Monday 31 December 2018

Friday 21 December 2018

CAMERON COCKWOMBLE

"Bitter politics, there, yes indeedy..."

Got a little bit chatty about politics today for *reasons*, so I thought I'd collect some of those thoughts together in a little blog posting that will make no difference in the great scheme of things to the half dozen of you who find and actually bother to read it, but it makes me feel better to know it's there.

Someone suggested this week that we should have a referendum about whether to have a second referendum because none of them really know how many people would like a second referendum.

We are through the Looking Glass, people...

Sometimes you feel like there's a hurricane of insanity surrounding you and no matter how often you hold up your hand and try to say "but..." it gets drowned out by the roaring maelstrom of empty-headed screaming rage and fury...‬

Cameron was such a cockwomble to structure the thing the way he did (chiefly, it seems, from fear of losing more MPs to UKIP) - some (ANY!) kind of "third option" on the paper would have been less divisive and polarising, and the usual 70%+ for constitutional change figure that other countries use would have been sensible (even though the Blood Pressure "Just one vote difference is enough" Brigade would never have countenanced that).

Personally, I think (not that it matters) that he should have had two rounds - The first a vote on tighter border controls only, the result of which he could have taken to Brussels as leverage if necessary, and if change had not been embraced, then a further vote on membership, a different kind of membership, or total departure might have been on the cards.

This nonsense has always been about the uber-privileged Blood Pressure Brigade sector of that miserable Party of drooling buffoons, no matter how they try to dress it up as the will of about a third of the people eligible to vote on that day.

I do get really bloody tetchy about the fact that anyone who ever dared to venture a "Yes, but..." before the vote got immediately pounced on and shut down by the press and the self-interested monsters as being some kind of fearmonger, and that there was so little actual debate during those four months upon the likely consequences of anything other than the endless negatives of the migration story.

All of the allegedly "alarmist" stories that have emerged since about just about everything else (many of which have already happened) ought to have been talked about loud and proud - and the serious consequences of simply voting to "put to put one over on the child-abandoning pigf***er" - before one person went into a booth to mark their cross.

Future generations have been sold down the river on the selfishness of a few people desperate to cling to their notion of what the world ought to be and it's almost - no, I'd go further than that - it IS criminal.

I also get vexed by this notion that my age group is the one that wanted this, when forty percent of the over-fifties voted against departure which, whilst it is marginally fewer than in other demographics, it is by no means an insignificant percentage.

Meanwhile, the temptation for the entire PLP to henceforth bellow "Stupid Man" as one whenever Boris, J R-M, or DD speak must be IMMENSE...

Although the PCP will no doubt do that at JC first and that will no doubt be considered hilarieaux...

Murdoch's First Law: If you're a blue person, everything you do is right, upstanding, noble and for the greater good, but if you're a red person, everything you do is wicked, spiteful, and bound to bring about the end of civilisation as we know it, even if you're doing EXACTLY THE SAME THING...!

Not forgetting, of course, that we are expected to "respect the will of the people" in a country where huge numbers will vote to try to call a serious scientific research vessel "Boaty McBoatface" for "a bit of a larf, innit?" and possibly give as much thought to anything else they're expected to have some kind of influence upon.

...and it is always worth remembering that pretty much every single person you meet or hear talking who is over the age of 18 has exactly the same voting rights and power as you have, and that is the beautiful thing about living in a democracy. 

Probably.

CHRISTMAS IN JULY

CHRISTMAS IN JULY

It’s the most special time of the year
A full two weeks for each TV guide
The telly world’s bedecked with tinsel
Whilst the sun’s still blazing in the sky

Drifts of paper snow are softly falling
Presenters are scoffing at mince pies
In their jolly sweaters sweating
Because outside really - it’s July!

