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Flotsam and Jetsam

River running deep

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Image from Public Domain Images“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”

Heraclitus

Long serving followers of these ramblings (and if such you be then you deserve some sort of special prize, though you may have to make do with my grateful thanks) will be aware that I have – on occasion – enthused over some artistic venture or other that has taken my fancy – be it on stage, screen or television. Close observers will also note that there have not exactly been a plethora of such instances, for I am what the Girl describes as a ‘picky customer’.

As the more astute reader will by now have gathered this is by way of a preamble for one of those infrequent occurrences.

We have this week just finished watching the sixth and final episode of the BBC drama – “River“. Should you throw up your hands in exasperation and enquire as to why I am writing about it now – when it is over and done – then you should be aware that the rights have been acquired by Netflix and you can thus catch up with this splendid production at your leisure – the which I wholeheartedly recommend.

“River” was – I repeat – shown first on the BBC. Most of what the Girl and I watch here in Canada is from the BBC and if our viewing thereof be not strictly legitimate then that is simply a sad indictment of the fact that – even in this age of global communication – there isn’t a way of paying to be able to stream the service that we really want – even though we would be delighted so to do if we could.

At a first glance “River” might have given the impression that it was just another police procedural. At the start of the first episode curmudgeonly detective John River (the excellent Stellan Skarsgard) and his longtime sidekick ‘Stevie’ Stevenson (the equally excellent Nichola Walker) are in their car on night duty. She is teasing him playfully, trying to get him to engage in karaoke renditions of seventies disco hits – he pretending that he disapproves of her attentions.

River sees a car that is clearly under suspicion and they give chase. The pursuit culminates in River following the young male driver into a housing estate and thence to the second floor of a tower block from which the young man jumps to his death.

Cut to River – with Stevie in the background – being chewed out at the scene by his boss. “You can’t bring her back” – she tells him unexpectedly, and as River stalks away and Stevie turns to join him we see that there is a hole the size of a fist in the back of her head! Yes – River sees dead people – in this instance his recently murdered sidekick, whose killer he is now endeavouring to find.

The show proves to be not really a murder mystery at all but rather a deeply moving study of the effects of mental instability on a man under pressure.

The writing – by the annoyingly wonderful Abi Morgan (dammit!) – is really quite exquisite. Morgan has reached the level at which she apparently has no fear and can thus do things at which mere mortal writers will balk. The closing scenes of the finale – six episodes down the line – would certainly have appeared mawkish or clumsy in the hands of a lesser writer. Morgan’s judgement is assured – treading that fine line with élan, remembering that less is always more and leaving us all in floods of tears. As River finally dances with the manifestation of Stevie that only he can see – on the spot at which she was killed – he is interrupted by his new partner, the splendidly lugubrious Ira King (Adeel AKhtar). Ira watches River for a brief moment and then simply says: “Alright?”. Perfect!

The actors to a man (and woman) – knowing a good thing when they see it – rise to the occasion and are uniformly splendid. The entire piece is given air to breathe by director Richard Laxton and allowed to unfold at an appropriately thoughtful pace. All is good.

So – should you already have caught it – congratulations. If not – consider the series recommended.

 

As a footnote – and I don’t mean to be unduly pessimistic – it seems to me a good idea to grab as many quality offerings from the BBC as possible before politicians of all hues – believing that they know better than anyone else – finally get their long-cherished way and emasculate the corporation entirely…

…and what a piss-poor (pardon my French) ambition that is!

The Big Yin

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Image from Wikipedia.enSpeaking as I was only recently (in the sense of posting to this picaresque periodical) of living legends… cf. Mr Richard Starkey… not more than a couple of weeks have elapsed since that joyous outing until I found myself again heeding my own dictum – ensuring that no such opportunity be missed to catch these legends whilst there is still time.

Billy Connelly – like Ringo – is in his seventies, though he is by comparison a mere youthful seventy two. Unlike Ringo however (who has the air of a man intent on going on for ever) Connelly not only came through a recent prostate cancer operation and the subsequent treatment, but has also been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease.

This hardly seems fair – though fairness naturally plays little part in such things.

When Connelly shuffled onstage at the Royal Theatre in downtown Victoria (whence we had gathered with dear and good friends on Wednesday last) for the second of two shows in a city of which he is clearly very fond, his painful lack of mobility and apparently fragile voice caused one’s heart momentarily to skip a beat – for a second wondering how on earth he was going to get through the show.

