A 2013 Televsion Top Ten with Phryne Rant
I couldn’t believe it! Headlines in my city’s daily! ‘Essie’s Future a Mystery!’ One of the ABC’s top rating shows set for the chop! Why? Well it seems the hipsters at Auntie have decided that they want to appeal to a younger demographic, for goodness sake! The problem? The obscenity of the median age for an ABC viewer being a truly ancient, decrepit 63 – just a smidge more past it than your humble scribe! And here I was thinking that the baby boomers were a rich source for ratings power considering their largely expanding retiree status meaning more time for watching. We also largely eschew other platforms for viewing that those young, digital savvy groovers Auntie now intends to seduce embrace. For heavens sake ABC – your affectionate appellation says it all. Stick to what you know and do so well! The Ten Network attempted to do what you now deign as necessary and look where that has gotten them! Your about to be abandoned old codgers catapulted you ahead of them, ABC!
My DLP (for this scribbling my Discerning Loving Partner) and my dear mother love ‘Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries’ – and so they should! It is patently right up their street. The fact that I am not a fan is neither here nor there – it doesn’t mean I don’t recognise it for its virtues – along with such popular staples as ‘New Tricks’, ‘Doc Martin’ and ‘Call the Midwife’. These really pull in the punters, but seemingly the punters that those who ‘know all,’ responsible for programming at our national broadcaster, appear to want to shun – end of rant.
As for my Top Ten of the best television on our small screens this year, it comes with a proviso. There is much on view free to air that, for various reasons, usually associated with interminable ads and looseness with starting times, I prefer to watch when they emerge on DVD. These include such gems as ‘Mad Men’, ‘Game of Thrones’, ‘House of Cards’, ‘Offspring’, ‘Homeland’, ‘Boardwalk Empire’ and ‘Californication’. Those listed below I watch in real time or record to hard-drive. Most of them are shared with DLP, although she tends to be more wide-ranging in her tastes and more tolerant of commercial channels than I. So in reverse order are my choices for 2013:-
10. ‘The Dr Blake Mysteries’ – proving what an under-rated talent Craig McLachlan has been all these years
9. ‘Would I Lie To You’ – the magic combination of Brydon, Mitchell and Mack almost rival Hills, Brough and Warhurst for chemistry – had me in hysterics on many an occasion
8. ‘The Agony of Life’ – such a simple but brilliant premise featuring some of the comeliest women and erudite men on our screens – and bloody funny in places
7. ‘The Time of Our Lives’ – the ABC hasn’t gone completely bonkers as have recommissioned this for 2014. It matches the quality of some of the family dramas on the commercial networks
6. ‘Keating – The Interviews’ – Australia’s last big picture PM can still talk the talk and retains his mongrel
5.’It’s A Date’ – A beautiful confection of some of our country’s most telegenic personalities with the icing of the luscious Poh in her first acting role
4. ‘House Husbands’ – Yes, I know, the storylines are twee, thin and predictable but this show is all heart. Gary Sweet can manage a full range of emotions with just a facial tic, without uttering a word
3.’ Lillehammer’- the ugliest of leading men exudes dangerous charm in this blackest of black comedies
2. ‘Redfern Now’/’Broadchurch’ – the former produced sublime performances from our leading indigenous actors to ace even the high quality of the first series. The latter was simply riveting dragging me away from Friday night footy. They both had to be included and I couldn’t split them
1. Borgen – the new benchmark for political drama world wide, with simply the best leading lady so far this century
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HMs – ‘Derek’, ‘Gourmet Farmer’, ‘Downton Abbey’, ‘The Voice’ (guilty pleasure), ‘ ‘The Last Leg‘/‘Adam Hills Tonight’
News Article on the demise of ‘Miss Fisher’ = http://www.news.com.au/entertainment/tv/miss-fishers-murder-mysteries-under-a-cloud-as-abc-tries-to-broaden-audience/story-fnk8579h-1226783914103
Canberra Views02
A Blue Room Book Review – The Cookbook Collector – Allegra Goodman
Who makes these decisions??? Who on earth in Obama’s administration would have had the ‘bright’ notion that it would be in the national interest to ‘eavesdrop’ on the personal mobile phone of the head of state of a friendly nation, in this case Germany’s Angela Merkel . Did the official responsible really presume she’d use this mode to air her country’s ‘secrets’. Did Obama okay it personally? I’d like to think not as he comes across as an eminently sensible, measured man – and he was sure quick to apologise and promise rectification. Are there still cold war warriors in the deep recesses of the Pentagon, or from wherever this was done, who would suspect that Merkel, in instructing hubby on what to pick up from the supermarket on the way home, would yield insights into the dangers lurking in the psyche of, from all appearances and actions, another thoroughly worthy statesperson? It beggars belief! Perhaps such are the insecurities of those who make these lousy decisions for the world’s sole remaining superpower that even bosom buddies are fair game. At least, though, the German matron was informed her American allies would not be so crass again. Obama would see to that.
