Monthly Archives: April 2020

De-stressing in the Time of CV 04

Comment, Television/DVD review

Dear Friends

Hugs – I wondered how it would go, the arrangement between Trent Dalton, best known for mega-seller ‘Boy Swallows Universe’ (a tome I seem to be in the minority with as I have never perused it) and the Weekend Australian’s magazine. The notion was that he’d receive emails from the reading public with their own stories of surviving and waiting out the virus in their own abodes.

The first of his ‘Tales from the Bunker’ appeared in the Oz this weekend, at time of scribing, just past. Lovely and reaffirming it was too. Hopefully it will be on-going in future weeks. If so, it will be worth buying the Murdoch Press masthead for it alone. Truth be told I only buy the Saturday broadsheet for that magazine insert and its Review section. Dalton relayed many quite poignant tales in the issue. One that struck the heart was the story of Kate, an 8 year old, the same age (almost) as my beloved Tess, who understands that her grandparents are especially susceptible to the bastard virus. Her reaction was to design a sign her Nan and Pop could display at their front door. ‘Stop,’ she wrote, ‘VIG! Very Important Grandparents.’ Under those words she repeated the dose with ‘First class grandparents. Please wash hands.’ Dalton goes on, ‘The whole suburb now knows that Kate is a VIG as well – Very Inspiring Granddaughter.’ As is Tessa. My very own VIG makes sure that she has a wonderful drawing or something else she’s written or crafted for her own Poppy, each time I call, to take home to treasure.

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Another correspondent sent in a homage to a tireless friend, a nurse, who works in the oncology ward of one of Brisbane’s hospitals. Sadly she relayed her disgust that even that place had been targeted by the gutter slime who thought their needs were greater than those struggling against another demanding disease. All the sanitiser had been removed from her place of work by them.

But that was an aberration – mostly the article contained a wholly positive vibe. He had an emailer telling of her still very active mid-80s dad who was having trouble, as do many of us, curbing his out-and-abouting, even with his usual haunts shut down. He took to any excuse to get to Bunnings, the chemist and anything else that he could think of that was still available to him. Three weeks ago this guy met his first great grandchild – through a window of course. The old fella reckoned it was the best day of his life. The emailer’s prayer was that one day the dear guy would actually get to hold this brand new life in his arms.

Trent D started this weekend’s collection by asking, ‘Remember hugs?’ We’re all so deprived of them at the moment. He related another person who took the trouble of contacting him. Toni, who has tested positive, hasn’t had one cuddle from her own brood for three weeks as she waits for her symptoms to disappear.

Of course I’m blessed with hugs from my lovely lady to keep me going, but how I miss them from my Tess, Katie and even Rich. I’d give anything to hold my little grandson again. And to see his Shirley Temple-like sister who’s way away, for now, tucked safe in Bridport. The situation is hard for grandparents; hard for grandchildren. But then, there’s no real isolating, is there? It’s just the physical contact we can’t do at present. I give thanks that the digital age has something, these days, to recommend it.

Dalton’s project does not take us away from it, but after reading of all that goodness I felt buoyant; hope renewed and feeling de-stressed.

Odile – Being a fan of almost anything to do with her home country, way back I was chuffed to have a French penfriend. It was the pre-digital age and writing letters to people overseas was, well, I guess you’d call it a hobby – and I thrived on it. We know any form of letter writing these days is a dying art. AusPost and social media seem to be working hand in hand to kill it off. I’m hoping our present straightened circumstances will bring it back a little, if only on a national scale. The links to the outside world are diminished, except via the ether. We communicated quite regularly back in the 90s and into the new millennium. She lived in a town on the outskirts of Paris and I thought she was quite chic.

Then most of my overseas correspondents drifted away. From most of them, including Odile, I only heard sporadically, usually around Christmas. But out of the blue, a few nights ago, I she came back into my orbit.

Now, during the years of writing to each other, she found she had another connection to my island. A long lost cousin turned up as the mayor of a Tassie locality – the colourful Bertrand Cadart. His domain was the East Coast municipality of Spring Bay. With his Portillo-ian fashion sense, French brogue and larger than life personality, he was known to some as the Crowbar Man after a small role he attained in one of the Mad Max movies. Odile was contacting me to let me know of his passing.

