DUFF & NONSENSE!

If only I knew the difference between a crotchet and a quaver!

Then, instead of just swooning over Tchaikovsky, or weeping over Shostakovich, or melting to the MJQ, I would actually understand why the music these men, but alas no women so far, have such an effect on me?  There is no doubt that a certain arrangement of notes and chords can have a profound emotional effect on us - but how or why?  Alas, if only I had paid more attention to the late 'Dave' Stannard, a music teacher who deserved much better than me as a pupil, I might have understood!  Whatever, the fact is that certain musical sounds exert immense emotional responses on all but the totally tone deaf and I, for one, remain deeply grateful if totally puzzled as to why!

My TV week is saved!

Thank God for that otherwise I might have been forced to talk to the 'Missus'!  Last night saw the return of "Line of Duty", positively my favourite police series, if not my favourite TV programme, of all.  Happily, all the regulars were back in and it was just like meeting old friends!  Everything remains apparently the same but, of course, that ultra-clever Jed Mercurio who writes the scripts, is already hinting at surprises to come!  What can one say, except possibly, "Mother of God!" 

"I know thee not, old man!"

The recent political demise of [Sir] Donald Trump reminded me of Act v, scene 5 from Henry Vth:

• Henry V.  I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers.
  How ill [yellow] hairs become a fool and jester!
  I have long dreamt of such a kind of man,
  So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane;
  But being awak'd, I do despise my dream.
  Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;
  Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape
  For thee thrice wider than for other men—
  Reply not to me with a fool-born jest;
  Presume not that I am the thing I was,
  For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,
  That I have turn'd away my former self;
  So will I those that kept me company.
  When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
  Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
  The tutor and the feeder of my riots.
  Till then I banish thee, on pain of death,
  As I have done the rest of my misleaders,
  Not to come near our person by ten mile.
  For competence of life I will allow you,
  That lack of means enforce you not to evils;
  And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,
  We will, according to your strengths and qualities,
  Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord,
  To see perform'd the tenour of our word.
  Set on.    Exeunt the [President] and his train
• [Long, shocked pause, then ...]

• Falstaff.  Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pounds.

 

 

'The moving eye, having read, moves on'!

If my memory serves, which alas, it frequently does not these days, I think that recently I moaned that I had lost interest in reading - which to me is the equivalent of losing a leg - or two!  Thus, I am delighted to inform you - because I know how y'all worry about me! - that this afternoon I picked up a book and restarted reading again!  

I would dearly love to tell you that it was a magnificent but deeply complex classic on philosophy but, alas, it was the exact opposite.  It was the latest Jack Reacher thriller written by that brilliant -  and British! - scribbler, Jim Grant a.k.a. Lee Child.  Nobody does 'crash-bang-wallop' thrillers better than him.

I'm lovin' it!

 

 

 

Should old 'Shakespeak' be taught in 'skools'?

A minor 'kerfuffle' has broken out over whether or not Shakespeare should be taught in schools.  Well, of course he should!  Yes, most of the 'kiddie-winkies' will be bored even more witless than they are naturally but here and there a spark might be lit.  What probably does need changing is the way that Shakespeare is taught.  It's no good droning on and on about iambic pentameters and all that stuff, it will put them off it for life.  The only way to teach it is to make the little 'perishers' act it!  Make them say the words out loud and clear against their class-mates playing opposite roles.

"the play's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King"

 

 

 

I miss theatre

Although, to be honest, if this bloody-bloody lockdown was not in place, I'm not sure at my age how often I would be able to make the effort to attend!  I still wonder about the magic of theatre at its best - at its worst it is torture!  Even so, we all go along from time to time despite the grinding tedium of many performances about which I know having been in one or two of them!  And when you think about it, what a strange process it is for a bunch of people to climb onto a stage and pretend to be what they are not and for hundreds of other people to accept the illusion!  Of course, whilst the performances are important "the play's the thing/ Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King", as some old scribbler once wrote!

I was tremendously lucky to have been involved, in one way or another, with productions of some terrific plays.  Placing Shakespeare's plays on the plinth they deserve, I still have very fond memories of other plays with which I was associated.  If you ask me, apart from Shakespeare, which was the greatest I would not hesitate to name "Every Good Boy Deserves Favour" by Tom Stoppard.  I remain forever grateful to the shade of the late, great critic, Bernard Levin, whose rave review of the London production drove me to see it.  Literally, my life changed!  I still remember walking down The Strand afterwards unable to speak because of the emotion engendered by the production.  Thanks, Mr. Stoppard, you changed my life!

 

 

 

The (late) Sunday Rumble

God, life's boring!   Even so, as I have remarked before, many a time and oft (perhaps too oft!), sometimes boring is better than exciting!  Part of the problem for me in this 'Covid' era is that my scientific/medical knowledge is miniscule and even though, as my regular visitors will know, I am never averse to making a prat of myself on all sorts of subjects, virus behaviour, along with sub-atomic particle behaviour is way beyond my ken!  In these sorts of situations I simply dig in and keep my head down!

 

Next Tuesday's US election:  Yet another subject about which I have little to say - let alone forecast!  My sincere hope is that 'The Donald' will win, not because I am a great admirer of the buffoon but simply because an (un)Democrat regime would be a disaster!  Here's hoping!

 

I loathe and detest the National Trust!   'Back in the day', the 'Memsahib' was always eager to visit this or that stately, historic house most of which were run by the National Trust.  Not me!  I could only think of the families who had built them and lived in them for hundreds of years before being forced out by rapacious governments.  Today, The Mail reports that the jumped-up bureaucrat who runs the NT is determined to publicise any of the houses whose previous owners were associated in any way with the slave trade.  Well, I expect it gives the smug, stupid woman a warm glow of self-appreciation even if nobody but her and few Lefty twerps gives a toss!

 

Farewell, Sir Sean, and thank you:   I think that Sean Connery's performances as 'James Bond' were simply superlative!  There is no doubt that he looked the part of an exceedingly dangerous man and his growly, Scottish accent added to the menace.

 

No more rumbles

 

Poor, old Bill, why can't they leave him alone?

According to Ben Lawrence in The Telegraph, poor, old Bill Shakespeare is under attack again from the usual collection of ideologues and ignoramuses.  The reason, as far as I can tell, is that the wretched scribe from Stratford failed to fall into line on 21st century opinion/prejudice, er, that is, the 'opinion/prejudice' of 21st century buffoons who seem not to understand that Shakespeare speaks for all centuries and almost all people - everywhere!

But it is not just universities which are proving to be a barrier to Shakespeare. The insular, sometimes toxic world of the theatre Twitterati has become a breeding ground for those who shout the loudest to effectively cancel him. The result is that it sometimes feels as if the default status is to tackle him as if he is a bad thing. Take the Globe, set up by the great Sam Wanamaker, to increase our understanding and enjoyment of Shakespeare. The Globe (when fully functioning) should be a joyous celebration of his work, but there is a danger that it is very much becoming a place where the craft of production is playing second fiddle to ideology; where a recent production of Richard II became a statement about post-Empire attitudes as we left the European Union.  [My emphasis]

Many years ago I directed a production of Othello and I was forced through lack of an alternative to cast a white man as the black, tragic hero.  It wasn't satisfactory but then again, theatre is all about pretense - so what the hell? 

I really do not think that Shakespeare's plays will ever be totally exterminated but the repellant activities of the PC fanatics needs to be watched.

 

I put my memory down somewhere but I can't remember where!

I do know that the many old codgers - and codgerettes! - who read this blog do not need a whinge from me on the many irritations that accompany old age.  Even so, as a fully qualified, old codger, myself, I do feel the need to moan about one really irritating facet of the condition - loss of memory!  It is, of course, irritating to others - especially, in my case, the 'Memsahib' who suspects that idleness may have more to do with my failure to remember instructions than loss of memory!

Whatever, it is a damned nuisance!  I can sometimes begin a trip upstairs in order to execute some task or other and by the time I reach the top - it's gone!  The rather sadder side of this condition is that people and events that had some impact on my life in earlier years are slowly disappearing into the mist and that truly is depressing.  I will give one example that has just shocked me somewhat.  The other day, some how, in some way (I forget exactly!) the title of Shakespeare's great(est?) play, Troilus and Cressida,  was mentioned.  Now, not only did I once act in a production of it but I also once directed it, but could I remember any of the plot details?  Not a chance!

'Still 'n' all', as I sit here typing this out, I noticed my old copy of the script on the bookshelf so I have hooked it out and will attempt to re-read it.  Perhaps, just perhaps, that will get me back into reading again, a habit I never thought I would lose!

Additional:  I almost forgot - see above! -  to express my thanks to 'SoD' for his contributions to this site in my feeble absence.

 

 

"So, who's a naughty boy then?" Er, me, actually!

Yes, sorry, sorry for going a.w.o.l. for the past couple of days or so but frankly what is there to write about?  Even 'The Donald' seems to have faded from the headlines and Boris appears to have put away his clown outfit and is trying his best to appear restrained and sensible - 'E for Effort', Boris!  Even so, it's all very boring even if I keep reminding myself that it is a curse to live in interesting times!

Talking of 'interesting times', there is a fictional program on the 'telly' tonight based on Singapore as war broke out.  I shall watch it because I am something of 'an old Singapore hand, don'cha know'! Happily - mega-happily! - my tour of duty was well after the Japanese invasion and the only invaders we feared was a visit by the US Far East Fleet - sheer hell, I tell you, sheer hell!  Well, just imagine several hundred 'JKs' let loose on the town!  I was amused to read that they had to film it up in Malaysia because there was no part of modern Singapore that looked the part!  Mostly, that was due to the late - and exceedingly great! -  Mr. Lee Kuan Yew who was ruler of Singapore when it was granted independence.  He is one of the exceedingly tiny group of politicians I truly admire.  I lived there during his first years in power and his intelligence was awesome!

Meanwhile, America - yet again! - demonstrates the 'stoopidity' of me moaning about English weather!  The scenes from the western side are truly horrifying.  I can hardly believe the colossal dimensions of the fires ravaging California.  On the whole Americans are a sturdy bunch of people but I do hope 'The Donald' has some imaginative and useful assistance he can offer them in this catastrophe.

 

 

That Shakespeare fella', very tricky, you know!

I have given 'old Bill' a bit of a rest in recent times, mostly because I have been taking a bit of a rest, too!  However, I am prodded into action by an interesting article by the highly intelligent Daniel Hannan in The Telegraph.  In it, he points to the probability, or in his opinion, the certainty, that Shakespeare was bisexual.  Well, that's OK with me.  Old Bill was, or at least, appears to be from his writings, all things to all Men.  I would not be so quick to accept his actual homosexuality because, dammit, of that "all things to all men" characteristic!  His imagination took him inside the minds of heroes, cowards, kings, murderers, rebels, refined ladies, tarts and so on and on.  However:

Harold Bloom, after a lifetime of studying and teaching the plays, concluded only that “by reading Shakespeare, I can gather that he did not like lawyers, preferred drinking to eating, and evidently lusted after both genders.” To that list, I would tentatively add that he distrusted crowds, had suffered a painful betrayal and hated hedgehogs.

