The View from the Hill on Saturday 15th August
I find myself having to amend a View from just a few days ago, and in hindsight I realise that part of the attraction of Berardi’s Restaurant was its Italian character, reminding me now of trips to Tuscany, and meals eaten in Cortona and Florence. More memories stirred last night as we made the long journey to Eye, a place that there are no earthly reasons to visit save for I Toscanini Restaurant.
This will have been our second visit in about six weeks and our seventh or eight visit overall, so we are hardly regulars but as you walk through the door you are welcomed like long lost family members. The ambiance, the food, the whole package is first class, no wonder it was packed.
This was a surprise family get together celebrating my mother’s birthday, she needed cheering up because she has been a little low since she was made unemployed, (she used to be the stunt double for Thora Hird and since her death worked has dropped off.)
Thirteen of us and all equally welcomed and looked after by our cheery waitress Susie (or it could be Suzi I suppose, possible Siouxie but I doubt it) who reminded me of a younger and more attractive Cheryl Baker from Bucks Fizz. When this was mentioned she herself offered that someone had mistaken her for Michelle Pffeifer…perhaps one more glass of vino and I would have been there too!
Anyway, she would rate an honourable mention on the list of waiters I was recalling the other day but there was another waiter there, his name is James I believe, and he is memorable for another reason.
On our last visit, he got the coffee order a little confused and I ended up with a double espresso, very nice it was but not what I ordered, likewise last evening a latte was ordered and something else arrived which I duly drank without complaint. Why, I hear you ask, did you not query the mistake and ask for your correct order, well I reply, you see James is the most eager to please waiter of all time, and when he sees you are happy his whole face lights up, his smile is expansive and unrestrained, he says things like ‘fantastic’ and ‘brilliant’ and his eyes shine with joy. Not just any eyes though, these are the eyes of an Old English sheepdog puppy, peering out from under his floppy fringe. James is totally adorable and in the same way that you would forgive a puppy who has chewed your slipper when they cock their head on one side looking for approval, I and everyone else forgives James when the wrong coffee arrives, you just don’t want to see him not smile and be happy because when James is happy, we are happy.
I hope having written this we are allowed back through the door again!
A great meal, it was nice to be with the family, our niece and nephews were there, drawing admiring comments from Susie although she had some difficulty spotting Max’s father and went round most of the rest of the table before getting to his dad and then offering, “you must have been handsome”. It was the use of the past tense that caused much hilarity… well done Susie and thank you James and mille grazie to all at I Toscanini.
http://www.toscanini.co.uk/
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The View on what To View:
It's a great day for movies and I suggest feet up from 1.05pm until 5.45pm
Five are showing the original and best version of The Taking of Pelham 123 followed by Hitchcock's North By Northwest.
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Saturday, 15 August 2009
Friday, 14 August 2009
The View from the Hill on Friday 14th August
I do like words and I like using words that others might not, I suffer with logorrhoea and tend towards prolixity. However, working in Mansfield and environs, I do have to watch my language and use as close to the local idiom as possible.
He tombled darn the chimbley Miduck, not-they, gerrart: it all came as a shock and then the other day a lady told me that her mum used to feed her kids by going ‘cockyladding’…she wasn’t a prostitute, apparently it meant she went looking for mushrooms!
Even local places are referred to differently dependant on your place of birth, Mansfield Woodhouse is Wudhus, Blidworth is Bliduth, and the strangest of all is to be found in the fact that some refer to Ravenshead as Fishpool!
There are the people that start and end sentences in the following manner: He went to town he did! He was driving his car he was. He parked it in the car park he did.
It gets a little irritating after a whiles, it does!
And I love the way some people have sort of misheard things and then re worded them slightly, like the lady who said to me that her husband was mad as a chair! ( I presume mad as a march hare had been jumbled up).
Silly words and use of words are the basis for lots of smiles; I was recently told that “the hospikle didn’t want to resuscitate me mam cos it might kill her”.
Another mother was proudly telling me that her son was amphibious, in that he could use both his right and left hands equally.
John Prescott once said upon his return to dry land that he as was pleased to be back on Terra Cotta.
But the best local story about misunderstood language is the one where Seve Ballesteros comes to play golf in Nottingham and he goes out with the local champion and on the first tee Seve hits his drive nicely away and then the local lad hits his and even under the pressure of having this great champion watch him he manages a very creditable shot. Ballesteros, always the gent, turns to the man and says “That’s a very nice tee shot” to which the local man replies “Ta miduck, but it’s not a tee shot, it’s a pullova!”
