So this is what it's come to?
From raging against the Academy to spending my days making barely comprehended yet sweeping observations about beautiful women in clothing worth more than I take home in a year? For shame...
That said, most of them do look fabulous. Although I feel I was a little harsh on old Meryl. But that "Devil wears Oxfam" quip really wasn't mine.
And okay, I know I said I was going to tell you a story about the hiatus herein, but I really haven't been in the tale-spinning frame of mind of late, such has the effort been in getting back into the old routine. But if just one person wants me to lay it all out for posterity's sake, I shall. Meantime, I feel I'm getting my blogging groove back. And this time I mean it.
26.2.07
21.10.06
Brain matters
Okay, so I know it's been almost seven months since you last had something new to read but it's really not just lack of interest on my part. In the vain conceit that there's someone out there still interested who doesn't know why I've been quiet, today's exactly six months since I had to deal with this.
I'll share the full story soon, but first I have the little matter of a holiday in the US to finish and for anyone remotely concerned, that should tell you how I feel right now.
A bientot, mes amis.
I'll share the full story soon, but first I have the little matter of a holiday in the US to finish and for anyone remotely concerned, that should tell you how I feel right now.
A bientot, mes amis.
25.3.06
Une liaison dangereuse?
"These pockets are very full," said my uncle Chris, of the coat I'd lent him as protection against the biting London evening air.
"Yes," I replied, "there's all sorts in there. I should really clear them out."
So it was that I found a reminder of an evening in America almost 10 years past: a bracelet, an accidental memento of a girl with whom I had a brief, entirely unexpected but very enjoyable liaison. A night which my inexperienced and panicking mind then sought to ensure was unique by scaring the young woman in question with a very intense, confused letter.
I remember the bracelet because after our tryst, she'd expressed concern about it having gone missing. It had no value other than sentimental, she told me. I swore I'd look for it.
It wasn't until months later that I found it quite by chance, hiding in a suitcase pocket. By then I'd lost all nerve and decided to hang on to it as a keepsake. The wrong decision, I know.
But I thought I'd lost the bracelet years ago, and its sudden reappearance presents me with a problem. I'm not entirely sure what to do with it. Because I know I'm highly likely to meet the girl again in the autumn, for the first time since that night in October '96.
Except she's now, to the best of my knowledge, a married woman. A New York lady married to a Geordie. One with bad teeth, by all accounts, probably obtained by being very protective about his women.
I have to give the bracelet back, that much is clear. The question is how do I it while preserving as much face as possible.
And more importantly, how do I avoid causing a scene at a large Italian-American wedding? Not that I wish to bandy about stereotypes, but knowing the family as I do I don't want to spoil the bride's big day.
Please help me do the right thing. Or at the very least get out of this with all limbs and senses intact.
"Yes," I replied, "there's all sorts in there. I should really clear them out."
So it was that I found a reminder of an evening in America almost 10 years past: a bracelet, an accidental memento of a girl with whom I had a brief, entirely unexpected but very enjoyable liaison. A night which my inexperienced and panicking mind then sought to ensure was unique by scaring the young woman in question with a very intense, confused letter.
I remember the bracelet because after our tryst, she'd expressed concern about it having gone missing. It had no value other than sentimental, she told me. I swore I'd look for it.
It wasn't until months later that I found it quite by chance, hiding in a suitcase pocket. By then I'd lost all nerve and decided to hang on to it as a keepsake. The wrong decision, I know.
But I thought I'd lost the bracelet years ago, and its sudden reappearance presents me with a problem. I'm not entirely sure what to do with it. Because I know I'm highly likely to meet the girl again in the autumn, for the first time since that night in October '96.
Except she's now, to the best of my knowledge, a married woman. A New York lady married to a Geordie. One with bad teeth, by all accounts, probably obtained by being very protective about his women.
I have to give the bracelet back, that much is clear. The question is how do I it while preserving as much face as possible.
And more importantly, how do I avoid causing a scene at a large Italian-American wedding? Not that I wish to bandy about stereotypes, but knowing the family as I do I don't want to spoil the bride's big day.
Please help me do the right thing. Or at the very least get out of this with all limbs and senses intact.
12.3.06
Random access memories
General stuff from the past few days, including...
* Star-spot of the week: Simon Pegg at Team Albatross' pub quiz (not at the Winchester, sadly). Not that he seemed to be trying to hide: as the quiz neared its climax and teams cheered right answers, he and his mate leapt up to high five each other. In a very post-modern, ironic way, natch. We owned his ass, by the way.
* Pain of the week: All good things must come to an end. Still, ouch. But we shall have our revenge.
* Phrase of the day: Fit to be tied. Meaning to be very angry, livid
After an unfortunate experience this morning (my cab into work was an hour and a half late - no fun when you've got up at 4.30 expecting your ride 30 minutes later. We can go into how incredibly lucky I am to have transportation to work provided for me in the wee small hours another time but for today let's just accept it as an unquestioned perk of the job) I professed that I was "fit to be tied".
I was met with nothing but puzzled expressions. No one in the office had heard it before. I was amazed. I'd thought it to be a phrase from the north of England - turns out it's most likely from the southern states of the US.
* Word of the moment: Meta-bigot. First coined by Slate's Sam Anderson to describe the gorgeous (in all senses) comedian Sarah Silverman and those like her.
"Silverman has become an important member of a guerrilla vanguard in the culture wars that we might call the "meta-bigots"—other members include the South Park kids, Sacha Baron Cohen's "Ali G", and the now-AWOL Dave Chappelle.
The meta-bigots work at social problems indirectly; instead of discussing race, rape, abortion, incest, or mass starvation, they parody our discussions of them. They manipulate stereotypes about stereotypes. It's a dangerous game: If you're humorless, distracted, or even just inordinately history-conscious, meta-bigotry can look suspiciously like actual bigotry.*
First used here.
Cool.
* Star-spot of the week: Simon Pegg at Team Albatross' pub quiz (not at the Winchester, sadly). Not that he seemed to be trying to hide: as the quiz neared its climax and teams cheered right answers, he and his mate leapt up to high five each other. In a very post-modern, ironic way, natch. We owned his ass, by the way.
* Pain of the week: All good things must come to an end. Still, ouch. But we shall have our revenge.
* Phrase of the day: Fit to be tied. Meaning to be very angry, livid
After an unfortunate experience this morning (my cab into work was an hour and a half late - no fun when you've got up at 4.30 expecting your ride 30 minutes later. We can go into how incredibly lucky I am to have transportation to work provided for me in the wee small hours another time but for today let's just accept it as an unquestioned perk of the job) I professed that I was "fit to be tied".