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We had a conversation via Messenger, comparing notes on our respective CV situation. She thought she may have had the dreaded virus a while back, but her symptoms were not severe enough to warrant testing or hospitalisation – so, around a month into the French lock down, she is none the wiser but feeling better now. Although it took some sad news to bring her back into communication with me, I hope it will become more regular now as we are both in a similar situation at opposite ends of the Earth.

Scores and Numbers – Last Saturday eve I was waiting for the numbers to arrive. I recalled that at the same time last year they were of a different ilk as I’d be following, on my hand held device, the latest from the AFL. I’d have one eye on whatever it was that my lovely lady and I were watching, one eye on that other smaller screen, especially if the matches were close. And of course, if a tight contest involved my Hawks, my stress levels would be rising. I suppose millions would be waiting on all Saturdays for the lotto numbers to arrive on screen, but that’s not me.

Now I find it de-stressing before bedtime to have another set of numbers come in– from the Tasmanian Department of Hearth’s coronavirus website, telling me of the amount of positive cases on my island for the previous twenty-four hours . Once they’re up, usually around 9.30 to 10.00, I find it, if not too dire, somewhat comforting to go to bed with that knowledge; to know we’re not being swamped, so to speak. Sadly the numbers of late for those contacting the disease in my old homeland around Burnie have been quite alarming. I sincerely hope, by the time you’re reading this, that those, too, have abated.

Millions of Indians can look north and see the majesty of the Himalayas for the first time in their lives. Without the cruise liners and the tourists the lagoon and canals of Venice are clearing of pollution. What are the chances of that remaining the case after we come out the other side?

A book to while away the hours as we wait for the curve to peak and flatten – the wonderful ‘Where the Crawdads Sing’ by Delia Owens. See my review on my blog – The Blue Room.

Threesomes to Relish – One of my regular routine treats, pre-CV, was my weekly jaunts into the city to connect with my two dealers. They give me great service, do the savvy people at AusPost stamp-central in Bathurst Street, as also do David and Kim at ‘The Coin and Stamp Place’ in the Trafalgar Arcade. I know this habit and their servicing of my philatelic tastes will resume when we all come out the other side, but I miss it.

Australia Post goes on releasing new issues and March saw their annual ‘Austraian Legends’ come outwith their 2020 recipients of the honour. This year it is dedicated to those who make us laugh – and one of the set that has delighted me in particular. I don’t dismiss the talent Noeline Brown, Magda Szubanski or Garry McDonald, but this guy, at a jam-packed Wrest Point showroom, held a vast audience in the palm of his hand a few years back, including my lovely lady and myself. He had all the punters there that night in his thrall, telling yarns both fantastical and with a kernel of truth, keeping us in fits for several hours. He has found immense success in the UK, taking over from Clive James as television’s Australian pricker of pomposity, with his show ‘The Last Leg’. At the same time he has become a leading spokesperson for the disabled.

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For most of us, though, Adam Hills’ lasting legacy will remain his role as the genial host of a show that just keeps on giving with its regular repeats on ABC Comedy. We all know it – ‘Spicks&Specks’. And last night Leigh and I tuned into its ‘00s Special’ to help us de-stress our way through these challenging days. Here we reacquainted ourselves with regular panelists Alan Brough and another Aussie living treasure in Myf Warhurst. It bought hilarity into our lounge room. It’s part of a yearly clutch of hour long episodes to keep the flame burning and long may they be presented. It was interesting watching it as, music wise, I realised the noughties must have completely passed me by, yet Leigh was singing along to all the ditties on the show. They reminded us all of what we lost when the series was finally canned back in 2011. You can catch these special editions on ABCiView.

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Sometimes the chemistry is magically just right for a panel show and with Adam, Myf and Alan Auntie hit the jackpot. The regard they have for each other is palpable; the musical knowledge Alan and Myf possess immeasurable. With a range of well known guests participating, everyday and now these abnormal woes, disappear.

And this too is decidedly the case with another tele-treat that sees David Mitchell and Lee Mack verbally go at each other under the watchful eye of Rob Brydon, making sure things do not completely descend into comedic anarchy. With a diverse range of media celebrity appearing alongside, but never outshining them, this pair engage in ‘take no prisoners’ repartee and we all have to decide, in ‘Would I Lie To You’, if they are telling the truth or outrageous porkies. Mitchell has remarkable wit delivered in droll style whilst Mack is dynamite with his quick comebacks. This extremely entertaining product first appeared on the Beeb back in 2006 and you can delight in its thirteenth season now on iView.

