The Hum in Your Head

"What is this tune? Humm ... humm..huhum..." say The Old Man.
"You mean... Humm ... humm.. huhum.. hummmhumm?"
"Yes."
"I don't know."

"HUHum..humm..humm.humm...." sing we.
"Something French?.... Something Latino?"
"Could it be Carlos Gardel?" say I, "That record what M brought back from Buenos Aires?"
"I dunno." say Old Man
" Well put it on and we can find out." says me.

So, a morning of searching high and low do ensue with me getting increasingly grumpy at The Old Man's "intuitive" record filing system. It's my precious record.... brought all the way back from Argentina by friend who be performing at that time in theatre thing in Buenos Aires. Memories of a time when friends flew all over the place and I do not live the life of a pensioner in West Cornwall. I be getting very, very upset when The Old Man finally finds the Carlos Gardel album. We do put it on and I do hum along happily.

We have both of course forgot whatever tune it be that we be humming at breakfast time.

Fledging and Flying

Rain and wind has stopped... for now. In fact the sun do shineth.
I be out in the garden cutting back the tropical jungle that is grass, "weeds" and so forth.

I hear the "si-seeing" that means baby-blue tits have fledged and parent tits are leading them around feeding them. Shaking of wings and frantic high-pitched "si-seeing".
"Aaah!" goes I looking on fondly.

But all baby birds want feeding from their parents. I am disturbed in my weeding by raucous screaming and gargling sounds. Sure enough, as I look up I see a rooklet on the telephone wire... flapping its wings and screeching at it's cool and indifferent parent. Such a ruckus that a young magpie (looks like an adult but shorter tail) hops into a nearby tree to see what on earth is goin' on. Well, Baby Magpie can talk.... nearly... I been hearing it and its parents' rough and gruff exchanges for quite a few days now... usually from opposing ends of the garden while Baby plays disobedient youngster... "No I don't want to come home... I's up here on the chimney and I like it."

My point is.... screaming flapping baby rooks be just the same as quivering sparrow chicks and blue tits. But the cute factor is perhaps missing. Whatever... all babies need food.

Dreaming the Dream

"Last night I dreamed I was in Manderley...."
What? No.
But I do wake up with a dream...
that I be in a cottage somewhere in Cornwall... small rooms... and a dinner party with Edita Grubarova as guest. She be smothered in glittering diamond necklaces and stuff but do in fact look like Lilian Gish. I have to go and fetch a doctor for her. This be a doctor who is somewhat disgraced and be regarded as a quack. When I look in again he have wired up "Grubarova/Gish" to some electrode type thingy and The Glittering One is exclaiming that she can move her fingertips again....

What can I say?
When it comes to a dream interpretation... clearly my Inner Diva be being treated by my Inner Quack.
Still, at least they are both being kept occupied for now.
Happy Dreams, my dears.

"...A Childhood Memory Crying Out..."

Mmmm. I do indeed go to St Ives yesterday. And glad to catch that exhibition and the exhibitions accompanying it at Millennium Gallery in Street-an-Pol. Even more delightful to silly old me... is to brave it into Dragon's Hoard in the same street, a tiny shop crammed with tiny things... not least lead soldiers, figures, vehicles and so on. I just can't resist acquiring these... two Land Girls and a Nurse.
Whaddya think?

And of course it must be in the air... cos today the Danny Boyle Olympic Opening Ceremony plans have been unveiled. A vision of rural Britain "...the green and pleasant land. It is something that still exists, and something that cries out to all of us like a childhood memory...." How lovely.

Oh! By the Way. God Rest Manor Garden Allotments. And those other bits of the green and pleasant land that got built over.

See? I's still grouchy.

Some Days...

... I just feel like a grouch.
And on those days maybe I don't feel like talking much....

You know you've grown old when all around you seem to be expressing views slightly to the right of Genghiz Khan. Least in my generation of anarcho-hippy oldies you do.

I'm off to see an exhibition about child soldiers.

Saturday Night Thrills: Spiral

Alors! Bonjour mes amis et les amoureux de le crime telly....
erm... in the UK. Our BBC4 viewing on Saturday nights is off to a new destination. For now we say "Adjö" to Scandi-crime and rush toot vite to Paris. Cos BBC4 is giving us a repeat of Series 2 of crime thriller "Spiral" in its usual stamina-testing (aka junkie's delight of) two hour stints, 9pm-11pm.

This does not please The Old Man who has become a sneaky fan of Scandi-thrillers but do not like the Gallic "Spiral".

"Too violent", he do say.
I do say, "Huh?"

I mean he can cope with corpses sawn in half and whatnot but not the French equivalent? Strange.
Perhaps... it be that he can cope with the Scandi Cool but not with the Gallic gesturing and shouting? Whatever.
If you have not seen this worldly French series before... filled with all too human cops, corruption on a wide scale, thrills, violence, gangs and the streets of Paris..... Give it a go.
I 'spect I'll have to ask politely for it to be recorded.... Yes I know I seen it before... but a girl can't help her addictions.

R.I.P. Ray Bradbury 1920-2012

When I be a sprout of a teenage schoolgirl... back there in the 1960s... I did buy myself a copy of Ray Bradbury's "The Day it Rained Forever", a Penguin collection of short stories.
Where would my darker imagination be without Bradbury? My psyche rattled for years with the aftermath of "Something Wicked This way Comes". Midwest America would never be the same.

I think he be such an important influence we never knew it. Bradbury wrote "Fantasy" before it became a byword for dragons, wizards, medievalism and works that stretch into at least eight titles. His imagination be prodigious.

Never mind reading his political opinions... George Dubbya be such a good thing... yada-yada.... It will only disappoint. Well me anyway. Why do so many American sci-fi writers turn out to be such raving right-wingers?

Sigh... Good-bye Ray... and thanks for all the stories.

Jelly Time

OK. For all you out there celebratin' the Diamond Jubilee... I wish you a jolly good time.
We'se not the Jubilee celebratin' type. We be elder folks and have seen some Jubilees before. But I have made a jelly with strawberries in it....

And we are taking alternative time-out from the celebrations....
with a boxed set of Lynch's "Twin Peaks".
Yes we are that old, and we be indeed "Peakies".