You will need to read Mr. Hannan's original article for an explanation of Shakespeare's alleged dislike of hedgehogs!  As for me, I do not give a flying hedgehog whether he was queer or not.  I simply remain in awestruck gratitude for him writing those plays which added so much to my life.

 

 

 

Don't mention the weather!

Just as I see and hear lightening flashes and thunder, I was going to produce yet another dirge concerning the 'bloody-bloody' weather 'over here' but somehow, having just viewed reports from 'over there' on my TV, I think a polite silence is called for!  Crikey, I know they always do things bigger and better 'over there' but those storms blasting Louisiana are something else!  Instead of my usual Limey whinges I will keep 'schtum' and wish everybody 'over there' well as they face those incredible, battering winds and rain.  I was thinking of offering a food parcel but one from me would probably only contain a couple of empty Scotch bottles and I suspect that my old buddy, JK, has more than enough of them!

Or perhaps I could entertain my neighbours by going out onto our communal lawn and giving them some full on Lear:

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!

You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout

Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!

You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,

Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,

Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,

Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!

Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once

That make ingrateful man!

Dammit, why did I never get that part?!

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 9/8/20

Do get a grip, America!   I read today that 84,000 mail ballots have been disqualified in an election in 'Noo Yawk'.  Why am I not surprised and as it is, so to speak, 'bleedin' obvious' that postal votes are always and forever open to abuse and malpractice, why do Americans persist with the practice?  If as an American citizen you can't actually 'haul yo' ass' to a voting centre then you lose your vote - end of!

 

So Brexit wasn't quite the end of the world after all!   According to a Dutch writer at The Spectator:

An article in the Dutch, left-leaning newspaper Het Parool led with the headline ‘Despite Brexit, multinationals prefer London over Amsterdam or Paris’ this week. The piece reports that ‘the feared exit [of companies] from Great Britain is not happening’ as expected, and highlights the fact that Unilever decided to:

“Become fully British, scrapping its dual [Anglo-Dutch] structure [which has been in place for 90 years]. Its headquarters will be London and not Rotterdam, despite the avid attempts of Prime Minister Mark Rutte.

'Hoodathunkit?'  Er, well, me, actually!

 

That Borodin fella is driving me nuts!   By pure coincidence, I seem to have come across his rightly famous composition "In the Steppes of Central Asia" at least three times in the past few weeks and now that damned theme is firmly lodged in my mind.  I'm not really complaining because it is gorgeous but, in the words of my old Jewish accountant, "Enough is enough, my life already!"

 

No more rumbles 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 2.8.20

My fav fab five films!  Alas, I have failed to give this tricky subject my full attention but on the other hand if the names just leap up at me from what passes for my memory they can't be far wrong.  Also, my thanks to some of you who volunteered some titles which I instantly endorse.  In no particular order:

M. Hulot's Holiday

Shakespeare in Love

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold

Lawrence of Arabia

Cabaret

I will almost certainly have changed my mind several times before the end of the day!

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Take good care 'down under there'!  I gather that 'the deadly lurgi' has struck bigtime in parts of Australia.  If it could just confine its malignancy to their cricketers and rugby players that would be appreciated but, alas, it seems to be ripping through the general population.  Hang on in there,'mates'!

 

No more rumbles 

 

 

 

And lo, SoD descendeth!

Yesterday he steamed in full of the energy I totally lack these days and proceeded to tear through my computer as well as the 'Memsahib's whilst simultaneously programming my TV to something called 'NETFLIX' which appears to have copies of every film ever made anywhere!  I remain sceptical of all this 'whizzy-do' electronic stuff but I must admit that he has been far more advanced in the subject than me since he was about 12 years old!

I am particularly eager to get into this 'NETFLIX' lark because I have always had a fascination with films since I was a nipper and in these modern times they just keep on getting better - not all of them, of course - but at their best they are brilliant.  On this subject, I am going to suggest a little experiment for us all.  I want you y'all to choose your favourite FIVE films.  Yes, only five because 'like a hanging in the morning it concentrates the mind wonderfully'!

I'm off to bed now so I will ponder my picks overnight.

 

 

 

Don't say I don't do you any favours!

Alas, on this occasion you need to live in the UK to take advantage of the favours I am about to offer you, er, sorry y'all 'over there'!  Anyway, hoovering my way through the papers this morning - well, that's what Saturday mornings are for! - I checked out the movies scheduled on TV for the next seven days and there are four absolute 'corkers' coming up. 

Tonight at 9.15pm on Channel4 they are showing the superb film "Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri" - and yes, you're right, I have raved about this film before but only about six times!  Best of all, it stars one of my favourite actresses, Frances McDormand - need I say more?  Then, on Monday on Sony Movie Classics at 6.05pm there is a showing of the German war film, "Das Boot".  I have never seen the film before, only the truly excellent TV version, so I do not intend to miss the original.

On Tuesday, at 10.00pm, they are showing the delightful and very witty film, "Love Actually", middle-class English humour at its best with - natch! - the ultra languid Bill Nighy.  Finally, a double treat on Wednesday at 11.45pm on ITV4 because the superb Frances McDormand stars again for the Coen brothers in "Fargo".

What a week to look forward to, er, although blogging might be on the quiet side!

 

 

 

A 'luvee' who speaks his own intelligent lines

I refer to Mr. Laurence Fox, best known as 'Sgt. Hathaway', the righthand man to 'Insp. Lewis' in the long - and I do mean 'looooooong'-running TV series "Lewis".  It is not often that 'luvvies' speak much sense - unless someone else has written the lines for them - but today, in the 'Spectator' - where else? - he writes some superb good sense and I urge you all to give it a read.

 

Give that man an Oscar, or at least, buy him a pint if you see him in a pub!

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 14.6.20

Peter Hitchens goes to the dark heart of it all:   I will not attempt to summarise his superb essay in today's Mail but, instead, urge you all to go and read it - please!

 

'Gotta just lurve this pic':

 

From this morning's Mail and it shows a BLM supporter carrying an injured, er, 'Black Lives Don't Matter'  (or something like that!) supporter following a violent clash in London.  What can one say, except possibly:

What a piece of work is man, How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, In form and moving how express and admirable, In action how like an Angel, In apprehension how like a god.

Well, 'maybe, baby'!

 

"Gone with the Wind"   But never gone from my memory!  It must be 60-odd years ago since I first read the book and then later on saw the film.  I have never forgotten them; story-telling of the highest order.  Now, of course, the puritan, peck-sniff censors have attacked it and driven it from the TV listings.  Whatever those preachy, hectoring idiots might say or do my response is the same, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!"

 

Not just 'Good News' but deliciously, lip-smacking news:   I can hardly wait and it is all due to the splendid United States Court of Appeals for the D.C. Circuit.  No, me neither but they are the judges who have just decided that 'HillBilly' Clinton must personally enter the Court and answer questions from lawyers representing Judicial Watch who are eager, nay, slavering, at the chance to find out exactly what she did or did not do during the run-up to the slaughter of Ambassador J. Christopher Stevens and three other Americans in Libya in 2012.

 

 

More Rumbles later . . .

 

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 7.6.20

I had fond memories of HSBC:  But not any more!  The reason is that because as a young and married soldier living in Singapore I needed to open my first Bank a/c - yes, yes, I know but up to then I was just another feckless 'Tom' living week by week, cash in hand from my army wages.  However, my newly acquired 'Memsahib' who had worked in a Bank most of her life soon put me straight!  Anyway, I am sorry that HSBC has now been swallowed whole by those political gangsters who have seized control in China.  My advice - don't go anywhere near any of their branches!

 

Ms. Patricia McCarthy is spot on!   No, I don't know who she is but this is an extract from piece at The American Spectator:

What is so disappointing is their cowardice in the face of outright thuggery. What nonsense. Black Lives Matter, as Tucker Carlson so aptly pointed out, is a cult, a new religion for those who virtue-signal because they crave to be seen as woke. It’s all pathetic, a sad commentary on the lack of moral and intellectual stamina of far too many Americans.

Couldn't have put it better myself!

 

Charles Dickens - bit of a rat, apparently:   There was a fairly hefty piece in The Telegraph the other day following publication of a new biography of the, er, great man of letters!  I didn't read it all, any more than I ever read any of his great novels which were rammed down our throats at school.  Alas, I cannot offer a thoughtful critique of his work simply because I know so little of it.  Totally tedious!  

 

I've suspected it but Patrick O'Flynn says it!   And, needless to say, he says it at The Spectator site.  Quite baldly he tells Boris to get a grip!   I must admit, albeit somewhat reluctantly, that I, too, have sensed a certain waywardness from this government.  Yes, it appears that Boris has decided to take a strong line against China even, allegedly, hinting that he will cut Huawei out of our 5G communications system.  I have yet to see any blood! Also, there have been what I can only describe as 'Trumpian' promises to flood the country with 'zillions' of quid to fire things up after this damned pandemic.  Where it will come from and how it will be repaid remains a mystery.  Yes, I do realise that these are incredible times but that is when 'Great Leaders' come to the fore and, er, well, LEAD!  Ask old 'Winnie'!  OK, so he can't reply but just read some of his biographies!

 

"Downton Abbey" - simply the best!   Happily they are repeating the series on TV these days, every evening Monday to Friday.  Julian Fellowes, the creator and writer of it, is a genius!  His storylines cover a host of interesting characters and situation both above and below stairs.  Impeccably acted and directed.  In the unlikely event that you have not seen it - treat yourself to a box-set!  You can take my word for it because I was once an actor, you know - and I heard that! 

 

Is "Black Lives Matter" a racist slogan?   I ask because I fear that were I daft enough to attempt to publicise the slogan "White Lives Matter" I would have the 'woke' mob on my back instantly!

 

If you read nothing else today, read this:   By Kevin D. Williamson at The National Review:

https://www.nationalreview.com/2020/06/george-floyd-protests-comforting-abstractions/

 

 

No more Rumbles

 

 

 

 

"Little Boy Blue"

Last night I watched the first episode of "Little Boy Blue" which is being repeated on ITV.  There are three more episodes to come this week and you really should try and see them.  If you missed the first episode last night it showed the murder of a young boy accidentally shot in a park by some young yobs who had acquired a gun.  No, I agree, that doesn't sound too enticing and the fact that it is set in Liverpool and they all speak 'Scouse' does not add to its appeal!  However, first of all it is superbly and realistically directed and acted but, above all else, it features Stephen Graham in the lead role of the investigating policeman.  I would watch that man read the football results!

DO NOT MISS IT! 

 

 

In which I am about to dive into Amazon

No, no, not the Amazon, I mean that 'yuuuuuuuuuuuge' supermarket in the sky, or the ether, or space, or wherever!  My reason for doing so is quite simple, it's because 'SoD' kindly sent me a handsome voucher from that august, er, virtual shop.  This was particularly good timing because as the 'Memsahib' and I drift inexorably into middle-age - well, we are both 81 now! - we both watch rather more TV than we should.  Slowly the truth has dawned that the more we watch the worse it gets!  The irritating problem is that over the years the TV companies have produced some excellent programmes but, on the whole, they were rarities.  For example, the absolutely excellent Downton Abbey.  Or, by way of extreme comparison in setting but not in acting/directorial skill, the superb Homicide: Life on the Street. Of course, at this point I run, or shuffle, headlong into my memory problem!  I sort of remember some of the characters and situations but can I remember the name of the series? Nah!  And nor can the 'Memsahib'. 

