The Daily(ish) Millbrook

The All New Millbrook Slide Show

2012-01-29T12:28:00.000Z

Take a glance to the right and you might enjoy a new set of slides from the last 6 months or so.

Some are holiday snaps, some are local, some are the people who've helped keep life interesting and fun in the Millbrooker household.

Enjoy (possibly).

Entertaining in a Building Site

2012-01-29T12:21:00.000Z

It's not much of a secret that Mrs The Millbrooker and I live in a building site, a house in a perpetual state of Being Done Up.

Long time readers might remember that our living room was being converted into a new kitchen with the work starting early last spring. For many reasons, not least the very sad demise of Graham our builder halfway through the works, work is still ongoing.

The new (Georgian sash) front window is in and we're awaiting some custom made shutters. The plastering is done. And the floors are half done - sanding and varnishing still to do.

So - how to entertain in such a space?

Well, we managed something of a Heath Robinson affair last night for a meal with Grandma-Dong-the-Legend (don't ask) and Shazzerooneypoos.

Hmm - a nicely set up dining table amid the plaster-pink walls. But wait - what sort of a dining table has legs like that?

Yep, a plastic patio table hauled in to do service until we have something a little more solid available.

And, what a nice little side table for the wine rack - sitting in the soon-to-be-filled-with-range-cooker chimney breast niche. . .

. . .or perhaps it's just a pile of coloured ceramic tiles plonked there out of the way until it's time to stick them to worktops and use them as splashbacks. Ah yes, so it is.

One day - perhaps even one day this year - we'll be able to entertain in the same space but with proper furniture and some paint on the walls. That'd be nice.

Strawbs Alert

2012-01-27T10:00:00.001Z

A treat for those of us of a certain age and a certain musical taste.

Mrs The Millbrooker and I have already got tickets (as have Dong, Shazzerooneypoos and Slocombe) and I recommend that anyone stumbling across this post gets onto the Hall for Cornwall website with unseemly haste to secure themselves a set of entry vouchers as well.

Ladies and germs - the legendary Strawbs will be playing in Truro on 06th June this year. Good seats are still available as I write, but I wouldn't bet on things staying that way for long.

It's an almost reasonable £18.50-£20.50 a ticket (plus the Hall for Cornwall's fees of £1.50 per ticket and £1.50 per transaction - a bit naughty, that, I reckon, but that's how it is).

For anyone who doesn't know (or remember) the band in its heyday, here's The Hangman and the Papist from Top of the Pops in 1971. Oh yes, this sort of thing used to get well into the charts I'll have you know. Sadly Rick Wakeman (on keyboards in this video) isn't with the band now, having long ago established his career as a solo artist and on-off member of Yes.

Film Club Presents

2012-01-27T09:30:00.001Z

After last week's rather excellent Mammuth (opinions did differ, I should say) we're staying in France for this week's presentation.

We are, however, heading back in time a little.

This week at the usual time and in the usual place (we're moving back upstairs the week after) we have Henri-Goerges Clouzot's 1955 film noir/horror/thriller Les Diaboliques.

An interesting factette shamelessly nicked from the invaluable IMdb website:

"The film is based on [the] novel 'Celle qui n'etait plus' (She Who Was no More). Alfred Hitchcock also attempted to buy the rights to this novel; Boileau and Narceiac (the novel's authors) subsequently wrote 'D'Entre le Morts' (From Among the Dead) especially for Hitchcock, who filmed it as Vertigo."

Hope to see all the usual suspects on Sunday evening.

A Cousin Neil Revival

2012-01-24T10:35:00.000Z

Millbrook must brace itself for the arrival of yet another cousin of mine.

You might think that simply having a Cousin Dave would be quite enough cousin for anyone. And you might well have a point.

And yet there are, believe it or not, more of the cousinly ilk scattered around the locale (and some a tad further flung). Cousin Dave has a brace of brothers, one currently dwelling in St Budeaux who spends his days pottering around the Land Registry; one who lives near Scunthorpe who spends his days looking at womanly parts that one isn't supposed to look at unless you're a gynaecologist. Which he is, so that's alright then.

