Do You Think You Are A Bigger Picture?

On Friday my friend and I went to the Who Do You Think You Are family history fair. This involves a train ride into central London, followed by the underground west to one of London's of exhibition centres, Olympia. This is actually the hall next to the one we were in, but I think it's a nicer-looking building:

We decided to get the bus back to the train station to see if there was anything interesting along the way. We got off at Piccadilly, near a church that has an arty-crafty market in its grounds. (Consecrated 1684, but not one of Christopher Wren's finest.)

Further along Piccadilly is the Royal Academy, where the latest must-see exhibition is housed. Just as we got close to the gates, I did a double-take as I thought the artist himself was walking past us.

Fortunately, reason prevailed, and I realised that (a) it was a bit too young to be David Hockney and (b) he didn't have on his signature outdoor wear of a flat cap. Dead ringer, though, and I suspect not accidentally, especially as I saw another, not quite as good, a bit later on.

The exhibition in question is called A Bigger Picture. For a year, Hockney and his assistants travelled around the Yorkshire countryside in a van with nine cameras on top in a 3 x 3 pattern, filming the same views over and over again at different times of day, and in different seasons and weather conditions. He then composed huge nine-part pictures, which adorn the walls of the gallery, and his films, moving seemlessly along, are projected.


I've never really been a Hockney fan, and I loathe his fanatical approach to smoking, but I have to admit that the TV programme I saw about this exhibition really caught my imagination, and if I don't manage to get myself along to see it I will be very disappointed.

Depths - Day 3

Playing dumb at the numismatist's.

Depths - Day 2

I don't think any one of us will ever forget this unexpected gift from the coastal breeze.

Depths - Day 1

Bobby's such a big boy...

I want a job in broadcasting

Why? Because little things niggle at me constantly.

I just heard someone emphatically say "a fine tooth-comb". Never managed to buy one of those. Are they anything like "a fine-tooth comb?" And is there such a thing as a fine comb without teeth?

Almost immediately an announcer used the word "vilence". I'd love to know what that means. Maybe it has something to do with being vile. I do know it makes me feel...violent.

Then, when the newscasters talk about The Golf, I imagine grown men hitting a small ball round a green. If they mean The Gulf, why on earth don't they say so?

I know I could do better. Why won't they let me?

Smile - Day 12

Bet this one is a surprise - not!

Motorway Entertainment

I believe that families with children sometimes play a "spot the lorry" game while driving on the motorway. Though I've never been unfortunate enough to travel long distances in a car with kids, I must admit to noticing when I haven't seen any trucks of a particular company during a journey. Top of the list are the Eddie Stobart vehicles. We are such a sad people that there is even a TV programme about this company. It should be called AnoraksRUs. (I've never watched it, by the way.) It was national news when the previous boss, Eddie Stobart Jr, died not long ago.
The competition was usually between the Stobart lorry-spotters, and those watching out for the Norbert Dentressangle signs. Hell of a name. I always assumed it was a continental company, but apparently it was founded in the UK.

In "researching" this post, I was reminded that it's been a while since I saw one of these trucks:

It seems that they were taken over by Norbert Dentressangle a few years ago. Spoilsports.

Any such saddo games where you hail from?

Smile - Day 11

You don't need the tape, Bobby I'm stuck on you.

I must have known!

I just read Diane's post about her washing machine breaking down, and subsequent visit to the launderette/laundromat, and was surprised to realise that today I'd been thinking about the relative clothes washing practices of the UK and the US.

Of course, in HLOTS, a character played by Kathryn Erbe brained the guy who gave her Aids while in the laundromat. But those businesses rarely feature in US shows.

In Endgame one of Brady's victims was murdered in the basement of her apartment block, where the washing machines for every apartment block seem to reside.

Chinese laundries often feature in TV programmes and films.

In the UK there are launderettes, but they are shrinking in number because almost everyone, even those in flats, has a front-loading washing machine plumbed in to the kitchen. The most-frequented launderette is in the fictional Albert Square in the popular soap Eastenders. I haven't set foot in one in nearly 40 years. Last time my washing machine broke down (about 3 minutes after the extended guarantee ran out) I just phoned an electrical supplier and had a new one delivered.

I don't even know if large laundries exist in the UK. Hospitals have their own. I imagine hotels do, too.