Oh well better get on - it’s a bit black over Bill’s mothers so no lollygagging, must get on with it and get rid of some rammell. Gi us a tuffee.
Tata and watch out for loose bobo’s
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The View on what to View:
10pm on Five - Law and Order:Criminal Intent
Just to see Vincent D'Onofrio as the autistic Det Robert Goren.
I do like words and I like using words that others might not, I suffer with logorrhoea and tend towards prolixity. However, working in Mansfield and environs, I do have to watch my language and use as close to the local idiom as possible.
He tombled darn the chimbley Miduck, not-they, gerrart: it all came as a shock and then the other day a lady told me that her mum used to feed her kids by going ‘cockyladding’…she wasn’t a prostitute, apparently it meant she went looking for mushrooms!
Even local places are referred to differently dependant on your place of birth, Mansfield Woodhouse is Wudhus, Blidworth is Bliduth, and the strangest of all is to be found in the fact that some refer to Ravenshead as Fishpool!
There are the people that start and end sentences in the following manner: He went to town he did! He was driving his car he was. He parked it in the car park he did.
It gets a little irritating after a whiles, it does!
And I love the way some people have sort of misheard things and then re worded them slightly, like the lady who said to me that her husband was mad as a chair! ( I presume mad as a march hare had been jumbled up).
Silly words and use of words are the basis for lots of smiles; I was recently told that “the hospikle didn’t want to resuscitate me mam cos it might kill her”.
Another mother was proudly telling me that her son was amphibious, in that he could use both his right and left hands equally.
John Prescott once said upon his return to dry land that he as was pleased to be back on Terra Cotta.
But the best local story about misunderstood language is the one where Seve Ballesteros comes to play golf in Nottingham and he goes out with the local champion and on the first tee Seve hits his drive nicely away and then the local lad hits his and even under the pressure of having this great champion watch him he manages a very creditable shot. Ballesteros, always the gent, turns to the man and says “That’s a very nice tee shot” to which the local man replies “Ta miduck, but it’s not a tee shot, it’s a pullova!”
Oh well better get on - it’s a bit black over Bill’s mothers so no lollygagging, must get on with it and get rid of some rammell. Gi us a tuffee.
Tata and watch out for loose bobo’s
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The View on what to View:
10pm on Five - Law and Order:Criminal Intent
Just to see Vincent D'Onofrio as the autistic Det Robert Goren.
Thursday, 13 August 2009
The View from the Hill on Thursday 13th August
There is one thing that is always guaranteed to make me want to go back to a restaurant, that’s the service. Of course the food has to be good too, but if the service is good that’s the icing on the cake.
I had hoped to go to the Ocean in Lincoln last night for Bang Bang Chicken and Crispy Shredded Beef with Chili, but we ended up with scampi and chips at The Rushley, the food was OK but the service was crap. If we had been in Lincoln we would have been greeted with a smile by John, our favourite octogenarian waiter. John always has a smile and a joke, his old eyes twinkle out from under his grey eyebrows, he always make a fuss and he always brings you extra Elizabeth Shaw Mint Crisps with your coffee. John is brilliant and the owner keeps him on (even though he spends most of the evening chatting and not working) because people love him.
We have known John for many years but you can get equally good treatment from waiters you don’t know. Many years ago in Waikiki, we went into a restaurant called Spatz and were greeted by Sam. We had a nice meal and a drink and then left. A few days later we returned for another meal and as we walked in the door Sam looked up, waved and by the time we got to the bar our drinks were waiting for us and we had another wonderful night.
I suppose we have been lucky, you hear such horror stories.
For many years my favourite restaurant was Berardi’s in Lincoln. It was run by the very ebullient and exuberant Tony Berardi who had been an ice cream man when I first met him. His wife, Orietta, did the cooking, she was an excellent cook but the best thing about Berardi’s was the waiter, Tony Wilkinson.
He was camper than a row of tents but great fun and although there might have been better restaurants in town, there were none with such a warm friendly atmosphere.
The Sambucca always flowed and we always got plastered and walked home, and we always looked for an excuse to go back.
When Tony died he was replaced by Jane, Jane was nice too but something special had gone from the place.
Wherever we go and whatever service we get offered it is always compared to Tony. Very few reach his standard, John comes close but we miss Tony.
I always smile when I think back to the time he leaned across with the vegetables and said Celery heart? My reply, yes please darling.
