You're Gonna Love Tomorrow / Love Will See Us Through

You're Gonna Love Tomorrow / Love Will See Us Through

21st December

Today I’m on the road, heading East, following a star  (sorry a satnav) and when I arrive at the inn I’m hoping there will be room for me to squeeze inside.

You see, today is one of those days when the ceremony I’m leading doesn’t involve a coffin…no, today it is a wedding that has my fullest attention.

Sadly, the antiquated system in England doesn’t afford me the privilege of legally marrying this wonderful couple but, who knows, now we have such a touchy-feely Tory government, maybe they’ll have the nerve to stand up against generations of tradition and change the way things are done. Or maybe not.

Over the years I have had the great pleasure of officiating at several weddings, some of dearly loved friends, and the thing that united all of those ceremonies was the desire of the couples involved to make the wedding day about their commitment to each other and nothing else.

I’ve overseen the exchange of vows & rings in a variety of settings, including a farmyard, a camp site, Sherwood Forest and a leisure centre.

Mrs B and I had a traditional church wedding, but one thing I’m certain of is that the location is not important: church or registrar’s office or forest glade, it matters not. What matters is the commitment to each other and to be able to publicly declare your love for another human being.

It doesn't matter who wants to get married, as Jimmy Somerville sang, there's more to love than boy meets girl...,for love is strange and uncontrolled, it can happen to anyone.

It doesn't matter how much money you spend on the wedding festivities, it matters how much time you spend sharing life and making memories.

It’s not about the piece of paper you sign, it’s about that determination to support each other through good days and bad.

If you find someone to love and to share the journey through life with then, married or not, you are a lucky person.

I’ve been very lucky to have shared 35 years of married life with Mrs B. Goodness knows how she has put up with me, but I don’t think she’ll mind me sharing this with you.

Once, on a holiday to the USA, we walked into a little shop near the Coit Tower in San Francisco. It was there we discovered the work of Robert Sexton, a gifted poet and artist.

We bought books of his poetry plus a drawing on which was written these simple words:

This much I’ll remember, when the rest of life is through, the finest thing I’ve ever done, is simply loving you.

That picture still hangs in our home, a quiet reminder of our commitment of love and support, and my goodness we needed that from each other this year!

Today as I watch two people express their love for each other,  I’ll banish all cynicism from my mind  and simply be hoping that love will see them through all the tomorrows of their life and that they  share many happy years together.

The Party's Over

The Party’s Over

20th December


As an atheist, hearing the phrase ‘the true meaning of Christmas’ is always a little irksome.  It’s as if only Christians can celebrate Christmas properly.

We live in a nominally Christian country and yet all around me I see people behaving in the least Christian of ways.

Hateful, demeaning language permeates every area of public and private life. Hearing frazzled parents screaming abuse at their children in supermarkets, seeing the pleasure some take in the misfortune of others, watching our elected representatives lie and abuse their office, none of this seems very Christian to me.

I know there has been a meme circulating on the internet basically saying that if Jesus came back today, not only would he find no room at the inn, but no welcome in our country…bloody foreign prophets coming over here and stealing English prophet’s work!

If you want my opinion, and I’m sure you’re gagging for it, the true meaning of Christmas is now wrapped up in over indulgence which it would seem is the antithesis of what Jesus would have wanted…if he had existed.


There’s no better gift than the gift of time, so spend some with the people you love. Keep your celebrations simple and sincere and you’ll enjoy the festivities no less than those who spend a fortune decorating their houses with a million lights or going into debt to buy gifts that no one really needs.

Perhaps my view is coloured by the events of this year.


Having lived through a pretty crap 2019, celebrating is not really at the forefront of my mind but when you throw a 6 year old into the mix, you have to make a bit of an effort.

Today’s the day when we hold the annual works party. Considering I’m self employed and have no other employees, it’s a pretty cheap affair.

Chips, a glass of wine and a ride down the helter-skelter in Nottingham…although I leave the helter-skelter to Polly.

Without getting too serious, I think with the state of world being as it is, a simple Christmas is called for this year.  Simple but no less valuable to those who share it.

And if you really want to claim that you understand the ‘true meaning of Christmas’ then make sure you donate to a charity instead of spending money on yourself. Remember what Jesus said…

‘the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one’.

