Are Brilliant ... Mark XXVIII

It must be my age because here I go again repeating myself. However as a small tide of wisdom laps at my weary feet, I have to concede that certain things are worth repeating, especially if they relate to sanity (mine not yours).  

My own experience of manic depression is that you are never rid of it. It lurks and some days it stands up and slaps you in the face. In my particular case it is the depressive side of the coin that has to be watched out for most often, though, just to keep my poor minders on their toes, the manic stuff comes ranting out of the shadows when you least expect it.

All of which is a way of saying that for no reason at all I found myself feeling shit this weekend. Thanks to my medical and spiritual minders (chief amongst these the Groupie) I have got much better at dealing with these incursions into my well-being. Which in turn brings me back to the subjects of this blog - most of them things I have touched on before. 

OG's precious mower

The precious petrol mower has been serviced by the estimable people at Hughie Willett Machinery. On the basis that good service should be applauded I recommend Willett - Hughie Willett . The precious mower is cutting beautifully and the act of cutting the lawn dipels depression. 

OG's precious bike

This one will not surprise you - after a moderately major crash last Summer (see blog 5 August 2024) I am at last back on the precious bike. Having head-butted the highway as part of my crash, I have done as advised and thrown out the old helmet (which bore the brunt of my arrested decent) and bought a new one. I also had the bike thoroughly gone-over by Sutton Runner and they have done a bang-up job. New brakes, cables and chain and she's running like a dream. It is good to be back in the saddle and the knee that I tried so hard to ruin in my crash, is very much better. Running will be the ultimate test. One step at a time Pig. Bike repairs at Sutton Runner 

OG's precious Jag

Last of all and the most expensive item in my holy trinity of precious objects - the Jag. I took this out for a run in the countryside yesterday. The misfire that had plagued the car for several years has been cured by the good souls at Mere Green Motors and the full thrill of motoring has been returned to me. They also service my workhorse Kia Sorento (eleven years old and seemingly bomb-proof) and I cannot recommend them too highly. In a nice old-fashioned touch they don't seem to have a website! Don't let that put you off, they are seriously good at what they do and don't overcharge. 

So, in conclusion, (not that you would) don't worry about me, I'm feeling better already.

The First Thing We Do, Let's Kill all The Lawyers

The above line in Henry VI Part II always gets a laugh, even from the affluent lawyers who make up an inevitable portion of the audience at performances of Shakespeare's lesser plays. Quite right too.

Q: Why don't man-eating sharks attack lawyers?

A: It's a matter of professional courtesy.

Q: What do you have if you have a lawyer buried up to his neck in sand?

A: Not enough sand.

Q: What do you call one hundred dead lawyers?

A: A start.  

I've heard them all before and am quite happy to join in the laughter. The lot of the lawyer is often a lucrative one (not always and not to the unworthy extent of some other professions) and, done properly it is a job that can be spiritually rewarding - yes, I do mean that. Good lawyering is important labour.

But something has happened to cast us all in an unfavourable light and that is the advancement onto the world stage of J.D.Vance, Vice President of the United States. Vance is an odious bigot and a massively educated (Yale Law School no less) lawyer. This, I'm afraid, casts a shade over all of us and we must call it out. So here is a variation on yet another of those lawyer jokes.

Q: What is the difference between lab rats and J.D. Vance?

A: You can get attached to lab rats.

 

Odeon Ynys Mon

 I am on one of my solo sorties to the island. Yesterday was a fine day. I went to C.G. Ynys Mon and spent a fruitful (well hopefully) hour sharpening (it was very blunt) my short game. As if that was not enough I wasted my money backing Perceval Legallois in the Grand National and found time to watch two very different films.

Father Brown is a 1954 piece of British whimsy capped by a superb performance from Alec Guinness in the tile role. It puts the flimsy modern television version of the tales of the priest/sleuth to shame. Somehow films of this idiom are all the better for being in black and white. A wholly worthy piece of movie-making. 70/100. 

Hang 'Em High (1968) is an altogether different kettle of fish. In fact not a kettle of fish at all, rather a plate of spaghetti americano. Hard upon the success of Sergio Leone's three Clint Eastwood westerns, America reclaimed Eastwood as its own and made this paleish imitation of a spaghetti western. Eastwood speaks more than in his seminal role(s) and the sheer visceral quality of Leone's pictures is missing. Notwithstanding this daub of filmic polish, there is enough to get your teeth into and there is, if you look hard enough, a moral speculation trying to get out. Worth a watch. 64/100.

