Thursday, 14 October 2010

Coming around again!

For me, tomorrow is the day that Macca sang about on 'Sgt Pepper' - but instead of 'Vera, Chuck & Dave' on my knee it'll be Blackso, with Noodles looking on - whether out of envy (but he'd be welcome too, if he'd only stay) or bemusement, it's difficult to judge.

Not doing anything special - but can't ever remember one single b/day I've ever had when I did.

Dinner will be my absolute favourite in the entire gastronomical history of the world - eggs, chips and beans (chips = French fries):-

Eggs - let's have four (five would be gluttony!), fried in veg oil, turned over for about 30 secs
Chips - in a heap. Maris Piper potatoes, chunky, and fried till they are deep brown and crisp
(Baked) Beans - in a separate bowl (so as not to cross-spoil). 'Heinz' from a tin, most of the sauce drained off and a large pinch of curry powder added.
- and perhaps a cheap and cheerful Shiraz might help ease the entire meal's path down my gullet.

Now, I defy anyone to suggest a dish more sublime than that. Simply unbeatable! The perfect celebratory repast.

Saturday, 9 October 2010

My few days away - the evidence.

Returned yesterday after my annual (sometimes bi-annual) visit to my sister's on Teesside, on the English north-east coast.
The seated trio is myself with my sister and her hubby, Ted.

During my stay visited Whitby, the best known town close by. It was once a thriving fishing port, and though it still has that industry, it's on a much-reduced scale.
Whitby was given particular additional fame by Bram Stoker who chose to have his Count Dracula land in England here.
In the final picture, on the summit of the hill are the ruins of St Hilda's Abbey, originally 7th century and sacked by the Vikings two centuries later, though nothing of the original remains apart from the site. It was restored in 1078 and remained an establishment of high national and indeed, international, significance until 1540 when Henry VIII dissolved all the country's monasteries on declaring himself head of the church in England in place of the Pope . (The little 'ship' in the same photo is a tourist sight-seeing boat for harbour and sea trips. Tacky, but also rather quaint.)

Okay, history lesson over. Now let's get back into routine.

Saturday, 2 October 2010

Howlers from 'The Weakest Link'

Yesterday: -
Q. "Which Jewish place of worship is derived from the Hebrew word for 'assembly'?
Answer offered: "Mosque".

Q."Which African city is overlooked by Table Mountain?"
A: "California"

Q."Which country in the British Commonwealth has the highest population?"
A: "Russia"

and a golden oldie:-
Q." Which Royal House succeeded the Tudors?"
A: "Buckingham Palace"

I know people say that when you're actually on a TV programme it's much harder, but these are classic clangers which would shame any schoolkid - or at least I'd like to think so.
I have been four times on a BBC radio quiz (on music), recorded in a theatre before a live audience of 200 or so, broadcast not only nationally, but also worldwide on the BBC World Service, and I was never so over-dazzled by the experience that I gave inane answers.
I sometimes think there really are just so many genuinely ignorant people around that it makes me want to despair. Of course most of us believe in democracy and the right of everybody to vote (and, incidentally, I support the enfranchisement of all prisoners, whatever their crime, sadly not practiced the U.K.), but to think that there are so many uninformed people whose votes count as much as one's own is scary. Many of them don't even know the name of our Prime Minister or, say, which political party Mrs Thatcher led. (Oh dear, complaining about other people's voting sounds dreadfully reactionary but I'm really taking a swipe at a certain widespread woeful ignorance rather than the fact that people are entitled vote, which of course is surely an inviolable right.)

By the way, the first example above is not untypical of the confusion many seem to express between Islam and Judaism. I find they always tend to mistake the latter for the former, rarely the other way around. I've no doubt that when members of either faith hear such responses they are tearing their hair out, and with just cause.

Thursday, 30 September 2010

Those spooky but wonderfully inexplicable moments of foreknowledge.

I'm sure that just about everybody gets a random thought about something in advance of unexpectedly experiencing it. Yesterday afternoon I was sitting here at the computer when the memory of an old 'Alfred Hitchcock Presents' TV programme popped into my mind, ostensibly for no reason at all. I must have seen it in about 1960 and have certainly never seen it again. It concerned the macabre tale of a man who was thought to be dead but was actually alive and conscious, though showing no external signs of life. Various people (hospital staff? Undertakers? I can't remember) were discussing him and how to dispose of his body. In a voice-over he expressed his helpless horror at seeing and listening to them and his intense frustration at not being able to indicate that he was, in fact, still alive. Just when he was on the verge of giving up, one of the staff in the room notices a tear running from his permanently-open, weeping eye. That is the indicator that saves him from, literally, a fate worse than death. So after momentarily reflecting on this story for just a few seconds I dismissed it from my mind.
Then this morning I take the top book from my pile of 'still to read' (about 20 books currently). It's a Stephen King compendium of 14 short stories entitled 'Everything's Eventual'. I read the first story, called 'Autopsy Room Four'. Imagine the shiver up my spine when I find not only that it consists of a very similar situation to the TV programme which I'd been thinking about, though set, unsurprisingly, in an autopsy room, but in an afternote to the story, King actually mentions this very Hitchcock TV programme of 50 years back which had just popped into my head yesterday. (Incidentally, he says that the actor playing the subject was Joseph Cotten, a name which, at my age then, wouldn't have meant anything to me.) What a weird feeling it was! It makes one stop and ask oneself "Just what is going on here?" But at the same time as it's unsettling, it's also satisfying and intriguing.
The argument against the significance of such events is that one thinks of so many things, several hundred in the course of one day alone, that it's hardly surprising that now and again a seemingly random thought is bound to correspond with a later-occurring experience.
An even more spectacular incident happened for me when I was once in Amsterdam when, for reading material, I'd taken with me a single-volume Shakespeare play (as one does), this one being Richard II. Before going out to see the then new film of D.H.Lawrence's 'The Rainbow' (released in that city before it opened in England) I read a passage from the play which included the use of the word 'camel' and in an annotated explanation at the bottom of the page I learnt that the word, as well as being the hump-backed ruminant creature, also meant a stout kind of rope. Reference was made to Jesus' saying that "it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven" (apologies if I haven't got the wording exactly right), which makes more sense when 'camel' = 'rope' than the animal trying to get through that minuscule aperture. (Since then the situation became more confused when I learnt that one of the city gates of ancient Jerusalem had the nickname of 'The Needle's Eye' because it was so narrow and low. So who knows now to what Jesus was actually referring? But, depending on the interpretation, while one is pretty difficult to achieve, the camel-animal going through the eye of a sewing needle is, if it needs saying at all, impossible. So, having just read that information about 'camel' and 'rope', I put the book down and went out to the cinema. When the film started, the very opening scene was a church service with the preacher declaiming from the pulpit "It is easier for a camel to pass through......" More shivers down the spine. Spooky or what?