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The View on what to View:
Thursday is a good telly night for us but Kim and Aggie are back, car crash TV at its best so I suggest 8pm on C4 - How Clean Is Your House.
There is one thing that is always guaranteed to make me want to go back to a restaurant, that’s the service. Of course the food has to be good too, but if the service is good that’s the icing on the cake.
I had hoped to go to the Ocean in Lincoln last night for Bang Bang Chicken and Crispy Shredded Beef with Chili, but we ended up with scampi and chips at The Rushley, the food was OK but the service was crap. If we had been in Lincoln we would have been greeted with a smile by John, our favourite octogenarian waiter. John always has a smile and a joke, his old eyes twinkle out from under his grey eyebrows, he always make a fuss and he always brings you extra Elizabeth Shaw Mint Crisps with your coffee. John is brilliant and the owner keeps him on (even though he spends most of the evening chatting and not working) because people love him.
We have known John for many years but you can get equally good treatment from waiters you don’t know. Many years ago in Waikiki, we went into a restaurant called Spatz and were greeted by Sam. We had a nice meal and a drink and then left. A few days later we returned for another meal and as we walked in the door Sam looked up, waved and by the time we got to the bar our drinks were waiting for us and we had another wonderful night.
I suppose we have been lucky, you hear such horror stories.
For many years my favourite restaurant was Berardi’s in Lincoln. It was run by the very ebullient and exuberant Tony Berardi who had been an ice cream man when I first met him. His wife, Orietta, did the cooking, she was an excellent cook but the best thing about Berardi’s was the waiter, Tony Wilkinson.
He was camper than a row of tents but great fun and although there might have been better restaurants in town, there were none with such a warm friendly atmosphere.
The Sambucca always flowed and we always got plastered and walked home, and we always looked for an excuse to go back.
When Tony died he was replaced by Jane, Jane was nice too but something special had gone from the place.
Wherever we go and whatever service we get offered it is always compared to Tony. Very few reach his standard, John comes close but we miss Tony.
I always smile when I think back to the time he leaned across with the vegetables and said Celery heart? My reply, yes please darling.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The View on what to View:
Thursday is a good telly night for us but Kim and Aggie are back, car crash TV at its best so I suggest 8pm on C4 - How Clean Is Your House.
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
Here is The View from the Hill on a wet and windy Wednesday 12th August
First of all, an apology….not all old people are rude. Some are not rude at all, (usually because they have Alzheimer’s). This apology was brought to your courtesy of Florien.
And now a story about someone who lived to be very old, my maternal grandmother.
My grandmother had geese in her yard, well in one of the many yards she had over the course of a lifetime, and I have never been fond of geese since that day I was sat in the toilet at their house, an outside toilet to boot, and I could hear this tapping at the door. It was about 6.30 one Sunday evening, I was unwell, hence sitting on the toilet. Anyway, there was I sat on the toilet, the tapping at the door, and then a hissing, I could have shit myself if I hadn’t already done so! I started to try and push the door open and there they were, the geese, all standing in a circle and staring, waiting, hissing – I shut the door. I was eventually rescued.
My grandmother had some strange ways, country ways, and she was nervous about many things but luckily she had a kitchen table. In fact she had a multi purpose kitchen table bomb shelter and lightning shield. I should have got the patent for it and made another assault on those Dragons.
If there was any sign of a bomber or a plane of any description flying over head during the war, everybody went under the kitchen table…it was sturdy!
If there was a thunderstorm she would dive under the table clutching the silverware…don’t ask! Sometimes they ate meals off the table. That table saw a lot of action.
During the war she once found herself quite a distance from the house when she spotted a parachute lying in the field. Suspecting the German was lurking nearby she walked backwards all the way to the house never taking her eyes of the fluttering silken threat. There was no German and the parachute got turned into undergarments, make do and mend you see.
She had eight children and she outlived three of them as well as her husband of over 70 years.
At her funeral the Vicar said she had lived a sad life, I put him right, she lived through some hard and sad days but she lived a good life and I remember her for the reasons I have mentioned today and many more besides, (also because she could be rude!)
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The View on what to View:
It's a pretty thin night TV wise so I suggest you turn it off and go out for a Chinese (I might tape Who Do You Think You Are at 9pm BBC1 though).
First of all, an apology….not all old people are rude. Some are not rude at all, (usually because they have Alzheimer’s). This apology was brought to your courtesy of Florien.
And now a story about someone who lived to be very old, my maternal grandmother.