So, my excellent 'e-pals', if you have any remembrances of above average TV series, Brit or American, which might be available in 'box set' form, please let me know.  On the whole, I prefer police procedurals in which the body count is suitably high but, of course, the 'Memsahib' has rather more refined tastes!  Anyway, all suggestions welcome!

 

 

 

This is a MUST!

Yes, yes, I know you get a steady diet of boring-snoring crap on this blog but this - I promise you! -  is superlative!  Especially now, when we are all separated from friends and family and feeling more that bit jaded, this is the 'right stuff' to cheer us up.  Please, please pass it on to others.

How it was done and how it was stitched together is quite beyond me but I think it is brilliant and I would like to pass on my thanks to my e-pal, Malcolm Pollack, and all his friends for cheering me up 'yuuuuuuuuuuugely'!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ri0FR3JlCUE

 

 

 

A muse on music

It is, of course, entirely ridiculous for me, a man who does not know the difference between a crotchet and a quaver, to opine on the subject of music but - hey! - check out the name of this blog!  Even so, music only occupies roughly a third of my existence despite me hardly ever listening to it during the day (unless I'm driving) and during that one third of a day I am mostly asleep!  Oh dear, I had better explain.

As I have mentioned before, I always go to bed with a radio earpiece stuck in my ear.  For years my radio has been tuned to either TalkSport or BBC 5Live.  The former, of course, concentrates on sport, mainly football, about which I have zero interest but the usually angry antagonists do provide some entertainment before I doze off.  BBC 5Live is more political and thus has a similar soporific effect.  Alas, given the current blackout and lockdown, both sport and politics have disappeared!

Thus, I have been forced to turn to music.  Nothing would ever induce me to listen to so-called 'pop' music - the fact that we used it, deafening loudly, as a torture discomfort application in my days in the Army's Interrogation Unit says it all!  But I have always had a discriminating fondness for classical music.  The problem of playing it as a means to waft me off to sleep is that the music I love, through its magic (of which more later), actually excites the senses and keeps me awake.  Thus, my natural choice of a radio station for classical music, Classic fm, has far too much of the music that turns me on instead of turning me off, so to speak!

So, the other night, I had a moment of brilliance!  I switched to BBC Radio3, the epitome of truly tedious and therefor mostly unknown classical music.  Practically the first piece I heard was by a Japanese composer which sounded as though he had filled a studio with tin cans and lumps of wood and upon which he practiced his, er, 'timpanic' skills!  Yeeeeeees quite!  After that, it was a stream of truly tedious and totally forgettable music and I was off to the 'Land of Nod' in no time!

I will return to the mystery of music later . . .

 

 

"Fargo" - the Coen Brothers

Yesterday, by a stroke of luck, I spotted that the Coen brothers' film Fargo was showing.  In a flash, I stabbed various buttons on my 'recording-do-flicker-thingie' - sorry to confuse you with this 'tech-speak' language - and, heavens to Betsy! - it worked.  So tonight I settled down to watch it.  It was just as good as the other six times I have watched it!

I really do admire the Coen Brothers and their films of which Fargo is one of the best.  It is, of course, grossly violent but is laced throughout with dark humour.  The characters invented for the story are impeccably observed and equally well-acted by a superb collection of actors led by Frances McDormand who deservedly won an Acadamy Award.

I'm sure y'all have seen it but if you get a chance - see it again!

 

 

Your Easter Rumble: 2020

That God-bloke's 'avin' a larf!   Well, really, we've had three months of non-stop drizzle, rain, drizzle, rain until we (alright then, me!) nearly went mad and then the most gloriously warm and sunny Easter arrives just as that bloody virus goes mad and keeps us all locked up indoors!

Meanwhile, 'over there' the Dems have gone mad!   It is difficult for an Englishman to discuss President Trump.  To us, he appears to be from Mars!  Not, mind you, that he appears to have done anything 'yuuuuuugely' wrong, indeed, just the opposite, no wars have been declared and, prior to this 'virus-thingie', the American economy seemed to be doing rather well.  Also, we Brits need to remind our insular selves that Trump's eccentricities are considered not in the least eccentric 'over there'.  In fact, just the opposite, they are much admired by zillions of his "fellow Americans" which means that the Democrats have an exceedingly tough job in trying to remove him from office next Autumn.  What do they do?  They pick a very decent, old 'codger' to whom you would offer your seat in a crowded train.  A 'good ol' boy' who shuffles along but has difficulty remembering what happened an hour ago - oh boy, do I know that feeling!  He has zero appeal to the zillions of young 'Lefties' to whom he should appeal if he is to stand any chance.  All he can rely on is Trump putting his (in)famous words into practice and 'grabbing some lady by the pussy'.  I think - I hope! - he knows not to do that!

The 'Hefferlump' on Hitler's biography:   Of course, I am referring to Simon Heffer who has a review of "Hitler Vol II: Downfall 1939-45" by Volker Ullrich about which I wrote with some enthusiasm a week or two back.  It is, of course, a total irony that I have paused in my reading of Herr Ullrich's book in order to read the 'Hefferlump's' superb history of the opening of WWI.  Even so, Herr Ullrich should not despair because despite my nausea in reading anything about that dolt and madman, I will return to it eventually. 

Pity the poor politician - oh go on, try!   One of them, either Boris or Raab, will have to take the decision as to when the 'lockdown' is to be lifted. The economic shambles that will follow this gross interruption to normal life will be 'yuuuuuuge' and the government will be blamed.  Equally, if the lifted lockdown results in a second outbreak of 'lurgi' then - guess what! - the government will be blamed!  Do I feel sorry for them?  Not in the slightest - they fought tooth and nail for the job so let them take the consequences!

For my e-pal, 'Whiters', a tale from Tom Stoppard:   'Whiters', as I am sure my regular readers will know, is a keen fanatical angler so I thought Stoppard's essay in The Spectator might amuse him:

The trout season opened on 1 April. I was given my first fly rod 70 years ago. Since moving to Dorset, my fishing has been on a chalk stream so small and so tricky that the only way to fish it is to walk up the middle in chest-waders with a seven-foot rod. The last time I was on the water I slipped and went under, since when I haven’t been sure whether I’m still fishing. Lockdown shelves the question for the time being. I wait for further instructions from the government.

 

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Your Easter Sunday Rumble

 

Americans really are nuts!   Or, to translate that into English English, 'Americans really are eccentric'!  This morning, idly flicking through the TV stations to avoid any mention of the dreaded 'c'-word, I came across a programme devoted to American cowboys indulging in bare-back riding on bulls!  And, I should add, these bulls had enormous, terrifying and exceedingly sharp horns!  The 'rides' only lasted on average approximately 5-secs but it surely must have been the longest and most uncomfortable 'ride' for any of the nutters brave young men who undertook it.  Apart from the dangers of a maddened, 20-ton bull leaping around like a Dervish, consider for a moment that there are no saddles!  Yeeeeees, quite!  As I said, they're all nuts - or perhaps, thinking about it, they lack any 'nuts' at all!

Sorry, JK, I can only give you "E for Effort":  I read somewhere this morning, although I'm blessed if I can remember where, that Arkansas only finished 4th in the gun ownership tables amongst the States of America!  Whatever, you do, JK, don't move to another State because your absence, along with your armoury, would drop Arkansas to 18th!

The 'chequered flag' falls on Sir Stirling Moss:  Truly one of the greats of motor racing. Alas, I never saw him race but his reputation will live on and on  . . .

 

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Your Easter Monday Rumble

 

What happens next?   I am tempted to reply "Who knows and his brother 'Fuck'!" but that, of course, would be crude and rude and unsuitable for a distinguished blog such as this - and I heard that!  Even so, attempting to work out how the world will be after this cataclysm is exceedingly tricky.  Obviously, there are going to be 'yuuuuuuuge' financial ramifications both on a national and personal level and the largest of them will be debt.  Happily, we can rely, to a certain extent, on 'greedy' capitalism re-asserting itself to the benefit of most of us in the long-term.  However, national and international debt, as always, will act as a dampener and when you throw in the priority of perceived national political interest as a priority over all else, then the difficulties of reaching recovery increase enormously.  What will be required from the international political leadership is wisdom and patience - 'yeeeeeeeeeeeeees', quite!

 

Non, Monsieur, do not pull that handle!    Amidst the 'doom 'n' gloom' this will provide a chuckle.  According to The Telegraph, a 64-year old, French pensioner was given a surprise flight in a French fighter plane.  It was arranged, secretly, by his, er, 'bon amis' and he felt impelled to accept it.  The Air Force pilot put the aircraft through some tight manouvres and the old man in the back reached for something to hang on to.  Alas, it was the trigger for the ejector seat which promptly blasted him out of the aircraft.  Quelle surprise!

 

Spare a thought for the 'luvvies':  Oh, go on, try!  I refer, of course, to all those actors and actresses who are now out of work and with absolutely minimal chances of employment in the near future.  Mind you, it's all happened before.  Poor old Will was forced to forsake London and retreat to Stratford during the plague.  Mind you, it gave him some respite and time to dream up some more inventions - so not all bad, then!

 

More Rumbles over the Easter period . . .

 

 

A mega-bonus with my books

You will have deduced already that I am an unashamed 'bookaholic' so you will be delighted to know that yesterday, whilst I suffered several disappointments, I also won the jackpot!  I had better explain.

I have always had a weakness for 'pulp fiction' but not, I hasten to make clear, without some discernment.  It is a weakness I share with an old friend from way back who shops regularly in some sort of cut-price supermarket that also sells books as 'cheap as chips'!  Every so often he boxes up the ones he has read and sends them to me - what a pal! Consequently, during the week an enormous box arrived stuffed full of books and at a glance I could see the names of several writers whose work I have enjoyed over the years decades!

So, with a sigh of pleasure I slumped into my armchair to read, for example, Jo Nesbo, Harlan Coben and some other 'Scandie' thriller writer I had never heard of before.  First the 'SCHLOK', then the HORROR - I couldn't get on with any of them!  In desperation I picked up the last one written by John le Carré.  It is superb and, best of all, it harks back to the story line that made his name "The Spy Who Came In From The Cold".  That book truly is the greatest spy yarn ever told!  I can still remember, vividly, the moment when, right towards the end of the book, the penny eventually dropped in what passes for my mind as I realised who was the real 'dirty rat' in the story.

