The Nerve Of The Man
Last year, when Andrew Marr gave up his position as BBC Political Editor, the Corporation made the inexplicable decision to replace him with the then-ITN Political bod Nick Robinson. Since his debut, the combination of his vacuous chirpings, his faux-witty comments, and his lack of any gravitas whatsoever have seriously damaged my opinion of the BBC's political news reporting.
But this morning I sat stunned at the sheer gall of the man. In a witless little piece on Today which seemed to be wholly designed to get his defence in first before someone pointed out that a few months ago he'd dismissed the now apparently very real prospect of an election this year as 'tosh', he explained his reasons for having taken that view. During the course of this he explained how he'd not joined in with some "frankly gullible" people who had fallen for an obviously deliberately leaked hint that an election was being considered.
"Frankly gullible" is more than a little rich coming from the man who, back in his ITN days, led their coverage of the utterly spurious story deliberately placed by the government or the security services about a major threat at Heathrow which turned out to have about as much weight or value as his own political insight. ITN led with it/him as a major exclusive but no other outlet, print or broadcast, so much as nodded in its direction. We watched at the time, stunned at seeing so clear an example of a journalist utterly going along with a party line and never applying even the smallest degree of rigour.
"Frankly gullible"? Pots and kettles, Mr Robinson; pots and kettles.
Sarah Jane
Anyone making sniffy "It's a kids' programme" noises about Doctor Who spin-off The Sarah Jane Adventures, should sit in the corner with their hands on their heads. Energetic, played for fun and also actually funny, colourful and hugely entertaining, the first two post-pilot episodes aired yesterday, and we thoroughly enjoyed them. Elisabeth Sladen clearly has a portrait in an attic somewhere though.
Recommended.
Bugged Out
So my excuse for not posting is that I've been ill. Not laid-up-in-hospital ill or anything, but just horrible-grungy-head-and-chest-filled-with-crap ill. So I haven't exactly been in the mood to write witty asides about quirky news items, TV series or settling in to the house. I've mostly been coughing and spluttering my way through part-days at work and feeling a bit sorry for myself. Also, we promised ourselves that after the non-stop activity of the last few weeks, we'd allow ourselves this weekend to do absolutely bugger all, which mostly worked out.
One thing that we did treat ourselves to is catching up on Heroes, as we've missed a few episodes since moving in. We dug out the DVD box set and set to, and having caught up with the terrestrial broadcasts we stopped, ready to start watching again with broadcast.
Yeah, right, and if you believed that I've got a bridge I want to sell you. I think if we'd started watching earlier in the weekend we'd have watched through to the end of the series by now. We're absolutely loving it, and the sense of a snowball effect as events gather momentum towards the end of the series is greater than I think I can remember in a series in a long time.
Moving In Was Just The Beginning
There's *so* much stuff that we've still had to do, but this weekend we've broken the back of it. We put in the order for the final new furniture, which is being delivered (coincidentally on the same day as the other significant batch of new furniture) a week today. The shiny new fridge-freezer and washing machine arrived yesterday, and the guy is coming to do some gas work (new boiler, extend gas to the kitchen and connect the new cooker) tomorrow.
It's all go. And in the middle of it all I've been struck down with a bug.
Yesterday…
... all my troubles seemed so far away.
Actually, what seemed very far away yesterday was mostly the ground, as at various points I was walking along a log suspended 12-plus metres up in the air, climbing a pole of similar height, hauling myself on top and then standing up with my arms out watched by my bosses and twenty other colleagues, and descending (by rope) a sheer cliff face that's apparently the highest abseil point in the country where I happen to find myself.
People who know me will know exactly how much I enjoyed it all. Those who don't know me - I enjoyed it a lot.
42
Not just That Answer, and nor just an episode of this year's Doctor Who, but the ripe old age that I've just turned.
Lovely day, with that previously mentioned Tomorrow People box set among my presents, and only minimal packing box moving and emptying.
42 is interesting, because when you hit that, you're safely into your 40s in a way that 40 and 41 don't register. I've never really had an issue with getting older, but at the moment I'm feeling a little like all those hallmarks of aging are starting to accumulate - suddenly owning a three bedroom house is certainly one of them. And so if I'm honest, 42 has hit me slightly harder than it might have had other timing been different.
It may be time for a mid-life crisis.
The Beatification Of The McCanns
I really doesn't get the way Kate and Gerry McCann are being treated like abused saints walking the earth among we mere mortals. Is it just me? Listening to the newspaper review on Today this morning there was all this stuff about how the Portuguese police are 'bungling', and how the couple don't deserve to be questioned repeatedly.