Wednesday, 29 September 2010

Another trite statement from a politician.

The recently elected leader of the Labour Party (of whom I have some, but not too many, hopes for the future) has just said in a radio interview that he doesn't believe in a God. Hooray! That makes two out of the three leaders of our main political parties who have declared themselves as atheists - and the Prime Minister himself only seems lukewarm, declaring that he doesn't regularly practice his (Anglican) faith - in stark contrast to our last two P.M.s, thank goodness. But then Ed Miliband goes and partly spoils it by saying that he has "a deep respect" for those who do have faith. Why do they always say this? One might respect those same others for different reasons, but what is there to respect about those who hold to a system of beliefs for a Supreme Being for which there's no demonstrable evidence? - and furthermore, these latter individuals almost invariably claim that they, as opposed to non-believers, ought to be given special privileges for having these bizarre views. This thing about having 'profound respect' is such a banal and silly statement to make, as though they were explaining that their non-belief is not something that should scare believers. When was the last time that a religious person declared the same level of 'respect' for a non-believer? Offhand I can't recall it ever happening. It's almost as though the atheist ought to be the apologetic one and the theist has not only no explaining to do but even considers himself as intellectually 'superior' and demands to be regarded as so. Sounds like double standards to me. High time for a fight back. Let's call a spade a spade!

Thursday, 23 September 2010

Why are so many modern novels over-written?

I've just finished Jonathan Kellerman's 'Therapy', an L.A. detective murder mystery (2004). Not a terrible book - I've read plenty better, and also a good few far worse. At 550 pages it demands a lot of one's time and (a common criticism I have of a lot of contemporary writing) I can't help feeling it would have been vastly improved by being half the length, while still retaining its salient plot developments. To get down to specifics, do we really need to know in such fine and extraneous detail what characters look like and are wearing at particular points? - both men and women! What does it achieve other than slowing the reader down having to get through all the unnecessary excess 'fat'. One example towards the end:-
He looked to be around thirty, with long, wavy, brown hair parted in the middle, had on a grey shirt under a cracked, brown leather jacket rubbed white at the pressure points, rumpled beige cargo pants, white running shoes.......(yawn!)
Now what would be wrong with - "He looked about 30, long brown hair and wore a leather jacket and cargo pants."? There you are. It's all we need to know, perhaps even more than is necessary - and it doesn't slow down the action nor lose any atmosphere. I'm only surprised that the author didn't also go on to describe the colour of his underwear!
And why do we have to be told exactly what they are eating all the time? Does it really matter? Where's the relevance to the story? None. If it's junk food, fine, it's junk food. If it's in a restaurant I don't want to know of what each course consists.
I wonder if all this padding is deliberately to make the book longer and so give buyers a feeling of getting their money's worth? (Do long novels sell better than shorter ones?) Otherwise wouldn't the editor and publisher recommend pruning the manuscript offered? There may be something in that, as books of under 200 pages long are often priced the same as one which is two or three times the length.
Anyway, I got through it all after several sittings, but found my impatience to reach the end was getting the better of me and reduced any enjoyment that I was getting, though there wasn't much of that anyway. (Oh, those days when one could read a complete novel in just one sitting of two or three hours!)

Well, I've already started my next book, a re-reading of Roddy Doyle's 'Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha' which I first read in 1994 a year after it had won the 'Booker' prize (Britain's most prestigious annual award for new fiction). On first reading I just couldn't get onto the writer's wavelength though this time, after 50 pages, it's going a bit better. But in any case, at a mere 280 pages long, it should be a relative 'breeze'!

Sunday, 19 September 2010

My faithful and very dear friend, Blackso

Now what must be at least 11 years old and just showing signs of starting to slow down, Blackso is always appreciative, never takes me for granted, allows me to pick him up and cuddle him, rubs against me even when he's not wanting to eat, will sit for long periods on my lap purring contentedly or napping (and sometimes snoring). On the other hand, my other cat, Noodles, will do or let me do none of these things, only taking an interest in me when he wants something - but is just as fascinating nonetheless. But Blackso, with his overt affection, is a cat-lovers' dream - and I dread thinking of the day that's going to come when it's all over, for whatever reason. So I return the favour by showing my appreciation for him every single day while I can.