Post 471. A SHORT MONTH.

SO ONLY

A SHORT POST.
The one in the picture was once topped by an owl who lit up at night. His lights went out when he became detached from the post, landed in the car park, and was run over by the gardener's truck. We have a replacement (courtesy of Jac and Mike) for which we are trying to find a safer nest.
MEANTIME IT'S TELEVISION.
Weather still a bit cold for long spells in the garden so we have watched more snooker than expected. Well, when the BBC gets The Crucible in its camera lenses there's not much else to watch. The final is on today: Mark Selby v Luca Brecel. If Mark Selby wins it will be his fifth time as World Champion: he beat Mark Allen in the semi final. I think his opponent finally succumbed to the tedium of watching him make up his mind what his next move would be. It could be a very long final. Luca, a twenty eight years old Belgian, looks and plays twice that age. He could win..
Of course we'll watch it. Then we'll watch the final episode of Great Expectations.

Is there no beginning to the excitement.
AND TO CONCLUDE.
We were saddened this month by the death of two old friends, Maureen Timmins (here on the island), and Ian Dillow (at his home in Romsey). They were thoroughly nice people and will be sorely missed. We have been, and will remain, in touch with Maureen's daughter, Wendy, and Ian's wife, Jean. Our condolences to both families  and I print below, for the last time, the only picture I have of either of them. This is Ian with Jean.

That's all for this month.

Post 470. ALLEGED BULLYING

IN THE GROWN-UPS PLAYGROUND

AKA PARLIAMENT.
What a surprise! Deputy Prime Minister Dominic Raab, accused by sundry civil servants of bullying, and following an investigation by Adam Tolley KC, is now former DPM. Can't say I have sympathy for him. There are too many bullies in this little country. Always have been. They built an empire. They went around the world telling the natives of other countries: "You are now citizens of the Great White Queen." The descendants of those so rashly integrated (and their like) now arrive here in droves to claim their inheritance. Do you blame them? I don't.
Like the Victorians, bullies of today never know when to keep their mouths shut. Mr. Raab concludes that the investigation was 'flawed.' Well, Mr. Trump complains that the last American election was 'rigged.' How quickly bullies becomes whiners. Ho hum.
TELEVISION. 
It is snooker from The Crucible Theatre, Sheffield, again. If you enjoy watching two guys knock a load of coloured balls about a baize covered table to the accompaniment of constantly droning old snooker players trying to give value for their commentator's fee, you'll love it. I'm impartial. 
This year has so far been brightened up by the unexpected arrival on a table of a powder 

scattering protestor. I think the protest had something to do with climate change. He was removed, and the mess cleaned up, and the ball potting went on. Ah, someone is always protesting about something. It's Britain in the twenty first century. Nothing much will be done.
SAME GOES FOR ME

Nice people have gone from the world and I don't know what to say..
So I'm off for a while to do other things. 

Such as?

Might do a bit of painting.
I'm my own boss. Well, almost...
Whatever you're doing: enjoy it.

Post 469. THE 'NO COMMENTS' MALARKY

 AT THE END OF MY POSTS ON

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?
The dreadful admission is I don't know. It is part of the Google Blog set-up. Presumably some bright spark surmised that the addition in smaller letters of the words Post a Comment after No comments might encourage a response from the reader. I don't know and nobody at Google can be pestered for an explanation because nobody at Google has discourse with anybody outside Googleland. This, in common with so much that I write nowadays, is a repetitive moan and may, at least partly, explain the dearth of comment on my meanderings. From all I hear, Twitter and TikTok are plagued by unwell-wishers wishing unwell to total strangers, so my empty No comments Post a Comment spot, for whatever reason, is probably a positive. Say no more.
TELEVISION.
The customary preparations for summer are underway with an abundance of  'previously unseen outtakes from the concluded series' increasingly in evidence. Would I Lie...? is still worth a look.
The news, home and abroad, is uniformly dire; game shows are packed with people incorrectly described as 'celebrities,' chat shows attract recognizable celebs if they have something to sell, and any viewer who cannot conjure up iPlayer, X, Netflix, YouTube etc., is on a hiding to nothing.
Nowadays I get up every morning to the sound of whichever Classic FM broadcaster is silently seeking a knighthood by including something conducted by King Charles' pal John Eliot Gardiner.

