43. Some actors don't

VINCENT.

Some actors obviously act.
Some actors don't seem to.
You couldn't have been Watching the Detectives during the past fortnight without watching Vincent.[ITV1).
Vincent is, of course, the splendid Ray Winstone.
Ray plays himself.
He always has.
As himself he is infinitely more watchable than any of the personae he is given to play.
Make no mistake about it:
Ray Winstone is a star.
And Vincent, played by Ray, is compelling.

REMEMBERING STARS,

To anybody of my age, the thirties and forties were awash with stars.
Larger than life people who lit up the screen in cinemas we frequented before television became the thing.
I talk of stars like Spencer Tracy, Ketherine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Gary Cooper and, later, Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster, Julie Andrews, Marilyn Monroe, etc.
The big screen was full of them.
Their secret was that you did not go to watch So-and-So played by The Star.
You went to watch The Star playing So-and So.
People went to watch Bogie, Cagney, Edward G.,Fred and Ginger, Judy and Mickey...
If you are of the right sort of age, you name 'em.
These were the people who had a screen character tagged onto them as a sort of after-thought.
Nobody cared much who the character was.
I make an exception when it comes to Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe who was played by Dick Powell, Robert Montgomery, Humphrey Bogart, Elliot Gould et al and Leslie Charteris's The Saint who was played by Louis Hayward, Hugh Sinclair, George Sanders, Roger Moore, Ian Ogilvy and possibly others I am too old and too disinterested to remember...
There was also Edgar Rice Burroughs's Tarzan, though he, depicted as he was by many muscular - and some quite good - actors, will surely be best remembered as played by Johnny Weissmuller, a non-acting olympic swimmer.

The memorable character was the exception.

Mostly you just went to watch the star(s) of a film.

JUST A FEW STARS

By the same token, nowadays on television a few, just a few, actors are far bigger than the characters they play.

I don't know why.

You'll have your own opinion.

Suffice to say that if I knew how it is done I'd be rich and famous, too.

42. All systems GO!

LIKE WAITING FOR A BUS.

True to the famous Sod's law all the people we have been hoping to see for months have turned up at the same time today.
It has been a bit like when you've waited hours for a bus...
My Leader is away looking after grandson Ellis (18 months), a patented mischief maker.
She has missed the parade of luminaries starting with builders to put a rooflight in our windowless top floor back bedroom:
Waiting time for this has been right through all the sunniest weather in history.
The sky is now heavily overcast.
The job could have been done long ago, but this is a 'listed' building and the Pillocks in Power (aka The Planning Department) have been a bloody nuisance.
When aren't they?
Oh, we spoke to our Councillor - a patented chocolate fire guard - but he mouthed platitudes and disappeared in a puff of self-importance.
Now the government is talking of devolving more power to local councils.
But not to our council, surely?
Our council consists of a money grabbing bunch of planks.
It has far too much power already.


ANALOGUE v DIGITAL.

Next our mate and tele expert David arrived to fit us a second digi box so that we can at last view one digi station and record another at the same time.
We've waited since digital began for that.
Not his fault.
We thought you had no choice but to watch analogue if you were recording on digital.
Is that the right terminology, analogue and digital?
Who cares?
We just hadn't thought to ask him about it until now.
We now have four remote controls.
When I kick the bucket how will my lovely Leader manage?
Don't be daft.
Ellis will do it.

RING TELEPHONE RING.

Meanwhile, the phone keeps ringing.
It is some bright spark who insists that he wants to speak to 'Mrs.M.'
Seems 'Mr. D.' won't do.
I try not to be rude.
How rude do you have to be to get rid of these people?
And how the hell do they get our unlisted number?

41. Breakfast/Wogan, Tea/Havers, Lunch/ Aunt Kate

MOVING TRIBUTE.