Invocations & Instructions To The Audience

Invocations & Instructions To The Audience

December 19th

I did it. I managed to stay awake and concentrate on the film.  I shall not describe the plot nor give any hint of a review, sufficed to say that I will try and see Star Wars:The Rise of Skywalker again over the festive period.

Now to the business at hand. Audiences.

I have written on previous occasions how amusing I find it watching people struggle to find their seats in a theatre. If only they could work out a system with letters and numbers that gives you a clue as to where you might be sitting.

There was one occasion at The Royal Concert Hall in Nottingham, when Mrs B & I found two people sitting in the seats we had booked and they refused to move even when we showed them our tickets. The front of house staff did their best in trying to persuade them to budge, but they refused. I think they believed that being over 75 gave them a free hand to sit wherever they pleased!

There was another occasion when we first went to see Les Mis and again found two people sitting in our seats. This was slightly more puzzling as they also had tickets with those seat numbers on…however, on closer inspection it turned out they had booked those seats but for the following week!


People coughing, checking their phones, eating noisy and smelly food, having sex; these are just a few of the things that might distract not only fellow audience members but the performers too.

If you cannot sit still, without eating, or sticking your tongue into someone for just a couple of hours then stay at home and watch TV!

The only upside for rowdy and disruptive punters at the cinema is they are very unlikely to incur the wrath of any of the actors on screen…unless they have sneaked in to watch themselves in the movie.

So, last night, the lights go down and there’s a lot of noise and stupidity from some young men a few rows behind us but as the adverts finish and the film comes on they do at least go quiet. But that’s when the man in the seat immediately behind me starts saying to his companion, “I need a bin”.

Initially I thought, just throw your rubbish on the floor like everyone else, but then I realised he didn't want to throw rubbish…he wanted to throw up!

Fortunately I had not taken my coat off and it did have a hood attached, so I started to think about slipping the hood on to avoid getting showered in projectile vomit.

However, the man didn't throw up, as it seemed he was actually having some kind of a panic attack.

His companion assisted him to the floor, so he could calm his now hyperventilating friend.

The whole thing lasted just a few minutes and didn’t spoil the film but it reminded me of all those times I had suffered panic attacks in the past.

The last one I had in a theatre was during the interval of Death of A Salesman, a brilliant production with Wendell Pierce and Dame Sharon D Clarke. I am still sorry I didn't see the second act but that’s what living with anxiety can be like. You never quite know what will trigger an attack.

My anxiety levels have been running pretty high lately, and I’ve been forgetful and distracted…it’s why I’m planning a fortnights break in the New Year.

And you know what, for all the nuisances that other people can cause, generally speaking, being in an audience at a theatre or a cinema is one of the best places I can ever hope to be.

I have many theatre trips planned in the New Year, fingers crossed I get to see all of the show.

Back To Before

Back To Before

December 18th

Apology: It would appear that yesterday’s blog included a factual inaccuracy. Apparently you don’t plug your Prius into the mains, it’s a hybrid. I apologise unreservedly for getting the scientific facts wrong.

It also appears that I neglected to mention Star Trek! Now getting science fact wrong is acceptable but getting science fiction wrong in unforgivable.

To make up for that glaring error, today I shall write about Star Wars.

I know that there are some people who cannot bring themselves to embrace both Star Trek and Star Wars, they pick their team and support it fanatically.

I’ve always been flexible in my sci-fi tastes - I will watch anything and enjoy it for what it is. From Forbidden Planet to Babylon 5, from Dr Who to Quantum Leap…loved it all.

But back to Star Wars. Tonight I shall be sitting in my local cinema, just after midnight, to be one of the first audience members to see the final instalment in this 40 plus year journey.


I’ve avoided reading reviews, I don’t know what the story will say or how they will close this saga but I can assure you of one thing…however this thing ends, I’ll accept it.

I’m not going to be one of those people who get all upset and start petitions because they don’t like the ending! That was bad enough after the end of Game of Thrones!

It’s fiction…they can do what they want and if you don’t like it, tough.