On a green note, driers are one of the most intensively carbon-producing items you can use. It's the radiators or the washing line for me. I was always amazed to find that, while the neighbour on one side of me used her drier even on boiling hot summer days, the neighbour on the other side puts her washing out on the line even when there's a frost.From the sublime to the ridiculous! (But which is which?)

Smile - Day 10

Sun and shoulders, a winning combination.

Smile - Day 9

Irresistible neck to nuzzle.

Smile - Day 8

Another hint of a smile...with shoulders!

Smile - Day 7

This is about as close to a smile as we get from Bobby in this epsiode.

Smile - Day 6

Pity it has to be thanks to slimey Leslie we get to see this hand shot.

Here's looking at you, kids

Big and not-so-big cats were in a lazy mood, but the squirrel monkey was in the mood to chat.



My big boy Dandy likes to chat, too - but do you think he'd give me his usual 3-minute discourse? No chance! He did demonstrate his pneumatic drill of a purr, though.

Smile - Day 5

Today, it's just pure handsome gorgeousness.

A Taxing Time

I received three tax coding notices today, two of them informing employers to charge me tax at 40%. Even more surprising was that one of them was with regard to an employer I left in August 2010, and not a single one applied to my current employer. Considering I had a conversation with the tax office last year about their unilateral decision to remove my tax allowance from my pension, the only income that will remain stable forever, I was, to put it mildly, somewhat bemused.

It took me 25 minutes to actually get through to a human being. Meanwhile I had to listen to some really naff music interspersed with the same message over and over again that I could find lots of information on the website. NO, I NEED TO TALK TO A PERSON! At the very least, they could change the message (and the music) every few minutes, couldn't they?

I spent 15 minutes thrashing the matter out with one of the tax officers, and knowing that they are overworked and understaffed thanks to the same government that has frozen my pay till kingdom come, I was determined to be polite, sympathetic and, if possible, lighthearted. I'm glad to say that I managed this, and even raised a laugh for the poor, beleaguered woman.

I then had to phone the National Insurance office about a related problem, and though this call was answered more quickly, I still had to spend a further 15-20 minutes of my life trying to sort things out. Even so, this evening I have had to put my problem into print so that I can send it in. So there go a couple of hours I'll never get back.

On the plus side, I've managed to get another letter printed in my TV listings magazine, the BBC's "Radio Times". This time, I wrote about the pronunciation of the newly honoured ROYAL Borough of Greenwich. Ever since the run-up to the Millennium celebrations, I have regularly had to cringe to hear broadcasters use the posh, yuppy-incomer (or alternatively New York) pronunciation of the name. "Grennitch" they say, oblivious. "Grinnidge" true locals say.

The Cutty Sark before the restoration.

And in a recent programme about the restoration of the tea clipper The Cutty Sark, the young Queen, speaking at the 1957 opening of the tourist attraction created by putting the ship into dry dock, called the place - TA-DA! - Grinnidge. It's the Queen's English. Literally. I rest my case.

And as a reward the Radio Times is sending me some audiobooks, including Oliver Twist read by Martin Jarvis.

(Just a reminder of the tragedy that befell the ship during the restoration, when a fire ripped through what was left on site - luckily much of the original timbers had already been removed to workshops elsewhere.)

The Cutty Sark on fire, May 2007.

The day after the fire.

Smile - Day 4

After yesterday's belly-bounce, today we have the groin grope.

Cutting Edge Punishment

I tossed up between staying at home this afternoon and vegging out, or strolling to the shops to take advantage of some less freezing weather. The outing won.

My route to the shops takes me across a small river, through a new housing estate, and under a railway bridge, where I cross the road to the shopping centre.

There was a loud noise that I couldn't identify (there's also a large building site nearby, and the sound reminded me of very intrusive drills). As I advanced, I realised it was a helicopter, which was confirmed as this vision rose just above the rooftops:

It must have been ticking over nearby - can't imagine where it had managed to land in a busy town centre - but this was confirmed when I reached the road, and found a serious traffic jam, and a road ambulance and police cars along the roadside. Inside the shopping centre, the central square was cordoned off and the Sainsbury's supermarket was closed. A police support officer was informing people that there had been a stabbing. The victim was on his way to hospital, his assailant was under arrest. The supermarket staff had been sent home in shock and the crime scene techs were inside doing their stuff.

I overheard later that the victim was the store's security guard, but this was unconfirmed.