No such language from the execrable Abbott after our country, acting way above our station as a relatively minor regional power, felt it necessary to bug the mobile phone of the leader of our nearest and extremely populous northern neighbour. Not satisfied with our infringement on Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono’s personal space, some moron felt it was in our ‘national interest’ (there’s that term again) to bug his wife’s as well. This all occurred under the shambolic auspices of Abbott’s immediate predecessor in his first term as PM. But the ‘mad monk’ seemed to agree that we are so important we have every right to piss off a neighbour we had spent decades trying to get into the good books of – let alone someone he was trying to cultivate as an ally in his war against the poor wretches who use that country as a stepping stone en route to ours in the hope of escaping certain harassment, even death, in their own. Not satisfied with the job he’d done on Indonesia, our Tony and his cohorts then turned their attention to the affairs of our number one trading partner over a matter we had no business sticking our nose into. Why should we give a rats who owns those rocks in the South China Sea! Of course East Timor is small fry, but we still felt we had to gather information from the cabinet room of one of the world’s most destitute countries so we were in more of a position to assist giant multi-national Woodside Petroleum bully then out of their Timor Sea petroleum rights for an unfair price. Of course, that too, under Downer, was in the ‘national interest’.
So what has this rant to do with Goodman’s quite engaging book? Well her tale, in part, examines the fictional personnel of those early dot com start-ups that eventually came up with the idea of giving governments the means to gather masses of digital data from ‘private’ sources. This technocretin is not exactly sure just what a ‘start-up’ is, but it seems in the early nineties any organisation with the prefix of ‘e’ or suffix of ‘com’ engendered much interest and millions of dollars on the stock market – till the ‘bubble’ burst early this century. Many involved became paper millionaires, but most went belly up soon after. These included the book’s Veritech and ISIS companies. The former was run by Emily Bach and it did not survive the ‘bubble’ bursting, but nonetheless came up with the idea for the means to reap the data off all on-line communications, with opportunities for government purchase thereof. The latter company hung in there and reaped the rewards of that idea as it just so happens its messianic CEO, Jonathan, was in a relationship with Emily. Then 9/11 happened to put paid to all his plans. I must admit that this narrative thread lost me in places, but I became enamoured of the parallel story line. It involved Emily’s sister, Jessamine (just quietly, I was also enamoured of the name), who involves herself with yet another messianic figure, this time a venerated tree-hugger. This was much to the chagrin of the man who truly loved her – her much older boss at the antiquarian book shop of her employment. This plotline is a tale of following what one’s heart desires, even though the odds are stacked agin. As a sideline George, Jessamine’s would be suitor, is angling to purchase a fantastic collection of first edition cookbooks (thus the title), currently in the care of one very odd woman.
Goodman’s novel takes a while to grab hold, but once one is in the web there’s no way out till a follow through is conducted to the very last page. I didn’t particularly care about all the nonsense with the dot coms, the book’s intrigues involving’ Jewishness’ or whether or not George wins his quest for the cookery tomes – but I found myself enthralled as to whether or not the bookseller’s quest for affection and more from his Jessamine would be successful. Was it a Hollywood ending? Well you’ll just have to find that out for yourselves, but what would one expect?
Allegra – another appellation with allure, particularly when attached to the handsome woman who appears on the dust jacket – Goodman, we are informed, is a New York Times’ best-seller. Her book’s not great literature, but it paces along at a fair clip. It is just a tad overloaded with some personnel who, really, are superfluous to needs. In an ideal world I’d investigate her other offerings, but the un-perused pile alongside my bed is not diminishing to a marked degree. There’s a way to go before I have that luxury. Those who chance by this scribbling, though, could do worse.