I would have preferred that the Titanic didn’t sink. I know that undermines the emotional impact of the movie but I’ve thought about it and a small rewrite would still give us the tragedy of Jack’s death, just in a different way.

Picture the scene, Jack and Rose in the cabin as he prepares to paint her portrait. Rose slips out of her cloths exposing her breasts, nipples like puppy dog noses…and Jack has a stroke.

But Rose doesn't like being stroked so she stabs Jack in the neck! Blood spurts all over the puppies, and she then drags his limp and lifeless body to the deck and throws his carcass overboard accidentally dropping her necklace in the process.

There we have it, emotionally compelling drama but the ship sails into New York and we get a happy ending too. It’s got Oscar written all over it.

Anyway, enough of this silly fiction, let’s get back to some serious fiction.

I didn't see Star Wars; A New Hope until 1978, it didn't make it to our local cinema until well into the new year, but I had already read all about it in the fan magazines we used to read in those days before the internet. The days when only paid writers had opinions, not any idiot with access to a  keyboard.

Watching Star Wars for the first time, on the big screen, with that opening sequence of rolling text  (memories of Flash Gordon)  the music of John Williams and then the appearance of that first space craft…I was smitten. And I’ve watched with interest over the next 40 years as the franchise grew and the story developed, and we travelled forwards and backwards in time.

Some of the films I enjoyed more than others but tonight I’m guessing that the completion of the journey will give me a sense of fulfilment.

At least I lived long enough to see it through.

As a boy who always dreamed of space and adventure, Star Wars certainly did give me not only the droids I was looking for, but so much more.


Star Wars may be coming to an end but in the coming year, we shall have new Star Trek to devour and one thing is clear, no matter what else changes in the world, I shall never tire of visiting that galaxy far, far away.

Popular

Popular

17th December

This story is based upon actual events but the names and places have been changed to protect the innocent.


After restarting the daily blog, I didn't really expect that it would change the face of social media. I was right.

So much negativity and hatred permeate all the major platforms through which people ‘communicate’ and I guess my vanity project will just get lost in a sea of awfulness and wickedness.

That’s why I want to say thank you to the 40 or 50 people reading the blog.

It’s nice to be noticed. It’s nice to feel of use.

I hope you will have noted that even when I write about serious issues, there is a whiff of whimsy and a halo of humour that overarch the theme.

I don’t really want to upset people, I do want folk to smile…that’s because I’m professionally nice.

I’d like you to think about that for a minute. How hard it is to be nice to everyone, all of the time.


Just think how many idiots you meet in the course of your day and think about how you deal with them.

Are there times when someone upsets you in some way and you just let them have it…both barrels?

Do you feel better afterwards?

Well I never get that chance. I have to be nice to everyone, all of the time.

Let me explain why.

Imagine the scene; you’re walking across a supermarket car park, carrying your bags, laden with fish fingers and wine (just the essentials) and you are a little confused because your car isn’t where you parked it.

In truth your car is exactly where you parked it, you’ve just forgotten where that was.

Anyway, you’re wandering around the car park like Moses in the wilderness when you suddenly hear the loud and continuous sound of a car hooter…right behind you.


Almost dropping your precious cargo, you stop and turn around and there’s an old fellow in his immaculately clean Toyota Prius. You know, the ones that creep up on you without making any engine noise.

A lady I presume to be his wife is sat neatly beside him. Staring. At me.

I can’t raise my hand to apologise for being in his way, shopping bags prevent that simple gesture. However, he has his hands free and offers a gesture of his own.

Now that was uncalled for, and for a split second I feel like walking around to the side of his car, accidentally banging my shopping bag on his door, before shouting at him to ‘drop dead you miserable old git’.

But then the professionally nice side of my brain kicks in…just seeing his wife sitting there makes me realise that tomorrow I could actually be knocking on her door, to help sort out the funeral of her suddenly departed husband.

So, a nod of the head, you step aside and let the silent car slide by and out of sight.

I cannot tell you how many rude and idiotic people I meet every day, and I cannot tell you how sore my tongue is from being permanently bitten.


I actually don’t mind being nice to people, but there are some that take advantage of other people’s niceness by being extra bitter or cynical.

So is there a moral to this car park drama?