And then my dad's other brother begat Cousin Lynn and Cousin Neil. And it's Cousin Neil who is coming to see us along with his lovely partner Mim.

This is Cousin Neil partaking of a red tinged and highly favoured family pastime. You might also like to note the half of an Uncle Arthur (Cousin Neil's old man) on the left of the shot.

We've been on the low-level Christmas-card-each-year sort of terms with Neil and Mim for some years; you know how life has a habit of being in the way. Too many things to do, too little time to spend gassing and drinking beer.

Cousin Neil decided after the most recent round of Christmas cards that it was high time to re-establish contact at a much better level than a hastily scrawled note once a year.

And so we found ourselves gathered just after Christmas at everyone's favourite pub for a chinwag and catch-up; Neil, Mim and their boys were staying nearby and it seemed too good an opportunity to miss. And it was.

Which brings us to the present. Neil and Mim will be arriving at Millbrooker Towers for a night of endless gasbagging and familial silliness this Saturday.

Do try to control your excitement in the cheap seats, will you?

Hiring a Band

2012-01-22T13:06:00.000Z

Ah, the wonders of Facebook. I had little or nothing to drivel about until I came across this wonderful piece which had been shared by Peter and Maurice via the Gigspanner FB page.

It was posted by Brian Heywood of the Musicians' Union, it certainly raised a smile. Methinks there's a wee grain of truth within this "letter" . . . .

. . .
"Dear Band Leader:

We look forward to your performance at our daughter's wedding. If you don't mind, we would like to request a few of our favorite songs.

Please play these during the reception:

A Keith Jarrett composition from his solo series. Please arrange it for full ensemble in the key of B but nothing in 4/4 please.

Mahavishnu Orchestra, "The Dance of Maya" and please have the guitarist play John McLaughlin's solo from the live performance Nov. 16, 1972 at Chrysler Arena. My wife and I were at that show and we liked his use of polyrhythms.

One of John Coltrane's duets with Pharaoh Sanders. Our guests love high register tenor saxes.

We thought a little Stravinsky right after the toast would be nice. So please play "The Rite of Spring." We like a tempo of about 1/4 note = 93; it would also be much more appropriate for this occasion in a slightly lower key.

Then for the candle lighting ceremony, please play Frank Zappa's "The Grand Wazoo." The original key of B flat, would be fine but my cousin Jeannie would like to sing the baritone sax solo in the key of D - she has kind of a high voice.

When my new son-in-law takes off the garter, please play just a little of Varese's "Ionization." It's such a funny piece, we think it would go down really well. Much better than "The Stripper."

And for the bride & groom's first dance, please slow things down a bit by doing Barber's "Adagio For Strings." It's so much better than "We've Only Just Begun" or the "Anniversary Waltz."

When my wife and I join in the first dance, could you segue to Thelonius Monk's "Ruby, My Dear" - it's in honor of my wife's grandmother whose name was Ruby. It would mean so much to the family. Thanks for all your help.

Depending on the outcome we'll certainly be happy to recommend your band to our friends. We'll have your cheque for the fee of £240 (minus our expenses in contacting you of £12.50) by the end of next month: we're a little short as the young lady doing the balloon arch wanted her £1,200 in advance and the DJ had to be paid his £2,500 cash up front as normal.

Our daughter assured us that your love of music was greater than your need for money, and that you would welcome the exposure you would get from playing this wedding. Before you leave, please feel free to ask the caterer for a sandwich and a soft drink. Please use the back entrance to avoid disturbing the guests.

All the best

Martin"

Goodbye Guardian We Must (Sort Of) Leave You

2012-01-19T11:50:00.000Z

I've been a Guardian reader for well over 20 years. I've heard it said that it's possible to spot a Guardian reader at a hundred paces (probably from the muesli particles stuck in their beards and the lace-up leather sandals), and perhaps I fit the stereotype. Perhaps not, I'll leave such things to you good people in the cheap seats.