And I just don't get it - the British are traditionally 'a nation of child lovers', yet this pair, who manifestly and admittedly neglected their children (at best), are somehow regarded as the entirely blameless victims in the case.
I've said before that if one of those evil one-parent families had acted in exactly the same way they'd be demonised by that same press, but try as I might I can't get to the exact reason for the McCann love.
Is it simple jingoism that a plucky British couple are being dealt with by an alien police force who must, by definition, be inferior to the British version (who only go around shooting innocent but probably greasy South Americans dead after all)? The way they all leapt on the detail that it was a specially trained British police dog which found the traces of blood in the apartment would support the theory.
Or is it simple snobbery because it's a(n apparently) nice middle class couple who blithely left their three small children unattended in a foreign country, rather than some working class single parent dole scum who did the same in a council flat?
I'm entirely willing to acknowledge that the pair may not have contributed actively to the disappearance or worse of their daughter, but they're not saints, they're pretty clearly bad parents (is anyone intervening with regard to the safety of their other children by the way?) and the Portuguese police have a job to do.
We’re In!
Packed, moved, unloaded by the nice men and slightly unpacked by us. What a day, and it's not even 6pm. The cat's completely freaked out, and so are we a little bit - there's just so much space.
Time for a shower and then a handful of our new neighbours (we've moved into an area where lots of people we know live) are coming round for a few glasses of something sparkling among the chaos and boxes.
A Day Of Letters – Two
Dear Mr B,
We don't know if you remember us - we're the couple who were going to buy the house you were selling. Before you decided that you couldn't wait an extra day for me to complete on the sale of my flat and pulled out of our sale because you thought you could get more money if you put it back on the market.
We just wanted to let you know that things have worked out very well for us thank you. We've got a better house nearby that we've just completed on. It's just been redeveloped, so it won't have any of the additional cost involved that we were expecting to have to spend over and above the basic cost of yours to deal with the damp and the woodworm, and to completely gut and replace both the unusable kitchen and the bomb site of a garden. The brand new kitchen and established garden are just a couple of the features we love about our new house, which we'd never have found at all if you hadn't decided to try for a quick buck.
On which subject, we have been keeping an eye on our 'old' house on the estate agent's website. It must be very disappointing for you that no one immediately leapt to pay the new asking price, surely a snip at only £30,000 more than you were asking when we were buying it. How disappointing to have to drop that price down by £5,000 and find that three or four weeks later you still haven't had an offer you want to accept. I wonder if it's because it's still going to need that extra £15-20,000 spent on it to make it habitable? No, surely not.
So, really, this is just to say "thank you" for going for the possible extra cash rather than the guaranteed purchase. We're sure it'll pay off for you eventually. It certainly has for us.
Lots of love,
Us xxx
No, I haven't sent it. But would you blame me if I did?
PS - been waiting for the official word that we've completed before posting this. And we just got it.
A Day Of Letters – One
Dear lovely couple who are buying our place,
As we've said on at least a couple of the times you've been round, we think you'll be very happy in the flat. It's a lovely neighbourhood, with many positive features, not least of which is its quiet seclusion from the hustle and bustle of the city. The only disturbances tend to be the sound of weekend healthy competition from the sports ground along the way, and the occasional smash of an environmentally-conscious neighbour's bottles hitting the recycling bin.
We're certainly not the kind of neighbourhood where, at 9.30 on a late summer Sunday evening, a young man of around 20 would come into the car park and single out a particular car, systematically smash every single window with a blunt instrument, then leave the area warmly pursued by one neighbour while we rapidly call the police.
Nosiree. Wouldn't happen in the delightful patch where you've chosen to buy your first place.
Lots of luck in your new home, and welcome to the neighbourhood,
Us xxx
So yes, the above did indeed happen last night, freaking us out more than slightly, and giving us an extremely bizarre addition to our 'parting memories of the flat' collection. At first we thought it was someone being a bit over-enthusiastic with the recycling a bit late in the evening. Probably, to put our suffering into context, the neighbours who hadn't heard the ruck and came out slightly later to find their car, parked next to the target vehicle, splattered with blood were in fact more freaked out.
Pursuing neighbour, by the way, managed to hold the miscreant long enough for the police, responding with admirable promptitude, to make an arrest. Miscreant's arm was covered in blood, and he copped to the deed right away. The police said they think it was some specific thing, possibly arising from an ongoing argument. It's an odd car, incidentally. It appeared in the car park a couple of months ago and as far as we can tell has never moved since. It's bright yellow, and has a look of a kit car about it - there's certainly not any sign of a manufacturer's labelling. The police said that it's not registered to anyone living anywhere near us either.
I'm sure we'll never know what exactly that was all about. Dammit.