Yes: in a world where it’s very easy to snap and join the tidal wave of hatred flooding into our lives, why not bite your tongue and become the better person?

Then you can be like me.  In your head you’re looking at someone and thinking ‘what a dickhead', whilst a beatific smile covers your face.

You can rise above the idiots and feel totally superior because at least you have the ability to pretend to be nice to people who really need to be electrocuted the next time they plug their bloody Prius in!

Have a lovely day.

Everyone's A Little Bit Racist

Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist

Monday 16th December

Wide awake at stupid o’clock in the morning with all sorts of thoughts running through my head, so I thought where’s the best place to deposit stupid thoughts and here we are.

Have you ever noticed how there are no obese news readers?

Why is that do you think?

I mean there are great news readers and reporters who are BAME or LGBT  but not FAT.

You must be ultra thin, so you can talk about your latest marathon but you can’t be chubby and sit there cradling a Snickers.

You must be trim and dress in beautifully tailored suits but you can’t be stocky or big boned and wear slacks with elasticised waistbands.

You just cannot be fat and be on TV especially to read the news.

And, as a fatty myself, I’m going to own that word and use it for the rest of this blog.


If television is the place where diversity reigns supreme and we are supposed to see ourselves represented, where are the role models for all the fat kids who want to be news readers…or present any show on TV?

They can’t all end up as Mr Tumble can they?


If you want to see fat people on TV, it’s usually in a documentary where someone weighing 147 stone is trapped in their bedroom and has to be rescued by lots of very fit fireman and slim doctors.

Or the other time you see fat people on TV, it’s so they can be laughed at; but that’s OK isn’t it, because fat people are jolly and don’t mind a bit of leg pulling? (NB, please don’t try pulling a really fat persons leg on your own, you can get a serious back injury).

We are at that time of year when lots of thin people pad themselves up to become fat and jolly, because Santa can be fat.

Can Santa be black?

(Just thought I’d drop that in to set all the Daily Mail readers off).

I live in Mansfield, a town which has a local council and a former Mayor, that condones casual racism. I’m guessing very few people would accept and understand when and how they are being racist though.


I’d go even further and say that making jokes about fat people would be thought of as fine, and easy to do. As easy as a fat person falling from his chair as he struggles to reach his next burger and fries.

Fat people are lazy, greedy and make bad choices and so we cannot put them on TV to read the news because no one would be paying attention to the stories; they’d either be too disgusted to watch or they’d be making jokes about their size.


Maybe some fat people at home wouldn’t watch, as they’d feel uncomfortable seeing what they look like through the eyes of others, and let me tell you that’s one thing that fat people do think about a lot.

I understand there has been some research done about how we judge people, people that we see for the first time.

If someone you have not met before walks into a room, perhaps a man, in a plain blue suit, and it’s clear to see that he is weighing in at well over 25 stones, then be honest, how’d you describe him?

Fat man in blue suit?  OK you might not say ‘fat’, you might be one of those people who use ‘obese’ or ‘overweight’ and I thank you for the thoughtfulness but you’re still describing him by his appearance.

You can replace ‘fat’ for ‘black’ or ‘Asian’ and still get the point I think.


All of those words carry their own baggage, and with ‘fat’, well there are just not many positive feelings about fat people.

The world is allowed to hate and shame fat folk without regard to their personal feelings and all because you think us fat people can change.

We don’t need to see ourselves represented on TV, reading the news, because we don’t need to exist.

Except for news reports about the obesity epidemic…then you need us.  How else would you film all of those shots of faceless belly’s wobbling down working class streets?

And let’s not forget, fat also equals poor. There are no rich fat people, that’s because the rich live on a diet of quail and cocaine neither of which are fattening, even with a side order of fries.

On the inside of every poor fat person is a rich thin person trying to get out…yes, we ate them for breakfast.

Are there days when I’d like to be thinner…of course there are.
There are days when I’d like to be younger, more handsome, be able to play the piano and sing like Pavarotti too (or a thin opera singer).

But today I am just me, an ageing fat man, with more chins than a…whoops!

I can accept that most of the time.  But it’s on days like that when I look on TV and think…why are there no fat news readers?

When The Sun Goes Down In The South

Sunday 15th December

When The Sun Goes Down In The South

Warning: This blog discusses mental health issues.


Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time…

Thomas Merton


I’m pretty sure that most of you are aware that I have recurring bouts of anxiety and sometimes even depression.

Part of my coping mechanism is to escape into a world that gives me a  chance to head off the worst effects of that illness.  I know it might sounds a bit over the top but when you suffer from anxiety you really do build a wall around your life, to try and protect yourself from the things that might trigger an attack.  Behind that wall you feel a little safer, it’s the place you can always retreat to when things get a bit too much.

My love of the arts is a huge part of that coping mechanism.


Music, theatre, films and TV, literature, these parts of my defence are made up of  many people,  actors, musicians, authors, all providing me with an artistic refuge from this world that, at times, I can barely stand to live in.

Rene Auberjonois was part of that defence.


I’ve been obsessed with acting since I was a child. I have a vague memory of being a reindeer in an infant school nativity type show and although the details are foggy, I believe whilst the other reindeers did two circuits of the stage, I completed a third solo circuit!

I would spend hours watching old films on our black & white TV and soon became a huge fan of John Wayne, Laurel & Hardy, Abbott & Costello and those wonderful old horror films with Karloff and Lugosi.

It seems pretty clear to me now, that the appeal in those films was never about the stars though, it was the great supporting actors, the character actors, that drew me in.

John Wayne was great but Chill Wills and Walter Brennan were much more entertaining.


Soon I was keeping records, lists of all the actors who I enjoyed watching, and so I was the only boy in secondary school who not only knew the name Gale Sondergaard but I could bore for England on the topic of George Sanders.

My interest in character actors has never wained and that brings me to the multi talented, Tony Award winning, Rene Auberjonois.

The first film I recall seeing him in was The Hindenburg, and he was in good company surrounded by brilliant actors like Charles Durning, Burgess Meredith and Richard Dysart.  He was also in the TV series Benson playing Clayton Endicott III - the snobbish, hypochondriac chief of staff.

The face, the voice, it just worked and I became a fan.

Of course he was also well known from numerous other guest appearances on The Bionic Woman and The Man From Atlantis (you can see what my TV diet was in the 70’s) and his voice was used in countless cartoon series over the years including Scooby Doo and famously as Chef Louis in The Little Mermaid, but I’ll come back to that voice in a while.



Of course as soon as he appeared in Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, and later created the role of Odo in Deep Space 9, he cemented his place in my list of all time favourite performers.

When you read up about him, when you see his theatrical background & pedigree, there is little doubt as to why he was able, from behind
this prosthetic and unmoving façade, to deliver such heartfelt and moving performances as Odo.

With a long and successful career, he was still cropping up in many of my favourite series of today, most recently Madam Secretary.

I did get the chance to meet him when he came over to a Star Trek Convention in Birmingham. He was a delight to spend time with: refreshingly honest and a little grumpy but still willing to chat about another aspect of his career which is narrating audio books.

I haven’t really read a book for about 10 years instead  I’ve become an addict of audio books. For me it’s not the subject that makes the book interesting, it’s the voice reading it.

It’s why if Scott Brick is reading it then I’ll buy it. The same is true for Rene Auberjonois. Luckily though he reads books that I have come to love, including the Agent Pendergast series by Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child.


18 novels bought to life by his voice and in my head the voice of Special Agent AXL Pendergast will always be Rene’s.  That low, almost whispered, southern drawl, I can hear it even now.  Goodness knows how they replace him and how I can listen to the next book without his voice reading it.

Without even knowing, or caring, Rene Auberjonois became part of the support network I have built around myself these last 20 odd years.

His voice, his appearances on TV, his humanitarian work (especially with Medecins Sans Frontieres) all part of a reassuring and stabilising presence.

Those who know me well will understand that I don’t mind talking about the somewhat fragile nature of my mental health over the years, and being quite honest I’ve been at a low ebb for sometime…it’s why I was very saddened  when I heard that Rene had died.

For his family and close friends this will be a difficult time, and although he lives on in all the good work he has done, they will miss him.

But as an artist, he will survive and today I wanted to say thank you Rene, thank you for the quality of your work, work which enabled me to lose myself when I most needed to.

With thanks to Douglas Preston for the photo