Anyway, in "A Legacy of Spies", le Carré describes how the current, er, 'management' of MI6 has decided, for reasons I have not yet learned, to mount an enquiry into the operation from decades before described in "The Spy Who Came In From The Cold" which ended with the agent Alec Leamus and his unwitting girlfriend, Elizabeth Gold, shot dead on the Berlin wall.  Peter Guillam (remember him?), a young officer in the first book, now retired, has been brought back to the 'Circus' for questioning on the whole operation.  So, there they all are again, brought back from the dead, so to speak - 'C', Smiley, Oliver Lacon, Bill Hadyn, Estahase, Alleline et al!  And now, the ashes are being well raked over!

Dammit, that John le Carré is a genius story-teller so I may be missing for a while!

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 23.2.20

Crikey! Tyson must have been in a fury!   (Yes, yes, I know, NOT 'very witty, Wilde', but I haven't been up long!)  Anyway, I was stunned to hear the result of last night's fight.  Whilst I am not a keen boxing fan I do admire the men (but NOT the women!) who take up the sport.  In Mr. Tyson's case, I also admire his eccentricity.  I gather that at the end of last night's fight he regaled the audience with a solo song performance.  Time for a sword tap on the shoulders, Ma'am!

 

Harry vs. Her Maj!   Well, there was only ever going to be one winner in that fight!  Now Harry and Meghan will have to remain swimming, increasingly desperately, I fear, in the shark-pool that is 'Celeb-Central'.  Good luck with that one!

 

Not much love for the BBC these days:   I have been slightly surprised at the lack of support for the BBC as it faces a hatchet-job from the 'DomBo' duo.  Personally, I went off the BBC years ago as it gradually dumped its hitherto very neutral stance on current affairs.  The only programme worth listening to these days is the World Service, particularly its excellent "From Our Own Correspondent".  The sight and sound of David Dimbleby squeaking in outrage as 'DomBo' approach with the financial scissors in hand is music to my ears!

 

The Dems are truly and monumentally dumb!   Faced with a weirdly eccentric Republican President whose oddities should have been easy target, the Dems have succeeded in shooting themselves in the foot!  In one caucus they managed to propel the American equivalent of Jeremy Corbyn into top place!

 

Gregory Doran shouldn't be allowed to run a Punch and Judy Show!   However, as it is, he runs the Royal Shakespeare Company which is sufficient reason for me never to set foot in the place again - I doubt he will miss me!  He is one of those silly, 'woke' people who likes to cast women in major masculine roles and black men as historical Kings of England.  Need I say more?  Well, yes, actually because I would like to tell him that when I go to see a Shakespeare play I want to see Shakespeare's play, not Mr. Doran's!

 

Daniel Hannan eviscerates the Brussels 'cherry-pickers'.   And no-one does it better:

Now who is cherry picking? For three years, EU negotiators refused to countenance British proposals for a bespoke deal, however much such a deal was in their own interest. Their rules were paramount (yes, they kept saying that with straight faces) and Britain must choose an off-the-peg model. Michel Barnier was forever brandishing a chart with a staircase on it to show that, if Britain didn’t want to keep free movement or stay in the customs union, its only option was a free-trade agreement like that signed with Canada.

“Fine then,” said Boris Johnson when he took over from Theresa May. “Canada it is.” At which point, suddenly and shamelessly, Eurocrats began to backtrack. Actually, no, not Canada. When they said “Canada”, what they meant was: “Canada plus an obligation to let Brussels set some of your rules in perpetuity.”

As I have said, many a time and oft', the Brussels apparatchiks will never, ever cut a trade deal with us Brits until we have been punished!  So let us not bother, 'DomBo', just pull out and go on WTO terms.  'See how they like them apples'!

 

 

No more Rumbles

 

 

 

Norway is definitely a 'NO-NO'!

I have long held a doubtful view of Norway, in fact, a 62-year long view!  It stems from my one and only visit, courtesy of 'Her Maj' when, as a very young recruit I was despatched there to 'play soldiers'.  Alarum bells rang when the QM issued me with not one but TWO pairs of 'long johns'!  Dammit, I had just suffered weeks of hardship to earn the right to wear and swagger with my red beret and camouflage smock like a proper paratrooper and now they wanted me to wear 'Grandpa underpants'!  Needless to say, when I arrived not one but both pairs went on like a shot and didn't come off until I reached home again - and yes, the smell was not pleasant!  

Now I learn, courtesy of Zero Hedge, that in Norway they are serving worm burgers and cricket burgers!  Need I say more?  Check the link and read all about it - but try not to throw up, the missus will not be amused!

Fancy a bite?  Thought not!

Additional:  A very naughty cat hogs the limelight and halts the orchestra!

 

 

 

The fat rogue is scuppered

Sorry to bore on about Falstaff, this will be my last word on the subject and then I can return to even more boring politics!  

On hearing that the King is dead and that his young partner in crime and booze and whoring is about to be made King, Falstaff gallops back to London to claim the favours that he thinks he is owed.  He stops the Royal procession on its way and reminds the young prince of their 'friendship' over the years.  This is the reply he receives with my emphasis:

I know thee not, old man: fall to thy prayers;
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man,
So surfeit-swell'd, so old and so profane;
But, being awaked, I do despise my dream.
Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;
Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape
For thee thrice wider than for other men.
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest:
Presume not that I am the thing I was;
For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,
That I have turn'd away my former self;
So will I those that kept me company.
When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
The tutor and the feeder of my riots:
Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death,
As I have done the rest of my misleaders,
Not to come near our person by ten mile.
For competence of life I will allow you,
That lack of means enforce you not to evil:
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,
We will, according to your strengths and qualities,
Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord,
To see perform'd the tenor of our word. Set on.

Never trust a king - or any politician!  In the stunned silence that follows the King's contemptuous dismissal, Falstaff and his gang of wasters are totally shocked to silence but then the fat rogue responds as only he would:

FALSTAFF
That can hardly be, Master Shallow. Do not you
grieve at this; I shall be sent for in private to
him: look you, he must seem thus to the world:
fear not your advancements; I will be the man yet
that shall make you great.

SHALLOW
I cannot well perceive how, unless you should give
me your doublet and stuff me out with straw. I
beseech you, good Sir John, let me have five hundred
of my thousand.

FALSTAFF
Sir, I will be as good as my word: this that you
heard was but a colour.

SHALLOW
A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir John.

With his usual impeccable skill Shakespeare does not dwell on the death of Falstaff.  It is merely reported, second-hand, by the rogues and villains with whom he consorted:

 

SCENE III. London. Before a tavern.

Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy

 

HOSTESS
Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.

PISTOL
No; for my manly heart doth yearn.
Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins:
Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,
And we must yearn therefore.

BARDOLPH
Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in
heaven or in hell!

HOSTESS
Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's
bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' made
a finer end and went away an it had been any
christom child; a' parted even just between twelve
and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after
I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with
flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew
there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as
a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now,
sir John!' quoth I 'what, man! be o' good
cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three or
four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a'
should not think of God; I hoped there was no need
to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So
a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my
hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as
cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and
they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and
upward, and all was as cold as any stone.

NYM
They say he cried out of sack.

HOSTESS 
Ay, that a' did.

BARDOLPH
And of women.

HOSTESS
Nay, that a' did not.

BOY
Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils
incarnate.

HOSTESS
A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he
never liked.

BOY
A' said once, the devil would have him about women.

HOSTESS
A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then
he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of Babylon.

BOY
Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick upon
Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soul
burning in hell-fire?

BARDOLPH
Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire:
that's all the riches I got in his service.

To attempt to 'perform' the death of such an enormous character on stage would have been a great error.  Instead, Shakespeare gives us a second-hand description and leaves the rest to our imaginations.

Right!  No more Shakespeare, back to boring politics - later!

 

 

 

 

 

A trip down memory lane, er, for me, not you, sorry!

By accident I stumbled upon my old copy of Henry IV Part 2 in which I once had the supreme pleasure of playing the 'greatest' character invented by William Shakespeare.  I refer, of course, to that ghastly villain of villains, Sir Jack Falstaff.  This is an extract from the (in)famous recruiting scene in which Falstaff, the, er, 'Officer in Command' accepts a quiet 'bung' to let go two of his 'recruits' despite the fact that they are the strongest and most able.  It is amusing, even funny, until you dwell on the implications, particularly for Masters Feeble and Shadow, the original examples of 'cannon-fodder':

FALSTAFF
Come, sir, which men shall I have?

SHALLOW
Four of which you please.

BARDOLPH
Sir, a word with you: I have three pound to free
Mouldy and Bullcalf.  [My emphasis]

FALSTAFF
Go to; well.

SHALLOW
Come, Sir John, which four will you have?

FALSTAFF
Do you choose for me.

SHALLOW
Marry, then, Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble and Shadow.

FALSTAFF
Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home
till you are past service: and for your part,
Bullcalf, grow till you come unto it: I will none of you.

SHALLOW
Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong: they are
your likeliest men, and I would have you served with the best.

FALSTAFF
Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a
man? Care I for the limb, the thewes, the stature,
bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the
spirit, Master Shallow. Here's Wart; you see what a
ragged appearance it is; a' shall charge you and
discharge you with the motion of a pewterer's
hammer, come off and on swifter than he that gibbets
on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-faced
fellow, Shadow; give me this man: he presents no
mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim
level at the edge of a penknife. And for a retreat;
how swiftly will this Feeble the woman's tailor run
off! O, give me the spare men, and spare me the
great ones. Put me a caliver into Wart's hand, Bardolph.

BARDOLPH
Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, thus.

FALSTAFF
Come, manage me your caliver. So: very well: go
to: very good, exceeding good. O, give me always a
little, lean, old, chapt, bald shot. Well said, i'
faith, Wart; thou'rt a good scab: hold, there's a
tester for thee.

SHALLOW
He is not his craft's master; he doth not do it
right. I remember at Mile-end Green, when I lay at
Clement's Inn--I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthur's
show,--there was a little quiver fellow, and a'
would manage you his piece thus; and a' would about
and about, and come you in and come you in: 'rah,
tah, tah,' would a' say; 'bounce' would a' say; and
away again would a' go, and again would a' come: I
shall ne'er see such a fellow.

FALSTAFF
These fellows will do well, Master Shallow. God
keep you, Master Silence: I will not use many words
with you. Fare you well, gentlemen both: I thank
you: I must a dozen mile to-night. Bardolph, give
the soldiers coats.

SHALLOW
Sir John, the Lord bless you! God prosper your
affairs! God send us peace! At your return visit
our house; let our old acquaintance be renewed;
peradventure I will with ye to the court.

FALSTAFF
'Fore God, I would you would, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW
Go to; I have spoke at a word. God keep you.

FALSTAFF
Fare you well, gentle gentlemen.

(Exeunt Justices)

On, Bardolph; lead the men away.