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Currently Leigh and I are devouring the third series of ‘Ozark’ on Netflix and family Byrde descend even further into dysfunctionality with their crooked enterprises. It’s one of that platform’s best.

The signs are positive as we enter the second quarter. We’re all holding our breath to see if the flattening of the curve continues. But it remains a sinister foe, does the virus, as Burnie is currently showing. Fingers crossed.

Steve

Trent Dalton at the Australian = https://www.theaustralian.com.au/author/Trent%20Dalton

Bertrand Cadart’s Incredible Life = https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-10-29/why-bertrand-cadart-keeps-a-ferrari-red-coffin-in-the-loungeroom/11587310

Tasmanian Department of Health’s coronavirus website = https://www.dhhs.tas.gov.au/publichealth/communicable_diseases_prevention_unit/infectious_diseases/coronavirus

Spicks and Specks website – https://iview.abc.net.au/show/spicks-and-specks-specials’

‘Would I Lie to You’ website – https://iview.abc.net.au/show/would-i-lie-to-you

Where the Crawdads Sing – Delia Owens

Book Reviews

Nature. In troubled times it’s a salve. I’m lucky. I have a little pocket of nature here to help me through the most troubled time I’ve known in my longish life. It’s not a wide expanse, but it’s enough. Across the road the reedy bank of the Derwent harbours families of native hens, as well as the water birds that grace the river. Raptors are often on patrol above and smaller birds flit about our lawns. It’s not the vast acres of Southern swamp-lands that Kya Clark has at her disposal but, with what else I have, it’s enough and I’m thankful for that.

For most of her life Kya, aka the Swamp Girl, had been an unknown, fleeting figure for the small communities in her region – sometimes talked about, but rarely seen. As a result of her notoriety, she soon becomes a suspect contributing to the death of a local fellow. The evidence linking her to it is flimsy, but will it be enough?

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By the age of six her mother and siblings have deserted her, succumbing to the rages and drunkenness of their father/husband. He remains with her for a while, actually pulling himself together to do some nurturing, but soon returns to default and bails on her too. She’s alone but, despite her tender years, has attained enough savvy to eke out an existence. With her own troubled times showing no signs of departing, she becomes a child of nature, finding solace in the seasonal rhythms of her watery world.

Eventually some tenuous relationships form with other humankind – the protective coloured couple who run the local supply shop; then a generous, supportive lad ventures into her wilderness and becomes a companion. She allows him to take the mantle of also progressing to being her teacher of sorts as she’s only ever known one day of schooling. But even Tate deserts her in the end. Then she turns to Chase. With him, though, for a while she has some hope. Sure enough, Swamp Girl discovers he was only using her for bragging purposes. After him the world closes in on her.

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Delia Owen’s world wide best seller sings off the pages as it too flits around. It darts in and out between the time periods of Kya’s semi-isolated life and the investigation into the death at the fire tower. Reese Witherspoon has optioned it so it will be interesting to see if a movie or tele-series emerges. It’s a perfect fit for our own time of semi-isolation and I had no trouble returning to this tome to while away the hours as we wait for the curves to peak and flatten.

The author’s website – https://www.deliaowens.com/

Reading in the Time of Coronavirus

Book Reviews, Uncategorized

Paris Echo – Sebastian Faulks

Next month I’m having my eyes done – or, at least, that’s the plan. Who knows, in these uncertain times, what the world will look like next week let along half way through May. For me, though, it may look so much brighter. I’m told that after the two laser treatments – our country’s most common medical procedure – I’ll only require reading glasses. Having worn specs since my early teens, that’ll be a game changer. Also the layers of cling wrap, as my lovely optometrist described what my fading vision was like, would melt away, revealing the clarity I haven’t known for years. Perhaps the tired eyes I carry daily will also disappear. I’ll no longer doze off just after opening my book. I’ll no longer feel the need for an afternoon nanny nap. I’d just love to be able to read more.

I started reading Sebastian Faulk’s ‘Paris Echo’, having so enjoyed earlier works including ‘Birdsong’, ‘Charlotte Gray’ and ‘On Green Dolphin Street’, as the bastard virus descended on our world. When I started it cruise liners were still sailing up the Derwent, our year’s travel plans were still intact and visits to and by grandchildren the thing that made our hearts soar.