My grandmother had geese in her yard, well in one of the many yards she had over the course of a lifetime, and I have never been fond of geese since that day I was sat in the toilet at their house, an outside toilet to boot, and I could hear this tapping at the door. It was about 6.30 one Sunday evening, I was unwell, hence sitting on the toilet. Anyway, there was I sat on the toilet, the tapping at the door, and then a hissing, I could have shit myself if I hadn’t already done so! I started to try and push the door open and there they were, the geese, all standing in a circle and staring, waiting, hissing – I shut the door. I was eventually rescued.
My grandmother had some strange ways, country ways, and she was nervous about many things but luckily she had a kitchen table. In fact she had a multi purpose kitchen table bomb shelter and lightning shield. I should have got the patent for it and made another assault on those Dragons.
If there was any sign of a bomber or a plane of any description flying over head during the war, everybody went under the kitchen table…it was sturdy!
If there was a thunderstorm she would dive under the table clutching the silverware…don’t ask! Sometimes they ate meals off the table. That table saw a lot of action.
During the war she once found herself quite a distance from the house when she spotted a parachute lying in the field. Suspecting the German was lurking nearby she walked backwards all the way to the house never taking her eyes of the fluttering silken threat. There was no German and the parachute got turned into undergarments, make do and mend you see.
She had eight children and she outlived three of them as well as her husband of over 70 years.
At her funeral the Vicar said she had lived a sad life, I put him right, she lived through some hard and sad days but she lived a good life and I remember her for the reasons I have mentioned today and many more besides, (also because she could be rude!)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The View on what to View:
It's a pretty thin night TV wise so I suggest you turn it off and go out for a Chinese (I might tape Who Do You Think You Are at 9pm BBC1 though).
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
The View from the Hill on Tuesday 11th August
I had planned something completely different but reading about the naming of the killers of Baby Peter combined with other events changed my direction.
I sat and watched the drama documentary about the Manson family last night, hearing Linda Kasabian relive those awful murders was both chilling and heartbreaking. It showed how some young people through a series of mistakes can allow themselves to be drawn into a web of evil which touches their lives and those around them for ever. There is no doubt that the murder of those eight people back in 1969 was a terrible crime, especially the murder of Sharon Tate whilst eight months pregnant, and the outrage and the call for retribution against those who committed the crimes was as vociferous as that displayed during the Baby Peter trial. I was still left, however, with a real sense of sadness and pity for Linda Kasabian and that in itself is uncomfortable.
The fact that Tracey Connelly and Stephen Barker were granted even temporary anonymity was a bad mistake, and seeing their pictures I feel nothing but disgust and for a moment I toy with the idea of joining those who desire the return of a death penalty. What possible use is there keeping these less than human humans alive?
Well hopefully, they will live long enough to suffer like that child suffered.
These two will be hated for all time, in the same way that John Venables and Robert Thompson are hated, Hindley and Brady, The Wests, Ian Huntley and Maxine Carr...there is no pity for them.
The photographs of Connelly and Barker show two people with dead eyes, she especially looks like a murderer, she looks like someone you should hate and it makes it easy to hate her for what she did because she is ugly, ugly inside and out.
But this is the same week Ronnie Biggs was released from jail to die with dignity, we have a funny sense of right and wrong with our criminals don't we?
I'm not sure what this post is about really, perhaps more than anything my own uneasiness at how quick I might join the mob, perhaps it was fortunate timing that I watched Manson last night.
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Tonight's View on what to View
9pm on Five - CSI:Miami (of course)
although there is a documentary about Autism on BBC 3 at 9pm too, I bet we tape it!
I had planned something completely different but reading about the naming of the killers of Baby Peter combined with other events changed my direction.
I sat and watched the drama documentary about the Manson family last night, hearing Linda Kasabian relive those awful murders was both chilling and heartbreaking. It showed how some young people through a series of mistakes can allow themselves to be drawn into a web of evil which touches their lives and those around them for ever. There is no doubt that the murder of those eight people back in 1969 was a terrible crime, especially the murder of Sharon Tate whilst eight months pregnant, and the outrage and the call for retribution against those who committed the crimes was as vociferous as that displayed during the Baby Peter trial. I was still left, however, with a real sense of sadness and pity for Linda Kasabian and that in itself is uncomfortable.
The fact that Tracey Connelly and Stephen Barker were granted even temporary anonymity was a bad mistake, and seeing their pictures I feel nothing but disgust and for a moment I toy with the idea of joining those who desire the return of a death penalty. What possible use is there keeping these less than human humans alive?