I was met with nothing but puzzled expressions. No one in the office had heard it before. I was amazed. I'd thought it to be a phrase from the north of England - turns out it's most likely from the southern states of the US.
* Word of the moment: Meta-bigot. First coined by Slate's Sam Anderson to describe the gorgeous (in all senses) comedian Sarah Silverman and those like her.
"Silverman has become an important member of a guerrilla vanguard in the culture wars that we might call the "meta-bigots"—other members include the South Park kids, Sacha Baron Cohen's "Ali G", and the now-AWOL Dave Chappelle.
The meta-bigots work at social problems indirectly; instead of discussing race, rape, abortion, incest, or mass starvation, they parody our discussions of them. They manipulate stereotypes about stereotypes. It's a dangerous game: If you're humorless, distracted, or even just inordinately history-conscious, meta-bigotry can look suspiciously like actual bigotry.*
First used here.
Cool.
6.3.06
As longtime visitors to nota benny may remember, I'm never one to hold back when the Oscars are announced.
Unfortunately this year the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences have given me little to complain about. Admittedly, had you told me six months ago after I'd seen Good Night, And Good Luck, that it would not be the magnificent David Strathairn taking home the Best Actor award, I'd have torn you a new arsehole. (Forgive the language, but my feelings regarding cinema can be a little on the strong side).
But that was before I'd seen Philip Seymour Hoffman's turn in Capote. My god, that man can act. Not that it's any real revelation but looking back over his career not only has he shown great versatility, but also the ability to portray credible, complete characters with unerring regularity.
It's a rare thing. Tom Cruise is always Tom Cruise. Tom Hanks will seldom be anyone other than Tom Hanks. Mr Clooney, talented though he is, will always be just too gorgeous to completely erase George's shadow from any of his roles.
But Philip Seymour Hoffman consistently creates characters who eclipse the actor: Joe White in State and Main, Punch Drunk Love's Mattress Man, the miserable Allen from Happiness, Boogie Nights' Scotty. Can't speak for anyone else, but I never think, "Hey - that's wotsisname up there." He's always 100% in the role. Truly, the mantle of Hollywood's greatest Hoffman has been passed from one generation to the next.
What he doesn't do though, journalistically speaking, is give good talking head. Watch any number of interviews, such as his post-Oscar presser (especially when compared with George's easy winning effort), and many recent print pieces have been "In conversation with..." or part of a group discussion. Whatever, one comes away feeling less connected to him or with less of an insight than one would necessarily want. Similarly, people who've spoken to him for the Beeb say it's hard to get more than 90 seconds of usable material out of him - a very poor showing when you're the hottest tip in town for a top award. Maybe he's just shy - he certainly wouldn't be the first actor to hide behind his art.
As long as he carries on putting in great performances, That's something I can live with. And how many other actors could credibly follow up something like Capote by playing the villain in one of the biggest blockbusters of summer 2006. There's only one reason that rather than avoiding it at all costs I'm actually excited about Mission Impossible 3 - and it sure as hell ain't Katie Holmes' baby's daddy (whoever he may be).
So, yeah, can't complain about the Academy's choice of winners. I have every faith they'll be back on form next year.
But fans of angry tirades don't go home completely empty-handed. I'm calling for a boycott of Vanity Fair after they evicted one of my (properly accredited) website colleagues from their party allegedly just because she wasn't a TV journalist. And if they think they can get round me with cheap stunts like nude covers of Keira Knightley and Scarlett Johansson they've got another thing coming. Or my name ain't Philip Seymour Hoffman.
Unfortunately this year the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences have given me little to complain about. Admittedly, had you told me six months ago after I'd seen Good Night, And Good Luck, that it would not be the magnificent David Strathairn taking home the Best Actor award, I'd have torn you a new arsehole. (Forgive the language, but my feelings regarding cinema can be a little on the strong side).
But that was before I'd seen Philip Seymour Hoffman's turn in Capote. My god, that man can act. Not that it's any real revelation but looking back over his career not only has he shown great versatility, but also the ability to portray credible, complete characters with unerring regularity.
It's a rare thing. Tom Cruise is always Tom Cruise. Tom Hanks will seldom be anyone other than Tom Hanks. Mr Clooney, talented though he is, will always be just too gorgeous to completely erase George's shadow from any of his roles.
But Philip Seymour Hoffman consistently creates characters who eclipse the actor: Joe White in State and Main, Punch Drunk Love's Mattress Man, the miserable Allen from Happiness, Boogie Nights' Scotty. Can't speak for anyone else, but I never think, "Hey - that's wotsisname up there." He's always 100% in the role. Truly, the mantle of Hollywood's greatest Hoffman has been passed from one generation to the next.
What he doesn't do though, journalistically speaking, is give good talking head. Watch any number of interviews, such as his post-Oscar presser (especially when compared with George's easy winning effort), and many recent print pieces have been "In conversation with..." or part of a group discussion. Whatever, one comes away feeling less connected to him or with less of an insight than one would necessarily want. Similarly, people who've spoken to him for the Beeb say it's hard to get more than 90 seconds of usable material out of him - a very poor showing when you're the hottest tip in town for a top award. Maybe he's just shy - he certainly wouldn't be the first actor to hide behind his art.
As long as he carries on putting in great performances, That's something I can live with. And how many other actors could credibly follow up something like Capote by playing the villain in one of the biggest blockbusters of summer 2006. There's only one reason that rather than avoiding it at all costs I'm actually excited about Mission Impossible 3 - and it sure as hell ain't Katie Holmes' baby's daddy (whoever he may be).
So, yeah, can't complain about the Academy's choice of winners. I have every faith they'll be back on form next year.
But fans of angry tirades don't go home completely empty-handed. I'm calling for a boycott of Vanity Fair after they evicted one of my (properly accredited) website colleagues from their party allegedly just because she wasn't a TV journalist. And if they think they can get round me with cheap stunts like nude covers of Keira Knightley and Scarlett Johansson they've got another thing coming. Or my name ain't Philip Seymour Hoffman.
28.2.06
I am not a practical person.
Take my bathroom sink. Something somewhere in the system went "THUNK" one night and for the past three weeks or so the mixer tap hasn't been drawing cold water. Hot water, fine. All the other cold water in the biscuit, fine. This tap, no cold water.
And what with it being a "designer" thing installed by the bloke who sold me the house, of course it requires special parts to make it work. And special parts have special suppliers. High street they ain't, and knowing where to buy them is just the first problem. But I track them down eventually and explain what's happened.