Two and a quarter interval-less hours later we had our answer and the capacity audience responded by giving the comedian a generous standing ovation. No encore was expected or offered – which seemed in the circumstances to be entirely appropriate. One should never forget that Connelly is a Glaswegian, that he started out as a welder in the shipyards and that whatever has happened to him since he is undoubtedly hewn from that tough stuff for which the inhabitants of that tough city are reknowned.

Not everybody gets The Big Yin. Not everyone appreciates the genius of his comedic talent. For me he is simply one of the funniest men on the planet, and that is before taking into account his award winning acting career and his heart-warming TV travelogues.

Respect – I say. Respect – dammit! I wish the man nothing but the best and I am delighted to have had the chance to catch him here in Victoria whilst he is still touring.

Starr quality

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Photo by D Sharon Pruitt on FlickrA few weeks back (there having been so much to write about over this last period that I have been struggling to keep up with it all) I went with one of our dear friends from Saanichton to a concert – or perhaps more accurately a gig – at the Memorial Centre here in Victoria.

Peter Gabriel visits aside I don’t venture forth to big gigs that much these days. I find that large impersonal arenas, the gridlocked post-gig car parks and the obligatorily aggressive comestible marketing all too often result in a somewhat wearing night out. Granted that modern technology usually now produces a auditory experience that would have been unimaginable when I first started attending live concerts (a good thing too as my ageing ears would not otherwise stand the strain) but that does not altogether compensate.

So – it takes something pretty special to get me out of the house of a night. In this case the something special was provided by Ringo Starr and his All Starr Band.

Now, I am a long time – a very long time – Beatles fan, but to this point I have never seen a Beatle perform live. There have been numerous opportunities over the years to catch McCartney in London and Ringo has been making these All Starr forays since 1989. I have not before, though, felt the slightest need to catch either of them – so why now?

Part of it is clearly the ‘London’ effect (other options available). Like London buses, if you miss one there will be another (or possibly two or three!) along in a moment. Cultural events are just so thick on the ground that if you miss a big show you can almost certainly catch it next time round – or just choose something else from the extensive selection on offer. For Victoria it is different. If the big names do land here the opportunity should be grasped with both hands.

Another reason is that there has been little incentive to see either Beatle right now. Yes – seeing either of them might be on the bucket list – but where’s the hurry?

Well – Ringo is 75! That’s right…

Fair enough – if I look a fraction as good at that age as does he then there would be serious suspicions that my loft housed a pretty decent collection of art. The point is that neither of these guys will go on touring for ever. In the same way that – a few years back – I decided not to miss a single Peter Gabriel show in case it turned out to be the last – I didn’t want to let this opportunity slip.

As for the show itself… It was excellent! The format is thus: When not bounding around the stage like a teenager flashing peace signs Ringo sings pretty much all the songs one would expect. The All Starrs – Todd Rundgren, Steve Lukather (Toto), Gregg Rolie (Santana) and Richard Page (Mr Mister) – each get to lead the band for three of their own best loved numbers. One thus gets to hear seriously good versions of songs such as ‘Africa‘, ‘Rosanna‘, ‘Black Magic Woman‘, ‘Oye Como Va‘, ‘Love is the Answer‘, ‘Broken Wings‘ and ‘Kyrie‘.

Best moments? Ringo announcing a song that he used to do with: “That other band I used to be in… Rory Storm and the Hurricanes!” – and Gregg Rolie commenting of one of his numbers that: “We played this at Woodstock!”

Blimey! It’s enough to make one feel old!

Cultivating our garden

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidOne of the incidental side effects of adhering to Voltaire’s immortal dictum – as given voice by the eponymous Candide in his final utterance – is that the Kickass Canada Girl and I do indeed now have a garden to cultivate.

I make no bones about it – unlike my father and my grandmother I really am no gardener. I have in the more distant past taken a share of the responsibility for what was quite a large garden, but for much the last two decades the stately properties in parts of which the Girl and I have lived have had the advantage of splendid communal gardens – maintained by splendid communal gardeners.

We now find ourselves the fortunate owners of a very lovely and quite mature ‘yard’ – as Canadians have it (and I invite you to consider that “We must cultivate our yards!” really doesn’t quite have the same ring to it).

