On Hogmanay (ok New Year’s Eve for the Sassenachs) Channel 5 did a programme on the Top 50 British Comedy characters. I was pleased to see some old favourites at the top – Basil Fawlty, Blackadder, Delboy, Eddie and Patsy – but horrified when I saw some of the so-called comedy I had never watched. Many of them, TR, would definitely come into your “overrated” category. There seemed to be too many whose idea of comedy consisted of shouting obscenities as loudly as possible. Interspersed with clips from programmes, we had some pretentious thespians explaining why this was funny. The more modern, “edgy” comics seem to have no idea of timing. They should watch Hancock or Captain Mainwaring in “Dad’s Army”. I gather that some current comedians have now been accused of making obscene jokes about the Royal family and other well-known people on live TV. The Royle Family, about a bunch of unemployed and probably unemployable Scousers living on my taxes, seemed to consist of the word “arse” used over and over again. They should follow the example of Roy Barraclough and the late Les Dawson in their double act as Cissy and Ada, where any words considered unsuitable were simply mouthed. It’s much funnier. The good news is that a new series of “Yes Minister” is being planned. But what I’d find really entertaining is to see people like Jonathan Ross, Alan Carr and others of their ilk being put in the stocks and pelted with rotten vegetables. I’d enjoy doing the pelting too. We could probably start a list of those eligible, beginning with Chris Patten, the heads of ITV, Channel 4, etc.
Author: sheona
21/12/2012
So if the world is going to end tomorrow, what should I wear? “Something apocalyptic” says husband. But I’ve got my outfit for the wedding on Sunday and if Sunday isn’t going to happen, can I wear my new dress tomorrow? At the risk of spilling something on it, of course, and then what, when Saturday dawns as usual? Can’t just shove it in the machine.
Frankly all this “end of the world” stuff is annoying and I think the Mayans got it wrong. As husband points out, they didn’t make it past the 9th century themselves. And look at that date! It’s not right. 21/12/2112 would be more suitable. And new granddaughter greeted us with her first, or possibly last, smile today.
If they did get it right, however, I would like to say farewell to all cherished colleagues here. If they got it wrong, then I’d like to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Guid New Year to yin and a’.
Health Warning
I’m sure that all of my cherished colleagues on the Chariot need no warning about this. I saw in the library where I do voluntary work in France that someone had donated a copy of “Sex and the City”. Having heard the name, I thought I would have a look at it. On the front cover the Sunday Telegraph describes this work as “Jane Austen with a Martini”. You wouldn’t need a martini or any other cocktail to knock you out. This tedious, badly written book will have put you right off before you can reach for your cocktail shaker. Marie Claire describes it as “Hilarious … a compulsively readable book … bite-sized chunks of irrepressible irreverence.” This probably says more about the low standards of that magazine and about the French sense of humour than anything else.
One line did please me. “Reputations are like cat litter. They can be changed daily.” Would you like to comment on that, Max Clifford?
End of the world or Armageddon or what?
According to the Mayan calendar the world will end on 21st December. If this is the case, why am I worrying about my outfit for son’s wedding on 23rd?
According to some others what will happen is not so much the end of the world as the end of the world as we know it. This would presumably mean the wedding breakfast couldn’t be cooked if there’s no electricity.
I wish these people would get their stories straight, though I realise the Maya are not around to be consulted. If they are correct, there are some characters who will find themselves at the Pearly Gates clutching a tin of sardines and looking rather foolish.
I think I shall concentrate on my finery.
“It’s my niceness” sang Dame Edna
I’ve just discovered that yesterday was supposed to be Niceness Day – la Journée de la Gentillesse. On Monday evening the French president, François Hollande, was awarded the Niceness Prize by political journalists. Well, he’s never going to get a prize for competence, so let him have something. I suppose he’s making a nice mess of things, but that doesn’t translate into French to give the correct idea.
http://www.huffingtonpost.fr/2012/11/12/peut-on-etre-gentil-et-francais_n_2117930.html
This idea of a world-wide Niceness Day was thought up by a Japanese medic, for reasons best known to himself. The question asked by the Huffington Post is whether one can be French and nice. Apparently lots of French people admit to not being gentil behind the wheel of a car, but blame this on the lack of “niceness” of all the other road users.
This is the first I’ve heard of this, but even without that I drove into town yesterday without knocking anyone down, didn’t kick any dogs (though it was a close call when the physiotherapist put her unerring thumb on the painful bit) and generally behaved in a civilised manner. So do we really need a particular day to emulate Dame Edna?
Husband asks if Nice is the capital of “nice”. It’s never struck me as such, but I may have another look when we get to France next week.
Skyfall – no spoilers
I realise that many cherished colleagues may be busy watching cricket or may not be interested in James Bond movies, but I have just returned from watching “Skyfall” and can definitely recommend it for good entertainment. We weren’t terribly impressed by “Quantum of Solace”, but the good reviews of this one persuaded us to give it a go – senior citizens’ afternoon price.