Breakfast With Wogan on Monday (BBC Radio 2, 7.30 - 9.30) was a moving tribute by Terry Wogan to his programmer and friend Paul Walters, who died at the weekend.
The tunes and performers were all 'Doctor Wally' favourites.
When it was over my Leader said: 'They should make that into a tribute CD and sell it for Children In Need.'
May not be practical.
But I thought it was a nice idea.

ANOTHER ACTOR'S MEMOIRS.

Another book of memoirs would you believe?
This time by Nigel Havers.
Didn't catch the title but he'll be on a few more chat shows (it was Paul O'Grady's tonight) so no doubt everyone will know what it's called before the week is out.
He talked of people he has met and I would have let it wash over me had he not mentioned Jessie Matthews.
Ms. Matthews was one of those frightfully affected singer/dancers of the thirties who in later years featured on the radio in Mrs. Dale's Diary.

AUNT KATE'S STORY.

I had an aunt living in Portsmouth, Aunt Kate, who in looks was Jessie Matthews' double.
And the older they became the more the likeness grew.
Aunt Kate always laughingly denied any similarity until, after my uncle died, an old friend, a widower who had done well in business, called her up and asked her out to lunch.
They went in his Bentley to The Queen's Hotel, Southsea.
Before and during the war all the top stars appearing at The Kings Theatre would stay there.
The maitre d. was most attentive and Aunt Kate thought perhaps it had something to do with her friend's impressive limousine.
Then, as they were leaving, the maitre d. said: 'It has been so nice to see you here again, Miss Matthews.'
Aunt Kate smiled, inclined her head and said: 'How kind. Thank you.'
Well, she opined later, it would have been impolite to have embarrassed the man.
It would have put a damper on his day.
And anyway, she had always liked Jessie Matthews.

40. Guilty as charged - almost.

WELL, SHE'S USUALLY RIGHT.

I am still floundering disgracefully with this blog lark and have just managed to:
(1) publish a post with only the title written on it,
(2) finish up with two titles on the previous post and
(3) erase my next effort half way through.

When I first started (somewhen in July) I remember writing that
The Independent columnist Yasmin Alibhai-Brown wondered why bloggers wrote at such length.
Why did they do it at all?
Would they not be better occupied reading?
Making love?
Watching television?

Well, she's usually right.
And the answer had to be: of course they would.

I recollect pointing out as a personal defence, however, that I read all the time, am sadly of an age when making love is more often wishful thinking than wild abandon and that I spend far, far too much time watching television anyway.

SO WHY DO I MENTION THIS NOW?

Because when I managed to lose the blog/post/whatever that I talked about recently, I lost my reply to Yasmin A-B.
And I thought it wasn't a bad one for an oldy.
I stand guilty as charged - almost.

So Samuel Johnson rightly said: 'No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.'
But he could never have forsaken writing.
A writer writes, come what may.
There is no law to say that anybody has to read it.
Best wishes, Yasmin A-B.
They broke the mould...
Though I doubt you'll read it here.

39. A little light editing

ENOUGH WORK FOR ONE DAY.

I went for it a couple of days back.
Did a little light editing.
It was quite enough work for one day.
Went through the lot.
Tried to make my words look slightly less like squeezed up blocks compressed into their Posting boxes and scared to break out.
Tried to modify any fulsome praise, too.
Fulsome praise is just not British.
This is the first bit of scribbling I've done since.
I was knackered.

ABSCONDED?

Funny thing is, I seem to have lost my first attempt at a blog.
I think it may have said something uncomplimentary about my local council.
They, like the power-mad everywhere, are a bunch of tossers.
I know it finished inviting any of you who cared to look in occasionally to do so, but if you didn't, sod it, who cared?
Anyway it's gone.
You don't think the Blogmaster could have censored it, do you?
Na-a-ah. I expect it just absconded.

THOSE DAUNTLESS TRIPPERS.