They’re dancing festive numbers
In woollen hats all warm and toasty
Singing carols around sprayed pine trees
Whilst the sun still blazes in the sky

There’s really too much glitter
Fake snowballs are gently flying by
The reindeer are all a skitter
Because outside it’s mid-July

Santa finds he’s on the move again
When he should be sound asleep
Supporting artists fat and short wrap up
Tight as the sun shines in the sky

Scarves and mittens all warm and snug
Sweat dripping down from tighted thighs
Such a lot of Christmas puddings
When outside it’s baking hot July

The Vic’s bedecked with festive bunting
Like it has been for weeks gone by
The Doctor’s sonic’s needing anti-freeze
Though the sun’s blazing in the sky

Local news already has a tree up
Festive games played by any celebrity
Pulling out their corny cracker gags
Despite all knowing that it’s July

They’re off to visit hospitals
Worried about the old and lonely
Preparing to make their guilt-trips
While the sun burns bright and high

It's Christmas on the telly
Every news room’s got a fir tree
Tinselled puddings on the idents
Strange Graphics to work on in July

Snowflakes are gently falling upon
Favourite dramas extended specially
Sending actors to less sunnier climes
Whilst sunshine’s blazing in the sky

To spend their special bigger budgets
Fulfilling those longer running times
The Method means they’re shivering
Yet it’s still the middle of July

And New Year’s Eve is soon upon us
Everywhere there are kilts remember
“It’s Hogmanay!” they scream and shout
Yet outside it’s September


Martin A W Holmes, Oct/Nov 2018



Sunday 16 December 2018

PODCAST 12 - CHRISTMAS

My indistinguishable mutterings of the following text may be heard at https://soundcloud.com/user-868590968/rta030-episode-30

 - this is the hopefully more distinguishable text version...

PODCAST 12 – CHRISTMAS

It’s Christmas time, misery and whine, and in the spirit of the season, I thought I’d talk a little bit about a couple of the television shows that I traditionally try to sit down at some point and watch over the festive season.

There’s only two, really. I always try to take an hour to watch “Too Many Christmas Trees”, an episode from the first season of The Avengers that was shot on film, the fourth series made, albeit in black and white, and the first series featuring Diana Rigg as Emma Peel.

After that, our annual “must see” is “The Blue Carbuncle” which concluded the first series of Granada Television’s high profile adaptation of “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” when David Burke is still playing a vital, youthful and intelligent Doctor Watson, very much not in the Nigel Bruce mould.

Don’t knock Nigel Bruce, by the way. I think he’s great alongside Basil Rathbone in the Universal Film series of the 1940s, and that film series always gets an airing around this time of year when the world outdoors is dark and chilly.

I also try to park myself in front of “It’s A Wonderful Life” at some point, too, but as it makes my Beloved cry, I have to sneak that one into the machine at some point when she’s otherwise engaged.

Christmas is, of course, traditionally the “most wonderful time of the year” when it comes to telly, especially in the light entertainment department anyway, although over the years, the drama departments have also tended to offer “festive-themed” or “extended special episodes” of some favourite series, which may feature overseas filming, extended running times, or perhaps unexpected high profile guest stars.

When I was a kid, of course, Christmas also meant that television also started far earlier in the day than was usual, and the mornings were filled with exciting adventure series intended to keep children happy, and characters like Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon were resurrected for daily runs on BBC television over the Christmas holidays sometimes coupled with a series being rerun called "Holiday Star Trek" all to keep us impressionable kiddiewinks amused as parcels were wrapped and mince pies were baked.

Episode One of the first "Flash Gordon" serial features music used in "The Bride of Frankenstein" and has a bear painted with stripes as an alien beast and Flash fighting three massively fanged and hairy men wearing space nappies.

We were engrossed...!

On the big day itself, we were never allowed to have the TV on during the day – apart from the Queen’s Speech, of course, but once we’d got home on Christmas Night, the family would gather round to see some of the greats; “Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em”, Mike Yarwood, Eric and Ernie, and the Generation Game – editions of which still have record-smashing ratings because almost everyone else in the country was pretty much doing exactly the same thing and almost nobody yet had a home video recorder apart from William Shatner in that Columbo where he wears a big white hat.