Ms Goodman’s web-site = http://www.allegragoodman.com/
Canberra Views01
Saving Santa? All in a Knight's Work
‘Oh no!’ cried Santa
‘This is a fine mess
What a pickle I am in
What a jam!
It’s a farrago of horrors
A terrible imbroglio!
What can I do? Oh woe is me!
Who can help me
With my conundrum?
It will soon be dawn
And no further can I proceed
Look! Look at my poor reindeer!
Look at mighty Rudolf’s
Once bright red snozzle
It has well and truly waned to puce
Blitzen’s stuffed. He’s blitzed!
Prancer has no dance
And woebegone Dancer can
Hardly raise a prance
And as for Donner and Cupid
Well they’re both entirely kaput
Comet, it seems, will never
Utter a comment again
What with his mouth so a-foaming
It’s completely apparent
they are all as spent as can be
And so will I be
And worse
If no solution can be found.
We’ve done Europe
And the two Americas
We are through with Asia
Major and Minor
Deliveries have been made
To the Pacific and Kiwiland
And Africa was a doddle
For my sleigh pulling team
But here we are
Stuck atop massive Uluru
Surrounded by all this
Horizon-less red distance
And they cannot go on
Simply cannot do it
And nor should they
But where are they?
Where can they possibly be?
With all those Aussie tots awaiting
Across the land they’ll soon awake
To find no presents (sob)
To confront empty stockings (sob)
To discover nothing under the tree (sob)
Surely those boomers are not at fault
They have never let me down afore
In all the time I have done this job
Always they are here,
Waiting on the monolith
To take the place of springless deer
My replacement team
For this final leg over Oz
My loyal six white boomers
Of whom there is no sign
So who will pull the sled till sun-up
Laden with gifts galore
For all good boys and girls?
There is but one chance. I know
Two fearless, tiny
Bravehearts. Only they
Will know what to do
They are my only hope, but
Where, oh where, is my sleighmobile?
What have I done with it?
If only I can locate it
There is still a chance for me’
And find his sleighmobile Santa did
So he placed a call to the pair
Two little mites so pure of heart
His only chance that this Christmas
Smiles will not be scarce
On the faces of Aussie kids
Down south in faraway Tassie
Two Yuletide weary Daddies
Did once more suit up
These two dynamic mini-knights
And once more they summoned
Old Whitebelly and that mighty
Flying fursty ferret steed
And with colander armour a-shining, and
With wooden sword and lance a waving,
Off flew our valiant, valiant mates
To face a suspected foe.
Those fiendish, gnarlish gnus, they knew
had been so quiet, so low profile
Of late
Could they be the cause of Santa’s crisis?
Tessa Tyger and LFM strongly
Felt that may be so.
Over Bass Strait they went
Their separate ways
One took the west coast
The other swerved towards the east
Brave, brave Bryn swooped
Across the Nullabor and on
Up to the Pilbara
And scouted around the Kimberley
Valkyrie Tyger surveyed the hazy ranges
Continuing to Mangoland and theTip
They met over Darwin, and then
South they scooted on
But alack and alas
Not a single snowy boomer
Did they espy!
Empty handed they descended
Back down to Uluru
All long faces and
Shrugging shoulders abounded, and
Of course, time stands still for
No-one, human or beast
Suddenly Tessa’s face lit up
Her febrile mind had hit on it
‘There’s one more place I know
Where they may be sought
And not too far away, we
May be okay even yet’
Up, up to a great height
Shot Santa’s minuscule trouble shooters
And from that elevated advantage
They cringed at a frightful sight
For across in the Pound –
That’s Wilpena Pound on the map
They spotted their quarry
Tethered and bound
Six white boomers were cowering, enslaved
About to be dinner for –
Well, you guessed it – a salivating
Posse of those evil creatures
Those vile, vexatious gnarlish gnus
Clutching in hooves some
Fearsome knives, to
Slice and dice our Santa’s
Formidable reserve team
Down came the courageous avian
With a flying ferret by her side
And just as those awful, awful
Putrid pestilence-ridden gnus
Were a-thinking of roo burgers
Doused in pepperberry sauce
They heard a fearful cacophony
From up above, and to flight
They did take. Off they
Scattered, into the desert
For they knew from battles past
They’d be no match gainst the
Will of Tessa Tyger Gordon
And her stout warrior pal, LFM
They unchained the boomers
Who then leapt to the skies
To save the day
For a despairing St Nick
Now he can finish his deliveries
That one and the same eve
And Christmas Downunder this day
Would go as per plan
Home flew our tired foursome
Home to bed and to dream
The dreams of all those who await
The sunrise on a special day
They’ll awake to gifts now discharged
They will awake to
Their Mummy and Daddy’s
Enduring love
We know them, these two
We know of their worth
We know the joy they give
We know they are gold
Beyond compare.