(Exeunt BARDOLPH, Recruits)

As I return, I will fetch off these justices: I do
see the bottom of Justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how
subject we old men are to this vice of lying! This
same starved justice hath done nothing but prate to
me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he
hath done about Turnbull Street: and every third
word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's
tribute. I do remember him at Clement's Inn like a
man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a'
was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked
radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it
with a knife: a' was so forlorn, that his
dimensions to any thick sight were invincible: a'
was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous as a
monkey, and the whores called him mandrake: a' came
ever in the rearward of the fashion, and sung those
tunes to the overscutched huswives that he heard the
carmen whistle, and swear they were his fancies or
his good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger
become a squire, and talks as familiarly of John a
Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother to him; and
I'll be sworn a' ne'er saw him but once in the
Tilt-yard; and then he burst his head for crowding
among the marshal's men. I saw it, and told John a
Gaunt he beat his own name; for you might have
thrust him and all his apparel into an eel-skin; the
case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a
court: and now has he land and beefs. Well, I'll
be acquainted with him, if I return; and it shall
go hard but I will make him a philosopher's two
stones to me: if the young dace be a bait for the
old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I
may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end.
Exit

And yes, darlings, of course I was wonderful in the role!

 

 

 

Rosenkrantz and Tomás Straüssler

As my regular readers already know, I am an enthusiastic admirer of Tomás Straüssler, aka: Tom Stoppard.  Of course, I don't know him as a man, only as a playwright and it's no good me trying to extol his virtues in that discipline, the best thing to do is go and see one of his plays.  Next month, courtesy of 'SoD', I am off to see his latest (and given Stoppard's advanced age, possibly his last!) play "Leopoldstadt".

In retrospect, I am forever in his debt because seeing, almost by chance, one of his earlier plays, opened up an entirely new horizon for me personally.  Until that point I had only a minimal interest in theatre but Stoppard quite blew my mind away and I began to glimpse the terrific imaginative possibilities of theatre.  Almost immediately I sought and found an amateur company to try my hand at acting and then directing.  It filled, so to speak,  my middle ages!  Eventually, I was able to direct two of his plays, including what I consider to be his very greatest - "Arcadia".  Of course, for me it was - could only be - a hobby but I derived enormous pleasure and mental stimulation from it.

I bore on thus because there is a very good article in The Telegraph today by Eleanor Halls on the subject of Tom Stoppard.  It's worth reading but better still, try and see one of his plays if you can.

 

 

 

'Big Sis' is the best!

I should explain that the "Big Sis" in my title refers 'Sister Wolf', a ferocious and very funny blogger I came across years ago.  Hitherto, I would have described her just as an 'e-pal' but actually, a couple of years ago I met her in London when she was on a trip 'over here' so that allows me to drop the "e" from e-pal.  She, and her sister, were very far from ferocious, both being charming and friendly.  Anyway, today she has a blog post which, as so often, left me chortling.  Below, I reproduce a photo that she used to illustrate her post - the elderly gentlemen amongst my readers should try to contain their excitement!

Apparently, the two ladies above, about who, regrettably, I know nothing, provided the dance and musical background to some 'yuuuuuuuuge' sporting event 'over there'.  Subsequently, a dispute has arisen as to whether or not their dance routine helped 'empower' women or not.  'Sister Wolf', needless to say, has an opinion:

PLEASE tell me that you agree with me, that the show was as disempowering to women as if they’d been scrubbing dishes on their hands and knees.

What is empowering about women having to wear stripper outfits and shake their asses? What is empowering about the hours spent getting hair extensions and spray tans and investing in personal trainers? I see it’s empowering for the people who provide the services and for the cosmetic surgery industry but for women?? Bitch please.

It’s not empowering to feel you must look like you’re in your twenties when you’re fifty. It seems sad to me. Even Brad Pitt is allowed to look weathered. It seems like oppression. Maybe in the age of Trump, oppression is empowering?

Shakira is gorgeous and I have to say she’s a really good dancer. She looks like a fit 43 year old. Not a miracle of make-up and hair professionals, but a genuine babe, you know? Good for her.

But most of the accolades are going to Jennifer Lopez, who makes it look SO HARD, with every step and ass-wiggle seeming to visibly cause her anxiety. When is desperation empowering? When she sang something about “I’m still Jenny from the block” my husband and I both laughed out loud.

Jesus Christ, empowering my flat ass.

Whatever you say, 'Big Sis', but if you could see your way clear to printing a moving picture of the dance routine, I would be very grateful.  Er, just so I could offer an informed opinion, of course!

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 26.01.20

A cheerful start - for a change!   Until this morning I had never heard of 'The Windermere Children' but apparently it is the subject of a programme on BBC2 tomorrow night.  It tells the story of 300 or so Jewish children rescued from German concentration camps at the end of the war and relocated to a new camp near Windermere in the Lake District.  Gradually they were rehabilitated mentally and physically following the unspeakable horrors through which they had - just! - managed to survive.  You can read about it here:

https://www.msn.com/en-gb/news/uknews/the-true-story-of-the-ww2-holocaust-survivors-who-became-the-windermere-children/ar-BBZkPGS?ocid=spartanntp

 

Go, Rupe, baby, go!   Excellent news this morning  to the effect that my 'ex-Best Friend Rupe' Murdoch is planning to open a new radio station to compete with the BBC's Radio4.  Yes, I know the ads will be irritating but I would rather put up with them than listen to the tendentious, 'woke' crap that emanates from Radio4.  Incidentally, 'Rupe' is my best ex-best friend because years ago he ramped up the price of his TV news channel forcing me to leave.

 

The 'Heffalump' in praise of John Profumo:   He, of course, was the naughty boy caught out in the early '60s for his dalliance with the equally naughty Christine Keeler.  I always remember him because, before his fall from grace, I actually met him - for about 3.5 seconds!  I was in a bed in the RAF hospital in Bahrein - no, no, not sick, just skiving and making the most of the most minor of injuries - and as Minister for War he was inspecting the base.  Anyway, he shook hands and wished me well.  I mention all this because the 'Heffalump' has a kindly and forgiving article about the man in The Telegraph today.  Profumo,  was blessed with a superb and wise wife in the form of the film actress Valerie Hobson.  Whatever else, you have to say that he had good taste in women!

 

Oh dear, when 'allies' fall out!   I am a regular follower of both The American Thinker site and The National Revue site.  Between them they give me a Conservative overview of the American political scene.  The Thinker from a very pro-Trump point of view and the NR from a much more doubting and critical standpoint.  Today, The Thinker takes a swipe at The Revue and thus neatly summarises the divide in the conservative view of President Trump.

 

I told you they were 'psycho-babblers'!    For years now I have sneered at what I always refer to as "psycho-babblers".  I am not suggesting that everything they say is tripe, for example, there are, I believe, broad categories of mental states that can - with care! -  be grouped together to aid recognition and to allow some serious scientific enquiry and even treatment.  However, much of what is spouted on the subject is self-serving crap!  Take for example the late David Rosenhan, a 'psycho-babbler' of the first order, as detailed in a book review in this week's Spectator.  Read it and weep!  That phoney Freud has much to answer for.

 

'Theodore Dalrymple' gives Prince Harry a slap:   The volume of words spewed forth in recent weeks since the birth of Harry's and Meghan's son is monumental.  As you would expect, most of it was piffle but thanks to 'TakiMag' the shrewd and highly intelligent 'Dr. Dalrymple' has published his take, not on the birth itself but on the name chosen by his parents for the new 'nipper' - Archie.  Even I, resolutely uninterested as I am in the doings of this, er, particular family, raised an eyebrow when it was announced.  As per usual, Dr. Dalrymple puts what pass for my thoughts into clear, straightforward words.  Give it a read!

 

No more rumbles today

 

 

 

 

 

So farewell then, Terry Jones, you were a very silly boy!

The death of a 'clown' is always extra melancholy but that of Terry Jones is especially so.  He was the epitome of English silliness!  And, of course, 'silliness' is a vein of humour that runs through English humour for over a century.  Nothing could have been 'sillier' than the Monty Python crew led by Terry Jones which was summed up in the silliest - and one of the funniest - films ever made - "The Life of Brian".

Thank you, Terry Jones, you made me giggle and laugh - a priceless gift!

Laurence Fox for Prime Minister!

I'm shocked, I tell you, shocked!  Well, one doesn't expect to hear good sense delivered from the mouth of a 'luvvie', er, unless someone else wrote the words, but the splendid Laurence Fox has done just that - and impromptu words at that!  First of all, he ripped into the 'woke-lot' on BBC Question Time, telling a particularly dim woman in the audience that her criticism of him as a 'privileged white man' was in itself a racist comment - an irony that would have sailed miles over her head!

 

+3

 

 

And last night, according to The Mail, he ripped into Sam Mendes, the director of the film "1917" for introducing a Sikh soldier into the story line as though he was a member of a British regiment.  The Sikhs did indeed fight for Britain in WWI and they fought ferociously and bravely but they did so in their own formations and were never individual members of any British regiment.  I suspect that not many Sikhs will enjoy being patronised by the 'arty-farty woke brigade'!

 

 

The Sunday Rumble 12.1.20

In which Peter Hitchens agrees - with me!   Well, obviously, that is a whopping great misdirection - or lie, if you prefer! - but I can with accuracy say that in his column today he repeats sentiments expressed by me a few days ago.  I expressed my hope that Labour would succeed in ridding itself of the ignorant loonies who infiltrated it and then took it over completely.  It is critically important because, like every other democracy, we need a functioning opposition, never more so than now when we have a government run by the, er, eccentric 'Boris & Dom' team.  Get a grip Labour and get your act back together!

 

Poor Harry, the Prince who chose exile:   Or, to be more accurate, perhaps, the Prince who was nagged into exile!  Alas, I fear an Edward/Wallis Simpson future for him.  On the surface, no doubt, it will be very exotic as he and Meghan 'cruise' the 'sleb' circuit, well, to begin with, anyway. But "that old common arbitrator Time/ Will one day end it".  Looks and youth will fade, money will shrink, invitations will wither; new, fresher, younger 'slebs' will capture the headlines and then the dread question will be asked - "Meghan who?"

 

More Hitchens!    And no, I am not apologising because he is a writer I much admire.  Today, in The Mail, he demands to know what has happened to the film "An Officer And A Spy" based on the superb novel by Robert Harris which detailed the disgusting campaign which eventually brought down Alfred Dreyfus, a totally innocent French army officer who just happened to be Jewish.  The film won 'yuuuuuge' plaudits when released but then more or less disappeared.  Mr. Hitchens suggests that the fact that it was directed by Roman Polanski, a self-confessed paedophile, is the main reason for its banishment from our screens but he also points out that if we are to be denied access to artistic creations simply on the basis of the artists' disgusting behaviour then we will lose a lot;

If so, what should the BBC do about the sculptures by Eric Gill, which adorn its London HQ? Gill’s sexual crimes were so horrible that I will only say they included incest.

As for the much admired surrealist painter Salvador Dali, his private life (by his own account) was cruel and disgusting beyond belief. Should his pictures be removed from the world’s galleries?

Whilst we wait for commonsense to apply, read Harris's book - it is superb!

