Gangs Of New York

For Gangs of New York I opened a bottle of Majestica Rioja. Fine wine, fine film.

Not in the same league as the same director's magisterial Goodfellas, Martin Scorsese's Gangs of New York is nonetheless quite some achievement, ripping apart the rose-tinted mythology of America's history and reassembling it as a morass of sectarian violence out of which, as if by miracle, democracy will grow. It has Daniel Day Lewis in typically supreme form and Leonardo DiCaprio matching him every step of the way in the acting stakes. Three hours near enough - time well spent. 8/10.

The Big Lebowski

I love the Coen brothers. The Groupie is less sure, so in her absence last night I watched The Big Lebowski. Very, very good, almost brilliant in fact. Jeff Bridges - brilliant. John Goodman - brilliant. The plot wanders hither and thither but it is the atmosphere of the thing that counts. Managing to be both whimsical and profane it is the work of masters of the craft. The Dude abides - watch it and you'll see that this statement matters. 8.5/10. I accompanied it with a Chilean cabernet sauvignon. Also 8.5/10. The grape abides, you might say.

Croeso Y Cymru

As I look up from my screen the picture window shows me a cloudless sky surmounting a peaceful sea. All is well at the country estate.

Rather to my own surprise I have the IPL on in the background. You will know my view on the Twenty20 form of cricket - in all its gaudy immediacy it is devouring the beautiful game that spawned it - however the stage-managed spectacle is undeniable. As I have said before, and will keep saying, pop will eat itself.

What  a fabulous few days the Groupie and I have enjoyed. Tuesday was Penrhyn Castle, a Victorian mock-Norman castle built on an unsavoury admixture of riches earned in sugar and slate mining. That's what you do when you have made your pile, indulge yourself with a huge vanity project. It is bonkers and entrancing. If you visit (which you should) and they happen to be offering tours to the usually inaccessible roof, make sure you take them up. What a spot. And now for the first time, OG treats you to a photograph taken with the Huawei phone he was given for Christmas. The tower we ascended is on the right hand extreme of the picture.

Wednesday we were at Aberffraw whence we walked westward on the coastal path. The Anglesey coast is a gift that keeps on giving. Another OG picture for you.

Yesterday we went to another architecturally barmy confection - Portmeirion. Two pictures, one of the square in the village itself and one of the beach at the extreme of the estate and which we had almost to ourselves. The picture of the village also features a guest appearance by your correspondent's left forefinger - I share this to affirm yet again my humanity.

We finished the day by watching The Lady In The Van, wherein Alan Bennett in customary fashion demonstrates his gentle, self-conscious and undemanding generosity of spirit. 7.5/10.

Returning to the IPL, I will say this, David Warner may very well be a cheating gobshite, but he is some batsman.

Endorphins Or Endocannabinoids?

So they say (on the interweb thing) the famed runner's high may not be down to the release of endorphins (as the Pig and many others have long believed) but to the smaller molecules of endocannabinoids. No matter, whatever the truth the Pig is delighted to confirm that the high still works. He took his porky self out on the streets for a three miler and now feels released from his post-Cheltenham torpor.

Big Fat Pig looking good in lycra

Just thought you'd like to know. Next time four miles.

A Bewildering Ending And A Very Good Film

The Six Nations ended with the thrilling craziness of a 38-38 draw between England and Scotland. England touched the sublime in going 31-0 head before some Scottish inspiration and English ineptitude saw the game turned on it head. That proud warrior Owen Farrell was the unlikely benefactor of the Scots - gifting a charge down try and an interception. Head-spinning stuff but uncomfortabe watching for anyone thinking of England as  a threat to win RWC 19.

Today has been illuminated by viewing Alfonso Cuaron's enthralling Roma. Beautifully shot in black and white it evokes 1970s Mexico, painting on a wide canvas without ever losing its underpinning closeness to its characters. Cuaron won the Oscar for Best Director. At moments the piece perhaps takes itself a little too seriously but this is a fine piece of cinema. 8.5/10.  

The Case For The Defence

I am not a fan of Warren Gatland as a coach but the evidence seems to suggest that I am wrong on this particular score. I have just watched the Welsh XV extinguish Ireland's slim hopes of the championship and, much more importantly for Welsh tastes I am sure, made the impending Calcutta Cup clash a competitive irrelevance.