We Will Remember Them
A Blue Room Book Review – Eyrie – Tim Winton
Anson Cameron, a regular Age scribbler, obviously knows a thing or two about hangovers. He constructed a ripper column this last weekend, just as I was completing Winton’s latest. Anson reckons at his age (and Winton’s, as well as certainly mine) a heavy night on the turps is not for the faint hearted when ‘…your alimentary canal is a Babylonian reticulation, your liver has come unlaced at the seams and your brain has shrunk in your skull like a bladder in a wine cask.’ Great similes/metaphors – almost Wintonian.
Alcohol is lovely, lovely stuff – either in the form of a pale ale, a jaunty shiraz or the juice of the peat – I just adore it. There is so much delight in seeking out the next big thing in craft beer or cider, or being attracted by an artistic label on an affordable bottle of wine – to me labels are as important as the quality of the stuff inside (silly, I know). The joys of the grape and hop I can share with my son and son-in-law. They are not lushes – just genuine students of decent brews and fruits of the grape – they appreciate the finer points. I also pace myself. Four days on, three off. On ‘wet’ days I am also circumspect in intake. Although on occasions I can transform into Mr Wobbly, its been decades since I have been royally drunk out of my skull – to me there’s no fun in that any more. I don’t think I’ve been on a bender since I turned thirty half a lifetime ago!
So the sulphur-yellow hued mornings that the author’s Tom Keely confronts, day after day, are unknown to me. In any case, the cooler climes of my island would perhaps be kinder than the frying pan of a Fremantle summer. Here Keely resides in a residential tower, the Mirabel, that has seen better days. In this novel Winton does what he is great at – spitting out the adjectives that fully, exactly express the flint hard glare of such brain addled awakenings after having, yet again in Keely’s case, being written off the night before – a writing off that erases memory of large chunks of his solo debauchery, aided by copious pill taking. It is about as seedy as it can get with the novel’s opening seeing our bloated, despondent hero contemplating a large, mysterious and wet stain on his top storey living room floor. My God! What is it – is it urine? If so, whose? Surely not his own!!!
This former eco-warrior has humiliated himself on national television, bringing his world crashing down – gone are his missus, his job and his McMansion. He is at ground zero of a deep abyss, with ‘Eyrie’ charting how he climbs out – or attempts to, often one rung up followed by two down. On his way back to self respect he is abetted by a cast-out kid, the grandson of a fellow Mirabel resident, a woman who once upon a time shared a little of his past. The deeply life-scarred Gemma is a double edged sword. She gives him a tad of womanly tenderness but, just as he feels he is making progress, she drags him down into Freo’s dark underbelly – and what a shit-heap that underbelly is!
It’s not Winton’s best. It won’t measure up to the remarkable ‘Cloudstreet’ or my favourites, ‘Dirt Music’ and ‘The Riders’. As for the Miles Franklin – well in my view it is behind Flanagan’s ‘The Narrow Road To The Deep North’.At his local launch here in Hobs, Winton even seemed to concede this. It’ll be interesting how it also stacks up against Christos Tsiolkas’ and Alex Miller’s latest, which I’ve yet to read. For my money though, these four are at the apex of our literary tree, at least as far a the male of the writerly species is concerned.