Well hopefully, they will live long enough to suffer like that child suffered.
These two will be hated for all time, in the same way that John Venables and Robert Thompson are hated, Hindley and Brady, The Wests, Ian Huntley and Maxine Carr...there is no pity for them.
The photographs of Connelly and Barker show two people with dead eyes, she especially looks like a murderer, she looks like someone you should hate and it makes it easy to hate her for what she did because she is ugly, ugly inside and out.
But this is the same week Ronnie Biggs was released from jail to die with dignity, we have a funny sense of right and wrong with our criminals don't we?
I'm not sure what this post is about really, perhaps more than anything my own uneasiness at how quick I might join the mob, perhaps it was fortunate timing that I watched Manson last night.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Tonight's View on what to View
9pm on Five - CSI:Miami (of course)
although there is a documentary about Autism on BBC 3 at 9pm too, I bet we tape it!
Monday, 10 August 2009
Here is the View from the Hill on Monday 10th August...the day my iphone blew up!
Went to a BBQ yesterday at a neighbour’s house, (lovely people especially the wife who might read this). They have a wonderful garden, easy to sit in, well established plants, old fashioned plants that look like they belong in England and not some desert or jungle.
I hate gardening; we come from earth we go back to earth and in-between we garden! Anyway it got me thinking about gardens and reminds me of a conversation I had not so long ago.
I was listening to a man talk about the fact he never had enough time to spend with his grandchildren, his garden was immaculate and I wondered how much time he spent in the garden?
Gardens are important to many I know, from my view on the hill I get a good look into many, with their lawns and borders, a combination of hard and soft, colour and neutral. I think what strikes me is that we set great stall by what others think of us, and apparently one way of showing others a little of who we are is through our garden.
If we spend hours making a place of great beauty, we somehow think that translates as making us better than the people who don’t garden at all – and you only have to listen to or watch the hours of media output associated with gardens to know that it is a society wide phenomena.
Well my front garden, the bit the world can see as they pass by, is nothing special; it is full of well established shrubs and easily maintained. The back garden is a messier affair, the dogs see to that! But I don’t think about it as an extension of me, I don’t care what people think when they look at it because I know the time I don’t spend in the garden will be spent doing something I enjoy so I would have to give up that time to do something I detest. That’s why I now have a little man come every three weeks to pull the biggest weeds out. Problem solved!
I think I could become a gardening terrorist, creep round in the dark and mess up people’s gardens so when they get out of bed in the morning they would look out and see the mess and know that the neighbours suddenly felt a little less comfortable with them being in their street.
And where is all this going, well I suppose it’s just saying being a decent human being has nothing to do with your ability to garden, being a decent human being is much more than that……..perhaps there is a challenge here, a chance to look at your own attitudes – when you walk past a house with a scruffy garden, what do you think about the people who live there, whether you know them or not? Your answer might tell you more about yourself than you would like to know.
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My View on what to View:
10pm Channel 5 - Manson. A drama-documentay about those awful events of 40 years ago.
Went to a BBQ yesterday at a neighbour’s house, (lovely people especially the wife who might read this). They have a wonderful garden, easy to sit in, well established plants, old fashioned plants that look like they belong in England and not some desert or jungle.
I hate gardening; we come from earth we go back to earth and in-between we garden! Anyway it got me thinking about gardens and reminds me of a conversation I had not so long ago.
I was listening to a man talk about the fact he never had enough time to spend with his grandchildren, his garden was immaculate and I wondered how much time he spent in the garden?
Gardens are important to many I know, from my view on the hill I get a good look into many, with their lawns and borders, a combination of hard and soft, colour and neutral. I think what strikes me is that we set great stall by what others think of us, and apparently one way of showing others a little of who we are is through our garden.
If we spend hours making a place of great beauty, we somehow think that translates as making us better than the people who don’t garden at all – and you only have to listen to or watch the hours of media output associated with gardens to know that it is a society wide phenomena.
Well my front garden, the bit the world can see as they pass by, is nothing special; it is full of well established shrubs and easily maintained. The back garden is a messier affair, the dogs see to that! But I don’t think about it as an extension of me, I don’t care what people think when they look at it because I know the time I don’t spend in the garden will be spent doing something I enjoy so I would have to give up that time to do something I detest. That’s why I now have a little man come every three weeks to pull the biggest weeds out. Problem solved!
I think I could become a gardening terrorist, creep round in the dark and mess up people’s gardens so when they get out of bed in the morning they would look out and see the mess and know that the neighbours suddenly felt a little less comfortable with them being in their street.