One good thing about taking on such a responsibility at this particular time of the year is that there is perhaps slightly less to be done than there would be in other seasons. This is handy as it gives us the opportunity to watch and see what happens rather having to pile in – all guns blazing.

Grass – on the other hand – waits for no man and thus it was that I found myself last week – having borrowed a mower from our dear friends (who, you may recall, have a landscape design business) – for the first time tending to our acres (actually just under half an acre).

Mowing a lawn is a splendidly manly occupation (man in control of powerful machine, working in harmony to bend nature to his will!) and I found myself enjoying the chore considerably. It quite took me back –  though not to my previous gardening days for it had then been quickly established that the steeply sloping lawns of that garden were beyond my meagre capabilities and a pro was engaged to carry out the task instead!

Rather I was put in mind of my cricket club days. I was for a period the honourable secretary at the sort of village club where there was no professional groundsman and everyone was invited to muck in to help out with the ground maintenance. As ever volunteers were few and far between and those of us who did throw our hats into the ring consequently spent considerable amounts of time tending to the greensward. I didn’t mind that much as I found following a mower up and down a cricket square to have quite a therapeutic value.

Some who follow this blog will – during the summer months – doubtless continue to be similarly engaged. I will now instead rather be spending my time cultivating what might one day merely make a decent enough croquet lawn.

What is it about the English and their lawns?

Apologia

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image“Never ruin an apology with an excuse”

Benjamin Franklin

I have been corrected regarding a lexical matter by a much valued Canadian reader who is also a very dear friend of ours and – in particular – of the Kickass Canada Girl.

Our correspondent correctly points out my repeated – nay, habitual – misuse in these posts of the word ‘peninsular‘ for ‘peninsula‘.

She is – of course – absolutely right!

The Oxford English Dictionary gives us this:

“The spelling of the noun as peninsular instead of peninsula is a common mistake. The spelling peninsula should be used when a noun is intended ( the end of the Cape Peninsula), whereas peninsular is the spelling of the adjective ( the peninsular part of Malaysia).”

Since my usage of the term is normally as an abbreviation for ‘the Saanich Peninsula‘ the spelling should clearly be that for a noun. The fact that the OED offers in mitigation that this be a ‘common‘ mistake is absolutely no comfort whatsoever. In a blog which prides itself on its enthusiasm for language (if not for its learning) there can be no excuse for such sloppiness.

I am only mildly surprised that my error had not already been pointed out to me by someone from my educational background, given what sticklers they are for accuracy. When I started at my penultimate school I had – as an early task – to write a five year IT plan for the governors (known there as the Fellows) in justification for the really quite considerable sums of money that we were proposing to spend on infrastructure. After a couple of weeks hard work I presented for comments to my boss – the Director of Studies – what had by then grown into quite a volume. He ignored the content entirely but corrected a couple of instances of contentious punctuation. ‘The Fellows‘ – he observed – ‘would notice such things‘.

With regard to my Canadian orthographist I did wonder whether I should argue the toss on the matter, noting such oddities as the legend that I spotted on the back of a local youth’s sports’ apparel which read “Peninsula Soccer” (is that not strictly an adjective, mayhap?) before deciding that such a course of action would simply be somewhat graceless and instead offering my humble apologies, congratulating my tutor on her perspicacity and promising not to do it again.

 

My brother – incidentally – who is currently designing us a new kitchen (a task only marginally complicated by his being resident in the UK) has replicated in his scheme a feature of the current kitchen… a peninsula!

He won’t thank me for pointing this out, but guess how he spells it…

The Brave!

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photo by Gary Henderson on FlickrBy 4 o’clock (UK time) in the afternoon on Sunday last three of the four quarter-finals of the 2015 Rugby World Cup were already done and dusted…

…as was northern hemisphere involvement in the tournament!

Almost!

The English were not present, having a pressing engagement elsewhere for the start of the Aviva Premiership season.

The Welsh had fought valiantly against the English, against the Australians and against the human frailties that had robbed them of an in-feasible number of their stars. In the quarters the South Africans were just too strong – too wily – and found the means to shut them out at the last.

The fancied Irish also ran out of steam and out of their characteristic good luck, but in a rather more dramatic and emphatic fashion, being well beaten by an Argentine side that suddenly looks as though it does after all belong in the top-tier.