Some reviewers have remarked on the ending, and sadly I concur with them. To my mind it was in the form of a literary cliché that is akin to ‘…and then I woke up and it was only a dream.’ It is a cliché that a writer of Winton’s class didn’t pull off very well either. It is almost as though he’d written the number of pages he’d set himself and decided at that point it was time to pull up stumps. I would have liked to have seen it wind down a little more. As Winton has done in the past, he has dashed readers’ hopes for his characters –otherwise, though, is Hollywood, not the real world. Winton only deals in the real world, with perhaps a little magic realism thrown in for good measure.
In the second chapter Winton let’s fly with a killer rant, through his mouthpiece Keely, railing at all that is amiss in the post-digital age – his home state’s propensity for digging itself up and rampant greed being only two of the topics. He lets out a verbal barrage of bile on bogan street life, harassing charity workers on corners, buskers, bland shopping, rat-tailed infants and the lattefication of Freo. It is a cracker – it is Hillsian in class this invective-ridden fusillade. It was my favourite bit. Perhaps it should of come further in for it was all a bit downhill after that.
Am I being too harsh? It is still a beaut read. If you want someone to go for the jugular in wordsmithery to describe the resulting impact on the human psyche of repeated nights of cellar-dwellering, then this is the book. Winton is a living national treasure and this tome does nothing to wipe any of his sheen off!
An interview with Tim Winton = http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/interview-tim-winton-20131010-2v99d.html
Misty Day
2013 – Twelve Months in the Year of Wonder Weeks
This is the time of year I look forward to immensely. Summer is here; the Yuletide season, with its attendant pleasures of family, headlined by two treasured grandchildren, is soon to arrive. And I get to think mightily on the production of my annual Top 10’s, comparing them with my daughter’s. It is indulgent I know but, despite there being so many list-haters out there, it is a highlight. Some of you are probably saying ‘Get a Life’, but I assure you, my life is pretty damn fine at the moment thank you very much – and below are some of the reasons why. Yes, it is a list – a list of what rocked my world in 2013.
Month 1 -Remarkable. That’s the only word to describe her – just remarkable. In the last couple of months of 2013 Leigh has transformed the little abode by the river. The place I love has had a spruce up. It has now non-bouncy floors; new carpets – I am desperate not to be the first person to spill something on them; freshly minted built-ins and classy new items of furniture. Leigh drew it all together in her little book of dreams and has come up trumps. Of course I would live in a mud hut with my beautiful lady if she asked, but with her make-over in upping the allure of our cottage under Dromedary, sharing it with the woman I adore is even more blissful. Leigh has had to wait such an amount of time to bring her aspirations for the place to fruition. She was set to go a while back, but incorrect advice from an organisation designed to give the opposite, as well as some unfeeling bean-counters, cost her that start. But my darling is nothing if not determined, stoic and patient. She gritted her teeth, started afresh and finally made it happen. I was so in awe that she knew how to budget for such a process, saw it all come in within her parameters and then had the good taste to make it all work visually. She innately knew what would look right. Again, in this area, I proved I didn’t have a clue. Now there are only the trimmings to go. One of the endearing features of our home is the quirkiness of its imperfections, redolent of a time when constructions were put together by rule of thumb, not the tiny by-laws of petty bureaucracy. All this presented our contracted tradespeople with some challenges. Our builder, Peter was uncomplaining, bursting with good humour and was prepared to go the extra-mile for us. Our good mate Stefan was magnificent – working his way through a pluvial day making his built-ins plumb against floors, walls and ceilings that were anything but. It was Leigh, though, who pulled it all together. It was she who toiled, toiled and then toiled some more to make it the perfect transformation. The place is now almost as remarkable as she is. Each day I count my blessings that I am fortunate enough to continue to have her in my life. And I have a new man-cave!
Month 2 -There has been a homecoming that has bought with it an immense joy to this old scribbler. My beautiful, talented daughter and my gloriously brave-hearted granddaughter have left the candy pink house up north and returned to their inner Hobs’ mint green semi-detached. Since then I have taken to going on weekly ‘adventurings’ with the beloved duo, revelling in the inquisitiveness with which Tiges explores the city – it certainly has such a ‘wow’ factor for her. After doing so there is always an extra spring in my step and zing in my heart. The little one fought so desperately to be in this world and now she sucks it in for all she is worth. My daughter, so courageously stoic during that testing time, is proving an equally capable mother and to me they are both incredible beyond words. I am so proud of them both.