Joy of joys!
Unscathed by forward Frenchmen or bombs in Bali those dauntless trippers Claire and Lara are still TrippingOnWords.
It seems they are together again in Mongolia, or some such place where The Hordes gather.
Whatever.
It still sounds dangerous to me.
But walking in our little town is dangerous since the council introduced a bus lane the flow of which runs contrary to that of all the other traffic.
Beware local council planning, kids.
Otherwise, keep tripping.
My vow to read the last Harry Potter book and see all the films before I kick the bucket is now equalled only by my determination to see your intrepid travels through to a glorious conclusion.

CSI: MIAMI.

It was the fourteenth episode of a twenty five parter in series four.
A pair of film students had written a screenplay which mirrored unbelievable murders.
Who on earth convinced the watchable David Caruso to adopt that ludicrous affectation with the sunglasses?
Whoever.
Obviously tossers aren't the prerogative of local councils.

38. Nothing's really new

COLD CASE NO NEW TRICKS.

I blame my Leader. There's a thing called Cold Case on Sky Three (FREEVIEW) and she heard about it from who knows who or where. It is about a team of detectives who investigate defunct cases.
Have to admit I was sceptical. Any tele show that is on digital when you first hear about it is like any film that has gone straight to DVD or any DVD that is free with a newspaper. Suspect.
Well, we gave it a try. The first episode we watched was full of flashbacks and meaningful glares. Ah well...

Nothing's really new anyway.

NEW TRICKS SAME COLD CASE.

It helped not if you compared it with New Tricks.
New Tricks had the female boss played by Amanda Redman and the bunch of old detectives played by Alun Armstrong, James Bolam and Dennis Waterman. They investigated abandoned cases.

They were successful. Dennis Waterman's singing was less so.

AND ALL A DEAD END.

Much the same trick was performed years ago by a writer called Roy Vickers with his Department of Dead Ends books.
I was much younger then so to my mind he did it better.

And he didn't have Dennis singing.

THE VACILLATIONS OF POPPY CAREW.

This DVD was obtained via a coupon in my Leader's newspaper. Yeah, I know.
Seems it was originally a television adaptation of the story by Mary Wesley.
It starred Tara Fitzgerald as Poppy with a splendid bunch of co-stars including the inspired casting of Sian Phillips as Calypso, a favourite Mary Wesley character.
Sadly it lacked the unique Wesley writing. She could make the most bizarre situation believable. Invariably did, too. It's hard to capture such magic on film.

Heck, it was gratis and we rather enjoyed it.

PRIME SUSPECT - the FINAL ACT.

We saw this first of a two part thriller which brings back Helen Mirren as Detective Superintendent Jane Tennyson for the last time (allegedly).
It is a harrowing story in which Jane is facing the prospect of a bleak retirement as a lonely alcoholic and it bears no resemblance whatsoever to that of the many retired police officers I know.
Most of them seem to enjoy themselves whether they be re-employed in security work or jobless and constantly holidaying.

Never mind, forget the flaws, on film Mirren is magic.

37. A bit of a week

RUSTY WIRE AT THE END.

Wire In The Blood finished on Wednesday evening with forensic psychologist Robson Green being suspected of making that way-back-in-the-past mistake which may have put an innocent man in prison.

Sound familiar? Yep, it was of course the stock mistake which all TV heroes are suspected of making when plot lines are thin in any crime series. One gained the impression that the wire could be getting a bit rusty.

There was a far-fetched but ingenious get-out for our hero, however, and by my marking system this episode of Scriptwriters v Robson ended in a draw.

I hope ol' Robson will be back, though - if only to show two fingers to Ricky Gervais.

CROATIA v ENGLAND.

The result of the other match of the evening was forecast by the cat Shadow who ate his supper and departed through the catflap with the comment: 'I'm off. It'll be a win for the home side. You might as well go to bed.'

I didn't stay up.

HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR YOU.

Gordon Ramsay was guest host in the first of a new series of this popular programme.