"Sounds like you need to replace the cartridge," says the salesman during my first phone call. "Come by, and I'll pop the top of the tap and show you how to do it."
This is great news as I've been determined to resolve it myself. The purchase of parts and tools to finish the job, finding the stopcock, taking the tap to pieces and reassembling it, all with the minimum of professional advice and assistance.
Yet after my second visit in two days to the upitsownarse bathroom supplier, things are no further on.
The lack of manual and inadequate explanations provided by the shop staff ("You didn't tell me there were two grub screws" "Oh, yeah, right, sorry" or "So you're saying those shouldn't be lined up, but your colleague said they should be, which is it?" "Well they shouldn't be, I don't know") have left me frustrated, bleeding and still without cold water.
Trouble is, I have no aptitude and a similar amount of experience in rudimentary plumbing, and everyone else I talk to concerning the matter regards it as second nature, with a made up language ("Look down the spline and you should see it" "The what?"), an expectation that everyone else understands what they're talking about, and a deeply impatient, condescending manner towards anyone who dares ask a simple question.
Another two phone calls after my second visit stretch us all to the limit.
Saleman: "Sigh... It's really very easy."
Me: "With the greatest respect you've done this before, but I haven't, and I DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU!"
Salesman: "Well, we sell loads of them and nobody else has ever had a problem."
Yeah, well I fucking well am.
Three weeks of cleaning my teeth in the kitchen sink is as much as I'm willing to take. I'm grateful for running water in the rest of the place, but what use is designer chic if it doesn't bloody work.
And fuck pride, I've got a plumber coming in.
It may be pampered and an indictment of my abilities as a barely-functioning man, but molecules just don't work for me the way they do for other people.
And I'll feel so bloody smug if it's something other than the cartridge.
Take my bathroom sink. Something somewhere in the system went "THUNK" one night and for the past three weeks or so the mixer tap hasn't been drawing cold water. Hot water, fine. All the other cold water in the biscuit, fine. This tap, no cold water.
And what with it being a "designer" thing installed by the bloke who sold me the house, of course it requires special parts to make it work. And special parts have special suppliers. High street they ain't, and knowing where to buy them is just the first problem. But I track them down eventually and explain what's happened.
"Sounds like you need to replace the cartridge," says the salesman during my first phone call. "Come by, and I'll pop the top of the tap and show you how to do it."
This is great news as I've been determined to resolve it myself. The purchase of parts and tools to finish the job, finding the stopcock, taking the tap to pieces and reassembling it, all with the minimum of professional advice and assistance.
Yet after my second visit in two days to the upitsownarse bathroom supplier, things are no further on.
The lack of manual and inadequate explanations provided by the shop staff ("You didn't tell me there were two grub screws" "Oh, yeah, right, sorry" or "So you're saying those shouldn't be lined up, but your colleague said they should be, which is it?" "Well they shouldn't be, I don't know") have left me frustrated, bleeding and still without cold water.
Trouble is, I have no aptitude and a similar amount of experience in rudimentary plumbing, and everyone else I talk to concerning the matter regards it as second nature, with a made up language ("Look down the spline and you should see it" "The what?"), an expectation that everyone else understands what they're talking about, and a deeply impatient, condescending manner towards anyone who dares ask a simple question.
Another two phone calls after my second visit stretch us all to the limit.
Saleman: "Sigh... It's really very easy."
Me: "With the greatest respect you've done this before, but I haven't, and I DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU!"
Salesman: "Well, we sell loads of them and nobody else has ever had a problem."
Yeah, well I fucking well am.
Three weeks of cleaning my teeth in the kitchen sink is as much as I'm willing to take. I'm grateful for running water in the rest of the place, but what use is designer chic if it doesn't bloody work.
And fuck pride, I've got a plumber coming in.
It may be pampered and an indictment of my abilities as a barely-functioning man, but molecules just don't work for me the way they do for other people.
And I'll feel so bloody smug if it's something other than the cartridge.
19.2.06
Shameless plagiarist that I am it was only going to be so long before I signed up for the "101 Things in 1001 Days" project.
You can find my list of things here.
The eagle-eyed will spot that the programme actually entails more than 101 individual things, but I don't consider one trip to the theatre to require any effort. Twenty times in less than three years? That requires some dedication. And that's one of the easy ones. Learning to drive? Whole different kettle of ducks entirely.
Anyway, 101 or not, who's counting?
Long and short, you'll be able to track the progress with a running commentary o'er on t'other blog or, for those who can't face it, trust that it'll provide enough anecdotes to breathe a little more life into trusty old nb. I'm sure it will. Cos let's face it kids, things have been a little tired around here since the angry, lovesick days of 2003.
I'd better stop procrastinating and get on with stuff. So enjoy the ride. Just don't expect everything to happen at once.
You can find my list of things here.
The eagle-eyed will spot that the programme actually entails more than 101 individual things, but I don't consider one trip to the theatre to require any effort. Twenty times in less than three years? That requires some dedication. And that's one of the easy ones. Learning to drive? Whole different kettle of ducks entirely.
Anyway, 101 or not, who's counting?
Long and short, you'll be able to track the progress with a running commentary o'er on t'other blog or, for those who can't face it, trust that it'll provide enough anecdotes to breathe a little more life into trusty old nb. I'm sure it will. Cos let's face it kids, things have been a little tired around here since the angry, lovesick days of 2003.
I'd better stop procrastinating and get on with stuff. So enjoy the ride. Just don't expect everything to happen at once.
15.2.06
Phrases I never thought I'd hear (No 1 in a likely one-off series)
"Don't miss that with our all-star cast including... Steve Guttenberg"
Monday 13 February 2006, 7.30pm, Sky One
Twenty years too late, surely?! Or maybe not. What is Hollyweird coming to?
"Don't miss that with our all-star cast including... Steve Guttenberg"
Monday 13 February 2006, 7.30pm, Sky One
Twenty years too late, surely?! Or maybe not. What is Hollyweird coming to?
13.2.06
I don't often feel the need to big up something done by my colleagues (not that I couldn't every day, it would just get boring) but all this month the BBC News website's running a series on 60 years of British public information films.
They've unearthed some real gems, such as a semi-naked Rolf Harris on teaching kids to swim, the fixtastic Jimmy Savile on the importance of wearing seatbelts, and a cartoon about coastguardswhich I've seen on TV in the last five years, despite it having been made in the late 60s.
It's interesting how many of the ads concern themselves with water - or perhaps not, considering our island status.
