Post 515. AN UNUSUAL WEEK

FOR US 

SOME NEW FRIENDS. 
Becky, an experienced nurse, and Connor, a soon-to-be GP, visited us last week, They came from Mountbatten Hospice. Newport, to acquaint us with the myriad activities and treatments currently underway at the hospice, and to induct me into the Mountbatten Coordination Centre to which I had been referred (by whom I am still not sure). They were friendly and lively and a breath of fresh air, and such time as I have left in this world already feels the better for their visit.
I seldom leave the house now, so to what extent Mo and I will be able to take up their invitation to visit the obviously highly active  on-site John Cheverton Centre, let alone the cafe, is unsure.

But we'll see. 
TELEVISION.
We watched films this weekend. Best of the bunch was Big Game (2014) starring Samuel L. Jackson as the President of the USA and Onni Tommila as a Finnish boy who saves him from those who should be protecting him. The film was made in Finland and the director was Jalmari Helander  Very watchable.

HOME.
Our grandson has been away, so the house felt empty. 

He got back whilst I was writing this
All is well.

I'm off for a doze.
Cheerio.

Post 514. OOPS AGAIN!

ERRATIC POSTAL DELIVERY

APPOINTMENT MISSED.
There was nothing in our post box for about a week. Then there was a bundle of four letters. One of them inviting me to a diabetic eye screening examination on the day before my four letters arrived. I phoned. They understood. I have a new appointment. What a palaver. Everything is on line or by letter now. The NHS is fast becoming the THS (Telephonic Health Service). Each branch of it increasingly relies on confirming appointments by letter. And the British Post Office is fast becoming reliable only for its unreliability. When we moved to this village in 1968 our house had a name. No number. Didn't need one, Postman had been doing the job since before the war. Yesterday our grandson, tracking a parcel being delivered by Royal Mail, finished up with a picture on his phone showing him the parcel had been delivered to some place he has never set eyes on in his life. Clearly technology cannot compete with experience, And we long ago lost our village post office. Sad innit? All small stuff in an increasingly insane world.
THE NATIONALISTIC NUTCASES..
Here they come, out of the woodwork, the nationalistic nutcases. Give 'em an excuse, any excuse, and they will bring their ignorant violence into play. Their latest excuse is the murderous attack on an innocent group of dancing children. The attack had nothing whatsoever to do with illegal immigration, but try telling the nationalistic nutcases that. It was rock throwing at policemen time, and looting, car burning, destroying property, time. It was anarchy. Now the law is hitting them. Quick trials: long prison sentences. Serves the buggers right. We don't need them.
TELEVISION.
Apart from the mostly bad news, the always ignorable adverts, and the constantly repeated repeats, there have been a couple of decent watches of late.
Wicked Ltttle Letters, a 2023 film directed by Thea Sharrock, written by Jonny Sweet. starring Jessie Buckley, Olivia Coleman, and Timothy Spall. Splendid cast. Appalling language..Mesmerising film.A Kanneh-Mason Playlist at the Proms. Sheku (cello), Braimah (violin), and guitarist Plinio Fernandes, with the superb Fantasia orchestra conducted by Tom Fetherstonhaugh. Exquisite. Totally musical. Not a wrong note anywhere. I loved every second of it. And they even played Dvorak's Song To The Moon: (came close to equalling Renee Fleming's definitive recording, too), So far as the rest of the Proms are concerned, they have a tough act to follow.

That's me for now.
Be safe.