The View from the Hill on Saturday 14th November

We had quite a bit of rain overnight but not the storms that were forecast, although I think the south of England is going to get quite a battering today. Living on a hill means that we should be the last to get flooded and it will give me time to lash the dining table and the sideboard together so we have a fighting chance of floating away in comfort, and we can fill the drawers of the sideboard with provisions for the journey.

That's the plan for survival sorted then for the great flood, and I'm sure as we sail away we will see many marine creatures taking up the new opportunities that a flooded UK brings, and I don't care in the least if a band of musical seals wants to live on the roof of my garage.

I mention musical seals because last night as I sat in the pub with Mrs B and the dogchildren, it became apparent that Dean, with his soft southerner upbringing, did not know that seals were excellent musicians, especially designed through evolution to play small drums and the tambourine. It's the little sharp claws on the end of the lovely curved flippers makes the right angle for the noise to be pitch perfect. Anyway, Dean now knows and I'm sure this information will come in handy as he and Niki live on the river and it might help them be less startled if a passing seal band strike up near their mooring one day.

A question, how many national daily newspapers managed to cover the Daniel Radcliffe story without using the words Harry PotHead?

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On this day in 1904, Harold Larwood was born, one of this areas most famous sons, Larwood was a fine cricketer and will be forever linked with the Bodyline Ashes Series in the 1930's.

Larwood was born in Nuncargate, which is just up the road from our house on the hill, although the name Nuncargate is one that Mrs B has trouble remembering and in fact we now refer to that small village with its excellent butchers shop as Carbuncle.

Not in any way to disparage the beauty of the place, it is no hanging gardens of Babylon, but it is functional.

So no funny little nuggets, just a local connection to a sort of famous dead cricketer who lived in a place that Mrs B can't say...

And that's a fact!

The View from the Hill on Friday 13th of November

Friday the 13th!

Just wait a minute while I go and lock all the doors, I don't want some knife wielding maniac disturbing me whilst I blog.

I don't do all that superstitious rubbish, I don't mind if a black cat dragged me under a ladder and then made me say Macbeth in a theatre.

But today I want to say thank you again to all who are reading this rubbish, I now have readers in the US, the Caribeano, Englandshire and Europe as well as the Middle East - have yet to conquer the Far East and Australia but I live in hope.

On what is supposed to be a day of bad luck I feel lucky that I have the time and the energy to sit here every morning and spew this garbage into the electronic miasma of the Internet, some of it will come back to haunt me I'm sure, some will disappear into the cosmic dust of space and time, but to think that around the globe people are actually taking the time out of their day to read it, well it is very humbling. There is only one thing that would make it better, cheques made payable to D Baxter.

Looking forward to seeing the dogchildren this evening before they set off to conquer the Scottish Highlands in panto, the hordes of screaming children that will pass through their safe hands over the next period of time, very scary but very satisfying I'm sure.

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On this day in 1955 the actress Whoopi Goldberg was born, funnily enough that isn't her real name, her real name is Goldie Whoopberg, but that just sounded too funny for a comedian so she changed it. Actually my real name is Rex Batwerd but I changed it for legal reasons, the Batwerds family being famous for their criminal past.

Batwerd is an olde Englishe namee, dating back to the 9th Century and Batwerd actually translates in the original olde Englishe language as "the high pitched scream a bat makes as it is roasted alive over an open fire then eaten by a starving peasant" - you can see why I felt obliged to change it, with me being a bat lover of the highest order.

I had a pet bat once, it was called Willow and it loved to eat crickets - I came home from school one day to find it's little dark cage empty and the remnants of a open fire in the yard, I then discovered great uncle Horace Batwerd had been to visit, those bat eating habits die hard.

And that's a fact!

The View from the Hill on Thursday 12th November

The thought of George Hamilton in the jungle with Jimmy White and Sam Fox as well as all those other has beens, well it looks like I'm hooked already. Bring on the rats and the locusts.

Toddled down to see the Community Play last evening, The Crucible by Arthur Miller. A look at hysteria and greed and rumour and how people are very quick to see witches (or reds) under the bed.

It is a beautiful piece of writing, dangerous and witty, and some of the members of the assembled cast were almost up to it, my little friend and junior partner did a fine turn as Rev Parris for example. There were some weaknesses though, but I am not allowed to write about them, as I was once asked for my opinion and gave it honestly, only to be at the heart of a vicious hate mail campaign - lesson learned. I now only say when asked, "it was very interesting" or "I liked the scenery".