But it's a theme continued in the best of the bunch so far, a cautionary tale about the dangers of lonely water. Voiced by scaremeister-general and one-time 007 foe Donald Pleasence as the very grimmest of reapers, it's creepier than the majority of modern horror movies.
Don't watch it before bed...
They've unearthed some real gems, such as a semi-naked Rolf Harris on teaching kids to swim, the fixtastic Jimmy Savile on the importance of wearing seatbelts, and a cartoon about coastguardswhich I've seen on TV in the last five years, despite it having been made in the late 60s.
It's interesting how many of the ads concern themselves with water - or perhaps not, considering our island status.
But it's a theme continued in the best of the bunch so far, a cautionary tale about the dangers of lonely water. Voiced by scaremeister-general and one-time 007 foe Donald Pleasence as the very grimmest of reapers, it's creepier than the majority of modern horror movies.
Don't watch it before bed...
2.2.06
Previously on nota benny...
This is a big fat hairy mistake which can end in nothing but tears.
Last time I grumbled about Graeme Souness (April last year - amazing restraint, I know, but I didn't want to bore people) Erik said "I would have fancied City against yours on current form". You may have been 10 months out, fella, but I suppose I have to thank you for last night's 3-0 drubbing.
Well as you can see, I never wanted Souness at Newcastle United in the first place. And now, thankfully, he's gone, far too long after dragging us into the depths of mediocrity that had Blackburn considering whether to sack him just before we gave him the call. It seems far too late to go into his inadequacies now, but Jean-Alain Boumsong's defending (well worth £9m) and enough hamstring injuries to occupy even the most workaholic physio are just the tip of the iceberg.
So with former West Ham boss Glenn Roeder and St Alan of the Gallowgate taking care of the team until a permanent replacement is found for the dour Scots bully, we face a rocky few months. Because who's fit to take over? I don't fancy Sam Allardyce (we should play better football than Bolton), hiring Steve Bruce would be a repeat of the Souness mistake, Sven is unlikely (although he may be tempted by Newcastle good ferry link to Scandinavia), and Shearer isn't ready to take over yet, even if he wanted to, something I find highly unlikely. Besides which, neither he nor Roeder is actually qualified to coach permanently.
Today hasn't brought me happiness, just the feeling of emptiness that comes with seeing ugly inevitability realised.
I think there's a much deeper problem than coaching staff, though: the chairman. As long as Fat Freddy's in the top job, the club's going nowhere. But that's another story.
I keep reminding people that we've never won a trophy in my life. It looks like I can safely use that line a while longer.
And while I'm here - is this really news, let alone a second story? It's what everyone's known for years. Slow day at the office, obviously.
This is a big fat hairy mistake which can end in nothing but tears.
Last time I grumbled about Graeme Souness (April last year - amazing restraint, I know, but I didn't want to bore people) Erik said "I would have fancied City against yours on current form". You may have been 10 months out, fella, but I suppose I have to thank you for last night's 3-0 drubbing.
Well as you can see, I never wanted Souness at Newcastle United in the first place. And now, thankfully, he's gone, far too long after dragging us into the depths of mediocrity that had Blackburn considering whether to sack him just before we gave him the call. It seems far too late to go into his inadequacies now, but Jean-Alain Boumsong's defending (well worth £9m) and enough hamstring injuries to occupy even the most workaholic physio are just the tip of the iceberg.
So with former West Ham boss Glenn Roeder and St Alan of the Gallowgate taking care of the team until a permanent replacement is found for the dour Scots bully, we face a rocky few months. Because who's fit to take over? I don't fancy Sam Allardyce (we should play better football than Bolton), hiring Steve Bruce would be a repeat of the Souness mistake, Sven is unlikely (although he may be tempted by Newcastle good ferry link to Scandinavia), and Shearer isn't ready to take over yet, even if he wanted to, something I find highly unlikely. Besides which, neither he nor Roeder is actually qualified to coach permanently.
Today hasn't brought me happiness, just the feeling of emptiness that comes with seeing ugly inevitability realised.
I think there's a much deeper problem than coaching staff, though: the chairman. As long as Fat Freddy's in the top job, the club's going nowhere. But that's another story.
I keep reminding people that we've never won a trophy in my life. It looks like I can safely use that line a while longer.
And while I'm here - is this really news, let alone a second story? It's what everyone's known for years. Slow day at the office, obviously.
25.1.06
I was going to blog something personal tonight, some thoughts about the world and my take on something happening in it.
Instead I got stuck at work for two hours past the end of my shift making sense of this ship covered in ice.
Please accept it in lieu of original thinking, or at least that which occasionally passes for it.
Instead I got stuck at work for two hours past the end of my shift making sense of this ship covered in ice.
Please accept it in lieu of original thinking, or at least that which occasionally passes for it.
15.1.06
This is not amusing.
Okay, maybe just a little bit.
Especially Goals Allowed and the picture of Shay Given surrounded by kittens.
As Homer says, it's funny because it's true.
But don't let me catch you laughing. It's cruel to mock the afflicted.
Okay, maybe just a little bit.
Especially Goals Allowed and the picture of Shay Given surrounded by kittens.
As Homer says, it's funny because it's true.
But don't let me catch you laughing. It's cruel to mock the afflicted.
9.1.06
So as promised, here are my "cultural" high points of last year. I'll explain the rules as I go along. The first one being that these aren't presented in any meritocratic hierarchy, just the order in which they occurred to me.
I find choosing a group of favourites difficult enough at the best of times, it's not a task I take lightly, and I'm not going to demean any of my selections by ranking them. So there.
And unless I decide otherwise, there are five entries in each category.
Ready? Then I'll begin.
Movies (any film seen at a cinema while on general release is eligible)
Good Night, And Good Luck - Clooney's mad as hell with the submissive nature of television news in the face of government corruption and ineptitude and he's not going to take it any more. Plus David Strathairn is just brilliant.
The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou - deliciously odd, just what one expects from Wes Anderson
Serenity - Fox are stupid. Firefly should still be running. Maybe following the success of this movie they want to give it another crack, with one change - stop screwing around with the schedule. They should be so lucky.
Garden State - I'm not too keen on actors dallying as directors, but Zach Braff is allowed to make more films if they're as good as this. I'll forgive him the Hollywood ending - I've heard even he thought it was wrong. Plus the soundtrack rocks.
Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang - clever clever, laugh laugh. Nuff said.
Sideways - even socially-challenged borderline alcoholics who steal from their mothers need love. And the fact that the Academy ignored Paul Giamatti's turn as Miles just goes to show what a bunch of idiots they are. Again. Don't get me started.
