It is possible, I discovered yesterday, to score 68 from one word when you manage to place a “Q” on a “triple letter score” and cover a “Double Word score” tile.
Quite.
It doesn’t enhance your popularity with the other players, though!!
At the beginning of the year I was hoping to be able to write “2008 was the year that things changed”, but many things have not, so maybe I can’t write that yet.
This year’s resolutions: drink less, weigh less. Simple but necessary.
In the New Years Honours I see John Martyn, Courtney Pine and Robert Plant are all honoured for servies to music. Whilst Pine may qualify for that, Martyn’s should be for services to Red Wine drinking, shurely, whilst Percy should be honoured for his swordsmanship, apparently!
We’re planning a quiet evening, so a Happy New Year to you all, don’t get too sozzled or indeed cold, eh.
It’s different now that we have no parents around. Even in her last years we had my Mum over for Xmas Day.
So we had a walk by the sea, I got sozzled and watched Doctor Who and Wallace & Gromit.
And had a really nice turkey dinner that couldn’t be beat.
We were all happy and relaxed - what more can you ask?
On! To 2009!
Colin Randall has written an excellent article about Sandy Denny and especially the genesis of the “Fotheringay 2″ album released this year after 30 years mouldering in the vaults.
See the article here.
I have lots of pictures taken at Singleton Botanical Gardens, just down the road here in Uplands, Swansea.
I have put together a free 2009 calendar of “Singleton Wildlife”. To access this, click here. It is best printed on A4 paper.
Please note that you can make a donation if you wish (the webpage tells you how), but the calendar itself is entirely free.
Merry Christmas to all.
The creator and voice artiste of Noggin The Nog (and indeed Nogbad the Bad - he was a baddie), Oliver Postgate, died this week.
His other creations included the whistling Clangers (with the Soup Dragon!) and Ivor The Engine.
The thing about his creations was that they were quintessentially British. Amateur, crap really in many ways and yet with his gentle voiceover, the pish-te-cuff pish-te-cuff of a steam engine, a kind of magic occurred. It was almost like radio in that sometimes the stories were better without the pictures, composed of painstakingly bad stop-motion films. Just like the Archers, the picture was better without, er, a picture.
Bagpuss was after my time. I knew of him only because my kids watched the repeats in the 1980’s, but again it was a minor miracle that no-one, not even my very assertive kids, turned around and said “For gods sake! Put on Tom & Jerry!”.
His achievements, in concert with his partner Peter Firmin, were incredible.
The only serial I ever saw that was worse conceived and executed was “Bleep & Booster” on Blue Peter.
Their work was bumbling, amateur and typical of the 1960’s. But it was truly magical. And I loved it. Especially Noggin the Nog. The last new episode of which was shown in 1965, when I was 9!
Fuck, I’m old.
Thanks to http://www.nogginthenog.com/ for the image of Noggin above and www.smallfilms.co.uk/ for the pic of Oliver & Peter.
Martin Minow, who died 8 years ago come December 21st, was a gentleman hacker. He was passionate about listening to customers and adored innovations, even if they led nowhere. We shared an affection for Science Fiction, both good and bad. Martin enjoyed fine wine and good beer, but most of all he enjoyed the company of others, be they Hashers, Engineers or Comedians. He knew countless people. He tried to imitate a cockney accent with an “orl right?” down the phone, but he just sounded like Dick Van Dyke. Worse, in fact.
He had a high-pitched laugh. He couldn’t cook asparagus. He’d just been on a Morse Code course in his twin pursuits of the arcane and an interest in cryptography.
As an infrequent visitor, I had no idea who would be at his house - the Swedish Ambassador perhaps, or the World Champion Orienteering Lady - also Swedish. When I visited once the whole Swedish Orienteering Championship team were visiting! Perhaps a pattern emerged here:-) He also provided the english translations for “I Am Curious, Blue” and “I Am Curious, Yellow”.
Martin was a polymath and I was jealous. He was good company at parties. He was well-liked by the ladies. He had a dirty mind although always tinged with a light humour.
Martin was a friend to my whole family. He had invited Pippa, my daughter, to stay summer 2001 with him in
The loudest laugh I ever heard from him was when we visited Bletchly Park, where Turing and others deciphered messages encrypted by the Enigma machine during World War II. It was a secret facility, you see and that was complemented marvellously on the day we visited by them re-painting the signs,. The signpost had about 8 arms, all of which were uniformly grey and blank.
Somehow it is appropriate that Martin died on a bus. He would have enjoyed the look on the drivers face as he realised the situation when he checked on his remaining passenger at the end of the line. I like to believe he had a smile on his face.
Oh, and by the way, Martin’s definition of a “Gentlemen Hacker” was one that ensures his lady is fully satisfied before reading new mail.
I still miss him.
The woman was in her 20’s and dyed blond, with the customary dark roots supporting her shoulder-length hair.
I saw her through the window behind Wendy as we sat and ate a delicious Chinese buffet at the Oriental Garden in the Swansea Marina.
She walked up to the side of the Marina, separated from the water by a three-bar metal barrier and took out her phone, talking to whomever she chose.
Her expression was neutral, in fact it was almost immobile, an unemotional rictus of stillness.
As I watched her, she hopped over the barrier, standing on the edge of the 20 foot drop to the water. I couldn’t conceive that her next move would be to actually jump in, and I don’t know if she did.
All I know is that when I next looked over, she was nowhere in sight. She definitely hadn’t walked away and yet she was no longer there. I looked over the expanse of the open area that I could see. No sign of her.
It’s now two weeks later. No press report of a body in the Marina and yet I still wonder - where did she go? Who was she? What was her desperation? Who was she talking with?
More to the point, why didn’t I leap out and look for her? What cowardice to not seek to help someone.
I doubt I will ever know if she just walked away . And it weighs upon my conscience.
In the past few weeks we have
- dropped out of a house sale
- watched Boo Hewerdine triumph at the Chattery
- enjoyed Helen Watson and Mark Cresswell supported by Scotty at the Chattery
- run around placing our money in savings accounts with advantageous interest rates
- enjoy a walk in the Brecons
- stay a couple of nights away in a very nice pub
…. and carried on breathing!
Yea yea, life goes on… and now for Christmas
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