Well after an action-packed horrific return posting on creatures attacking my manhood, this is an altogether more reflective piece about getting old. Sigh.
Hello again dear readers. Well that was a bit of a break; partially inspired by work commitments and also because my last postings created such critical comment. I was trying to be light and amusing whilst making a serious point but I failed on all counts and stood accused of one or two very nice traits, like misogyny and homophobia. Hmm. Not what I was aiming for to be honest, nor what I’m like. So I figured that if my writing was causing so much offence I’d better take a wee break. Anyway I’ve reflected and just fancied getting back being ranty and opinionated again. And as a treat I’ve got a charming little subject upon which to re-open my blogging account. It’s caused me discomfort, a little nausea, some incredulity, a bit of embarrassment and a nasty little after-feeling. Retribution, some might say.
Well I said there was a risk of the last post being viewed as offensive and it proved to be. My daughter E gave me a right lambasting when I popped over this afternoon. She thought the posting was homophobic and just not worthy. Yep fair enough, possibly guilty m’lud. It is clearly being viewed that way which disappoints me hugely, not least because after writing it I reflected and immediately added a para to clarify my thinking which I thought helped articulate where I was coming from. Whether people have read that I don’t know. If not please check out this link again and then decide.
Now I could be in trouble with this posting. I don’t want to offend but fear I might. You see we’ve been watching Strictly like everyone else for what seeems like the last 5 months and I have to say it’s been enjoyable. I especially loved it when Debbie McGee got to do the dance off. She’s not my favourite to be honest. For someone who looks like a crinkly pringle, she takes herself far too seriously as a dancer and her facial reaction on hearing that news that she might be heading out of the competition was just indescribably mouth-watering. Not that pringles have that effect on me normally. Continue reading
So the area of the country where I was raised in the NW corner of the UK between the rivers Ribble and the Lune with the river Wyre bisecting the land, is in the news today. It’s the area known as the Fylde and my home town is Poulton-le-Fylde sitting slap bang in the middle of this flat agricultural area. It’s a Doomsday Book-referenced village meaning, I believe, the town by the pool (river) in the field. We ended up with a lovely Norman-based name but it could have been something mundanely Anglo-Saxon like Wyrhampton, which sounds like the place where Sam Allardyce spent his youth. Continue reading
So this morning I was watching something on C4, probably Frasier, when at the end of the programme the continuity announcer informed us that later this evening is the start of a super new series (note, not a one-off but a whole f**king series) about the life of cake maker Paul Hollywood. My ears started bleeding.
Now readers of a certain vintage will know that we used to live in Buckingham before moving out to Italy. Seems like a long time ago and yet here we are living back in the Parish (well nearby). Now one of our neighbours then was one of the guys out of the band Mud (I think the drummer) who is sadly no longer tapping out a beat. Nor is lead singer Les Gray, equally sadly, who I can still see now on ToTP crooning along to how lonely he was at this time of year. Must have been those tiger feet of his. Continue reading