The Quality Of Mercy

A vote of thanks to ICW who stirred me from my intellectual torpor and organised our outing to the Birmingham Rep to see The Merchant of Venice 1936 last week. I like the Rep, a theatre where you are guaranteed comfort and an unobscured view.

You don't need me to tell you that The Merchant of Venice is a troublesome text. I last reviewed it in these pages on 26 May 2011 and my re-reading of that blog confirms that I enjoyed the production at the RSC. Merchant 1936 was better - a provocative pitching of the action into the East End of 1936 with Mosley's British Union of Fascists properly excoriated. even if the climactic political message goes mildly over the top. Tracy-Ann Oberman's female Shylock is forcefully rendered and I didn't mind at all the skilful editing of Shakespeare's text. At the end you are left pondering not only the disease of intolerance but also just how many wrongs can make a right.

And how nice to be in a full auditorium.   

So It Goes

I like the concept of serendipity. Sometimes things just come together. So it goes, indeed. Which brings me neatly to the two rather excellent films I have watched this week - Kurt Vonnegut: Unstuck in Time, and Nomadland. 

The Vonnegut documentary is a labour of love by its director Robert Weide but it never descends into unthinking hagiography, rather it is born of admiration and affection for its subject. I like Vonnegut's fiction and I will read more of it, having been provoked by this documentary. You can find it on Sky Arts. I recommend it strongly. 80/100.

A wise sentiment (one of many) that I picked up from my father was his admiration for the way that America, despite its manifest faults, was so good at washing its dirty laundry in public. He first said this to me as we watched The Candidate together. I have written of that before. I mention this because as Nomadland started to unfold, I had the feeling that I was about to witness another such piece of soul-searching. In fact the movie is more subtle than that. I will let you see the film for yourself and give no spoilers. Suffice to say it evokes the unexpected warmth and humanity you find in great texts such as The Grapes of Wrath (film and novel). As for Frances McDormand in the lead role, this is a superb actress giving her best performance. A film for the age. 90/100.

Bloody Hell, I Didn't Expect That!

Well I did say that I would eat humble pie, so I am. Wales -14, England - 68. No that is not an error - 14-68.

England did get much the more of the luck that was going, but bloody hell, this was a rout. Ruthless, quick, skilful. Dewi, my acquaintance here on the Island, was quite right. After the first match of the tournament (Wales got nilled by the French) I told him I thought there were some small reasons for optimism for the Welsh. Dewi countered by saying, 'No, we're shit'. I bow to his acerbity.    

Some Old Guff

Instead of going to Cheltenham this year I was actually earning, doing a welcome and interesting bit of consultancy work. I sometimes forget how much I can enjoy being a lawyer and the great thing is that these days I get to choose the nice bits. Confidentiality and your boredom threshold means that I won't burden you with any of the details.

I kept an occasional eye on the racing without having a bet but I did hear plenty of old guff about how the Festival can regain its old lustre. Too late. You can rip-off your core customers for only so long. So yet another great sporting occasion has gone - Twickenham is these days a braying corporate disgrace and, now that Cheltenham has prostituted itself, there is very little left. Roll on the European Rugby Finals in Cardiff. Now that is fun.

I am writing this before the final round of the Six Nations kicks off. France will, barring a miracle, win the championship. Ireland will win in Italy but nothing can expunge the memory of their evisceration by France last weekend. I have a mildly dread feeling that England will struggle against Wales. This is an England team that lacks a killer instinct and (yes it's a cliche) Wales will be really up for it. For the Welsh the model of what they must do can be taken from last night's U20 international in which hwyl completely submerged England. You can catch that match on iPlayer and I recommend that you see it. It was notable for a dangerously inept refereeing performance (a performance which I must emphasise disadvantaged Wales more that it did England) and for a Welsh passion that forced the favoured English into mute mediocrity. I hope I am wrong and that I will, humble pie duly eaten, be getting back to you about a famous Scottish victory in Paris and a stout England win in Cardiff.