Clearly nervous and presumably warned to moderate his language, he struggled manfully as Paul Merton performed the hatchet job he does so well on all guest hosts.

I was again reminded that no matter how famous I was, or how much my agent thought we needed the money, nothing on earth would persuade me to take on the task of hosting this show.

So why do I think that neither Paul Merton nor Ian Hislop will ever accept an invitation to be a guest cook in Gordon Ramsay's kitchen?

36. The easy way out.

MY NEXT GUEST IS ANOTHER BOOK SELLER.

It is book plugging time again and the box has been awash with chat show guests encouraged to appear not because they adore Parky, or are lifelong friends of Paul O'Grady, or cannot resist the charms of Fern and Philip, but because they each have a book to sell.

This, of course, is publishers taking the easy way out. It is not new. Most of them have always believed that publicity costs too much. For years the lazy bastards simply cajoled their authors into traipsing around booksellers signing copies of the latest masterpiece. It was cheaper than mounting a publicity campaign.

Then came television and the dawning of yet another way to make an easy buck.

Take on only writers who are instantly recognizable to their adoring public. Actors, sportsmen and television celebrities are favourites.

Put their name and photograph on a book cover (whether they have actually written the thing or not) and get their agent to book them onto a nice friendly chat show.

Finally, sit back like an estate agent and wait for the money to pour in.

THE WEEK'S NOTABLES.

This week's chat show notables have been Jack Osbourne, a frequently silly boy who has become a thoroughly worthwhile young man, and Australian writer Clive James, a dryly caustic film critic who later spoilt his image by interviewing the singer Frank Sinatra in the most embarrassingly respectful way.

Clive was plugging his book. Jack was doing the same.

Well, you can't blame them, can you. Once the book is published, their publishers won't be doing much.

J.K.Rowling's publishers seem to be the exception.

But then so is J.K. Rowling.

35. So that was the weekend.

ENGLAND v MACEDONIA SATURDAY 7TH OCTOBER

At about twenty past six in the evening the cat Shadow demanded his dinner.
I went to the kitchen and fed him. I couldn't see any likelehood of a goal being scored in my absence.
By half past six he was pushing his way out through the catflap.
'You're going then,' I shouted, needlessly. 'I thought the Macedonians were quite good.'
'No they weren't,' he shouted back. 'The English team was rubbish.'
Oh dear...

NCIS.

Also on Saturday, Channel 5 screened another couple of episodes of this well scripted series.
A regular member of the excellent cast is English actor David McCallum.
Those old enough to remember the sixties will remember him in a series called The Man From Uncle.
In NCIS he plays a character with the unlikely name of Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard and the best line of an episode called The Meat Puzzle was given to team boss Gibbs (Mark Harmon).
When team member Caitlin (Sasha Alexander)asked him: 'What do you think Ducky would have looked like when he was young, Gibbs?'
Gibbs replied: 'Ilya Kuryakin.'
I was transported back forty years.
Nice one, script writers.

WHAT WE DID ON OUR HOLIDAYS.

The acting was outstanding in this morose drama and I speak as one who has always regarded Shane Richie as something of an unfrocked redcoat.
He and his co-stars worked their (probably rather sweaty) socks off in the Malta sun.
They won.
The end was a shocker.
Roger Lloyd Pack had the pivotal part and made the most of it.

34. Blessed is the man...

HORSES FOR COURSES ETC.

Way back around 1974 I was on a Management Training Course at Willie Rathbone Staff College in Liverpool.
Suffice it to say I was not really the right horse for that particular course.
My fellow course members were all hospital management and I was employed by a committee which dealt solely with general practitioners, dentists, chemists and opticians.
In other words, I was the lone outsider.
Eventually, at a 'brainstorming' session where these bright hospital managers sat around in a circle (which included me and - praise be - an Irish nun from a nursing order), a weighty matter pertaining to hospital procedure was discussed.
Everybody put a sensible contribution into the collective think tank until it came to me.
I had to admit that I had nothing to contribute.
My fellow team members seemed to have said just about everything and my zero experience of hospital administration left me with nothing to add.
The Irish nursing nun sat on the other side of the circle directly opposite me and her eyes twinkled:
'Ah Dennis,' she said gently, 'blessed is the man who has nothing to say - and doesn't say it!'
I do wish I could remember that lovely Sister's name. People like her deserve to be cherished by their God.