My own theatrical exploits are starting to simmer again with the arrival from Canada of the scripts for Drag Queens on Trial - I have read through the script and now I need to make some serious plans and find three drag queens.

Swine flu jab this morning, so I am now going to pre-inoculate myself with a bacty.

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On this day in 1035, King Canute, the Viking King of England died and was succeed by King Harald. If you hear King Canute or Cnut in it's original Viking, you immediately see the image flash into your head of the silly old Cnut sat in his throne at the waters edge demanding the sea not wet his feet nor the edge of his gown. It is apparent however from modern research that this story was made up, ammo in a war of spin between Cnut and Harald Harefoot, who was desperate to discredit him and take his throne.

The story might have been based in some overheard conversation between Cnut and courtiers who suggested that Kings were nothing as they could not even demand the sea to cease it's slow creep up the beach, he was a wise old Cnut.

To read his life story is to see a forward thinker and an important man of his time and it is therefore a great shame that will only be remembered for an apocryphal story and that his name was a most unfortunate anagram - poor old Cnut

And that's a fact!

The View from the Hill on Wednesday 11th November

Could it be that I got it wrong about Gordon Brown? There seems to be so much sympathy swinging behind our cyclops PM that I am starting to second guess myself. He's shy and finds personal interactions difficult...this is one of the explanations offered in his defence. Shy and finds personal interactions difficult!! Get the fuck out of here.

Ok, I will leave it alone now.

The news we seem to like the best is when ordinary people do extraordinary things or when extraordinary things happen to ordinary people, hence the feeding frenzy over the two £45 million lottery winners. They do seem normal and ordinary, overweight people, (could have been me). At least one of them has had the common sense to say when asked "yes,of course it will change me, it would be stupid to say anything else!"

For the first time I wanted to cheer a lottery winner rather than see them choke on their champagne.

£45 million - my life would change beyond recognition, imagine being able to tell Mrs B that she could give up work and go part time at Sainsbury's, imagine being able to tell my parents and in laws that I had secured for them luxury suites in a high security twilight home in Geneva, imagine being able to buy the view that my neighbour has from their garden and then charging him £100 every time he glances over the fence, or having the power to buy Mansfield Town FC and turn it into a football team. Oh the fun I could have and the people I would have killed.

Anyway, it's a pipe dream so perhaps I might buy a ticket this week.

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On this day in 1918, the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the Great War ended with the signing of the peace treaty in France. The last soldier to die was a Canadian named George Lawrence Price - he was 26.

At 11am this morning I will stand in silence for two minutes and think positive thoughts about our troops in Afghanistan

And that's a fact!

The View from the Hill on Tuesday 10th November

...and the row over when an apology is not an apology rumbles on, Gordon Brown is sent back to school to undergo some of the extra literacy he has been pushing for the last period of time...have you noticed how he always uses that phrase, you listen to him speak (if you can be arsed).

I really do believe that is part of his problem, he seems unhuman - I don't mean inhuman, I mean unhuman. For a man to have suffered the tragedy in his life that he has, he just cannot connect with people, a mind like a steel trap and a sense of empathy that is locked in a steel cupboard somewhere so it doesn't interfere with his cold Vulcan like logic.

The BBC coverage seems to be hinting that many are sympathetic towards GB, because of his blindness, I think this is simplistic and a distraction, it is not the blindness in his eye that worries me, it is the blindness in his sense of being human.

Today, more of our lads are repatriated, the streets will be lined as they are taken on their journey finally to be returned to grieving families - each family now desperate to try and deal with their loss and not wanting to be dragged into a political drama I'm sure.

I think that Mrs Janes is in a position of great power, it will be a brave man indeed that tackles a grieving mother, and I applaud and support her totally - she has lost her son and no words, spelled correctly or not, can bring him back but Gordon Brown can bring back those who are still alive so that the streets can be lined as we celebrate their homecoming.

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No silly facts today, a real reflection and some heartfelt human thoughts to counteract Mr Brown:

On this day in 2001 the author and playwright Ken Kesey died, his most famous play One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Many would have seen the film with Jack Nicholson and his will be the only name you probably recall from that movie even though there were some amazing performances in it from Louise Fletcher, Will Sampson, Brad Dourif and Danny De Vito.

A few years ago, I was lucky enough to get cast in a theatrical production, I played Cheswick and it was a dream of a role, and it was during that play that felt that I could disappear into a role. I found myself 'being' the man not pretending to be the man - it seems a small difference but to a man who sometimes struggles with his own self imposed acting standards it was a big step.