Bubbling under: The Woodsman, Batman Begins, Team America: World Police, Hitchhiker's Guide, A Very Long Engagement
Nowhere near: Star Wars Episode III
Somewhat depressingly these are almost all English language (with the exception of Engagement, which didn't make it into the top tier because lovely though it was, it just felt a little Jeunet-by-numbers to be truly captivating - maybe a second viewing would change my mind), so no Downfall, Kung Fu Hustle or Night Watch - must do better this year. Mind you, those are out as I can't reasonably claim anything I haven't seen, so no Kong, Capote, Brokeback Mountain, Corpse Bride or countless others.
Special archival mention has to go to Three to Tango, which not only proved to be a superior romantic comedy (an oft-unfairly maligned genre), but also created a good game for Jen and me to play on the way back from Lake Burton.
Music (criterion: released in 2005)
Hung Up - Madonna (gratuitous number one pick, catchy as hell, but the genius is in the Abba)
Feel Good Inc. - Gorillaz (difficult to jettison Dare, Dirty Harry and others, but this just snuck it)
Gracie - Ben Folds (there are "better", more worthy tracks on Songs for Silverman, but I just love the simplicity and honesty of this one)
Suddenly I See - KT Tunstall (I could have chosen any of half a dozen tracks from her album, making this selection pretty much arbitrary. And Scottish women are hard to beat.)
The Bold Knight - Seth Lakeman (Actually gives me shivers up the back of my spine. Okay, it was technically released in 2004 along with the rest of Kitty Jay, but I didn't discover it until late last year, along with most of the rest of the universe. Plus it was eligible for the 2005 Mercury Music Prize, and it's gorgeous, so I'm having it.)
I feel my age and how little time I spend listening to music radio show through awfully here. Picking five was difficult enough, and I'm not even sure it's my top five, as I can't remember everything I heard. I've probably forgotten some classics, and I've have loved to get a new Cardigans track in there, but none's grabbed hold of me yet. But it would have been easier had I not limited myself to one track per artist. Tell you one thing though, I definitely don't care for much British guitar-based rock/pop at the moment.
Books (criteria: read, but not necessarily published, in 2005; but published within last five years; hey, it's my list - if you don't like my rules, go make your own)
Empire Falls/Richard Russo - accidentally recommended (by Jen again - she meant to tip Straight Man) but a cracking read nonetheless, with some beautifully crafted characters
The Algebraist/Iain M Banks - Dwellers are his best creations since the ships of Excession. Oh, and I want a Planetary Protector (Deniable).
The Meaning of Everything/Simon Winchester - just to show that the best stories don't have to be fiction. Anyone interested in words should read this book.
Lost in a Good Book/Jasper Fforde - not too intelligent, well-informed and witty for its own good... but only just
America: The Book/The Daily Show with Jon Stewart - although I only got it for Christmas (thanks Sam!) and haven't finished reading it, this can't not go in, even if it means excluding the likes of Carl Hiaasen and Christopher Buckley from the fifth spot. I have other things to say about the show that inspired this book, but they'll have to wait.
The one-eyed god (rules pretty much go out the window)
New TV show - US: Weeds - gloriously funny and very watchable even if it didn't star Mary Louise Parker, but the fact that it does makes it unmissable
New TV show - UK: Nathan Barley - the twisted genius of Chris Morris strikes again
New TV show - UK MkII: The Thick of It - the satirical brilliance of Armando Iannucci strikes again
Old TV show - Doctor Who - Christopher Eccleston made a decent enough Doctor, a trophy for the relaunch but I suspect David Tennant outshine him. Eccleston regarded the Tardis as an interesting folly but was never likely to stick around. Young Casanova, on the other hand, will really own the role.
That's it. Feel free to argue.
I find choosing a group of favourites difficult enough at the best of times, it's not a task I take lightly, and I'm not going to demean any of my selections by ranking them. So there.
And unless I decide otherwise, there are five entries in each category.
Ready? Then I'll begin.
Movies (any film seen at a cinema while on general release is eligible)
Good Night, And Good Luck - Clooney's mad as hell with the submissive nature of television news in the face of government corruption and ineptitude and he's not going to take it any more. Plus David Strathairn is just brilliant.
The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou - deliciously odd, just what one expects from Wes Anderson
Serenity - Fox are stupid. Firefly should still be running. Maybe following the success of this movie they want to give it another crack, with one change - stop screwing around with the schedule. They should be so lucky.
Garden State - I'm not too keen on actors dallying as directors, but Zach Braff is allowed to make more films if they're as good as this. I'll forgive him the Hollywood ending - I've heard even he thought it was wrong. Plus the soundtrack rocks.
Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang - clever clever, laugh laugh. Nuff said.
Sideways - even socially-challenged borderline alcoholics who steal from their mothers need love. And the fact that the Academy ignored Paul Giamatti's turn as Miles just goes to show what a bunch of idiots they are. Again. Don't get me started.
Bubbling under: The Woodsman, Batman Begins, Team America: World Police, Hitchhiker's Guide, A Very Long Engagement
Nowhere near: Star Wars Episode III
Somewhat depressingly these are almost all English language (with the exception of Engagement, which didn't make it into the top tier because lovely though it was, it just felt a little Jeunet-by-numbers to be truly captivating - maybe a second viewing would change my mind), so no Downfall, Kung Fu Hustle or Night Watch - must do better this year. Mind you, those are out as I can't reasonably claim anything I haven't seen, so no Kong, Capote, Brokeback Mountain, Corpse Bride or countless others.
Special archival mention has to go to Three to Tango, which not only proved to be a superior romantic comedy (an oft-unfairly maligned genre), but also created a good game for Jen and me to play on the way back from Lake Burton.
Music (criterion: released in 2005)
Hung Up - Madonna (gratuitous number one pick, catchy as hell, but the genius is in the Abba)
Feel Good Inc. - Gorillaz (difficult to jettison Dare, Dirty Harry and others, but this just snuck it)
Gracie - Ben Folds (there are "better", more worthy tracks on Songs for Silverman, but I just love the simplicity and honesty of this one)
Suddenly I See - KT Tunstall (I could have chosen any of half a dozen tracks from her album, making this selection pretty much arbitrary. And Scottish women are hard to beat.)
The Bold Knight - Seth Lakeman (Actually gives me shivers up the back of my spine. Okay, it was technically released in 2004 along with the rest of Kitty Jay, but I didn't discover it until late last year, along with most of the rest of the universe. Plus it was eligible for the 2005 Mercury Music Prize, and it's gorgeous, so I'm having it.)