 

Taki is still a very naughty boy!   As I keep telling you every time I mention his name.  To be fair, this time it is one of the writers at his magazine who is the naughty one.  I refer to Mr. Jim Goad (No, me neither!) who has provided us all with his choice of the 19 most annoying people of 2019.  To give you the flavour, this is his view of #1: Pete Buttigieg, a 'wannabe' Presidential candidate:

1. PETE BUTTIGIEG
Hey, it’s “Mayor Pete”! He’s the first millennial homosexual mayor ever to make a serious bid for a major party’s nomination. He has never had an original idea in his life, and the only reason he’s gained any traction is because he’s an anus-nuzzling bone-polisher. Blacks don’t like him, Hispanics don’t like him, and radical homos think he’s too boring. Whenever this smarmy little vole starts pontificating about some policy issue or another, all the entire world can think about is that later tonight, he’ll be batting around his husband’s testicles as if they were ping-pong balls and his tongue was a paddle.

Er, well, yes, if you say so Mr. Goad!

 

Look but don't touch!   There is a very 'swotty' article in The Telegraph which suggests that just looking at something alters its state of being.  This might help to explain it for y'all.  

 

Oh, come along, do buck up, it's all very simple really. If you are not sure whether something is a particle or a wave, just look at it!  See?  That quantum physics is dead easy, really!

 

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!   It looks as though ex-Cpl. Duff might be re-joining the Colours.  Apparently, our (so-called) Ministry of Defence has let it be known that they wish to attract old soldiers back to military service.  They are desperately short of recruits, mainly, I guess, because the delicate youngsters of today are failing to volunteer.  Anyway, I stand ready to return, er, just so long as someone can give me a hand with my back-pack, allow me time for a nap in the afternoon and bring me a hot cocoa at bedtime.

 

No more rumbles

 

 

The problem with Ricky Gervais is that he wasn't nearly rude enough!

As we all do know now, Ricky Gervais was 'yuuuugely' rude to the gathered Hollywood scum stars and starlets gathered for their annual prize-giving.  Alas, he was no-where near rude enough!  Take for example, Ms. Michelle Williams - and no, I have never heard of her before today - who won a bauble at the Globe Awards.  As Ms. Jeannie DeAngelis informs us at The American Thinker, it was probably a good thing that the entry carpet to the ceremony was red because it is possible that Ms. Williams might have left a trail of blood behind her!

Once inside, and despite Gervais's advice to avoid political acceptance speeches, the nominee for best actress in a limited series or television film, Michelle Williams, came prepared to confess that a "woman's right" to kill her unborn children is what gained her access to a carpet stained with both [literally] sewage [there had been a plumbing accident earlier] and [metaphorically] blood.

Ms. DeAngelis continues:

Embracing her prize, Michelle shared that she wouldn't be where she is today if she hadn't aborted a baby or two. The award-winner implied that had she not relegated one of her many lover's children to a red biohazard bag, she wouldn't be as welcome to sit among those in attendance, many of whom likely sold their souls to the Devil for the opportunity to become a star.

Kind of like an unborn child with no control over a fame-hungry mother headed toward an abortion clinic, Michelle explained: "As women and as girls, things can happen to our bodies that are not our choice." Apparently, as one half of the twosome needed to conceive a child, Michelle excuses herself from the process. Furthermore, if she wasn't raped, based on those remarks, Michelle seems unaware she had a "choice" before "things ... happened to her body" that resulted in life. After that, Michelle commended herself by stating, "I've tried my best to live a life of my own making and not just a series of events that happened to me."

Apparently, as I write she is carrying the embryo of a child produced with her current lover.  Ms. DeAngelis advises him strongly to keep an eye on it because you never know when Ms. Williams will be offered another starry role!

 

 

 

Your Monday *Funny" - note the singular!

I am a tad pushed for time this morning so instead of searching desperately for 'Funnies' to amuse y'all, I decided to copy and print the speech made by Ricky Gervais at the totally ridiculous "Golden Balls Globe Awards" ceremony yesterday.  What, you may ask, are his chances of being invited back to host next year's ceremony?  Somewhere between zero and -100, I would say.

Hello and welcome to the 77th annual Golden Globe Awards, live from the Beverly Hilton Hotel here in Los Angeles. I’m Ricky Gervais. Thank you.

You’ll be pleased to know this is the last time I’m hosting these awards, so I don’t care anymore. I’m joking: I never did. NBC clearly don’t care either – fifth time. I mean, Kevin Hart was fired from the Oscars because of some offensive tweets. Hello [pointing at himself].

Lucky for me, the Hollywood foreign press can barely speak English and they have no idea what Twitter is. I got offered this gig by fax. So let’s go out with a bang. Let’s have a laugh at your expense, shall we? Remember, they’re just jokes. We’re all gonna die soon and there’s no sequel, so remember that. But you all look lovely, all dolled up. You came in your limos. I came here in a limo tonight and the license plate was made by Felicity Huffman. It’s her daughter I feel sorry for – that must be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her. And her dad was in Wild Hogs.

So lots of big celebrities here tonight. I mean legends, icons. Look at this table alone. Al Pacino. Robert De Niro. Baby Yoda. Oh no, that’s Joe Pesci, sorry. I love you man, don’t have me whacked.

But tonight isn’t just about the people in front of the camera. In this room are some of the most important TV and film executives in the world. People from every background. But they all have one thing in common. They’re all terrified of Ronan Farrow. He’s coming for you. Look, talking of all you perverts. It was a big year for paedophile movies: Surviving R Kelly, Leaving Neverland… The Two Popes.
Many talented people of colour were snubbed in major categories. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do about that. The Hollywood foreign press are all very, very racist. So fifth time. We were going to do an in memoriam this year, but when I saw the list of people that died, it wasn’t diverse enough. It was mostly white people and I thought, nah, not on my watch.

Maybe next year, let’s see what happens. No one cares about movies anymore. No one goes to the cinema. No one really watches network TV. Everyone’s watching Netflix. This show should just be me coming out going ‘well done Netflix, you win everything. Goodnight.’ But no, no, we’ve got to drag it out for three hours. You could binge watch the entire first season of After Life instead of watching this show. That’s a show about a man who wants to kill himself because his wife dies of cancer. And it’s still more fun than this. Okay, spoiler alert, season two is on the way. So in the end, he obviously didn’t kill himself – just like Jeffrey Epstein. Shut up. I know he’s your friend, but I don’t care. You had to make your own way here on your own plane didn’t you?

But seriously, most films are awful, lazy remakes and sequels. I’ve heard a rumour that there might be a sequel to Sophie’s Choice. I mean, that would just be Meryl Streep going, ‘Well it’s got to be this one then.’

All the best actors have jumped to Netflix and HBO, and the actors who just do Hollywood movies now do fantasy adventure nonsense. They wear masks and capes and really tight costumes. Their job isn’t acting anymore, it’s going to the gym twice a day and taking steroids. Have we got an award for most ripped junkie? No, no point.

Martin Scorsese, the greatest living director, made the news for his controversial comments about the Marvel franchise. He said they’re not real cinema and they remind him of theme parks. I agree, although I don’t know what he’s doing hanging around theme parks. He’s not big enough to go on the rides. He’s tiny. The Irishman was amazing. It was amazing. Long, but amazing. It wasn’t the only epic movie. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, nearly three hours long. Leonardo DiCaprio attended the premiere and by the end, his date was too old for him. Even Prince Andrew’s like, ‘Come on Leo mate, you know, you’re nearly 50 son.’

The world got to see James Corden as a fat pussy. He was also in the movie Cats, but no one saw that. And the reviews were shocking. I saw one that said this is the worst thing to happen to cats since dogs. But Dame Judi Dench defended the film, saying it was the role she was born to play because she – I can’t do this next joke. Because she loves nothing better than plonking herself down on the carpet, lifting her leg and licking her arse hole. She’s old school. It’s the last time, who cares.

Apple roared into the TV game with The Morning Show, a superb drama. A superb drama about the importance of dignity and doing the right thing, made by a company that runs sweatshops in China. So, well, you say you’re woke, but the companies you work for. I mean, unbelievable: Apple, Amazon, Disney. If Isis started a streaming service, you’d call your agent, wouldn’t you? So if you do win an award tonight, please don’t use it as a platform to make a political speech. You’re in no position to lecture the public about anything. You know nothing about the real world. Most of you spent less time in school than Greta Thunberg. So if you win, come up, accept your little award, thank your agent and your God and fuck off.

Oh God, I would have paid good money to be there!

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 29.12.19

Whither the House of Windsor?  The 'Heffalump' has an interesting article in The Telegraph today on the subject of the Royal family and its future.  As 'Her Maj' put it in her Xmas speech, it has been "a bumpy year" for the Windsors.  Andrew has been a prat - so no surprise there, then! - and Harry has married an American 'wannabe diva' who obviously detests all things British and much prefers the, er, 'high society' of Hollywood.  I don't altogether blame her for that but I suspect that 'Prince' Harry will eventually tire of it all.  Never mind, Charles stands ready, indeed, probably tapping his foot in frustration, to ascend the throne and hopefully his dottiness will be accepted by his subjects over time.  Let us all thank God that behind Charles stand William and Kate (and Kate's mother!), quite possibly the most sensible family unit in the entire Royal hierarchy!

 

Better watch out, BBC, the axeman cometh!   Yesterday, Mr. Charles Moore, he of the world's greatest magazine, The Spectator, was granted the role of editor on the BBC's morning agit-prop programme, "Today".  His report on the experience is well worth reading particularly the difficulties put in his way to stop him inviting in a 'global warming' sceptic for an interview.  Rumour has it that the swivel-eyed 'Greenie', Roger Harrabin, who purports to be the BBC Environmental Editor, was not amused!  Come on, Boris - and Dominic! - don't hang about, chop them off at the knees and let the BBC earn its living in the real world!

 

And it may be Douglas Murray wielding the axe!   As you may have gathered after several admiring mentions on this blog, I am a devoted admirer of Mr. Murray and his works.  Not least his latest article in today's Mail in which he hopes, and perhaps even prays, that the era of 'woke' dictatorship will end in 2020.  Alas, I fear that too many non-celebrities desperate for celebrity will keep the fires burning and continue to throw sensible people on them.  Still, a man may hope, may he not?

 

"The top ten most influential books of all time":   That is the courageous title of an article at The American Spectator written by Larry Alex Taunton.  I will leave y'all to judge his judgment but it prodded me into wondering which books have been the most influential on me?  Tricky one, that!  I suppose it boils down to which books have remained in my memory over the past 80 years?  Well, one in particular has never left it - "The White Company" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  It was the first book given to us in my first term at Grammar School - and whilst I am shaky on the details, the essence of it has never left me.  It demonstrated courage in war but also benevolence.  A terrific read for any young lad.

 

"First Things" first!   I have just read a book review by Peter Hitchens, alas written in July - my bad! - on the prickly, tricky subject of Benjamin Netanyahu.  Needless to say, Hitchens' views are always worth reading on almost any subject.  However, this particular review was published by a totally new site to me - "First Things".  Intrigued, I checked out the site - and instantly subscribed to it!  I would urge y'all to do the same!  Yes, at first glance it appears to have a religious bent but they don't shove it down your throat - and if they publish Hitchens then they can't be all bad, can they?