The French came up against the All Blacks. The latter – who had throughout the pool stages looked far from being themselves – mindful maybe of their embarrassing and uncharacteristic defeats at Gallic hands in the 1999 and 2007 competitions, now suddenly switched into overdrive, burying the French in a manner (63 – 13!) from which recovery will take some considerable time.

The remaining quarter-final pitched the form team of the World Cup to date – the Australians – against the lowly Scots. For those of the Scottish diaspora the omens – let alone the odds – looked anything but propitious. Before the game the bookies were offering 9 to 1 against a Scottish win, with the Australians as favourites to score the first try – the last try – to be leading at 20 minutes – at half time – at 60 minutes and at full-time. The minimum anticipated margin of victory was 11 to 15 points, with some suggesting that the Aussies might even better the total achieved by the All Blacks the previous day.

Had one of such a mind switched to the coverage of the match with a little over five minutes remaining he or she would have been quite taken aback to observe the Scots running in an interception try – and making the subsequent conversion – to take the lead – 34 – 32! For four magical minutes it looked as though the Scots might actually maintain this slender advantage, until an outrageous refereeing decision (and we rugger fans really don’t like to complain about match officiation) by South African Craig Joubert handed the men in yellow an undeserved penalty which gifted them a one point victory with less than a minute to go. Joubert further incensed the Scottish fans and commentators alike by sprinting from the arena immediately after blowing the final whistle, eschewing the customary hand-shake with the captains. This does all rather smack of an altogether different sport and is to be firmly deprecated.

No matter. What’s done is done. The Scots actually exceeded their own expectations of the campaign, and there is no small irony to the 6 Nations’ Wooden Spoon holders being the side to get closest to a semi-final berth. It is no secret that many Scots are well and truly sick to death of having to wear the ‘plucky loser’ tag. On this occasion – however – I think that it may be borne with considerable pride.

Bravo the Scots!

No quarter

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imageStreaming coverage of the Rugby World Cup matches from ITV in the UK to the enormous TV that the previous owners of our new house very kindly donated to the cause has proved a big success.

Rather too much of a success, perhaps, since some of that which has been on display has not made for comfortable viewing. The less said the better concerning England’s ingnominious departure from their own tournament before the end of the pool stages – though in my humble view some frankly bizarre selectorial decisions contributed in no small measure to their untimely demise. There is no small irony in the fact that only in the last dead-rubber game against minnows Uruguay were my preferred half back combination of Ford, Joseph and Slade seen in action together.

That Canada fared no better is – of course – mitigated by the fact that they were not expected so to do. It would have been good had they managed at least one win, but sadly their best opportunity – against Romania – saw them squander a 15 – 0 lead well into the second half – eventually losing 17 – 15.

Wales and Ireland both did well to get into the quarter finals – Ireland in particular gaining a convincing victory over the French and thus avoiding an unpleasant encounter, at this early stage of the knockouts, with the All Blacks. Unfortunately both teams have suffered injuries to key personnel which may count heavily against them as the tournament proceeds.

The Scots achieved their prime objective of a quarter final berth losing only to the Boks – though they had to work pretty hard against a Samoan side with nothing to lose to come out ahead of the brightest lights of the tournament thus far – Japan. The Japanese – who host the next World Cup in four years’ time – not only beat the feared South Africans but also became the first side in the competition to win three out of four pool games and still not make the quarters.

The Scots’ reward is an outing next weekend against the form side of the tournament thus far – the Australians – who have turned around several years of lacklustre performances to peak at the right moment.

Do the Scots believe that they can overcome the rampant Aussies? Of course they do? Is that likely to happen? Er – no!

Though I would not be caught putting money on that particular outcome I might we’ll be tempted to a flutter – if I were a betting man – on the final featuring the Australians and the All Blacks.

Hmmmmm!

Upcoming events

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RugbyYou will doubtless be all too aware of a couple of major events coming up at the end of this week, but just in case you are not…

Friday sees the opening salvos of the 2015 Rugby World Cup as hosts England take on the Fijians at Twickenham. The tournament will doubtless take a firm grip of our imaginations (and lives) for the next six weeks, leading up to the grand final – at the Cabbage Patch – on October 31st.

England should be too strong for the South Sea Islanders but they are in the toughest group – alongside Australia and Wales – and nothing can be taken for granted at this stage.

The Girl and I now find ourselves with multiple interests. England are looking promising and the plethora of Bath men in the squad gives us much to cheer. The men in white will have a definite home advantage which may just tip the balance.