A CAT FOR FOOTBALL.

I am going to finish twittering on now.
Match of the Day Live, England v Macedonia is coming later.
I must prepare for the cat Shadow (named after the Cliff Richard backing group - don't ask) and I to watch it.
My Leader is at work but will be home before the match starts and will expect lunch. I'm buying fish and chips. I don't need to cook it and the cat will enjoy a share.
Oh, he'll sleep through the football but he'll be full of opinion when it's over.
Not if it's rubbish, though.
If it's rubbish he'll stalk out through the catflap and not come back until tomorrow morning.

33. Amidst the repeats

TIME FOR A READ.

There has been the customary ragbag of repeats on the box - especially on the digi stations - so I have taken the opportunity to do a little light reading and catching up on gossip.

Cannot be absolutely sure but did I glean the news that TrippingOnWords Claire and Lara are parting company, albeit temporarily, one for France and the other for Bali? [Avoid the intentions of most men in France, Claire. Avoid any unattended parcels in Bali, Lara.]
Did I gather, too, that they have been receiving rather more male mail than female mail and would welcome a bit of a reversal in that department?
[Sorry, can't help there. I'm sure they have long ago perfected a technique for sifting the genuine article - both sexes - from the avoid-at-any-costs crank. Or should I be so naive as to believe there will be none of the latter creeping around Blogland?]
Anyway, I wish them an elderly Englishman's very best wishes and look forward to reading more of their adventures when they reunite.

Over the past couple of days I have been reading 'Red Carpets and other banana skins,' by the actor Rupert Everett.
In a world where many celebrities rely on the services of a 'ghost writer' in order to feign a vestige of literacy it is good to find an actor who appears to have personally written his autobiography. He comes across as outspoken, mostly genial and unafraid of authority in any form. He writes well.
He is also a damned good actor.

THE OUTSIDERS.

The new detectives this week were The Outsiders. Trouble is, it did not come across as all that new. Blink and you could have been watching Callan or Harry Palmer or James Bond or almost any other anti-hero of recent years.
Considering I was warned of this, by Radio Times tele writer Jane Rackham no less, I probably should have avoided it. I didn't and of course I quite enjoyed it. Well, I am used to repeats after all.

WIRE IN THE BLOOD.

Good ol' Robson Green versus the scriptwriters again. The scriptwriters put up a pretty good showing in this 3rd of a 4 part series.
But I now make it 3 - 0 to Robson.
Oh, the 'other one' mentioned a couple of times recently was Jerome Flynn. He and Robson surfaced in the early nineteen nineties in a television series called 'Soldier, Soldier.' Last seen he was doing a one-man show playing the part of Tommy Cooper and doing it brilliantly.
What talent these young blokes have.

32. Totally unreal reality

CHEAP TELE.

If you by chance are the rumoured reader - and are also a fan/devotee/supporter of reality television shows - look away now.
I think they are crap.
Cheap tele.
An abomination.
I am convinced that some Shareholders' Darling at the top of the television ladder sought out the cheapest load of bilge conceivable and snapped it up for the delectation of the most cheaply pleased audience.
Totally unreal reality for the totally uncritical viewer.
I never could warm to the television cook ('chef' be buggered) 'teaching' squirming tyros - nobodies or self-styled celebrities - by bawling obscenities at them.
I was equally appalled as people who should have been repaid with a very hard slap made sneering remarks about the lack of dancing/singing/skating/love-making-ability or whatever of other human beings. And all in the name of 'good television?'
Among the most useless tools are reality television judges.
Latest to grace our screens have been a previously unheard of 'chef' and a greengrocer who, after an apparently successful first series of yet another MasterChef show, miraculously transformed into a 'nutrition and dietary expert.'
No, sorry, cannot stand it.
Cannot stand waiting the long, long, interminably long seconds ('It's good television.' Bollocks!)to find out who has been knocked out, kicked off, or even won, either.
I'll just stick to the stuff done by professionals, thank you.