There is just too much knife crime in the UK, and the penalties just don't keep up with the seriousness of the crimes and the resulting maiming and death. I am no fan of Sharia law, but I guess having your hand chopped off would stop you ever stabbing anyone again.

Smile - Day 3

Anyone for a belly-bounce?

Smile - Day 2

Hands up all those who ever thought they'd one day lust after a trousered knee!

Warmest unheated place in Europe?

I think it's fair to say that Europe is in the freezer at the moment, bizarrely as a result of global warming, which has melted the Arctic ice, setting off some kind of reaction which is likely to freeze our butts off for many winters to come, possibly forever.

Meanwhile, my little conservatory (a sort of small, glass garden room) absorbed the sun falling on it from the south and attained a temperature of 60 degrees F/15 C by 1.30pm. Sadly, by 3pm, with the sun sinking, it was getting pretty cold, so I don't think I'll move myself in there permanently just yet.

Smile - Day 1

Far from smiling, Det. Goren clamps his mouth shut to avoid inhaling any of the dentist's fatal laughing gas.

Amends - Day 12

Man Mountain. Woof!

Odds-Off

Someone made a very intresting point to me yesterday.

Bearing in mind that I have discovered that I am at 3 degrees of Obama two different ways - my friend knows someone who used to know him, adding my second string - and that there is only one of him in the whole world; remembering that I actually have a connection to TWO US presidents; given that I am two degrees from Che Guevara, a unique man whose life should not have touched on mine in any way, and who is dead.

Thinking of all this, how is it, as my correspondent said, that I don't know a single lottery jackpot winner? There have been hundreds of them over the years. This 6 degrees business means I should know someone who knows someone, etc, etc...but I don't. Diane, the last two Euromillions winners come from Nottinghamshire, which is your neck of the woods. Do you come within any small number of degrees of them?

If not, statistically I think we have to say that the lottery is a fraud, and NO ONE EVER WINS!

Amends - Day 11

The penny drops.

Amends - Day 10

Lean my way, please, Det. Goren.

Happy Birthday Charlie

It can't have escaped many people's notice that today is Charles Dickens' 200th birthday.



Have a great one, Charlie boy.

Sadly, I'm really not fond of your prose...

Amends - Day 9

The smile doesn't last long, unfortunately.

Amends - Day 8

At least Bobby finds time for one little smile.

Amends - Day 7

"I'm the wack job." And we love you for it, Bobby.

How many degrees of a legend?

I was pretty pleased to be in just 2 degrees of Vincent, and Bill Clinton, the latter making me just 3 degrees of Barack Obama. But a chance conversation yesterday, reminiscing with a friend, gave me a big surprise.

When I was in the 6th Form at school (nowadays known as Post-16) it was common practice for schools to have modern language assistants. These were native speakers, students working as tutors to help school kids with conversational French, German, Spanish, etc. As I was studying French, I had regular small group or individual sessions with our French assistant, who happened to be Algerian. One day, he mentioned having met Che Guevara. I was too stunned to enquire further, but it now occurs to me -

I am 2 degrees of Che Guevara!

And as you know me, you are 3 degrees away.

Wow!

Amends - Day 6

"I'm sorry, Alex, you know we have to do this." Thanks to Bobby, she finally gets proper closure.

Amends - Day 5

Bobby proves he can drive better than Alex. He doesn't even need to watch the road!

Amends - Day 4

The wallflower at the funeral.

Amends - Day 3

Bobby doesn't look as if he's feeling very trusting towards his fellow officer.

Meanwhile, please check the post below, which now has the correct picture!

Amends - Day 2

Don't know why I like this shot...and this is the one that should originally have appeared yesterday!

Amends - Day 1

Time to start displaying my new caps from the Dutch dvd.

Never noticed before - baby's in his sockies!

Endgame - Day 14

Bobby needs me NOW!

Endgame - Day 13

I'm sorry I upset you on your deathbed, mummy.

Climbing Mount Olympics

When I was leaving the National Gallery on Thursday, I was beguiled by the fountains with their red underlighting. I clicked a picture including the Olympic countdown clock. I didn't intend the flash to go off, but it did, making the whole scene look like night, when it was barely dusk. I think it makes a better, more colourful picture though.


Today a flier came through the door about transport and parking during the Olympics. Apparently the only parking in the Olympic park will be disabled parking. Everyone who has a ticket for an event will get a free travel pass.