And where is all this going, well I suppose it’s just saying being a decent human being has nothing to do with your ability to garden, being a decent human being is much more than that……..perhaps there is a challenge here, a chance to look at your own attitudes – when you walk past a house with a scruffy garden, what do you think about the people who live there, whether you know them or not? Your answer might tell you more about yourself than you would like to know.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My View on what to View:
10pm Channel 5 - Manson. A drama-documentay about those awful events of 40 years ago.
Sunday, 9 August 2009
The View from the Hill on Sunday 9th August
It's a beautiful morning here on the hill, the wood pigeons are frisky and running around on the conservatory roof like a couple of lovestruck doves.
There will be many who look out on their own views on days like this and give thanks to the Lord for all he created (All Things Bright and Beautiful plays in background for effect) and after a meagre breakfast of organic bacon and free range eggs they will drive their Toyota Prius to the church and sit quietly contemplating the shopping they will do at Tesco on the way home whilst the vicar drones about the rights and wrongs of coveting the neighbours jacuzzi.
But then that moment arrives when all hell breaks loose, the time has come to sing Onward Christian Soldiers or Fight The Good Fight (Christianity is about peace not war) and the most feared man or woman in the world takes over........the ORGANIST!!!
Why can they never play the hymns? It's like the advert must have said organist required, no previous experience required, no sense of rhythm needed (unless it's a Catholic church) chopsticks optional.
You all know it's true, think about the last time you were in church (unless you were abused by the priest in which case don't think about it) think about the last time you went to a ceremony of some kind, I bet the organist was crap.
Just this week I went to the funeral of a neighbour, the religious bit was tedious but the tributes by his three sons was first rate but the organist was all over the place...he played Going Home, you know the Hovis music, I said to Mrs B I think the organist should go home. Then as everyone was leaving he began what they call voluntaries, their own choice of music...he couldn't even play that! You'd think given a choice of what to play you would pick a song you could actually play!
Anyway, I'm not going to church this morning, three funerals to write and a BBQ to visit.
Oh, I was talking to my father last night and we got on to the subject of pecking orders, we decided that there comes a point in life that you are so far down the pecking order you no longer get pecked! It reminded me of my neighbours funeral and of a line I wrote for The Pub Lecture....50% of marriages end in divorce, the others end in death! Makes divorce quite appealing really!.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The View on what to View
There is a repeat of The Last Tommy and a new series of Jam and Jerusalem but my vote goes to River with Griff Rhys Jones 9pm BBC 1.
It's a beautiful morning here on the hill, the wood pigeons are frisky and running around on the conservatory roof like a couple of lovestruck doves.
There will be many who look out on their own views on days like this and give thanks to the Lord for all he created (All Things Bright and Beautiful plays in background for effect) and after a meagre breakfast of organic bacon and free range eggs they will drive their Toyota Prius to the church and sit quietly contemplating the shopping they will do at Tesco on the way home whilst the vicar drones about the rights and wrongs of coveting the neighbours jacuzzi.
But then that moment arrives when all hell breaks loose, the time has come to sing Onward Christian Soldiers or Fight The Good Fight (Christianity is about peace not war) and the most feared man or woman in the world takes over........the ORGANIST!!!
Why can they never play the hymns? It's like the advert must have said organist required, no previous experience required, no sense of rhythm needed (unless it's a Catholic church) chopsticks optional.
You all know it's true, think about the last time you were in church (unless you were abused by the priest in which case don't think about it) think about the last time you went to a ceremony of some kind, I bet the organist was crap.
Just this week I went to the funeral of a neighbour, the religious bit was tedious but the tributes by his three sons was first rate but the organist was all over the place...he played Going Home, you know the Hovis music, I said to Mrs B I think the organist should go home. Then as everyone was leaving he began what they call voluntaries, their own choice of music...he couldn't even play that! You'd think given a choice of what to play you would pick a song you could actually play!
Anyway, I'm not going to church this morning, three funerals to write and a BBQ to visit.
Oh, I was talking to my father last night and we got on to the subject of pecking orders, we decided that there comes a point in life that you are so far down the pecking order you no longer get pecked! It reminded me of my neighbours funeral and of a line I wrote for The Pub Lecture....50% of marriages end in divorce, the others end in death! Makes divorce quite appealing really!.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The View on what to View
There is a repeat of The Last Tommy and a new series of Jam and Jerusalem but my vote goes to River with Griff Rhys Jones 9pm BBC 1.
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