SPOOKS.

Now this is a very professional job. Frighteningly so at times. All the intelligence types are at each others' throats and all the politicians are murderous bastards.
Total reality really.
I believe it.

31. Where seldon is sought an original thought...

NCIS AGAIN - AND AGAIN.

Yes, on Saturday NCIS was back again and again. I suppose putting on two episodes consecutively saves the programme planners the need to think too hard and speeds along the process of screening all 23 episodes in the series before public interest collapses.
However, despite varied plots and a mostly likeable cast - even Mark Harmon's haircut acts better with each episode - this does come across as shoddy planning.
I once had a boss who should have been a television programme planner. He never aspired to an original thought in his entire life. He just took other people's ideas and peddled them as his own. To the sort of gullible prat who can be found on every committee he was mightily impressive. When he was finally rumbled there was no shortage of sackcloth and ashes.
It was all a long time ago. Had it happened recently I would have advised him to train as a television planner.
Now, where was I? Oh yes...

AFTERLIFE.

Lesley Sharp and Andrew Lincoln make this dark drama unmissable whether you believe in the paranormal or not. I'm hooked and I was brought up to believe that if you can't see it, it isn't there.

CRACKER.

Last night it was the highly publicised one-off return of Robbie Coltrane as Jimmy McGovern's Fitz.
I believe in fictional criminal psychologists, profilers etc. about as much as I believe in fictional amateur detectives like Sherlock Holmes, Lord Peter Wimsey and Hercule Poirot.
But when the writer is a master craftsman and the leading actor is so talented you just have to shelve your disbelief. This was an absolute Cracker.

30. A bright star almost missed.

DOGMA
This 1999 film was one that we had not seen before. I taped it last Thursday and we watched it today. My Leader's comments at the end were that it had been clever, thought-provoking and worthwhile. It had probably brought out the 'Let's Scream Blasphemy' brigade in their droves, too. Oh, and in the final picture shots she had not seen the one who hardly spoke - he was good - who was he?
He was, of course, Kevin Smith. He also directed the film, wrote it, played the inspired character Silent Bob and sensibly gave the funniest line in his excellent script to Alan Rickman (the morose angel Metatron) who, asked whether the main protagonista had been condemned to hell, replied: 'Worse than that - Wisconsin.'
Kevin Smith is a bright star that we almost missed.

REBUS
Good old Rebus (Ken Stott) was back on the box last night, scoffing at the threats of the unholy and ignoring those who insisted he 'back off.'
When a villain points at him and says: 'I'll tell you the difference between you and me...' at the start of an episode, you just know that by the end the silly man is going to be told: 'Now I'll tell you the difference...'
I expect you think you could write 'em?
It only looks easy.

29. The Oldies - Begone!

THE BEGINNING OF THE DETECTIVES.
You need a bit of luck in any undertaking and, in lieu of an eight year old living next door, our bit of luck this week came in the form of son Neil, living some two hundred and fifty miles away. Not only did he turn a collection of snippets into something representing a blog, but he suggested the alternative title to The Oldies.

I was not sorry to say 'begone!' to The Oldies. For some time I had been trying to think up a new name. It would have been easier had I not become absorbed in just how clever are the titles concocted by other bloggers. Look at Claire and Lara with their TrippingOnWords. I tried a few variations starting with SlippingOnTurds and progressing to even less savoury and more plagiaristic alternatives before retreating in despair. Theirs is a crafted and descriptive title. I was not going to equal it. So there you are, you see. What luck!