I have breakfast and turn on the television. The Vine Show. If it's Yasmin Alibhai Brown or Owen Jones I stay with it. If not I run the tape (who the hell watches advert littered programmes 'live?') right through to 'The Papers et al.' I then decide whether or not to stay with Storm Huntley and the (who?) pair allocated to her as guests for the remainder of the morning. Mostly I do not..
Occasionally I watch a B picture on Channel 5 in the afternoon. As a rule it is an innocuous little  thriller, one that provides employment for actors who may never reach the heady heights.
The acting world is crowded and its stars are comparatively few. Good luck to the B picture crew.
Mo likes quizzes and some of the antiques and property search programmes. I like fictional detective stuff. We record most of our favourites and together watch quite a lot of Netflix. Recent films we have enjoyed include a second viewing of News of the World in which Tom Hanks starred with young Helena Zengel, Troll (2022) a fascinatingly dubbed Norwegian film, and Monster Hunter, which was based on a video game and often showed it.
I am usually late to bed and spend time watching You Tube. The adverts can be irksome, but they can be rushed through or wiped, and my Search list outweighs the interruptions.

I HAD MORE TO SAY.
But they were sad words and you will have your own sadnesses. So I will decline.
Peace and comfort to you and yours.
 

Post 468. I HAVE LOST TOUCH

WITH MANY OLD FRIENDS.

AS THE CLOCK TICKS ON.

It was inevitable I suppose. Those still alive are less active, or unwell, or simply can no longer bother with prattle. They neither answer the telephone nor reply to emails. They seem very old.
Sometimes, but fortunately not often, I know that feeling. I try to ignore it.
Yesterday I telephoned old pal Bill Harrison who lives in Pitlochry (Scotland for any American browser who still reads) and, surprise surprise, got through for the first time since last November (Post 454 refers). His hearing has not improved and he is currently paying a fortune for private treatment. So he talked at me for ten minutes or so, bless 'im, and at least I know he's alive.
Old age, as I tend boringly to opine, can sometimes be better imagined than experienced.

But, yep, it beats the alternative. So I cling to my sense of humour even though...

I DETEST PRACTICAL JOKES

AND LOATHE PRACTICAL LOKERS.
So on Saturday last, April Fool's Day, I kept my head down and scanned the paper (i weekend).
Patrick Cockburn was on form (when isn't he?), and I avoided any terribly funny deliberate error perpetrated by a 'humourist.' Nothing ever matches Panorama's 1957 spaghetti tree hoax.
Practical jokes played on individuals are invariably mean-minded laughs at the individual's expense and, 'learning to take a joke' bedamned, deserve the reward of a punch on the nose.

Not by me. At my age I only think violently: mostly when I'm watching reality television. I try to be impartial, but you can no more like everybody than you can expect everybody to like you. Thus to:

TELEVISION.

Where we have watched Meet Joe Black, a film starring Brad Pitt, Anthony Hopkins, Claire Forlani and Marcia Gay Harden. Apparently it received iffy revues back in 1998. We enjoyed it.
We also enjoyed the BBC series Beyond Paradise starring Kris Marshall and Sally Bretton. It was full of old-fashioned British daftness, so it suited us. Anyway, I have had a crush on Barbara Flynn ever since The Beiderbecke Tapes. Now that was a great series.

On Sunday mornings we have been watching Love Your Weekend with Alan Titchmarsh.
Celebrity guests appear and talk about their latest television show, book, play, film (you name it). their love of the countryside, and their part in its upkeep by dint of the farm they own and visit when they are temporarily without a  showbiz engagement. We have liked most of the guests so we have generally liked the show. We have enjoyed the llamas, shire horses, piglets et al, too.

But we have been resident on this (mostly pleasant) island for fifty five years. Our entire family currently lives here. We feel we belong. Which sadly means that the Channel 5 series The Isle of Wight - Jewel of the South, commentary by Mr. Titchmarsh, has not been to our liking  In fact it has been a load of back-scratching 'overner' crap. Ditch it. Go back to the bloody garden, Alan. 

HAVE A GOOD EASTER BREAK

WHETHER OR NOT YOU HAVE A RELIGION
AND GO CAREFULLY ON THOSE ROADS.