So those of us who paid for the whole show, and had no chance of geting tickets (OK, I didn't try, but even so...) will be paying to travel on overcrowded buses and trains while the visitors filling them up will get on free.

Most people will consider that, as we are some miles away across the river from the stadiums, we will be relatively unaffected here. But the light railway system takes 45 minutes at most to go directly to the Olympic site. Plus the equestrian events take place in Greenwich Park, just 4 stops along.

This rankles with locals, as it really isn't suitable. It's too small, and IT'S A WORLD HERITAGE SITE!!! No escape to its quiet green hills and stunning views for those of us uninterested in the whole spectacle. Will we ever get it back the way it was?

Curmudgeons Are Us!

Zoo Baby Day

Those sweet little girls are just growing so fast. They are already as big as medium-sized dogs, and they're barely five months old. They spent some time chasing round in circles with each other's tails in their mouths, but I couldn't quite catch it on camera.

During the keeper's talk, dad Lucifer treated us to a full series of roars, which rounded his little daughters up pronto. Sent some shivers down my spine, too.

Endgame - Day 12

Get ready to kill Brady in 5-4-3-...

How not to put on an exhibition

The National Gallery in London has been the host of a much vaunted exhibition of Leonardo Da Vinci. Getting tickets was not easy - by the time you'd got to the check-out phase of the website, th ticket you were about to buy had been snapped up by someone ahead of you in the process. But I did managed to snaffle one for today, even though I started to try and buy as soon as tickets went on sale.

For me, the big attraction was that both the London and the Paris versions of the painting The Virgin of the Rocks were to appear in the exhibition, their first time in same room ever. I've seen each painting in its gallery many times, but to see them together would have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. What could possibly go wrong.

Well, the massive numbers of people allowed in during each hour of timed entry tickets was a problem. But it was as nothing compared to the curator's decision to exhibit the two paintings, not side by side, but at opposite ends of the gallery!

People were standing in the middle of the room turning their heads this way and that, trying to compare the two over the heads of the people standing between them and the paintings. It was not possible to see details from such a distance. The only place where they appeared side by side was in the film at the end of the exhibition. Well, sorry, I can put pictures of them together at home to better effect.

The man responsible for this expensive farce is curator Luke Syson. All I can say is, I'm glad he's soon off the the Met. I'm just sorry they didn't entice him away before he made such a botch of what could have been the most amazing exhibition ever.

Endgame - Day 11

You don't believe Frank looked after you, Bobby? I'd be surprised if you did!

The richest man ever to visit Deptford

I was born and bred in Deptford, a very poor part of south east London. In my grandparents' day dockers worked whenever there were ships to unload, and didn't when there weren't; railwaymen built new railway lines until they were all built. The tallyman lent money till payday (what's so new about payday loans?) and unemployment was rife. The docks and surrounding area were bombed extensively during WWII, and I grew up among ruined buildings (great for playing in!) alongside the public park that had been made out of the gardens of the 17th century diarist John Evelyn's manor house...or what was left after Peter the Great of Russia had himself wheeled through the hedges in a wheelbarrow. I suppose in absolute terms, the Tsar of all the Russias might have been richer, but today Bill Gates visited Deptford Green School.


Deptford Green was the first school I taught in, and it's the school my student Alex's brother now attends. He was one of the students chosen to attend the function, so I followed the news with interest.

Endgame - Day 10

Right at this moment, Bobby hates the Captain.

Endgame - Day 9

A happy moment - even if Bobby was just going to use the photo his mother gave him to link her to Brady.

Endgame - Day 8

I'm only half way through my Endgame album, so I think I'd better indulge us all with a few more pictures from that tearjerking episode.

This picture of Bobby's reaction to Frank's enquiry about their mother's affairs "being in order" speaks volumes. Who needs words?

Endgame - Day 7

Bobby loves his mummy. Sometimes she even loves him back.

Credit where it's due

Just watched Don't Go In The Woods. Watching the credits at the end, I noticed that one of the First Assistant Cameramen (wot, no women?) is called Nicholas Deeg.

Unusual surname. My German cousin Hartmut Deeg lives in Rochester, New York, to be near his kids, but I don't know their names and ages. I wonder if I have a young cousin who worked on Vincent's film?

I see Hawk D'Onofrio and a young Bogosian also assisted.