I feel my age and how little time I spend listening to music radio show through awfully here. Picking five was difficult enough, and I'm not even sure it's my top five, as I can't remember everything I heard. I've probably forgotten some classics, and I've have loved to get a new Cardigans track in there, but none's grabbed hold of me yet. But it would have been easier had I not limited myself to one track per artist. Tell you one thing though, I definitely don't care for much British guitar-based rock/pop at the moment.
Books (criteria: read, but not necessarily published, in 2005; but published within last five years; hey, it's my list - if you don't like my rules, go make your own)
Empire Falls/Richard Russo - accidentally recommended (by Jen again - she meant to tip Straight Man) but a cracking read nonetheless, with some beautifully crafted characters
The Algebraist/Iain M Banks - Dwellers are his best creations since the ships of Excession. Oh, and I want a Planetary Protector (Deniable).
The Meaning of Everything/Simon Winchester - just to show that the best stories don't have to be fiction. Anyone interested in words should read this book.
Lost in a Good Book/Jasper Fforde - not too intelligent, well-informed and witty for its own good... but only just
America: The Book/The Daily Show with Jon Stewart - although I only got it for Christmas (thanks Sam!) and haven't finished reading it, this can't not go in, even if it means excluding the likes of Carl Hiaasen and Christopher Buckley from the fifth spot. I have other things to say about the show that inspired this book, but they'll have to wait.
The one-eyed god (rules pretty much go out the window)
New TV show - US: Weeds - gloriously funny and very watchable even if it didn't star Mary Louise Parker, but the fact that it does makes it unmissable
New TV show - UK: Nathan Barley - the twisted genius of Chris Morris strikes again
New TV show - UK MkII: The Thick of It - the satirical brilliance of Armando Iannucci strikes again
Old TV show - Doctor Who - Christopher Eccleston made a decent enough Doctor, a trophy for the relaunch but I suspect David Tennant outshine him. Eccleston regarded the Tardis as an interesting folly but was never likely to stick around. Young Casanova, on the other hand, will really own the role.
That's it. Feel free to argue.
31.12.05
New Year parish notices
In an attempt to enter 2006 with a slightly shorter backlog of things to say, here are a few points of order...
Normal service resumed a couple of weeks ago when Team Albatross won the final round of the pub quiz and the season title along with it by the whopping margin of 33 points, more than most teams scored in a whole week.
I'm sure the world will be relieved to hear this, if not out of good will, then just to save itself from more of my bellyaching (although that did prove most cathartic in that it got the quiz monkey off my back).
Mind you, there was very little good will when it was announced we'd won - the boos and hisses being rather unsporting even in what may have been the best of natures.
In the same mean spirit, it was good to see the Colts' winning run brought to an end by the Chargers, thereby ensuring that the '72 Dolphins' perfect season remains unique in NFL history for at least one more year. You stay classy, San Diego.
Reporting Slipper's death back in October, I gave the impression that every member of the family heralded her arrival with unbridled joy, even the dog.
I have to confess that this version of events is not quite the one that my mother remembers. The way she tells it, Boot had to be tied to the kitchen table, frothing at the mouth, while Mum held Slipper out of his reach. This continued for a week or thereabouts. So not quite a inter-species vision of harmony, then. Hopefully this won't undermine my journalistic credibility too seriously.
The funny little barcode and his fifth metatarsal ensured that the next year will start as miserably as this one ended for those of a black and white persuasion. Who knows. Maybe we'll have a new manager to look forward to.
I'm thinking about my most memorable moments, movies, music of 2005. I'll let you know when more of them come to mind. The word favourite is bandied about far too lightly these days. These things take time. :)
Happy New Year everyone. See you on the flip side.
In an attempt to enter 2006 with a slightly shorter backlog of things to say, here are a few points of order...
Normal service resumed a couple of weeks ago when Team Albatross won the final round of the pub quiz and the season title along with it by the whopping margin of 33 points, more than most teams scored in a whole week.
I'm sure the world will be relieved to hear this, if not out of good will, then just to save itself from more of my bellyaching (although that did prove most cathartic in that it got the quiz monkey off my back).
Mind you, there was very little good will when it was announced we'd won - the boos and hisses being rather unsporting even in what may have been the best of natures.
In the same mean spirit, it was good to see the Colts' winning run brought to an end by the Chargers, thereby ensuring that the '72 Dolphins' perfect season remains unique in NFL history for at least one more year. You stay classy, San Diego.
Reporting Slipper's death back in October, I gave the impression that every member of the family heralded her arrival with unbridled joy, even the dog.
I have to confess that this version of events is not quite the one that my mother remembers. The way she tells it, Boot had to be tied to the kitchen table, frothing at the mouth, while Mum held Slipper out of his reach. This continued for a week or thereabouts. So not quite a inter-species vision of harmony, then. Hopefully this won't undermine my journalistic credibility too seriously.
The funny little barcode and his fifth metatarsal ensured that the next year will start as miserably as this one ended for those of a black and white persuasion. Who knows. Maybe we'll have a new manager to look forward to.
I'm thinking about my most memorable moments, movies, music of 2005. I'll let you know when more of them come to mind. The word favourite is bandied about far too lightly these days. These things take time. :)
Happy New Year everyone. See you on the flip side.
18.12.05
I didn't think it was possible but I now have even greater admiration for Ben Folds.
At another great gig on Tuesday, he took a couple of minutes to explain the inspiration for The Ascent of Stan, a song about a hippy who abandons his principles in order to get on in the world.
The idea for the song came to him when he got a lift from said far-out groovy guy in a car adorned with peace stickers and witnessed a bout of near road rage from the driver.
Not that it had anything to so with the song, but at the end of the journey, the hippy told Ben he'd been "dialoguing" with his girlfriend.
At this point in telling the story, Mr Folds stopped to make a comment about people who use the word dialogue as a verb, a comment unsuitable for reproduction in a family environment such as this. Actually, that's not true. The truth is I can't remember exactly what he said because I was too busy screaming to process the precise words. Cheering grammar lessons at a rock concert - geek much?
Don't give me any BS about the evolution of language - although nouns like focus and parent have already been lost for ever, the further development of such practice is just plain wrong, and I'm damned if I'll give up any more ground.
But with all the dialoguing, incentivising, disincentivising, tasking, transitioning and actioning that goes on in popular speech there's little doubt that we're unlikely to win this war.
At least now I know that with Ben on our side, we're definitely going to have the better sounding argument.
At another great gig on Tuesday, he took a couple of minutes to explain the inspiration for The Ascent of Stan, a song about a hippy who abandons his principles in order to get on in the world.