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It took so long to complete it’s three hundred odd pages. It wasn’t such a bad book; it wasn’t that heavy going. I think, as COVID19 took hold and our personal orb shrank to the home and little else, the radio, newspapers and constantly checking news feeds took prominence. Now newspapers have started to leave the equation as that requires a daily journey to collect. Most out-and-abouting by car is frowned on. Still, the tome was eventually finished, but in all honesty I cannot say it was relished. I suspect that is mostly due to the times rather than its quality.

Once I was reading Faulks’ novels as they came out, but my enthusiasm for them waned as time went on. ‘Paris Echo’ had received positive reviews so I gave SF another burl, just as CV hit town.

Youthful Algerian Tariq and older American Hannah arrive in Paris around the same time. For an adventurous young man, dragging himself up by his bootstraps, his eyes are still opened by the Paris the tourist rarely sees. For Hannah, an academic, she is returning to research her latest project, still haunted by her now lost lover from a previous excursion to the city of love. By chance they become the unlikeliest of house-mates as the lad gains employment frying chicken and she reconnects with an old friend. He has little adventures riding the metro and connecting with mysterious women, as well as a half-crazed puppeteer. She engages with her topic, the women of Paris during the war years. She looks at case studies of those who collaborated with both the Resistance and their Nazi overlords. Faulks also treats the reader to some of these women’s stories as well. Meanwhile, her North African flat mate discovers something of the more recent troubled relationship between his homeland and France.

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Perhaps there was too much happening in the book; but methinks more than likely too much happening outside of it, with our planet completely off its axis. I just couldn’t settle to it – returning in fits and starts with no real enthusiasm.

We’re informed we have months ahead of this semi-isolation as the disease is battled. But we’re also told the world will return, hopefully renewed – just like my own eyes. This will be looked back on as an aberration – a telling one, mind.

The author’s website – https://www.sebastianfaulks.com/

De-stressing in the Time of CV 03

Comment, music, Television/DVD review, Uncategorized

Dear Friends

The 7K Man – He appeared in the local paper and on FB spruiking his wares so we decided to pay Tyler Clark a visit. His spread is halfway between our spot by the river and Brighton. The sign is small, discreet – speedsters would miss it. The turn-off leads onto a dirt track and up to a hillside home. Tyler’s passion is a little further elevated behind. It overlooks a stunning view of our part of the world with the Derwent shimmering in the distance. The landscape was verdantly greening up after some recent rain.

Initially this former tradie was an avid collector of Australian whiskey – so he started harbouring dreams of his own distillery – and I assure you this is not going the way you may think, knowing my love of the juice of the peat (although someone is being aided in de-stressing as a result!)

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Purchasing a couple of shipping containers, he was soon on his way to achieve his dream. But at some stage during his story he took off on a different tangent, perhaps because of the flood of new Tasmanian enterprises in the art of making the glorious brown liquid. He turned his attention to a clearer one.

Now, neither Leigh nor I were partial to the stuff beforehand. His major offering was the last thing on our minds. That wasn’t the lure that attracted us out that fine morning. Because of the publicity, approaching our destination, we expected a car park full of other desperate punters as what he was offering couldn’t be found on any shelves around Hobs. As it was, parking facilities were minimal and we were the only customers. We were after his byproduct and we had the place to ourselves. He was offering hand sanitiser.

In any case, he was starting to struggle – he had plenty of the liquid, but as his containers came from China – well, you know the story there. But he still had a few jars worth we could decant, so we snapped them up. And Leigh decided to buy a small bottle of his main game – gin. ‘And it’s beautiful,’ says my lovely lady. ‘I always thought gin tasted of paint-stripper,’ but the berry infused concoction sure found a fan in her.

And Tyler is a lovely, thoughtful chap. When Leigh rang for a second helping – sanitiser as well as the tipple – she was told to keep an eye on Facebook. But the very next day he was on the blower to her. He had made some more. We went back poste haste and now Leigh is itching to try her latest blend based around citrus.

Tyler is planning to set up a proper shop in Moonah when the dust settles on all this. In that we wish him well. In the meantime, if gin’s your tonic to de-stress your way through these CV times, you could do worse, according to my lady, than to go to the 7K web-site and order some of his nectar – and the by-product, too, if it’s difficult to attain in your neck of the woods.