I think the theme music was meant to be something special, but it made little impact on us. The opening sequences on the other hand were OTT and very well done. Two scenes were somewhat derivative: one from the book “You only live twice” and the other from the film “The Deerhunter”, but then the action started. Not just the action but the interaction between M and 007, which was excellent. There was a very good balance between escapism and credibility throughout. A Common’s select committee with a Cherie Blair look-alike as chairman, lecturing M, gave Judi Dench the opportunity for some very good dialogue, not forgetting the other committee member who suggested the chairman ought to let M get a word in edgeways “just for variety”.
The finale takes place in the country of my birth, and Bond’s, with grey skies, low cloud and bleak moorland. Not a CIA agent – sorry, “operative” – in sight. Yanks – who needs ’em?
France – if it’s not one thing, it’s another
According to Nice Matin today a flock of sheep has been attacked by a pack of wolves on its way back down to winter pastures.
The interesting part is the comments section. On the one hand there are those who blame the écolos for insisting that wolves be protected and on the other those who blame the shepherd for leaving his flock overnight and having to be told about the attack by third parties. Then there are those who think it was not a pack of wolves but wild dogs. The shepherd can claim compensation only if the guilty parties were wolves, so will of course swear they were even if the attackers were a bunch of pink poodles. Then there are comments about how the state of the corpses will prove whether it was wolves or not, along with the interesting detail that you can tell the difference between wolves and wild dogs by the way they drink. All you need to do is follow the pack to water. I’m not sure they’ll hang around waiting for someone to follow them.
There are wolves in the area, mainly in the Mercantour, not on the Caussols plateau as far as I know. They wandered over from Italy, where apparently sheep are kept for their milk and are much better protected, rather than for their meat. This looks set to be another of these disputes that runs and runs but it is noticeable that all attacks are on flocks without a shepherd. Hire more shepherds – could help lower the unemployment total.
France needs Astérix and Obélix
It is now the hunting season in France and it is to be hoped that the hunters will manage to reduce the estimated two million wild boar population.
Attempts to keep the animals away from crops and towns by agrainage – that is providing food for them in the forests – have resulted in a healthy, well fed population. It is estimated that this population can increase by over 60% each year, since measures were introduced to protect females with young. How you can tell male from female quickly enough to shoot the right sort, I don’t know. Damage to crops already costs about 50million euros annually, and these have to be paid by hunters, and it is reckoned that 40,000 traffic accidents involve wild boars. 75% of the population is concentrated in relatively few areas – I have never seen any on the Promenade des Anglais or the Croisette. In fact I have never seen any except hanging outside butchers shops.
Since French hunters managed to eliminate the last European brown bears in the Pyrenees just a few years ago, I’m sure they can make an effort with the wild boars. It’s a pity that the wolf population near the Italian border can’t be introduced to some of them. That would keep the wolves off local sheep and reduce the boar numbers naturally.
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Apologetic pupils
I expect some cherished colleagues have seen this piece in DT, following on Michael Gove’s apology to his former French teacher.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/9628673/Dear-sir-weve-all-got-a-lot-to-be-sorry-about.html
It got me wondering whether I owed any apologies to any of my old teachers. There was Mrs M, the maths teacher, who never managed to convince me there was any point in learning geometry theorems by heart. I was glad that someone had discovered that the sum of the angles of any triangle make two right angles and I hoped they’d had good weather for it, but what had it to do with me? Faced with a circle and a triangle and some odd lines, I never could work out what theorem to apply. I know my ability to score 100% in algebra and arithmetic drove the lady wild, since those were the days when 100% in algebra and 10% in geometry did not lead to Higher (this being Scotland) maths. “No problem” I said. “I won’t sit Higher.” No, I don’t feel like apologising, Mrs M, since you couldn’t enthuse me.
Then there was Miss M, the RE teacher who only saw us once a week and didn’t bother to learn the names of all the girls in the class. Instead she simply picked those whose names she did know – me, because she knew my parents – to answer all questions. Came the day when she bounced into the classroom waving a hot-off-the-press copy of the New English Bible and invited us all to choose a passage we would like to hear from the new version. “Right, lady, you asked for this!” So I chose one of the passages that reads “Tom begat Dick, and Dick begat Harry, and Harry begat … Miss M looked at me coldly, said that it was much the same, and thereafter stopped asking me. No apology there either – a teacher must learn the names of her pupils.
Perhaps some cherished colleagues do feel there are some teachers they “done wrong”. Perhaps my lack of penitence comes from over 20 years of teaching myself.
The Law – again
Another heart-breaking story about tug-of-love children, this time from Australia.
It seems to me, from what I’ve read, that the mother should have sorted things out as soon as she took the children to Australia and decided to keep them there. I’m sure the father would have objected, but being forced to return the girls to Italy after a fortnight’s holiday would have been less traumatic for them and then discussions could have been started between the parents. Acrimonious discussions perhaps. But to subject the children to this – hiding out at granny’s and being forcibly removed by the police – is cruel. The judge would have had no option, under the law, but to order the return of the children to Italy. The mother must have known she was breaking the law, but did she stop to think about the consequences for her children?
Boadicea's Chariot 
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