QUICK TELETALK.
It's Rebus again tonight. Should he turn a blind eye to skullduggery involving local bigwigs? What do you think? Yeah...you know...
And oh, there was a film on last night called Dogma. It went on until well after twelve and that's after my bedtime, so I taped it. Couldn't miss it altogether. It stars Ben Affleck and Matt Damon. But, more importantly, Alan Rickmans is in it.

28. Watching The Detectives

28th September, 2006.
ANOTHER BEGINNING.

Praise be to our graphic artist son, Neil Barnden.
Yesterday, from way down in Cornwall, he put the old man a step further on the road to happy blogging.
I was, he pointed out, making the 'understandable (bless 'im) mistake' of pressing the 'create a blog' button - that bloody great blue thing - instead of the NEW POST button - that little green cross - everytime I (b)logged on.
Consequently I was opening a new blogger account each time instead of posting to the original one.
So there you are.
If you're new and feeling lost, take note of that.
I just hope the splendid Andy Rathbone will find time in his next revision of Windows XP for Dummies to add a chapter headed Blogging for Blockheads.

MORE TELETALK.

Now then: It was Wire In The Blood last night on the box. But before that is was Leeds Piano Competition on BBC4 followed by the unbelievable Lord Peter Wimsey and the infuriating Harriet Vane on ITV3.
I never see Dorothy L. Sayers' name nowadays without reflecting how gladly I miss her patronizing style.
Back to Wire In The Blood (ITV1) Dear ol' Robson Green (whatever did happen to the other one?) acted his socks off again in this rehash of the old barmy-cop-serial-killer-you-know-whodunit episode.
This was the second of four.
So far I have Robson 2 - 0 in the lead.

27. LES MIS.

The musical Les Miserables has been running for twenty one years this year and has been seen by over 58 million people.
My Leader and I saw it back in the days when it was at the Palace Theatre. The Jean Valjean we saw was very good but, sadly, was not Colm Wilkinson.
Some actors make a part their own and that is what Colm Wilkinson did with Valjean. He had the presence and he had the voice.
It has been said that upon hearing his first rendition of 'Bring Him Home' a fellow cast member whispered to a colleague: 'They told us it was a song to God. They didn't tell us God would be singing it.'
Now that's what I call a compliment.

TELESTUFF.

Last night ITV1 screened the last in the current series of Midsomer Murders. It was the usual 'Hallo Cully, what are you doing here?' routine (hear Terry Wogan) with the usual village hatreds run amok.
I gave up counting the murders years ago.
Now I just count the number of times some sadistic tele director sends John Nettles running after a suspect, climbing a long flight of steps, or plodding up to a house at the top of a hill.
Back when a young John was Jim Bergerac and slim and probably capable of running from one end of Jersey to the other, he was provided with a sports car which I suspect was a devil to drive on narrow country roads.
Now that an older John is Tom Barnaby, breathless after a long conversation, he is required to rush everywhere on foot and panting.
I don't think anybody has been trying to tell him anything. I don't think they dislike him. I think they're just a thoughtless bunch of twits.

Later last night The South Bank Show featured Robbie Coltrane. It was a pity that much of the programme came across as an extended trailer for Cracker next weekend.
Given the occasional opportunity to chat without interruption Robbie Coltrane impressed as a lively, forthright and likeable conversationalist.
He is also Hagrid in the Harry Potter films which means that I find myself smiling a great big smile whenever I see him.
Oh, J.K. Rowling spoke highly of him, too.
And that, in my book, is the highest of compliments.