But it’s none of those shows that really mean “Christmas” to me nowadays. Over the years I’ve picked up my other favourites, and they are the ones that have really come to mean Christmas to me in more recent years.

Getting back to them, it might seem surprising that an adventure series like “The Avengers” might try to do a Christmas episode, as these sorts of shows were generally bundled up, packaged and made to be sold off in chunks to the various networks, and, unless they go national or international, that pesky little festive slot does tend to only turn up once a year, even if it is at around the same time, which makes scheduling programmes with a festive theme slightly awkward.

The Avengers did have form, though, of at least feeling vaguely topical, and on Christmas Day in 1965, what else are you going to hang your merry tale around? Happily, with The Avengers, having your story fixated around a Charles Dickens fanatic at Christmastime doesn’t feel too much different to any of the other eccentric diabolical masterminds with peculiar obsessions in the series, and means that the episode doesn’t feel too Christmassy, even in August.

I think that the black and white series of The Avengers featuring Diana Rigg as Mrs Emma Peel is my favourite overall. Being shot on film just makes it feel classier somehow, but the monochrome also gives it gravitas and hides a multitude of design sins. It’s a great series overall, with some fabulously rewatchable episodes, and “Too Many Christmas Trees”, with a script by Tony Williamson and directed by Roy Baker, is from about half way through that series, and is very much in the television tradition of creating unsettling tales for Christmas night.

It begins with a dream sequence all played out to some eerie harp husic as a sleeping John Steed is transported to a cut out studio forest of stylized Christmas trees, stars and baubles whilst still his pyjamas. Via a parcel he finds himself, a mirror, and quite possibly the scariest masked Santa Claus in television history, eventually some Christmas stockings lead him to find a dead body.

Ho! Ho! Ho! (and it’s a pretty terrifying “Ho! Ho! Ho!” too…)

We cut to a bizarre fairy perched upon a Christmas tree as Steed wakes up in his flat after what seems like a very rowdy night before. At his door is “Milko” Emma Peel in her finest tweeds and over some jolly banter, we discover all about his night in with a rear-admiral, and his recent nightmares. During this exchange, his childlike retort to Emma’s suggestion that there’s no Santa Claus is delightful, by the way, and remains a rather typical example of their wonderful on-screen relationship.

Meanwhile, Steed shaves, requires much black coffee, and we learn that the body he saw in his dream was suspected traitor Freddie, who turns out to be actually dead.

We cut to an aerial view of the rotating circular table of doom, with added snowflake pattern, where the late Freddie’s picture is already being replaced by the next target, a certain Mr John Steed, as pendulums swing, clocks beat a soporific drumbeat, and that blurry terrifying Santa cackles away.

And whilst we ponder upon brainstorms, Steed goes through his Christmas cards and receives one from Mrs Gale which is a rather unusual nod to the earlier incarnation of The Avengers starring Honor Blackman and cheekily makes reference to her role in the James Bond film “Goldfinger”.

Perhaps because of all these women sending fondest regards to him, Steed is invited by Mrs Peel to “come away” for a proper Dickensian Christmas at a House Party she’s been invited to by her friend Jeremy, and whilst we contemplate a blank Christmas card that very much resembles the elements of Steed’s dreams, we find John and Emma travelling in Steed’s old Bentley (of which he is very fond) along a strangely familiar route to the old dark house also very familiar from his dreams.

Something is obviously afoot, because they have been invited to spend Christmas amongst a nest of spies - which includes very familiar faces like Alex Scott and Edwin Richfield – out in the middle of nowhere.

