'clock, we were sitting in bed drinking tea. 

Mo was reading Barbara Taylor Bradford's Being Elizabeth.  I was listening to Classic FM.
AA (not the Automobile Association, the other one) was probably polishing off a full English whilst we listeners took in the final movement of Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No.2 in C minor.
Mo suddenly came out of her book to say: 
"This is nice. D'you think someone might use it as a theme tune?"
"What. after Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard did it to death with their Brief Encounter on a railway station?" I said. "I don't think even the television people would be so cheeky."
"Oh lor!" she said. "Was that the one?" And she went back into her book.
Y'know, I think ol' Sergei would have seen the funny side of that. 

I MAY BE BACK AT THE END OF THE MONTH

WITH A GRIPE ABOUT MODERN ENGLISH.
Or "What's the point of education?"
Hope you'll look in

Post 436. WHEN TECHNOLOGY LETS ME DOWN

 I AM FURIOUS.

EVEN IF IT IS MY OWN FAULT.

I have lost track of the number of times I have cursed to hell Google and everybody who works for it. The last time was at the conclusion of Post 435 (the one that says technology is wonderful) which originally concluded with a picture and a few more lines but then did that weird transference onto a one page too many page that retains your last few words but loses absolutely everything preceding them. Don't ask. It's a Google Blog thing. Perhaps it has something to do with taking up too much valuable space on the net. I dunno.
But I like a bit of space: it's the reason I don't do TikTok or why I constantly overlook bandying niceties on Facebook (from whom I recently received notice that there were twenty seven
messages awaiting my attention). It's not deliberate rudery or obtuseness. It's forgetfulness combined with a lack of technical savvy. I'm not proud of it, but I'm too old to care about it. 

I am also too old to blame Google when I bugger up the blog. Which won't stop me doing it.
What's life if you can't occasionally curse them up there?

THIS IS THE PICTURE

THAT CONCLUDED MY LAST POST.

Her name is Betty and she is standing in for our daughter, Jacqueline.
Why?

Because I don't have a single picture of Jackie, with or without Mike, on my computer.

What did I say? It's forgetfulness combined with...
Have a good holiday.
Try to avoid the road to Dover

Post 435. YES, TECHNOLOGY IS WONDERFUL..

WHEN IT WORKS.

AND LAST THURSDAY IT DID.
Yes, thanks to Live Streaming on YouTube, and a considerable amount of aged blundering on the computer, last Thursday we were able to see our lovely (courtesy) granddaughter Hannah Woods' degree ceremony at Nottingham University. If you blinked you missed her (so many smart young people on display), but we were fully focused and the few seconds in which she did appear were magic to us.
A lot of salt water has flown under the non-existent bridge to the island since Hans's first visit here. She was, I am reliably informed, nine years of age then. She quickly bonded with Jac and quietly became one of the family. To me she has always been, and will always be, my little buddy.
Now look at her. Grown up. Confident. A good degree (2:1) in Broadcast Journalism and, recently, a new job that promises extremely well for the future.
We could not be more pleased for her or more proud of her.
Bravo, little buddy!
Onwards and upwards!

    

Post 434. BOJO'S OUT THEN.

 EVENTUALLY SHOWN THE 

BUT NOT AN  EASY DEPARTURE..
Well, did anyone imagine it would be a simple farewell? What, to Master Johnson? When was anything ever that straightforward? He's the limpet PM. Finally kicked out, he apparently means to cling on to 10 Downing Street as Caretaker Prime Minister "until his successor is elected."
He blames his failure on the herd instinct, not on himself. Well he would, wouldn't he.

Now he will hang about in the wild hope that during the next three months there will be a  magical change in the world of politics -  where, it is said, a week is a very long time - and that something along the lines of  Putin dragging the world into WW3 will force Britain to acknowledge its need for a Winston Thatcher Johnson to save us from a fate worse than death.  
Dream on, Sunshine, dream on... 

In the next few weeks I shall try to contain my laughter at the wildly ambitious antics of those eager to replace the artful todger (sic) at No.10. Many of the contenders will have been Cabinet ministers, headed several departments and been singularly useless at all of them. They will make promises that even their former leader may have thought questionable. They will employ professional advertisers who will make sure the description 'reliable' and 'experienced' is bandied about a lot, and they will do a painful amount of faux smiling and limp hand shaking. They may even be photographed putting overpriced petrol into a total stranger's car.
It's open season on gullibility, folks, so enjoy the show but know you're going to finish up with the same self-serving charlatans. 

And for every one who doesn't believe them there will be one who does.
It's enough to drive you to

TELEVISION.

Which to us means mostly documentaries, fictional cops (home grown and foreign), or films on Netflix. On the documentary front we have enjoyed Francesco da Mosto's Mediterranean Voyage from Venice to Istanbul and still enjoy Secrets of the London Underground presented by Tim Dunn and London Transport Museum's Engagement Manager, Siddy Holloway. Tim's enthusiasm is infectious and any man who doesn't cast an appreciative second glance at Siddy...

What? Aren't I supposed to say that now? 

Get off! My Mo would think there was something wrong with me if I didn't.
All the best to you and yours. 

       

Post 433. TALKING ISLE OF WIGHT FESTIVAL.

WHICH LOOKED LIKE THIS.

NOT THE OTHER ONE which was larger but occasionally looked like a cheerful evening in a home for retired entertainers: Where was that again? Glastonbury? Well they both had a lot of visitors so they must be doing something right.

On the Isle of Wight the early favourites included Madness, much loved over here (though Suggs, constantly interrupted in an off-stage interview, was not sure that the Red Arrows were being particularly friendly):the group did most of their popular numbers and everybody loved 'em. They were followed by the likes of Lewis Capaldi, The Charlatans, Kasabian, Mark Owen, Peter Tong, The Kooks and,to conclude the last night, Muse, one of the best bands on any festival stage anywhere, singer Matt Bellamy showing, for the benefit of those of us who who are blissfully unaware of such things, that he is a versatile and gifted musician too. We watched quite a lot of it on television. Ellis went, was sensibly selective in what he watched, came the couple of miles home each night rather than camp at Seaclose, and did not set eyes on his father, Mark, who was also there and who later had Covid. Ellis was lucky as was our daughter Roz's friend Wendy: she, with her daughter Lyla, was also at the festival. They came in to see us on their way back to Brighton. It was so good to see them again and exchange news.

As for Glastonbury. We also watched quite a bit of that on television. 

Neither Diana Ross nor Paul McCartney has as strong a voice as they once had, but they still have great stage presence and a faithful following. Which is surely what drives them on. They don't need the money, do they? 

And it didn't rain on anybody. Lovely.
I JUST STILL WISH

I HAD LEARNED TO PLAY THE PIANO.
Too late now.
But I do see some of the best pianists in the world on YouTube.

They nearly all speak English, too. What luck.

Just watched Peter Donohoe chatting, slightly uncomfortably I thought, to a select group at St.Mary's Perivale. Somebody really should have offered him a glass of water early on.
After his 1982 success in the Tchaikovsky competition I saw him play Rachmaninoff's 3rd  at Portsmouth Guildhall. Remember being vaguely disappointed at first (believe I thought it was going to be the 2nd), but finished up a lifelong admirer both of the 3rd and that performer.
He is still a fine musician and a nice down-to-earth man.
The same obviously goes for young Canadian pianist Jan Lisiecki. His YouTube appearance with orchestra conductor Peter Oundjian discussing the cadenzas of Beethoven's piano concerti is fascinating even to a viewer who knows not a single note of music (not even tonic sol-fa).

Whatever your musical taste, enjoy it whenever and wherever you can.
Cheers.