Den Barnden

26. Somebody has broken into the house next door to us.

Somebody has broken into the house next door to us.
It is used as offices by the local Youth Trust, a charity, so the break-in could have taken place anywhen from Friday afternoon onwards.
It is now Sunday and nothing would have been noticed until tomorrow had not the office cleaner gone in this afternoon.
There were no dead bodies so ol' Bill Petersen and his cronies were not called.
A solitary constable looked in, asked us if we had heard anything (we hadn't), made a lengthy entry in his notebook and departed saying of the perpetrator(s):
'They do it to feed their habit.'
From this I gathered that they sell whatever they steal to get money for drugs.
What an insane world.
I sometimes wonder whether anything has changed for the better.
I was a boy in the nineteen thirties. My mother did not have a washing machine, my father did not own a car, we did not have a refrigerator, there was no television; I could go on but it's too boring.
It was a time far removed from the present and a time which I would not wish to see again.
There was a lot of poverty and scant concern for those who suffered it. There was a rigid and unhealthy class system. There was, still is for that matter, one rule for the rich and another for the poor.
But there was no drug habit that I ever heard of.
People frowned on anybody who resorted to sal volatile or the aspirin bottle too readily.
The poppy was only mentioned on Armistice Day.
It is a pity that the search for freedom of spirit sometimes seems to have gone too far.
I know it's very easy for us oldies to bemoan progress. I just wish, though, that when these daft nippers are occasionally discovered 'feeding their habit' someone could deliver them a swift kick up the arse without risking a life sentence from the European Court Of Human Rights.
Is that not P.C?
Den Barnden

25. I was wide awake for more than three quarters of Rebus.

I was wide awake for more than three quarters of Rebus.
Trouble is, television cops and robbers used to run for an hour. Now they have been extended by half an hour - even an hour - and however good the actors may be I do tend, sadly, to run out of steam once they have outlasted my cncentration span.
I believe the good baddy/bad goody did for his father and Rebus eventually had him arrested, but I was slipping in and out of oblivion by the end and not even Ken Stott could remedy the situation.

I cannot put it all down to age. Many years ago, travelling on a boat to the mainland, I passed the actor Ian Bannen on deck. He was alone and looked rather sad.
Out of a combination of shyness and uncertainty as to whether my eyes were deceiving me (I was not aware at the time that he had an Island home), I did not speak.
Later I told my Leader I had seen him.
'He had the leading part in that play on television last night,' she said.
'I expect he would have liked somebody to talk to him about it.'
'You're right. Perhaps I should have spoken,' I said.
She grinned. 'What, and told him you fell asleep half way through?'
Islanders who knew the late Ian Bannen, a thoroughly nice man, have told me that he would have loved that story.

I was in my late thirties at the time.

It was a bloody awful play.

Dennis Barnden

24. As a newcomer to this blog lark...

As a newcomer to this blog lark I am just starting to learn how its influence has spread.
Tonight on our local television news station we learned of a young woman politician who has abandoned her blogspot because the anticipated positive responses from her party supporters were too strongly offset by the excessively insulting negativity of her opponents.
Sure, the words heat and kitchen are bound to spring to mind, especially if you, like me, regard all politicians as a pain in the backside.
But I must admit to a faint sense of indignation that an individual should be ousted from anywhere by browbeaters.
Bullies are such scum.

On Sunday and Monday, Spooks, the fast moving BBC1 spy drama was back.
England was in turmoil (when isn't it?) and apart from Adam (Rupert Penry-Jones), Harry (Peter Firth) and their lovely rough-housing spycatchers, only the Bloggers of the nation seemed to know what was happening.
I didn't know much either, except that Nicholas Jones and John Castle were a couple of bad'uns.
But with the help of those sharp- eyed Bloggers...need I say more?

I've got to go. there's a new series of Wire In The Blood with Robson Green (whatever happened to the other one?) and a lass called Simone Lahbib (of whom I know nothing) on tonight.
I'll have to record The Magnificent Seven on ITV3.
Shall have to find a tape and try to remember to write down what I have recorded on the tape I remove.
Bit of a game sometimes, innit?
Dennis Barnden