As a Marvel man born and bred I fully expect the DC hordes to come on here and contradict me. However, as a Maggie (that’s me came out the closet and shown my true political colours) and not Maggia representative, The Royalist is not for turning. Lee McCulloch and not Clark Kent is Superman. Continue reading “Superman”
It was the little chap’s birthday a few days ago. This is only a selection of his passing abilities. Witness a cavalcade of precision passing with the perfect weight on the pass to the best placed team-mate. Correct decision making and supreme execution. This is what you call a football brain. I could have easily uploaded montages of dribbling expertise or unbelievable Maradona training skills (nonchalant keepie-uppie with a golf ball anybody?) but I thought I’d underplay the football hand. I await a series of responses by rugbyistas that show off the “skills” of their number tens. Catching a ball and kicking it over a bar is quite clever, I suppose.
My wife, with a group of friends, has just returned from a five day shopping/sightseeing trip to New York. She got the boys some cracking designer garb. I’m not into the branded stuff much myself. Me, I’m easy to clothe. Call me eccentric I don’t care, as long as there is no green on the garment I’ll wear anything. “Is there anything you want?” she asked me before she crossed the ocean to the Land of the Superpower. I noted the missing word darling from the end of her question but let it pass.
I said “Get us a couple of papers”. (This sentence might be construed as abrupt to non-Westcentrics but it is not in any way rude. It is common vernacular in the West). My little darling didn’t disappoint. Continue reading “Chronicles of a Westcentric”
I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore, is the rallying cry of a group of Conservative Eurosceptics. An emergency meeting of Tory party heavyweights have declared that the European Union is past its sell-by date. The sprouting of measures from Brussels that infringe on national sovereignty has grown too far, too fast and too furious for the right-wingers in this country. We should close our eyes and go West, say the Atlanticists. America and not Europe is where it is at.
In a startling pamphlet issued by the separatist group, “Withering Europe, a non-starter” (WEANS), they have proposed various ways of becoming closer to the United States of America. Post codes are to be replaced by the zingier method of posting known as ZIP codes. The advantages of this change are bountiful. Britons would take great delight in being asked by cold callers “What is your ZIP?”.
“She asked about my ZIP, heh, heh.”
In ZIP’s there are no letters to be remembered, only numbers, which makes it easier for this cell phone generation to take in. ZIP is faster to say than post code. And the struggling post code lottery that exists in this country would be replaced by the more snazzier titled ZIP lottery. Having a matching ZIP as someone else would be a novelty that would never wear off. Think about it. Even in ten years time, “We’ve got the same ZIP” is a good line.
Right, we should definitely look to the West as all good things are on the left hand side of the map. The land of the Free is home to Giant Redwoods and is there anything in this world better than a Hershey Bar? However, too many Hershey Bars can give you trouble fastening your zip.
I’m astonished by the amount of entries in this month’s poetry competition and also by the quality. Picking a winner was a difficult task as I liked a lot of the submissions. As individuals took the time to enter I feel it polite to put the time in and respond to all the poems singularly. It was fun finding the various film titles. Remember I sit on the fence on the big issues around here so I’m not a judge. Continue reading “October poetry winner”
Just a short reminder, as is the custom, to any charitable Charioteer poets out there that haven’t yet entered this month’s poetry competition. Closing date is midnight on Tuesday (23rd October). So far, there are four entries. Two apiece from Soutie and Janus. I’d like to thank these guys and not just for the poems. Both of them have been keeping the place ticking over during this quiet time. Gentlemen, take a bow.
Details of the rules can be found here.
Thus spake Laurence Olivier on hearing In My Defence for the first time. “Now there’s an actor.” One of my favourite Queen quotes. The song was written by Dave Clark for the musical, Time, which featured a hologrammed Laurence Olivier!
Olivier, in most people’s eyes, the greatest British actor of all time heard the unique Mercury voice in full flow and could imagine our Fred making movies and treading the boards. Dismissively, Freddie ruled out acting as a career move. That’s a pity because his contemporary, David Bowie, made a lot of wooden appearances on celluloid and just as our Fred outshone the strange eyed one on Under Pressure he would have out-acted him on the silver screen as well.
For me, the best book ever written about Hollywood is William Goldman’s Adventures in the Screen Trade (1983). Goldman was a highly successful screenplay writer in the 60’s and 70’s. His book is full of anecdotes that are not found in most other publications or via the world wide web. Witness Goldman’s exasperation when director Bryan Forbes says on the casting of the sex bomb of The Stepford Wives– “I think Nannette might be rather good for the part of Carol, don’t you?” Read the book to find out why Goldman can’t argue with this, though he disagrees entirely with Forbes’ choice.
In Marathon Man (1976 movie) Goldman got to work with one of the most talented actors of all-time, Laurence Olivier. Larry, as Olivier was called in the business, was at the end of his career but he still knew how to read a scene. He gave the director of the film, John Schlesinger, a lesson in stagecraft. Continue reading “Olivier, ’nuff said”
The Conservative Chancellor of the coalition, George Osborne, has delighted the Tory Party faithful by ruling out wealth and mansion taxes. “This Party of home ownership will have no truck with it” he said. High value property owners that have never set foot in a truck breathed a sigh of relief. Mr Osborne is in charge of the purse strings of this country and he can play any melody he wants with them. This time it’s music to the ears of the wealthy.
Into the chamber enters the spectral figure that is the government’s Business Secretary, Vince Cable. This latter-day Robin Hood is promoting a petition for a fairer tax system. “I want a new ‘mansion tax’ on the most valuable properties – we propose 1% of the value of over £2million. This will be paid by the wealthiest 0.16% of property owners. If you agree, add your name to our campaign now.” This juggernaut statement struck a discord with the better off while those in the poor seats clapped approvingly. Continue reading “Homes under the Hammer”
There was only one copy of The Spectator magazine left on the shelf. And it was in a crumpled state. It was obvious that it had been leafed through many times. The browsers that had violently flipped through the magazine had no consideration for the eventual buyer, if there were to be one, of said magazine. The pages were deformed and the cover had a huge fold mark on it.
Two choices were left to me. Buy this unsold second-hand copy or walk to the other side of town to purchase The Spectator in the only other shop that stocked it. There was a queue at the counter. I don’t like queues. I walked. Continue reading “The Royal hunt of The Spectator”
Boadicea's Chariot 
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