Trombones

I am 76 today and can’t stop humming that tune. Backside says if I don’t he’ll find a novel use for 76 of those plug things they all use. Lunch in the Smoke today with some of the girls. That should silence him.

It’s Greek to me

Not surprising perhaps. Phil has done some unusual things over his 97 years. He also seems to be stubborn to a fault.  Driving alone after a road accident he seems to have caused and without a seat-belt qualifies as evidence.

Today he is reported to have ‘surrendered his licence voluntarily‘. Which I’m sure is RoyalSpeak for being banned from driving. I mean, if I wanted to give up driving, I’d simply stop – with my licence intact. ‘Surrendering’ it implies police involvement – which I expect will lead in due course to serious charges.

We need to find someone else to blame

It’s Burns’ Night tonight and I should be thinking of his address “To a Haggis”. Instead the lines of his poetry that came to my mind this morning are from “Tam O’Shanter”. They are a description of an angry wife and I wondered if they match Moira Salmond at the moment.

“… our sulky sullen dame                                                                                                     Gathering her brows like gathering storm,                                                                           Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.”

Or perhaps she’s just quoting Captain Mainwaring – “stupid boy!”

Tempus Fugit

It’s a cold evening here in Västra Götaland. It is also my last evening in Sweden before I fly back to England tomorrow. Last Thursday I took a short, easy flight on SAS from Heathrow to Kastrup where I met up with the Viking and took an Öresund Tåg to Kalmar. The train ride was nicer than the flight. SAS are not the best airline, but this crew were largely from parts of Europe not Scandinavia and they did not speak Swedish. That very much annoyed me. I like speaking Swedish. They’re competent and efficient, but other than a cup of coffee or two there is little difference between them and Norwegian — save that Heathrow is a far better airport than Shatwick! Continue reading “Tempus Fugit”

Just when you thought you knew it all…

…An advert comes on. And after a few listens, because I’m staring at the model and as models go She’s a Rainbow and a half, I recognise the voice in the background. Get Back! It’s the Rolling Stones, and a song I’ve never heard before. How can this be? I’m the resident rock/music expert around here.

The advert in question is promoting Joy the perfume and the song accompanying it, I later discover, is She’s a Rainbow by the Roling Stones. Geoffrey, Bungle, George and Zippy! How has this delightful tune passed me by?

Then it dawns on me. That’s not my generation. I’m not from those hippy times; I know the hip bands of the present, for what its worth. Sorry for all the hip references for all the Charioteer hip replacement platoon out there (hippy hippy shake smiley thingy)

Here’s the song.  For those Honky Tonkers out there, turn those hearing aids up to 11. Play it Loud.

O tempora et cetera

Yesterday I passed on to my reader Backside’s aversion to anthropological fantasies purveyed by the meeja; from Twilight to Harry Potter to Game of Thrones to Watership Down, all celebrating the supernatural or the improbable ad nauseam.

Today his other pet hate was exhibited: the propensity of celebrities to parade their emotions before the cyberpublic, presumably seeking sympathy and even greater celebrity = money. This time a fine tennis professional who regrettably lacks the dignity and self-respect to avoid the camera when he is overcome by sadness at his own fate (or rather the impending end of his playing career). Yes, I know it’s the fashion but p-lease!

All hail to Rod Liddle

Once again my apologies for the blatant cut and paste in the original version of this post. I should have known better and I trust that this version falls within the rules.

All I wanted to say was that there is an article in the Spectator magazine that struck a cord with me. Rod Liddle presents a rather jaded view of the BBC’s fetish for Political Correctness. He takes particular aim at the Beeb’s recent production of Watership Down which he describes as being “woke”. (“The ABC Murders” also warrants a barb .)

He talks of of Bigwig being a “bruv from the ’hood” and alerts us to the fact that one of the warren is a campaigner for social justice while another is a transgendering rabbit called Strawberry. Not having seen the program, I cannot say whether this is an accurate representation or rather a bit of mischief by Mr Liddle, but I think I get the gist. It rather surprises me that Richard Adams’s estate allowed such nonsense.

Anyway, Mr Liddle concludes that his New Year resolution may be to join Charles Moore in refusing to pay the BBC licence fee. I almost wish I was living in the UK so that I could join the boycott.

The link to the article is here https://www.spectator.co.uk/2019/01/the-bbcs-quest-to-make-watership-down-woke/. There is a pay wall, but generally infrequent visitors are allowed a 3 free articles a month.