At the house they are greeted by Robert James of Lesterson in “The Power of the Daleks” fame playing Jenkins, the butler, and meet Mervyn Johns playing the Charles Dickens enthusiast Brandon Storey and, amidst dark mutterings about experiments, they are shown to their Dickensian themed bedrooms, after which they attend a party where various introductions are made, and Steed soon regains his Lounge Lizard credentials when he spots an unattached young woman.

Edwin Richfield as Doctor Teasel does his level best to look sinister – never difficult for him – and much sinister noise is made of psychoanalysis and a novelty guillotine cigar cutter which leads to John Steed having a Sydney Carlton themed dream where a much larger guillotine threatens him, and he first meets the sinister psychic Janice Crane, yet to formally arrive at the house, and played by Jeanette Sterke, and there is another round of diabolical laughter from behind that scariest Santa mask ever.

Meanwhile Steed and Mrs Peel start to investigate in their bedrooms, and Janice Crane actually arrives, leading to more questions about Steed’s sudden psychic abilities, Emma’s young friend Jeremy Wade – played by Barry Warren - is starting to get the twitches, which will later lead to his untimely demise, as such things tend to in The Avengers.

Steed and Mrs Peel’s outfits arrive for the evening’s costume party, and Steed is, not unsurprisingly, going to be decked out in the same Sydney Carlton garb that he was wearing in his ominous dream, whilst Mrs Peel gets to wear a very tight Oliver Twist outfit.

Which is nice.

Well, as Steed says “My, you have filled out!”

Ahem!

Anyway… They go downstairs to attend just the sort of Dickensian Christmas Party that many of us probably would love to be able to host, and there is much talk of Steed’s potential breakdown, and a hypnotic psychic display from Janice, where horrible Santa gets another round of sinister laughing in, although Emma manages to break the hypnotic spell.

Meanwhile, Jeremy, as Marley’s Ghost fixes a date with destiny in the rather nicely designed “Hall of Great Expectations” where the statutory mice nibble at the statutory abandoned wedding cake amidst the many cobwebs. His body is found in a chair there by Emma carrying a candelabra of real candles, health and safety fans.

She matter-of-factly goes to fetch Steed, who is acting most bizarrely and daffy in order to resist the hypnotic mind control or whatever it is, and this leads her back to Doctor Teasel who helps her to find Jeremy’s body has now disappeared, has some theories about group telepathy, is with her when she witnesses the butler drugging Steed’s drink, and finally pulls a gun on her, proving that he’s the wrong ‘un we always suspected him of being.

But all is not what it seems. Steed pretends to sleep as Teasel is bested in a fight with Emma Peel – no surprises there – and the table folk get more confused as Steed is faking having drunk the potion, maintains it is Emma that has been showing signs of being mind-controlled, that Doctor Teasel is not a wrong ‘un after all, and then encourages her to join him in a jaunty rendition of “Green Grow The Rushes, Oh!” to help keep their minds clear.

Their interaction here is quite lovely, bearing in mind that they had only been together a few weeks in television series terms, and goes a long way towards showing why this particular Avengers pair are so fondly remembered.

Anyway, it’s now pretty much all over for the diabolical plotters bar the big “end of episode” fight in the mirror room, and Evil Santa getting shot – yes, they actually shot Santa on Christmas Day – at least in some ITV regions anyway. Only this Santa is, of course, that lovely Janitor, sorry, Dickens admirer, Brandon Storey, unmasked in a very “Scooby Doo” way.

And he would have got away with it if it wasn’t for this most dynamic of festive duos.

Then, after a bit of nonsense with a tear gas pen, Steed and Emma Peel depart the episode in this week’s mode of transport, which is a festive pony and trap, or perhaps it’s a reindeer, seeing as it’s called Prancer…

As a Christmas piece, “Too Many Christmas Trees” does have all of the trimmings, but it’s not overdone, which, in certain television series, is probably for the best, and I love it to bits.

“The Blue Carbuncle” however is a genuine Christmassy treat and was always intended as such. This is a Sherlock Holmes tale from the pen of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and it is beautifully executed in the, still truly scrumptious, Granada series - in an adaptation by Paul Finney, directed by David Carson.