French Fluff – Much of what we watch, although some of the best offerings of the Golden Age of Television, are not particularly uplifting or designed to give us light entertainment. Scandi-noir, bleak British police procedurals and recently, the depressing, so depressing ‘Stateless’. The latter will not leave one smiling as it cuts pretty close to the bone. So what better antidote would there be to de-stress than a pretty mindless rom-com. Of course, these abound on our television platforms, but for something a tad different, in recent days I’ve opted for French escapism in ‘The Hook-up Plan’. This is the Paris of not so long ago and tells of indeed a plan, but one that goes so horribly wrong. Thirty-something Elsa (Zita Hanrot) is in the doldrums over her love life – or lack thereof. A beau has left her for another woman and she’s pining over that loss and worries that she’ll be left on the shelf. One of her besties decides that a very fine thing to do would be to hire a male escort (Marc Ruchmann) to pretend to fall in love with her over a couple of dates. That will fix her woes, surely. Of course Elsa predictably falls head over heels. Why not? The guy is a sweetie in the game for all the right reasons – and, guess what? He becomes smitten too. That wasn’t meant to happen. And when our heroine finds out, well, it’s not pretty or forgiving.

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It’s low maintenance viewing with a handsome cast. Season one finished with everything up in the air, so I’m looking forward, sometime soon, to settling into the next series to see how it all pans out.

As Tears Go By – The bastard virus has gotten hold of Marianne Faithful.

What a ‘Whoa!’ moment it was when I first heard ‘The Ballad of Lucy Jordan’ sometime in 1979. That voice – all rasp, a thousand cigarettes and a life badly lived. Could this really be the same person who trilled ‘As Tears Go By’, fifteen years prior, in a voice as pure as virgin snow? I quickly got hold of ‘Broken English’, which included, as well, her iconic version of ‘Working Class Hero’ and that shocking rant, ‘Why Ya Do It?’. Gawd, talk about a virgin no longer! I went on to add, to my collection, more albums of hers over the years, but nothing matched the impact of that incendiary release as the 70s came to an end.

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Sadly that other afflicted hero of mine didn’t make it through to the other side. John Prine succumbed to the virus on 7 April 2020. RIP.

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Weird English – Taking our minds off Marianne, JP and CV, Leigh and I have been de-stressing to ‘Hidden’, season two of which is showing on Stan. It’s a police whodunnit, quite gripping, where the cast flit between English and sub-titled Welsh at the drop of a leek. For me, Series 3 (with 4 recently approved) of ‘Babylon Berlin’ is underway on Netflix, as the Weimar Repblic is on its last legs with the spectre of Nazism well and truly on the horizon. Can hero Police Commissioner Gereon Rath solve the crime as the world spirals out of control in the vice and sin-ridden German capital, with his own personal demons still lingering? So far not as sexy as the first two seasons, but still an excellent way to shut our own spiralling world out.

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Let’s hope the demon of a virus doesn’t linger though. We’re a way to go, I’m sure, but keeping it all in perspective and keeping one’s head down we’ll soon be surging into time on of the first quarter – thanks Mr Gutwein – with hopefully our noses in front.

And we have toilet paper thanks to my daughter’s on-line capabilities and us hitting the sweet spot at the supermarket. Yay!

Steve

7K Distillery web-site = https://www.7kdistillery.com.au/welcome

Marianne Faithful’s website = http://www.mariannefaithfull.org.uk/

‘The Hook-up Plan’ trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1kdkjIjCb8

‘Hidden’ Season Two trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xx-CEo6Fl7M

‘Babylon Berlin’ Season Three trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCbs4634t4E

Dog-prived

Comment

Cinema Going. Gone. Pub meals. Gone. Cafe coffee breaks. Gone. Weekly city jaunt. Gone. Connecting with my dealer The Stamp Man. Gone. Connecting with friends and family face to face. Gone. Treks to the homelands. Gone. Hugs from the grandchildren. Gone. So much is gone, gone, gone. And they’ll be missed. Course they will.

But we can find replacements. As we proceed into time-on in the first quarter (good analogy Mr Gutwein), we are discovering adequate replacements with social media, television platforms and a greater appreciation of home fires and the beautiful, irreplaceable person you’re sharing your fortress abode with.

But Mr Wright, in the weekend’s Age, bought home to me something I cannot replace. The bastard virus has taken away my own Lulus, Bolts and Kokomos.