 

No more rumbles today

 

 

 

A very cinematic Boxing Day

I may not be a very exciting man to live with, as the 'Memsahib' will confirm - vigorously! - but, dammit, I have excellent taste in films.  Thus, yesterday afternoon and evening I slumped in my reclining chair and after cruising through the 'library' of films I have recorded on my 'telly'.  I began with "The Spy Who Came In from the Cold" with Richard Burton at his very best.  It is, of course, absolutely everything that the James Bond movies are NOT!  Grimly realistic and redolent of that now lost - thank God! - age of the cold war, the Berlin wall and the vicious but underhand trickery of the intelligence services - on both sides!

To lighten my mood, I then moved on to one of the most charming and delightful films ever made - "The Artist".  This is a French film but set in the Hollywood of the late '20s when silent movies were on the cusp of losing out to sound-tracked films.  Thus, most of the movie itself is silent and the two stars concerned, Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo, are simply superb - ooops, I almost forgot the other star of the film Uggie as the dog, Jack.

Last but definitely not least, I watched - again - for about the tenth time! - one of the greatest and most moving films - EVER!  I have bored on about "The Secret in their Eyes" too many times and oft so I will not add to your tedium but simply say that if you have never seen this deeply disturbing Argentinian film - THEN SEE IT NOW!  

Oh dear, sorry for shouting!  Anyway, I enjoyed a superb Boxing Day!

 

 

 

Oh boy, I wish I had been part of that conversation!

Mind you, given the high intelligence of the other two interlocutors, I doubt I would have said a word!  I refer to an article in the 'Speccie' which describes a meeting between Mr. Douglas Murray, of whom I have written admiring words before on this site, and "the boy from Zlin", a.k.a. Mr. Tom Stoppard.  Actually, his birth name is Tomas Straussler and he was born in Czechoslovakia (as it then was) to Jewish parents who wisely 'did a runner' when Hitler marched in, and ended up in India.  Alas, his four grandparents were not so fleet of foot and perished in the camps, and later his father died when his boat was attacked by the Japanese outside Singapore.  His mother remarried a British army officer and thus Tomas Straussler was transformed into Thomas Stoppard, one of the very greatest playwrights of this 20th/21st century.

Reading the piece, I was reminded what an enormous effect he had on my life.  I was thunderstruck decades ago when I first saw his play "EGBDF - Every Good Boy Deserves Favour".  In a way, the simplest of plays but also, in its way, a hugely intense experience.  Since that mental and artistic shock, I have seen many of his plays and because of them I was driven into my very amateurish, er, 'career' in theatre.  For me, the very greatest was, and still is, "Arcadia".  Brilliant, inventive, highly intelligent, intensely moving it is, in my humble opinion, the greatest of all his plays.

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 8.12.19

Art criticism at its very best:   As y'all do know, I am in a quiet way a bit of an old 'arty-farty'.  I rarely pay attention to art critics because I know what I like even if, sometimes, I don't exactly know why!  But here is a man whose, er, 'taste' I would trust implicitly.  Recently an 'artwork' was unveiled which consisted of a banana duct-taped to a wall with a price tag of $120,000 attached.

On Saturday, the man, Mr. David Datuna, who is obviously of impeccable, er, taste, ate the banana!

 

Are you as confused as me over the forthcoming election?   Well, neither of us can be blamed given, as an example, two headlines in the same edition of the Sunday Mail:

"Tories scent victory with fresh poll showing late Labour surge has not materialised"

"Boris Johnson refuses THREE times to say if he would quit, should the Tories fail to win the election, as polls tighten with just days to go" 

I think I'll just stick to the pattern of the tea leaves at the bottom of my morning cup of tea!

From The Telegraph

 

Classic Peter Hitchens:   He is always a 'Must Read' on a Sunday but today he covers a range of topics all of which make you think.  I never followed his late brother and I wonder if he was a patch on Peter?

 

Hoot of the Year:   I am indebted to the Red State site for providing the hoot of the year from the lips of that well-known American comedienne, Mrs. Hillary Rodham Clinton.  She was re-acting to that mummified creature who calls herself Nancy Pelosi who has inveighed against Trump's evil ways and threatened dire legal counter-measures.  'HillBilly' responded with these immortal words: “no one is above the law”.

 

If only!   Apparently that irritating little girl, Greta Thunberg, is complaining that 'they' are trying to silence her!

Well, 'they' are obviously not very good at it because she never shuts up talking total 'tosh'!  Good job she's not my daughter!

 

Why I no longer go the theatre:  Particularly if it is a play by William Shakespeare.  The pig-ignorant dolts who rule 'theatre-land' these days are an insult to my intelligence but not to theirs because they do not have any!  This from a review of Richard III in this week's 'Speccie':

This modern-dress production (co-directed by Sean Holmes and Ilinca Radulian) has been cast without regard to race, gender or age. Anyone who doesn’t hold a professorship in Plantagenet genealogy will struggle to comprehend the sinuous plot. Richard (Sophie Russell) enters wearing a white footballer’s shirt inscribed RICHARD 03. Clear enough. Margaret, played by a man, also appears with her name embroidered on her football kit but with the letters covered by a coat. An easy blunder to correct. Harder to fix is the sparse company which isn’t populous enough to serve the text. Matti Houghton plays Anne and two other large-ish roles. Colin Hurley begins as Hastings and morphs into Tyrrell, the Mayor and Oxford. Steffan Donnelly opens as Margaret and ends as Richmond.

Need I say more?

 

No more Rumbles

 

 

 

The day my latent homosexuality received a tweek!

I hasten to make clear that it was only the very merest of 'tweeks' and I was only 15 or 16 years old at the time and didn't recognise it as such until I was much older - by which time I was well past it having fallen in lust with the well-developed Josie B. who had the desk next to me in school!  So who, you ask, piqued my immature homosexual interest back then?  Marlon Brando, of course, who else?  His tremendous performance in "On the Waterfront" had just been released and his sulky, brooding good-looks were everywhere.  I saw the film and was awe-struck at his looks, his persona and, above all, his terrific acting ability which perhaps, just perhaps, set off my desire to try acting.

Nor was it a 'one off'!  He went on and on and on to a string of superb performances.  Who will ever forget his brooding 'Godfather'?  Alas, as Tom Leonard makes clear in a fascinating article in The Mail today, whilst Brando was a superlative actor, he was also a total shit of a human being!  His sexual appetite was gargantuan and given that he would 'swing on both sides of the street' he had plenty of choice.

'Still 'n' all', as they say 'over there', I don't care what he did 'off the set' because what he did on it was simply superb and unforgettable!

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 1.12.19

God bless 'Speccie' readers:   Well two of them, at any rate.  They wrote in to the latest edition to settle an old puzzle which has baffled drunks the world over!  How do you pronounce 'vermouth'?  Alas, both writers disagreed so we are no further forward:

Sir: Henry Jeffreys (Books, 16 November) asks if vermouth should be pronounced ‘vermuth’ or ‘vermooth’. I can’t go past Cole Porter’s song of ‘Two little babes in the wood’, who discovered that ‘the fountain of youth is a mixture of gin and vermouth’. Vermooth it is for me.

Sir: Regarding the pronunciation of ‘vermouth’, I strongly maintain that it should be ‘vermuth’. A resident of a well-known Dorset seaside resort would not say that they lived in Bournemooth, nor would a Geordie pleasure-seeker spend a beach holiday at Tynemooth.

Oh dear, I need a dry martini!

 

I told you the Poles were mad!   One of the courageous civilians who leapt into action to deal with the terrorist in London was a Pole called Lukasz.  Rather sensibly he armed himself with a 'pole' in the form of an enormous whale tusk which was displayed on a wall in the building where things kicked off.  Here he is in action on London Bridge with two others.

Well, makes a change from charging German panzers on horseback armed with a lance!

 

Oh God, now 'panto' has fallen to the 'woke' brigade:   According to Toby Young, in the 'Speccie' of course, good old-fashioned pantomimes enjoyed all round Britain have been got at by the PC miserabilists.

If you were hoping to escape the bilge that’s been pumped out by supposedly neutral organs of the state during this general election campaign — the BBC, schools, the NHS — I don’t recommend going to see a pantomime. Gramsci’s long march through the institutions has finally reached the last redoubt of political incorrectness. Say goodbye to bum-pinching, boob-squeezing and irreverent, smutty gags about holier-than-thou political figures; say hello to anti-austerity scripts, racially sensitive casting and three-hour lectures on climate change.

 

(Sir) Lewis wins again:   What an incredible young man!  Brought up in a council house in Stevenage but with the help of an even more incredible man - his father who once held down three jobs to pay for his son's early attempts in motor racing - he has now won the last Grand Prix of the year - his eleventh.  Only one thing holds him back - he must, absolutely must- get rid of that dreadful hairstyle!  How can he expect 'Her Maj' to entertain him to tea and a Knighthood with his head covered in dead rats?

 

 

No more rumbles

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 24.11.19

Thanks, 'Jezza', for being so honest:   Yes, you did read that right but please note that I do not suggest he was totally honest which would be a ludicrous suggestion as he faces a general election. Even so, he and his 'polit-bureau' have laid their aims and purposes face up on the table for all to read. In the unlikely event of his and his 'Marxist-Labour' party actually winning, no-one will be able to claim that 'they didn't know'!  Now, precisely what 'Boing-Boing' Boris will actually do when he is in office is much more of an enigma wrapped in a puzzle, etc, etc!

 

Time to say good bye, your Honour!   The remarkable High Court Justice, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, 86, has been carted off to hospital yet again.  She is, of course, battier than a really, really batty thing but, dammit, you have to admire her guts.  Apparently she is determined to serve on into her 90s not least, I suspect, because she wishes to deny Trump his pick for the Supreme Court.

Wouldn't want to come up in front of her for some misdemeanour! 

 

"Great balls of fire!"   Er, well, 'great balls of steel', actually!  That is what Mr. Elon Musk arranged to have thrown at the windows of his new armoured van at its mega-launch a couple of days ago in order to prove how resistant is was to any sort of attack:

'Shurely shome mishtake here!"

What can one say except 'ohdearwhatapitynevermind!'  Never mind, Musk baby, at least you set Xmas off with a laugh!

 

Let's hear it for Ms. Joy Morrissey!   She is the lady contesting the Beaconsfield seat for the Tory party against that 'dirty rat', Dominic Grieve, who, in his impeccably snooty way pulled every trick in the book to ruin Brexit.  I hope he loses his deposit!

 

A little taste of Hopper:   I just came across his name and instantly, no hesitation, I went to look for some examples of his superb artistry.  He is, without doubt one of my favourite artists.

Lighthouse at Two Lights by Edward Hopper

 

Hotel Lobby by Edward Hopper

 

Automat by Edward Hopper

It's not just the paintings but the untold stories behind them which Hopper leaves to the viewer to invent.

 

An historical view of Britain and Europe!   I draw your attention to a thoughtful article at the CAPX site by the distinguished historian, Niall Ferguson, on the hoary, old subject of Britain and the EU.  The good news is that he thinks the EU is going 'tits up' irrespective of anything Britain does.  Bring it on!