Unlike much other Holmesian fayre, it is a relatively light-hearted tale of a valuable lost jewel, and some Christmas geese, which includes some sparkling performances from a set of lovely actors, and gives some of the finest and most memorable moments that this lavish and lovingly made series produced.

From the opening credits filmed on Granada’s meticulously recreated Baker Street set – they used to do tours, you know – where I immediately start to wonder how old the cheeky kids at the shop window now are, to the closing credits, this is a work of art, and this episode remains a work of Christmassy art and a must-see annual festive treat.

We open on a close-up of the Carbuncle – a kind of blue ruby – itself, all shiny, cut, and sparkling, but within it we see flashbacks of its brutal provenance, until it is presented to the Countess of Morcar in her prime.

We then jump cut to her looking older and far more tired as she travels back to the opulent Hotel Cosmopolitan from another Christmas shopping spree. She is played by Rosalind Knight – an actress with whom I was once very briefly acquainted as she was a friend of a friend’s mother – and her return messes up the canoodling of her maid Catherine Cusack – played by Ros Simmons – and a hotel attendant, James Ryder, played the one and only Ken Campbell. Ryder quickly bustles out the handyman who he has ostensibly employed to fix the gas fire, one John Horner, a reformed criminal, as played with genuine honesty by Desmond McNamara, as her Ladyship returns from her ordeal by shopping to have a bath.

There is a scream as she discovers that the titular Blue Carbuncle has been (gulp) stolen…

Very quickly, as John Horner gazes into a shop window with Jennie his wife, picking out the children’s Christmas presents – Amelda Brown (bravely appearing - with complete dedication to historical accuracy given their poverty - almost without any make-up) plays the wife – he is arrested by Brian Miller’s Inspector Bradstreet, even though he claims to be completely innocent.

At Baker Street, we see a lot of street business – using that expensive outdoor set very nicely – as Doctor Watson is out and about on his own Christmas shopping expedition. This is still the original, David Burke incarnation of Watson, nicely played as a vital, clever, and rather dry-witted soul.

Holmes, meanwhile, languishes in bed, only to be disturbed by one Mr Peterson bearing a goose and a battered bowler hat in a very nice turn from Frank Mills. The wise Mrs Peterson has sent him to resolve the mystery surrounding these items, although Holmes exhortations for him to put down his goose as he searches for the first cigarette of the day is an utter joy.

Jeremy Brett is immediately fabulous as Holmes, of course, and all of his little ticks and movements show that he has completely embedded himself within the character.

Through a flashback, we learn how Mr Peterson came to be in possession of the goose and the hat due to an altercation the night before and whilst Holmes struggles to remain awake, in the end Peterson is sent upon his way with an instruction to eat the goose.

Meanwhile, the Countess is ranting at the Inspector and he suggests that she might offer a reward, the subsequent news story of which draws the eye of a returning Doctor Watson and is recounted from the papers by him.

Holmes meanwhile is regarding the simple hat and, in what is - in my opinion at least - one of the finest scenes in the series, Holmes and Watson have a contest as to what can be deduced from said hat. Watson is, of course, skeptical about most of Holmes’ deductions and conclusions, most of which – of course – turn out to be spot on.

Peterson returns all of a fluster because the Blue Jewel has been discovered in the crop of the goose he was sent off to cook and he seems genuinely astonished at the thousand pounds reward that he now seems eligible for – although if Holmes does intend to keep the Carbuncle as he says, his payday does seem rather unlikely to actually happen.

Still the “thousand pounds” stuff is played rather nicely, and, via a swift advert in several evening papers, the plot moves on.

Meanwhile, in jail, as he pleads with his doubting wife that he is now on the straight, things are not looking too good for the Horners.