The idea for the song came to him when he got a lift from said far-out groovy guy in a car adorned with peace stickers and witnessed a bout of near road rage from the driver.
Not that it had anything to so with the song, but at the end of the journey, the hippy told Ben he'd been "dialoguing" with his girlfriend.
At this point in telling the story, Mr Folds stopped to make a comment about people who use the word dialogue as a verb, a comment unsuitable for reproduction in a family environment such as this. Actually, that's not true. The truth is I can't remember exactly what he said because I was too busy screaming to process the precise words. Cheering grammar lessons at a rock concert - geek much?
Don't give me any BS about the evolution of language - although nouns like focus and parent have already been lost for ever, the further development of such practice is just plain wrong, and I'm damned if I'll give up any more ground.
But with all the dialoguing, incentivising, disincentivising, tasking, transitioning and actioning that goes on in popular speech there's little doubt that we're unlikely to win this war.
At least now I know that with Ben on our side, we're definitely going to have the better sounding argument.
15.12.05
Loser
I know how Alex Ferguson and Bill Belichick must feel. It's funny how addictive winning can become. I've never really experienced it before, at least not on a long-term basis.
And now... loss. It's almost too much to bear.
A few weeks ago, disillusioned with the chronic mediocrity of our performances in the Harringay Arms quiz, Team Albatross decided to try out another pub. An experimental competition saw us come fourth, and it was generally decided that with a change being as good as a rest, we might see an upturn in our fortunes.
Sure, the questions seemed a little easier than at the old place, but with the chance to prove our mettle over a six week season, the move - even if only temporary - seemed too good to resist.
Aided by the relative easiness of the questions, the results were immediate. We won the first week of the season with a record score. We won the next week too. And the third, with a total beating our own record.
It was starting to get embarrassing, partly because we were so obviously punching below our weight. We were quickly becoming the least popular team in the pub. The first week we won we were warmly applauded, the second less so, but still a polite congratulatory ripple. But the third week? Nothing. Tumbleweed. And by the fourth victory on the trot, people were asking the quizmaster whether he was going to ban us.
Short of deliberately giving the wrong answers we'd done everything we could to reduce the likelihood of us winning, even going so far as to demand our paper be remarked when we were sure we'd got points for an incorrect answer that had been misread by the scorer.
But all to no avail. Our winnings kitty continued to grow, and the lead over other teams in the race for the end of season prize reached 26 points - more than some competitors score in any one week.
So when, last Monday, we turned up with more than the regulation limit on players, Team Albatross had to split in two. This, we thought, might finally see us lose and regain a little bar cred. Certainly the first half of the quiz felt a little shaky for our depleted forces, and the half-time score confirmed it, putting us in joint second place.
Despite redoubling our efforts in the second half, when the final scores were in revealing a three-way tie we knew our time may well have come. And indeed we flunked the tiebreak question. Our crown went to another group.
But while we were generous in defeat and enjoyed the boost in morale and hope it gave to the rest of the teams in the pub, our loss has haunted me all week.
Why? Because this week's picture round was on British political figures, and while I got nine of the featured individuals immediately, the other one left me agonising: a black female Labour peer. There are only two that I knew of , but which one was it - Baroness Amos or Baroness Scotland? I went with the latter and resisted several urges to change the answer before handing the paper in.
And when the answers were revealed? It was Amos, of course. Bloody Amos. Something I guess I knew all along. The two of them don't even look alike.
I'm still gutted.
I know I ought to be big, that spreading the wealth and ability to rejoice in a win can only be a good thing, and that everyone on Team Albatross felt some sense of relief at finally losing. I also know that we're still long odds-on favourite to take the title in the final round.
But bugger magnanimity - I'm hooked on this victory high. Winning most of the time isn't good enough. We could have had a pefect season, and we blew it. I blew it.
Next week there'll be no surrender. It's clobberin' time.
I know how Alex Ferguson and Bill Belichick must feel. It's funny how addictive winning can become. I've never really experienced it before, at least not on a long-term basis.
And now... loss. It's almost too much to bear.
A few weeks ago, disillusioned with the chronic mediocrity of our performances in the Harringay Arms quiz, Team Albatross decided to try out another pub. An experimental competition saw us come fourth, and it was generally decided that with a change being as good as a rest, we might see an upturn in our fortunes.
Sure, the questions seemed a little easier than at the old place, but with the chance to prove our mettle over a six week season, the move - even if only temporary - seemed too good to resist.
Aided by the relative easiness of the questions, the results were immediate. We won the first week of the season with a record score. We won the next week too. And the third, with a total beating our own record.
It was starting to get embarrassing, partly because we were so obviously punching below our weight. We were quickly becoming the least popular team in the pub. The first week we won we were warmly applauded, the second less so, but still a polite congratulatory ripple. But the third week? Nothing. Tumbleweed. And by the fourth victory on the trot, people were asking the quizmaster whether he was going to ban us.
Short of deliberately giving the wrong answers we'd done everything we could to reduce the likelihood of us winning, even going so far as to demand our paper be remarked when we were sure we'd got points for an incorrect answer that had been misread by the scorer.
But all to no avail. Our winnings kitty continued to grow, and the lead over other teams in the race for the end of season prize reached 26 points - more than some competitors score in any one week.
So when, last Monday, we turned up with more than the regulation limit on players, Team Albatross had to split in two. This, we thought, might finally see us lose and regain a little bar cred. Certainly the first half of the quiz felt a little shaky for our depleted forces, and the half-time score confirmed it, putting us in joint second place.
Despite redoubling our efforts in the second half, when the final scores were in revealing a three-way tie we knew our time may well have come. And indeed we flunked the tiebreak question. Our crown went to another group.
But while we were generous in defeat and enjoyed the boost in morale and hope it gave to the rest of the teams in the pub, our loss has haunted me all week.
Why? Because this week's picture round was on British political figures, and while I got nine of the featured individuals immediately, the other one left me agonising: a black female Labour peer. There are only two that I knew of , but which one was it - Baroness Amos or Baroness Scotland? I went with the latter and resisted several urges to change the answer before handing the paper in.
And when the answers were revealed? It was Amos, of course. Bloody Amos. Something I guess I knew all along. The two of them don't even look alike.
I'm still gutted.
I know I ought to be big, that spreading the wealth and ability to rejoice in a win can only be a good thing, and that everyone on Team Albatross felt some sense of relief at finally losing. I also know that we're still long odds-on favourite to take the title in the final round.
But bugger magnanimity - I'm hooked on this victory high. Winning most of the time isn't good enough. We could have had a pefect season, and we blew it. I blew it.
Next week there'll be no surrender. It's clobberin' time.