Those ensemble pieces that I have done over the years, like Cuckoo's Nest and 12 Angry Men, these were the moments when I really felt comfortable on stage, and on both occasions I was working with the junior partner, and I know he's not feeling on top of the world at the moment and so I just wanted to say that he is nearly as good an actor as me and his talent is beginning to get to a point where it will register on the talent-o-meter, so chins up young man, and just remember, it could be worse....you could be in the Community play.

And that's a fact!

The View from the Hill on Monday 9th November

Gordon Brown must be trying to become the most hated PM of all time, this latest problem with the letters he sends to families of the bereaved soldiers is another nail in his coffin - which brings me nicely to The Undertaker.

Yesterday afternoon, four boys, (two young and two not so young) went to the Arena in Nottingham to see the WWE wrestling extravaganza - it was packed to the roof with hooting and shouting fans. I even had a couple of whoops and woo's myself. I have been a fan of wrestling since Kent Walton and the days of Big Daddy on World of Sport, Saturday afternoons were always reserved for the wrestling. Now of course it is on everyday somewhere, the WWE having taken over the world with it's various formats of Raw or Smackdown and ECW.

I don't watch it on TV these days, except for the vintage show with Mean Gene Okerlund, because I am not a fan of some of the modern wrestlers, I miss the characters like George The Animal Steele and Rowdy Roddy Piper. My knowledge of modern wrestlers meant I didn't know many of those I saw yesterday but there were some familiar faces - including the Undertaker.

But first we were treated to William Regal, well he's called William Regal now but in the early eighties he was Steve Regal and fought people like Marty Jones and Robbie Brookside. Anyway he went to the US and became famous and no doubt rich. The same is true of Dave 'Fit' Finlay who wrestled on our Saturday screen for many years with Princess Paula at his side, now he is growing old disgracefully in the WWE and making a good living I'm sure.

The Undertaker has been a favourite of mine for 25 years, and I have seen him live a couple of times but to see him one more time, stalk to the ring, beat the crap out his opponent, walk the ropes and then lock the other man in the casket, well it was worth the entrance fee for that alone.

Don't try this at home, actually why not try it and if you can look past the snobbery of 'me watch wrestling!' and the obvious staging of the event, you will find it is good fun and certainly the thousands of people gathered in the arena yesterday went home hoarse and happy.

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On this day in 1989, the Berlin Wall began to crumble and people helped it on it's way by knocking big chunks out of it. The problems surrounding the wall go back to WW2 of course, but the problem with it falling own was mainly due to one of my relatives, Wellington Lancaster. Wellington or Bomber to his mates, was a builder, but a very bad builder and he just got the mix wrong, too much sand and not enough cement hence it falling down...

And that's a fact!

(did you get the wrestling / builder link hidden in this last bit?)

The View from the Hill on Sunday 8th November

A day for remembrance.

Mrs B and I sat and watched the Festival of Remembrance from Royal Albert Hall last night, and if there is one thing that is bound to reduce me to tears it is seeing old men, bent with age but ramrod straight inside, crying as they reflect on their lost comrades. Then seeing those injured soldiers and the people who look after them, hearing the stories of their professionalism and bravery, it really does make you reflect on how important it is that we have young men and women who turn up, sign up, and put up when the going gets tough.

Yes, I am not ashamed to say that I sat and cried as I saw all of that unfold on the television, and then they cut away to a shot of Gordon Brown, stone faced, shame faced?

Then I felt angry and I just feel that he is not fit to clean their shoes, he is some sort of here today gone tomorrow politician and he just does not inspire me at all.

He seemed so unaffected by the whole thing, emotionless and cold - and for once I wanted the man who sends the troops to fight and die to show some sort of a sign that he has a heart.

Anyway, I will watch the events as they unfold at the Cenotaph this morning and at 11am I will stop, and reflect.

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On this day in 1431 Vlad the Third of Walachia was born, he later became known as Vlad The Impaler, infamous for the cruel way he treated his enemies. He was of course the inspiration for Dracula and so it seems a little strange that today in 1847 Bram Stoker was born, the author of Dracula.

In an even further strange and spooky series of connections, today is also the birthday of Ken Dodd, have you seen his teeth?

As far as I know there are no vampires in my family history, although we did have a failed vampire hunter, his name was Abraham Vandriver and he tried to steak vampires through the heart using the wrong sort of steak. Ash or beech would work, but he found it difficult to get his 8oz rump steak to actually penetrate the vampires chest.

And that's a fact!