Holmes and Watson are studying the jewel and recounting its dark history as one Mr Henry Baker, formerly the possessor of both goose and hat, appears in response to their advert. He is played by Frank Middlemass being basically lovely and he confirms many of Holmes’ deductions, whilst being offered a replacement goose.

In another flashback we learn of the Christmas Goose Club at the Alpha Inn which seems to be the nicest pub in the whole of London given how they are usually portrayed in these things. The landlord seems a caring soul, and there’s a genuine family feel amongst the regulars. Mr Baker has, it seems sold his books as a seasonal sacrifice to bring joy to those we love or, as the script puts it, even those we have married.

Frank departs, confirming the most outrageous of Holmes’ deductions, and, to the chagrin of Mrs Hudson, dinner is delayed as Holmes and Watson head out for a game of “Hunt That Goose!”

In the Alpha Inn, we discover that Mr Windigate got his geese from the market and Doctor Watson comically fails to get his pint. And whilst things seem to get worse and worse for the Horners, help is as hand as Holmes meets the seriously pissed-off poulterer Mr Breckenridge at the market and, by a little bit of subterfuge based around a fictional wager – another delightful scene – Holmes deviously finds out where the geese were from a Mrs Oakshott.

She is the sister of Ken Campbell’s everso seedy James Ryder, who saves Holmes and Watson a journey by returning to harangue Mr Breckenridge once more about the wretched geese. They intercept him and, by displaying certain information, entice him back to the web of Baker Street and his downfall.

After some banter about aliases and a magic trick involving a gas lamp, tales of a blue egg, and the Carbuncle itself, the game is up for Mister Ryder and his dastardly accomplice, who put him up to it, the maid and, through yet another flashback, we discover how the goose came to swallow the jewel and much hilarity ensuing over a case of mistaken goose identity. In this, Mrs Oakshott is played by the fabulous Maggie Jones who turned up in just about everything at some time or other, and had a very lengthy career being rather brilliant at no-nonsense northern women.

Ryder grovels his way into a remorse-filled confession and, with a cold “Get out! No more words, get out!” is sent on his way unpunished by Holmes who justifies his position by saying that he may have saved a soul.

Then, before they manage to sit down for their cold supper as Christmas Day arrives, they remember to inform the police that Horner is innocent, and the episode closes with the Horner family reunited outside the prison in the snow.

I absolutely adore this adaptation of the Blue Carbuncle – although I do also enjoy the 1960s BBC version, this is the one to which I return each year simply because it’s played with such gusto and joy. This pairing of Holmes and Watson are a delight and, whilst the birds do have terrible things done to them offscreen - as does tend to happen to such birds at this time of the year – it remains a lovely tale, even if some of the plotting leaves a lot to be desired if you think about it too closely.

If Holmes keeps the jewel in his museum, does Peterson get his thousand pounds? Why did Ryder sneak the jewel away to hide it in a bird, only to then immediately kill the bird? How does Holmes convince the police to release Horner? Does James Ryder actually flee abroad? Why does Horner not know his children’s names? Do the villains remain in the employ of the Countess? And what  future did Catherine Cusack envision for herself with James Ryder and why did she consider this oily toe-rag to be a bit of a catch?

None of this matters of course, because it’s beautifully told and gives a little bit of insight into the ordinary lives of normal London folk which is often ignored in favour of ghastly fog-filled nightmare visions of the wretched hive of scum and villainy that those Victorian streets are often portrayed as.

And now, after a sudden realization I made in the summer, I became aware that the first episode of “Quatermass and the Pit” was broadcast on the 22nd of December in 1958, and therefore it now earns its place as a Christmas special in my book, and so it will henceforth have to occupy another slot in the annual Christmas schedule at Holmes Towers.

We begin in Hobb’s Lane, SW1, where location footage of a satisfyingly diverse cast finds a group of workmen uncovering some human remains as they dig the foundations of a new office building…

But that’s another story…

Martin A W Holmes, sometime in 2018