Good luck to Wales - a Grand Slam achieved without the elegant excellence of Taulupe Faletau suggests they have finally become the sum at least of their considerable parts. Ireland, so recently the conquerors of the All Blacks have gone in the opposite direction. In their two genuinely challenging fixtures they have not laid a glove on England or Wales.

Onward to a World Cup to which Wales will bring their strange mixture of wild anticipation and morose melancholy (please don't let me hear again the pathetic lament of 'As long as we beat the English') and England will bear a press fuelled optimism and will be watched by a population which does not know its rugby arse from its rugby elbow.

Note to self - I do now understand what the fuss is about when the Welsh talk of Alun Wyn Jones. as for the title of this entry, well hats off to Shaun Edwards and the defensive machinery that locked out the Irish.

The warrior class

One Man Rescue Mission

Big Fat Pig's selfless effort to resuscitate the gaming industry was an almost unblemished success. Only four each way pick-ups spoilt a week of utter betting incompetence. I might as well have stood in the middle of Prestbury Park at the outset of proceedings and set fire to my wallet.

At one point a gift horse presented itself but unlike all my companions I was the one who had to look into its mouth, detect a non-existent flaw and back instead another loser. A horse ran called William Henry: my middle name is Henry, my brother is William, my maternal grandfather was William Henry, my paternal grandfather also had Henry as his middle name. Never mind reading the form, this was a horse the Pig had to back. Did he? Did he bollocks. It won at 25/1, enriching in the process his fellow travellers.

Despite my lack of financial acumen, the Festival was its usual uproarious and magnificent self. Next year will be more successful.

William Henry: yet another one that got away

 

Reasons To Be Cheerful

I was feeling a tad off-colour when last I wrote, but the weekend has come and the Groupie has been around to keep an eye on me and I feel a good deal better thank you.

What's the recipe today Jim? Remember that? doesn't matter. Well, first up is the Six Nations, in which Wales outlasted and outgunned the Scots. England duffed up Italy but to this jaundiced eye were clearly vulnerable on the odd occasions when asked to defend. Ireland coasted past a woeful French XV. All is nicely set-up for next Saturday when Italy and France argue over the wooden spoon, Wales will fail to complete a Grand Slam against a rejuvenated Ireland and England will scrape home against Scotland and carry off the title. Feel free to bet on it.

Talking of betting, we are now only two days away from the Cheltenham Festival. The Pig will be there on Wednesday and Thursday and glued to the screen for the first and last days. Bring it on.

I must mention the box set Groupie and Pig have just finished watching - not all at once you understand but over a couple of months. The Pig, and indeed the Groupie, were blown away by Paul Abbott's No Offence. Very,very good.

I can also (and here I spoil you I know) recommend an easily digested cinematic amuse bouche - Kenneth Branagh directs and stars in Murder on the Orient Express. 7/10.

TTFN.

It's No Wonder I'm Depressed

I use the word 'depressed' with all due caution. I am a manic depressive (I've got the pills to prove it) so I know whereof I speak. It's not really bad just at the moment but the signs are there and on this occasion it's not anything particular to me or mine, it's bloody everything else. The world is, and I've thought about this, weathering a shitstorm just at the moment. I'm not going to go ranting on again about Trump, but, really, the a man is a scar on the face of a great and important nation. And the American left is responding to him in all the wrongheaded ways so favoured by your proper leftists. Please someone, just realise that what is needed in the face of ignorant ghastliness is an outbreak of decency and humanity.

Of course the other thing it is pointless for me to bang on about is Brexit. What a complete and utter shambles. What a missed opportunity. How very British.

Knife crime - this one makes me feel like crying.

But enough. Snap out of it Dave, the happiest four days of the sporting year are almost upon us - next week is the Cheltenham Festival. To cheer myself up I have been crawling the net and getting contradictory betting advice to the point that I have now heard persuasive tips for practically every horse that will be saddled next week. No matter, BFP will venture into the betting jungle fortified by the thought that because last year was a financial disaster, this year is bound to be better. In his heart of hearts, the Pig does know that this is deeply flawed thinking. But he doesn't care.

So don't worry about the Pig. He's feeling better already. Writers write.