The Scots have – as ever – been through tough times of late and their objective is simply to get out of the group stages and into the quarter finals. I am quietly confident that the recent omens are propitious and that they will make it through.

Canada have had a particularly difficult warmup run this time round and do not look as good as they did four years ago. Fingers – and much else – will be crossed that they play out of their skins and do themselves justice.

The All Blacks are – of course – not only the holders but also once again the favourites. Given their talents and adventurous style of play it is impossible not to root for them. Excellence, pure and simple.

As we do not move into our new home until the end of September – and given that our lovely hosts do not actually subscribe to a TV package – the Girl and I are going to have to find somewhere to watch the opening exchanges. We may find ourselves downtown at the famous Sticky Wicket at the Strathcona hotel, where sports of all varieties are treated with appropriate degrees of respect.

Regardless of whom you support the Girl and I wish you the best of fortune and a good tournament. Enjoy!

 

Image by Scott Clark

The other major event of the week?

Why – Saturday is ‘International Talk Like a Pirate Day‘ of course!

For the last few years I have been alerted to the imminence of this splendid day of celebration only after the event. This year I am prepared.

As now are you…

All together now – ‘Aaaaarrrrh‘!

Lorelei

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidStrange the way things turn out…

As I posted on Friday of last week, we were off on the Saturday morning to look a 4×4.

My choice of vehicle is based on the firm conviction that – within the next year – I will purchase some sort of small power boat so that I may indulge my piratical whims about the Gulf Islands.

Much research and diligent enquiry suggested that the ideal vehicle for the job was the Toyota 4Runner which has – in its V8 incarnation – sufficient power to drag around some 7000lb in its wake. Furthermore, the truck is built like a tank and will pretty much go on forever – making it entirely possible to find a ten year old model with yet plenty of life in it. The only downside is that this famed longevity keeps the used price somewhat on the high side.

Such it was that we viewed on Saturday morning. Unfortunately, through the vehicle was itself sound it had not been loved and the interior was in a pretty poor state. We decided to pass.

4Runners of the requisite vintage are in short supply and it looked as though a long trip to the interior might be necessary to effect a purchase. Then, almost by chance, the Kickass Canada Girl – on glancing through the online version of ‘Used Victoria’ came upon an advert for a twelve year old Lexus GX470. Aficionados will be aware that the Lexus is basically the 4Runner platform with a rather more luxurious facade atop. Even better, this particular specimen was but a few streets away. We paid a visit.

Though being of a considerably higher mileage than we would have liked, the Lexus looked pretty much as though it were fresh out of the showroom. Not only had it clearly been well loved, but it was also complete down to the least detail – the handbook and service record au naturelle, but also the comprehensive original Lexus toolkit and first aid kit.

The owner – the vehicle’s second – had advertised it at a very reasonable price but had no bidders, so had just dropped the price by $2,500. The Girl – as is her wont – enquired as to whether there might be any ‘wiggle’ room. The owner – without so much as a proper haggle – stated his bottom price, some $1,500 lower yet.

We asked if we could get the vehicle checked over – the which we did on Tuesday following – and were informed that the brakes needed renewing. The owner most kindly went halves to the tune of a further $500!

What a bargain – and a completely unexpected one.

And ‘Lorelei’?

Well – a vehicle as sophisticated and elegant as this one can only be a lady, though perhaps one with a mischevous spirit. The Lorelei was – of course – a siren, luring innocent(ish) men to their doom.

Seemed like a pretty good match…

Ta-ra!

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The_End_BookWell – that’s it! After forty years of continual employment I am no longer a working man. For the first time in my life since I commenced my education at the age of five (with perhaps the exception of school summer holidays) my existence has no clearly defined structure. This might take a little getting used to.

The obvious question – to which I am immediately subjected – is naturally:

“How does it feel to be retired?”

The answer, of course, is that I have no idea. I left work on a Friday. It is the weekend. It could – in fact – be any weekend, except that I don’ t have to go to work next Monday.

Still – I could be on holiday, and indeed I have no doubt that this is going to feel like being on holiday for quite some time, particularly as we head for British Columbia in just over two weeks time.

Have no fear. I am going to post on the subject of retirement. Probably extensively! But not now – not just yet…

This all needs to sink in for a while.

“Bear with…” – as the slightly dated cultural reference would have it…

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