 

You may need to fasten your seatbelts 'over there':   I offer this entirely unwanted, and indeed, un-needed, advice to my 'Yankee-doodle' friends 'over there' who appear to be headed for exceedingly tempestuous times.  This extract from a piece over at the American Thinker sums it up fairly well:

I'm sure I am also not alone in thinking that Attorney General Barr, with his recent speeches, is using his bully pulpit to lay the groundwork for shaping public understanding and support for drastic action that should result from those reports and that he is employing high-octane, carefully crafted rhetoric to prepare public opinion for the explosive, controversial revelations — i.e., possible judicial proceedings against high-ranking members of the Deep State in the CIA, the FBI, and the Obama administration, including such persons as Brennan, Clapper, Comey, and Rice.  [My emphasis]

What was that remark concerning "interesting times"?

 

No more rumbles

 

 

I stumbled over some Ibsen this morning!

Cruising the internet this morning, I came across a fairly hefty piece on the subject of Henrik Ibsen, and yes, you're quite right, he's not exactly a bundle of laughs!  Even so, I contemplated the idea of marking him as the second greatest playwright since old Bill Shakespeare!  Alas, dear reader, outside of Norway you are unlikely to come across a production of his work.  The reasons are manifold but one of them is the reluctance of 'theatreland' to actually produce any of his plays.  I used to read avidly the theatre reviews in the 'heavy' Sunday papers to see what was coming but these days I do not bother because the answer is zilch, nada, bugger all!  I suppose today the highest theatrical experience you might come across is a production of 'Hamlet', set in a spaceship with a black girl playing the hero and a 'trannie' man playing 'Ophelia'.

Alas for the 'modernistas', the stern and powerful plays of Ibsen do not lend themselves to such 'humbuggery'.  They are utterly welded into his 19th century world and yet, 'mirabile dictu', they speak to everyone of all ages.  I once had the considerable pleasure of directing a production of 'Ghosts', one of his greatest and most human of plays.    He never takes sides in the series of ghastly but all too human predicaments in which his characters become immersed but, unflinching, he holds a mirror up to his audience which illustrates the vagaries and the wonders of human nature.  

Another of his great plays that, alas, I never worked on was 'An Enemy of the People' but I did see a superb production of it in London with Damian Lewis in the lead.  This is local politics writ large and being 'local' there is nothing bloodier or more vicious.  The fascinating thing about this play is that the 'hero', quite properly, comes across as the only 'straight arrow' in a very messy and furious dispute.  It is only, perhaps, at the end of the play or afterwards that you begin to discern that perhaps the ego of the 'hero' may have another side to it.

If, and it's a big 'if', you get a chance to see a production of either of those two plays, even if it is as amateur as mine was, I would urge you to go!

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 3.11.19

Feeling cheerful this Sunday morning, are you?   Well, I'll soon put a stop to that!  Or to be precise, Mr. Peter Hitchens, will!  He has a terrific article in The Mail today in which he looks back over his political travails during the numerous general elections  from the early '70s until today in which he was either a participant or just another voter.  All the old names resurface, Michael Foot, Harold MacMillan, Ted Heath, Jeremy Thorpe and so on and on, ad nauseum, although, oddly, he never mentions "that woman"!  It has obviously been a long and painful journey for poor Peter because he looks back on it, and into the future, with undoubted anguish.  But of course, his real problem is that he is now and has been since his early teen-age years, an idealist which is why he began his political journey with the Labour party.  Alas, idealists of all persuasions are doomed to disappointment because this messy world just doesn't behave like that!  Even so, it is a superb and in some ways moving essay and well worth reading.

 

Do get a grip, Mr. President!   Alas, after reading Mr. John R. Bradley's piece in this week's 'Speccie', I fear that the 'Ginger Ninjah' has adopted an odd anthem to lead his Middle East policy - "In-out, in-out, wave it all about!"  A few days ago we - er, well, me, at any rate - were breathing a sigh of relief following 'The Donald's' decision to withdraw American ground troops from the Middle East.  Since then, the American Generals have ordered their Military Police to give him a whacking with their 'yuuuuuuuge' truncheons and in this they have been aided and abetted by the Evangelical vote which will be crucial at the next election.  Then there are the neo-cons led by the likes of Sen. Lindsey Graham whose support will be critical if this fatuous impeachment goes much further.  The result is that now 'the GIs ain't goin' nowhere no how'.  Please, pretty please, Mr. President do try and engage the brain before opening your mouth - and in the meantime have your twitter finger amputated!

 

Dammit, that Max Hastings is good!   Yes, I have finally begun his book "Chastise", his history of the famous dam-busters raid in 1944.  I was somewhat surprised to learn that it took place on the night of the 16th of May and the early morning of the 17th which, of course, as y'all do know, do you not?, was my 4th birthday!  I am only into it in a small way but already Sir Max has dropped some 500lb bombs on that bumptious fool, Air Marshal 'Bomber' Harris, which is excellent.  Even based on the opening chapters I can thoroughly recommend it.

 

Good News and Dribbling Idiocy:   Thanks to today's Mail I learn two things.  First, the police are to be given the power to arrest (so-called) gypsies if they set up their squalid camps illegally on private or public land.  Second, audiences at theatres will no longer hear the phrase "Ladies and Gentlemen" which has been banned for the usual eye-ball rolling idiocy perpetrated by the 'abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz' pressure group. (Note: I have put all the letters into their title to ensure that I don't leave one out!

 

When it comes to the horror of black slavery, check out Arab-Islam!   A fascinating, 'MUST READ' article at The American Thinker site in which the little known, or at least, the little mentioned, facts of Arabic slavery in Africa, which far exceeds anything we wicked, Western Whites ever did, is exposed.  Nowadays, of course, much of black Africa has converted to Islam so we are unlikely to see any recriminations from there!

 

No more rumbles  . . .

 

 

Kanye West, er, well, what can one say . . .

You must forgive my hesitation and confusion but I have only just 'met' Mr. Kanye West, a black man who is, so I am informed by Wiki, "an American rapper, singer, songwriter, record producer, entrepreneur, and fashion designer".  You will understand my hesitation because of my almost total ignorance of all those occupations.  Mr. West is married to Ms. Kim Kardashian, again, not a lady I am familiar with although I understand she is exceptionally beautiful and very, er,  voluptuous.  They have been married for five years and have produced four children.

Already in that potted history you can begin to see some, er, well, eccentricities, shall we call them?  Two mega-rich members of the 'show business' fraternity, both black, both moving constantly in a star-blazed firmament never far from constant publicity and yet … and yet … he is a self-proclaimed and practicing Christian!  Mr. Andrew T. Walker informs us via the excellent offices of The National Review that:

[T]he news of the release of Kanye West’s newest album, Jesus Is King. It comes after months of news stories about West’s very public conversion to Christianity, a Christianity that bears no resemblance to the vague spiritualism of Moral Therapeutic Deism that is often associated with celebrity conversions.

The lyrics to each song in Jesus Is King are shockingly Christian. It is not an album of feel-good Christian spirituality aimed primarily as a message of uplift. West co-wrote and sang the hit “Jesus Walks” on his debut album The College Dropout (2004), but Jesus Is King is different. Throughout the whole of the new album, West is in many respects deeply critical of modernity and cultural progressivism. There are calls for a focus more on the family than on individual glory. He seems to applaud Chick-fil-A, which in our age is tantamount to endorsing bigotry. Social-media obsession should be exchanged for family prayer. Fatherhood is characterized as a virtue. Materialism is pilloried. Calls for worshiping Christ redound to such effect that West’s first Christian album is arguably more Christian than what most contemporary Christian artists could similarly muster.

Well, 'HOODATHUNKIT'? 

Obviously, Mr. West is a man capable of thinking for himself and thinking outside the glitzy box in which he spends so much of his life.  I wish him well along with his gorgeous wife and children.  He will be sorely tested but, hey, that's the fate of all true Christians.  In the meantime, I, too, can only pray that I get through the rest of my life without hearing his music because I fear I would not enjoy it!

 

 

Harold Bloom, 1930-2019, R.I.P.

I am always somewhat careful when approaching someone who is generally described as 'a colossal character' but that is the inescapable summary of Harold Bloom who died a few days ago.  He dominated the stage, or perhaps that should be, 'the boxing ring', of English and American literature for decades.  Never short of an opinion and never short of the energy and ultra-detailed knowledge required to back up his assertions.

Bloom: consumed books "at a rate of 1,000 pages an hour" Credit: TED THAI /TIMEPIX/REX

Alas, I am totally unqualified to take a view on his opinions on literature apart from remarking that the various modernist scribblers who succumbed to mouth-dribbling fury when he dismissed them, in effect, as talentless phonies provided me with endless giggles when I read about them.

However, one thing is certain, the late, great Mr. Bloom will remain on a plinth with certain other Shakespearean scholars for his magnificent book: "Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human".  I had a copy - somewhere - at sometime - but now I cannot find it!  I tried to order a copy for my Kindle but - dammit - the morons do not list it!  Anyway, thank you, Mr. Bloom, I doubt I could have played Falstaff to any standard without your superb book.

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 13.10.19

"The horror, oh, the horror"

Image by The Earl of Taint

Another corker from The American Thinker site.  You will recall that 'Fauxcahontas' contributed to "The Pow Wow" cookery book but, alas, to no one's surprise, her recipes were nicked from some French cook-book!

 

'Très bien', "Spiral" is back!   Alors, mes amis, I was doing celebratory somersaults last night because, totally unexpectedly, I saw that the French 'policier' series, "Spiral" was back on BBC4.  Most of the 'old gang' were there including my darling, darling, Audrey Fleurot playing the part of Joséphine Karlsson.  I really must try to improve my written French because, merde alors, she has failed to respond to my numerous letters!

 

A Brexit deal?   "You're 'avin' a laugh!"  There will be NO Brexit deal!  The reason is 'simples', the European 'apparatchiks' do not want a deal, they have never wanted a deal, all they want is total surrender and a victory parade down Whitehall.  If Boris is dumb enough to surrender then he will take the prize as the shortest term Prime Minister in our history! 

 

That Max Hasting better be on his toes!   The week after next he is giving a talk to the Sherborne Literary Society and that expert on any and all matters military will be present - er, that's me, actually, ex-Cpl. Duff!  Bet he's shaking in his boots!

 

Bucket & Spade time - again!  Yes, you will all be delighted to know that on Monday this distinguished blog is going on its holidays! No, no, I'm not jetting off to the south  of France, just chugging gently down to south Devon where the Memsahib and I will enjoy three nights in a very nice hotel on the seafront.

 

Exciting, it is not!  But, what the hell, who needs excitement at our age?  Just give me hot 'n' cold running housemaids and a decent chef!  Should be back on Thursday.

 

"The Quintet of the Hot Club of France":   I just came across that title of, arguably, one of the very greatest jazz combos of all time.  Started by that jazz genius, Django Reinhardt, and later given la crème de la crème when they were joined by the incomparable Stéphane Grappelli, they constituted 'jazz genius' of the very highest order.  I am grateful to 'Commentary' magazine for giving me a kick in the 'memory bank' and I will now start to search for my precious CDs.

 

No more rumbles