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I had a string of house/dog sits lined up for 2020 that would have given me the canine company I will now sorely miss. I so relish my times with Jasper down in Howrah, Sandy up at Sisters Beach and Summer, along with buddy Bronson, in Devonport. I was particularly looking forward to spending more time with Memphis, my son’s big, beautiful and gentle malamute at Bridport, as well as getting acquainted with his not so new, now best buddy, Pat the Dog. I love the place and it’s been a while.

The solution, you well may think, is obvious. But it’s not so simple with the lifestyle Leigh and I hope to return to when all this shit disappears, as it will. These wonderful animals have been part of the fabric of my life for the past few years and I’ll miss them.

Budgies? Not so much budgies. But feeding the birds at Stefan and Denise’s, the birdsong and the variety at Sisters and Briddy are special too. I’ll just have to content myself with the occasional avian raptor and all the water fowl here by the river, as well as the blue wrens flitting around the garden. And contented I’ll be.

Now, over to Tony W.

Tony Wright’s column = https://www.smh.com.au/national/of-old-dogs-babies-and-birds-companions-in-a-time-of-isolation-20200402-p54gg6.html

De-stressing in the Time of CV 02

Comment, music, Television/DVD review

Dear Friends

Courage – Yes, I know, it’s another supermarket tale. The supermarket is about the only place we’re getting out to these days. It must have been so hard for someone so young to be confronted with something so huge, even beyond the experience of all who will read this missive, with all our decades. Yet she had the courage to rise above it.

She was of such tender years. I doubt if she had even left her secondary years at school. Yet she was carrying on as best she could. All those lines of people she was expected to marshal through her check out. All the new rules she had to adhere to, especially ones as potentially confronting as the product limits. As well, many of the people she’d be shepherding by her till would be as anxious about the whole thing as she was.

Our first experience of New Norfolk Woolies had been positive, so, as the numbers climbed and the plans for complete staying at home seemed to be coming closer, my lovely Leigh and I decided to do a big shop to set us up for the coming week and a fair way beyond. And it continued to be a far more pleasant experience than our regular go-to grocery venues. All seemed fine at the checkout after we had completed our rounds. But then I asked her the question. ‘How has your day been?’ She tried to be brave. She tried to keep it in. I don’t know why she told me and I could tell she was struggling, trying to hold it together. The lower lip quivered, ‘I was abused earlier on. He had too much milk. I tried to explain it to him but all I got was abused.’

She gave me a weak smile and I told her how sorry I was that that had happened to her. She was rattled, but she put her head down and ushered our goods through her scanner. A little later she asked Leigh for help with the customer behind her who was breaking the rules about loading her goods onto the conveyor without being instructed it was her turn. Leigh handled that with her usual poise.

Courage? Well I think so. She was still standing after some dick had given her a mouthful, doing her job in a world gone crazy. She’s at the front line, too, in a time of trouble that even us old fogeys get a tad wobbly in. They seem a lovely, lovely bunch at the NN branch when supermarkets are rising in the general esteem. I’m sure, when her colleagues found out, they would’ve gotten around her and been as supportive to her as they are to their community. She’s clearly brave, that girl – perhaps out of her depth, but doing what she feels is expected of her. And no, there was no toilet paper that day either.

At the time of writing, to put it all into perspective with how well we are off here in comparison, sixty Italian doctors have died as a result of the coronavirus bug. You can never counter that with a positive, but millions of Chinese, on the other hand, are staring up at blue skies in wonder. The planet will recover, but there are some things that are emerging that should not be let go of again. Neither should we let go of all that which allows us to de-stress.

Curmudgeonly – Jack Dee. I first came across the 58 year old UK stand-up comedian in ‘Lead Balloon’, but I’d probably had encountered him, as well, beforehand on numerous British panel shows without him actually registering. He even has hosted one himself – ‘Sorry, I Haven’t a Clue’. ‘Lead Balloon’ lasted for four seasons up until 2011. In it Dee played Rick Spleen, a comedy writer for television. The name says it all. On it he vented his spleen at every opportunity. He was forever glass half empty; sarcastic to a fault. His world was full of annoyance and he’s a cynic as he battles to write laughs, with his partner, for his shows. Jack Dee was, in fact, a co-writer himself for ‘Lead Balloon’, as well as for his latest series. For me LB is one of the very best examples of Brit comedy.