Month 3 – My son has settled into a new life in the little haven of Bridport with his partner Shan. The north-eastern coastline is as stunning as any other on this island of sublime beauty, with the pair of them giving me the opportunity next year of exploring it more intimately. I was thrilled when they announced that they were off to do some adventuring of their own, with a corresponding request for me to house/pet sit for them. One of my retirement dreams was to retreat to a small Tasmanian seaside community. That didn’t happen, but the dream I am living at present more than makes up for that – but thanks to the generosity of my son and his Shan, I will have a six week taste of that in the new year. And I get to renew my acquaintance with Oscar and Leopold, as well as their new addition, Memphis. And to think of the sights they will see, the people they will meet and the stories they will tell during and after their return from a European odyssey!
Month 4 – A trip to Mangoland was rich and rewarding. Reconnecting with a dear friend; reconnecting with a dear sister and brother-in law was like having gold dust in the life blood. My sister took me to see whales and plied with with fabulous news of her offspring – moments I’ll treasure. And the sun shone – it shone and shone and shone!
Month 5 – The year provided inspirations for opinion pieces and stories a plenty. As for the latter there was a room with a view and a waitress who served me a beer; there was a competent travel agent and a Sheffield party goer – just to feature a few. Of course my blog-savvy daughter and my partner’s discerning eye have been paramount in encouraging me to keep doing something I love, something that I have no doubt will continue to add gloss to my retirement years – arranging words on paper and transcribing them into the cybersphere.
Month 6 – Again the year produced much to tantalise in fine reads, cinema experiences, hits on the small screen and sublime music – stay tuned for the Top 10s! Nothing, though, moved me more than the power of the words Richard Flanagan put together to write ‘ The Narrow Road to the True North’. It was a book that constantly took my breath away. I only wished I had read it before I shook the author’s hand at his local launch – but, then again, I probably would have done a Marieke Hardly and simply been lost for words such was the impact it had on me. It also gave me immense pleasure shaking the hand of Richard’s brother Martin, having a chat with him to boot. His writings continued to delight through 2013.
Month 7 – As did my daughter’s. No book this year – the next due out in the new one. But her bloggings, haikus, poetry and ponderings of the joys of life with the Tiges continued to delight. She wrote lovingly of our trip to Wrest Point to see two Aussie knockabout music stars sing their hearts out from the great country songbook – the highlight of the live performances I attended. Adam Hills and the RocKwiz crew also came up with rollicking great shows as well.
Month 8 – All those countless cappuccinos in watering holes all around Oz are now a thing of the past as my beautiful Leigh has inadvertently introduced me to the appeal of a flat white.
Month 9 -The user-friendly joys of digital photography have turned even me into someone who can produce images of which to be quietly proud. The one, though, in the wider family who truly has ‘the eye’ is my Leigh’s daughter’s husband. This young man is quite amazing in his many capabilities relating to manly manual skills, but his prowess, his sensitivity to capture an indelible moment is equal to any I have seen. One of his latest efforts – a set of images of his son, the Little Ford Man, exploring the marvel of a play tunnel in his local park encapsulated perfectly the thrill of discovering a new experience – just one of the many reasons we all so admire Keith, as well as being so entranced by LFM.
Month 10 – On that one day in September I was high up in the air, deliberately oblivious to the events at the ‘G. On landing I soon discovered the mighty Hawks had prevailed. The victory, hard fought and gritty against a Dockers unit not at their best (although the same could be said for Hawthorn), but scratchily persistent nonetheless, was not as emotive for me as ’08. Back then I wanted it so much for my brown and gold loving daughter, who was too young for the glory years. I like the fact that they are the only team to win premierships in each decade since the Sixties, with the hope that, with them achieving the holy grail in this one, I will be able to relax. Maybe in the new year I may be able to actually watch some of their games. If there is justice, ’14 should be the year of the Purple Haze’.
Month 11 – I yet again give thanks that Willie, Leonard, Jimmy, Guy and Archie are still with us.
Month 12 – I thank She up there for the love of a mother. I thank Her for the constancy of convivial companions through life – family, neighbours and friends. By the river this existence is so sweet. I want it to go on and on and on – thanks to the wonder that is Leigh.
The Blue Room, Riverside Drive 