ECDL Desirable, Not Essential
Further to my post about Tony Blair yesterday, I haven’t been able to read any of his memoirs as yet because a) I haven’t bought it and b) I’m busy working my way through Decline and Fall. Published at the same time, Chris Mullin’s diaries might not be the absolute inside track, but is probably more entertaining.
But I did pick up that Blair wrote his memoirs in longhand as he admitted to Richard Bacon on FiveLive. He said it was because his IT skills were underdeveloped and that he somehow thought differently with a pen in hand than at a keyboard.
Goodbye Mr Chips
It came as something of a surprise to hear of Cyril Smith’s death today. Not that he should have succumbed at the age of 82, but the reverse really. How had he lived to such a good age when we’re told that obesity is the curse that will put us into an early grave?
I suppose that like most northerners, I had a sneaky affection for Cyril. He had that bluff, no-nonsense approach that suited him as mayor of Rochdale, but I’m not sure it translated easily to national politics. You cannot argue that his defection from Labour didn’t come at a good time for the Liberals though.
When Did You Last See Your Father?
I watched Tony Blair being interviewed by Andrew Marr the other night, and I listened to his recorded interview with Richard Bacon on FiveLive yesterday, and you have to admit that he has still got it, whether you define ‘it’ as charisma, self-belief, spin or egomania. Whatever ‘it’ is, he knocks Gordon Brown, David Cameron, Nick Clegg, David Miliband and Ed Balls into a cocked hat.
Milk of Kindness Gone Sour
I wouldn’t bracket Mrs P with Mother Theresa and grey hair is about all I have in common with Albert Schweitzer, but I like to think that we’d help some poor soul in trouble if we could.
Mrs P met one such while out walking the dog yesterday, a young lad living rough in the woods because he had nowhere else to go. He was in his mid-20s and was about as presentable as he could be after sleeping under the stars for a couple of nights with just a thin blanket to keep him warm.
G is for Gee Cross
Gee Cross was where me and Mrs P first set up home, where our kids enjoyed their early years and where little Miss P first went to school. It is a ‘village’ in north east Cheshire that has been around since Doomsday, but was subsumed into the township of Hyde.
This week a few G photographs from Gee Cross:
Postcard from South Africa
Thanks to mobile phones, Facebook and other ways to keep in touch, it seems odd to get a postcard, but one arrived yesterday from Miss P in Cape Town. She says it pretty much sums up her South African experience — everyone seems to be laughing and smiling all the time. I suppose they can be happy with their climate.
She also mentions seeing two whales which was nice, except that when she elaborated on the phone, her vantage point was in the ocean in the middle of a surfing lesson.
Commentator’s Claret-y
There was considerable pressure to ban alcohol from football grounds in the 1970s and 1980s and it is commonly assumed that this was a response to growing crowd violence and hooliganism. In fact it was an attempt to stop BBC commentators making complete asses of themselves as this half-time report from the League Cup replay between the Uniteds of Manchester and Oxford illustrates.
For the record, the match played on 7 December 1983 finished in a 1 – 1 draw. ManU won the second replay 2 – 1 two weeks later.
Thanks to Mark Chapman and Dave Vitty’s Commentary Selection Box available on i-Player for a limited time.
Marriage Made in Heaven
Fish and chips were a bit of a treat when I was a lad. Maybe once a week I was sent to Pearson’s chippie with a deep dish to collect the family’s meal, getting a bag of batter scraps to eat on the way home as a reward.
As I grew older, this great delicacy came wrapped in old newspapers that soaked up the grease and vinegar and made a special scrunching sound when screwed up after you’d finished, the sound of the remains of the salt scratching against the paper.
A Very British Coup
I’m in the process of re-reading A Very British Coup by Chris Mullin who stood down as an MP this year. I’d forgotten what a well-written book it was and quite prescient too in describing the causes of many of the of both country and politics that have befallen us since it was published in 1982.
The reason I’m reading it is as a prelude to the second volume of Mullin’s diaries which lays bare the terminal stages of the Labour government. An email from Amazon tells me it was despatched today.
Fashion Victim
I’m taking a terrible risk with copyright here by scanning this image from the Sunday Times Style magazine. I wouldn’t need to if they didn’t now charge to view online and could have just linked to it. So I may be sued from hell to Huddersfield, but this has to be seen and said.
It’s the regular What are you wearing? that features on the inside back cover alongside Mrs Mills. Until now, I’ve just taken passing interest, enough to make me think they must have missed an exclamation mark off the end of the title, and I’ve only just started to actually read the thing. It’s hilarious.