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His ‘Bad Move’ is not in the same league, but the half hour episodes of Seasons 1 and 2 on Stan are just what the doctor ordered to de-stress in a coronavirus world, particularly after the oft heavier fare we watch during our evenings. Steve (Dee) and Nicky Rawlings (Kerry Godliman – ‘Extras’) have moved away from the city to more bucolic surrounds, only to find life out in the sticks isn’t all it’s cut up to be. Their woebegone, tumble-down rural house is a nightmare. To make matters worse, on one side their neighbour is a crackpot rock god, whilst on the other is a new-age family with perfectly adorable kiddies. Steve gets on okay with the former, but barely tolerates the latter. It’s twee, it’s predictable, striving a bit too hard for laughs and Jack Dee just plays himself. But for someone who, like me. loves his persona, the series is gold; sugar on a stick.

Irreplaceable – the bastard virus has gotten hold of John Prine

The last check I did before scribing this, his wife reported that he is stable, after a much more dire prognosis a few days back. He’s a fighter, is Prine. He has battled cancer since 1998, but continues to perform when he can.

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Some time after 1973 my brother lent me a bunch of vinyl. At the time I was stuck on the BeeGees, Johnny Cash and Dean Martin (still love them, mind) – the wildest I got was knowledgeably declaring that the Kinks were far superior to both the Beatles and the Stones. Kim was more up to date – ‘with it’, having broader tastes by far. In the little collection he gave me I spotted an album cover with a good looking, denim-clad rooster spread out languorously over some roadster type automobile. When I got around to playing the tracks within that one, being ‘blown away’ didn’t come close. I changed my musical direction in one stroke. It lead me on to other people such as Eric Anderson, Guy Clark, Townes van Zandt, Gram Parsons and Jerry Jeff Walker. I’d discovered, via Kim, Americana.

‘Sweet Revenge’ contained tunes like ‘Dear Abby’, ‘Christmas in Prison’, ‘Blue Umbrella’ and ‘Onomatopoeia’. It was Prine’s third album. I rushed out and purchased the previous two and have continued to collect him ever since. His voice is of the ‘love it’ or ‘loathe it’ type – you know which category I fall into – but it’s his songsmithery I love just as much. It’s what has made him a legend and multi-Grammy winner. ‘Sam Stone’, ‘Angel from Montgomery’, ‘Hello in There’, ‘Speed of the Sound of Loneliness’ and ‘Illegal Smile’ are just a few classics from his oeuvre.

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Prine was ‘discovered’ by Kristofferson and Kim ‘discovered’ him for me. My thanks go to both and I’ll be listening to him over and over in the days and weeks that lie ahead. Hang in there JP.

Sultry – As Helena in ‘Hache’ she shimmers and pouts her way out of dire and tricky situations in the Barcelona of the 1960s – and she sure took my mind off the woes of the world. I first came across Adriana Ugarte in the Pedro Almodóvar film of four years ago, ‘Julieta’. In it she played the younger version of the female protagonist in a movie by the great director based on the short stories of Alice Munro. She also featured stunningly in the sensually tropical colonial epic ‘Palm Trees in the Snow’, available for you to feast your eyes on with Netflix, as is ‘Hache’. In the latter, the thirty-five year old dominates the small screen as a former prostitute, falling on hard times, then seizing the day by attaching herself to a heroin addicted crime-boss operating out of a nightclub. She wins his trust and he brands her as one of his female associates. But she doesn’t kowtow to anyone – she quickly becomes a devious force to be reckoned with as she connives her way to where the money is. Try not to be too put out by the quite, for my taste, confronting sex scenes in Episode 1.They lead to a rip-roaring story with more substance than steam. And it has been commissioned for a second series as Hache, Helena’s nick-name, continues to bend with the wind till the frenetic climax of the final episode of the first season. If you can bear sub-titles this will bear you away from thoughts that are far harder to bear – see what I did there?

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Ghost Town – This week I fear I said goodbye to my city excursions for a while, most of my haunts being closed in any case. Whilst I was in there it was, well, deathly quiet. It seemed to me that all that was open were the two places I had to visit, a chemist and the post office. In reality I felt safer in there than any supermarket, although I must admit, even around the groceries, people seem to be getting the notion that this is serious.

We’ll wait it out, Leigh and I – careful, relatively content and positive that there’s always light amidst the gloom.

 Steve

Trailer for ‘Bad Move’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmRBwaPB0Dc

Trailer for ‘Hache’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I27cgz2p-Xo

For more on John Prine = https://www.johnprine.com/