11.12.05
Hey folks, please excuse the trumpet-blowing but it's a Ben Fell exclusive.
As I've said before, so rarely do we get to do anything truly original (and by that I mean 100%) that when this guy brought us some video footage of the massive explosions at one of Britain's biggest fuel depots, I just had to interview him about the blasts he'd seen from the air. It was our chance to scoop not just the rest of the media, but our own TV and radio colleagues too.
Phil was a nice guy, he needed a bit of coaching to get the best out of the story and was clearly a little nervous about being on camera, but I don't think I'm fooling anyone by saying the final product was worth it.
News 24 clearly agreed, because they used the interview when we offered it to them.
Not bad for a day on which I wasn't even supposed to be at work.
As I've said before, so rarely do we get to do anything truly original (and by that I mean 100%) that when this guy brought us some video footage of the massive explosions at one of Britain's biggest fuel depots, I just had to interview him about the blasts he'd seen from the air. It was our chance to scoop not just the rest of the media, but our own TV and radio colleagues too.
Phil was a nice guy, he needed a bit of coaching to get the best out of the story and was clearly a little nervous about being on camera, but I don't think I'm fooling anyone by saying the final product was worth it.
News 24 clearly agreed, because they used the interview when we offered it to them.
Not bad for a day on which I wasn't even supposed to be at work.
3.12.05
21.11.05
Wasted (even if I do say so myself)
Just occasionally, when something comes along like this piece of video featuring Dubya's latest comic blunder, I think I'm really in far too straight a line of work.
The obvious, scream out loud, killer line is one about the president showing that of all the lessons he may have learned from Iraq, the importance of developing a proper exit strategy isn't one of them.
I suggested a severely toned-down and much more circumspect version to colleagues writing the text story and while they cooed and shouted "Yes, thank you! That's got to be our line" in the end they took a safe route, as I always suspected they would.
Hopefully Jon Stewart and friends will think along similar lines and I'll be able to feel smug, clever and witty vicariously.
Just occasionally, when something comes along like this piece of video featuring Dubya's latest comic blunder, I think I'm really in far too straight a line of work.
The obvious, scream out loud, killer line is one about the president showing that of all the lessons he may have learned from Iraq, the importance of developing a proper exit strategy isn't one of them.
I suggested a severely toned-down and much more circumspect version to colleagues writing the text story and while they cooed and shouted "Yes, thank you! That's got to be our line" in the end they took a safe route, as I always suspected they would.
Hopefully Jon Stewart and friends will think along similar lines and I'll be able to feel smug, clever and witty vicariously.
31.10.05
Slipper came to us in December 1989, a tiny stray by way of a student who'd been temping in mum's office. 
She was such a wee scrap of a thing that we thought she was only a matter of weeks old. The vet told us she was actually a few months, just small. And she never grew into the biggest of cats.
At first we worried about how she'd get on with the dog, Boot. Or more to the point, how he'd get on with her. But it was never a problem. In spite of his natural disdain for all things feline, he seemed to understand that she was part of the family. Indeed, there were times we thought she was being brought up more dog than cat. Even when Boot died and Boggart arrived on the scene, she was the boss. Sure there were times when the pup would try his luck, but he'd never push it too far, fearing a scratched nose or worse.
When my parents moved to Wales in the mid 90s, she stayed with me in Yorkshire to look after their house. During this period of a year or so, we became particularly close, forming a bond that was never really broken, even after she moved down to Wales and I struck out on my own.
We could always pick up where we'd left off. We had this routine, wherein she'd lick my fingers and I'd use them to stroke the crown of her head. I never knew exactly what she got out of it, but I like to think it reminded her of being groomed by her mother.
She was fearless for such a small thing. She took on foxes in the middle of the night, warning them away from her territory. Once she even jumped on the back of my grandmother's dog, Sally, after she attacked Boggart. She knew where her loyalties lay.
In later years, she seemed to go a bit dappy. Mum was convinced she lost her marbles a couple of years ago. But she was always in good spirits, happy to come on late night walks with the dog - a habit which always mystified and amused us.
And the end came quickly, in a matter of a fortnight or so. Apparently she probably had end-stage kidney failure. Her muscles had wasted away, so that in recent weeks she'd barely been able to walk. She ate very little, Mum feeding her her last couple of tiny meals on the end of a teaspoon.
Slipper died this morning at the age of 16, the vet's doing, but something he didn't have to talk my parents into. A cat of such calibre deserved something of a dignified ending, and it seems that's what she got. Quick, peaceful, in my mother's arms. I'm only sorry I didn't get to say goodbye when I last saw her in August.
So goodbye princess. I love you.
She was such a wee scrap of a thing that we thought she was only a matter of weeks old. The vet told us she was actually a few months, just small. And she never grew into the biggest of cats.
At first we worried about how she'd get on with the dog, Boot. Or more to the point, how he'd get on with her. But it was never a problem. In spite of his natural disdain for all things feline, he seemed to understand that she was part of the family. Indeed, there were times we thought she was being brought up more dog than cat. Even when Boot died and Boggart arrived on the scene, she was the boss. Sure there were times when the pup would try his luck, but he'd never push it too far, fearing a scratched nose or worse.
When my parents moved to Wales in the mid 90s, she stayed with me in Yorkshire to look after their house. During this period of a year or so, we became particularly close, forming a bond that was never really broken, even after she moved down to Wales and I struck out on my own.
We could always pick up where we'd left off. We had this routine, wherein she'd lick my fingers and I'd use them to stroke the crown of her head. I never knew exactly what she got out of it, but I like to think it reminded her of being groomed by her mother.
She was fearless for such a small thing. She took on foxes in the middle of the night, warning them away from her territory. Once she even jumped on the back of my grandmother's dog, Sally, after she attacked Boggart. She knew where her loyalties lay.
In later years, she seemed to go a bit dappy. Mum was convinced she lost her marbles a couple of years ago. But she was always in good spirits, happy to come on late night walks with the dog - a habit which always mystified and amused us.
And the end came quickly, in a matter of a fortnight or so. Apparently she probably had end-stage kidney failure. Her muscles had wasted away, so that in recent weeks she'd barely been able to walk. She ate very little, Mum feeding her her last couple of tiny meals on the end of a teaspoon.
Slipper died this morning at the age of 16, the vet's doing, but something he didn't have to talk my parents into. A cat of such calibre deserved something of a dignified ending, and it seems that's what she got. Quick, peaceful, in my mother's arms. I'm only sorry I didn't get to say goodbye when I last saw her in August.
So goodbye princess. I love you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