I've lived through the re-formatting disturbances when the paper changed from broadsheet to "Berliner" format; I tried to leave for while but the delights of Steve Bell lured me back.

But today marks a landmark in Guardian reading within Millbrooker Towers. Today is the last day we shall have a printed copy of the left-liberal rag of choice for earnest leftists from our subscription.

The subscription ends today and we've not renewed it. That's a bit sad, I guess, but it's also part of how the world is moving on. I listened to Alan Rusbridger (Guardian editor) on the radio only yesterday describing how the paper was trying keep up with both technological and political changes - the man spoke a deal of sense.

I still get the Guardian every day, delivered to wherever I am in the world in the early hours of the morning, missing only the Steve Bell cartoon (a sad omission which I hope the powers that be will rectify soon).

Now I get the news analysis that I enjoy (or get spittingly angry at, sometimes both) on my much-loved Kindle upon which I can actually read the articles without recourse to magnifying glass and exceedingly bright lighting. Huzzah!

In case anyone was wondering about the trailer above the headline on the front page shown at the top of this posting - "Is Andy Murray ready to win Wimbledon?" - the answer then was a resounding "no". The answer is likely to remain the same for some time in my 'umble. And if he is - who cares? Let's be honest, it's only his mum who actually likes him.

Brilliant Filters

2012-01-18T10:47:00.002Z

A couple of weeks back I had to go and see some people at the Low Vision clinic in Totnes. The clinic is tucked away in the corner of a small trading estate just outside the town centre and is staffed by some very kind people indeed.

After a short wait Mrs The Millbrooker and I were shown into a room with a fellow who I'll simply call "Mr Low-Vision-Expert". Or perhaps Mr LVE for short. This is because I can't for the life of me remember his actual job title nor his name. Shameful, I know, but even I can't be perfect all the time, you know.

One of the "advantages" of being registered as severely visually impaired (the old term was "registered blind", but we're not supposed to use the B word anymore) is that you get access to people like Mr LVE who have a vast knowledge of how to make things a bit easier for VIPs like yours truly.

I came away from the clinic with three gadgets on loan to see how I get on. I have a minifier which does the opposite to a magnifier. It looks like this. . .

. . .and, for someone with a restricted field of vision like me, it "minifies" my surroundings and thus increases the field that I can see. Ingenious.

I also have, on loan, a powerful little magnifier with a bright LED light close to the lens which is great for spot-reading - bus timetables, receipts and the like.

Best of all, though, is the set of UV and blue light filters that I now sport on my physog with alarming frequency.

For years and years, I've not ventured outside without sunglasses, even on the most overcast and dull of days. This is because daylight in particular and bright light in general is very uncomfortable, occasionally even painful (this is called being "photo-sensitive", medical term fans).

These orange coloured goggles, which fit over my ordinary distance vision glasses and block every teensy ray of UV and blue light from getting anywhere near my retina, have put a stop to that. Which means that I now only need sunglasses in the brightest of conditions. So now what vision I have is enhanced by my being able to use as much available light as possible.

They might not look very cool (although they have a certain Bono-ish rock-star chic, I feel), but I just love them.

Next comes the talking watch for those low light times when I can't see even the clearest of watch faces. It's all a learning curve, and I shall learn.

A Delightful Piece of Mail

2012-01-18T10:20:00.000Z

Yesterday morning our very kind postie plopped a large envelope onto the porch floor and Mrs The Millbrooker, being first down the stairs, got to open it.

The contents raised a big smile and, I think, say a great deal more about the sender than they do about the addressees. Nonetheless, we were inordinately proud to receive a certificate from "The National Association of Quality Standards in Hospitality for England and Wales" signed by one "Archibald Taxidermy Arbuthnott".

We sincerely hope that Mr Taxidermy Arbuthnott might consider staying with us again sometime in the not too distant.

Film Club Presents

2012-01-18T09:59:00.000Z

So here we go again, the Millbrooker Towers film 2012 film season began last week with a rollicking piece of hokum from Quentin Tarantino (general verdict on Inglourious Basterds seemed to be positive).

And this coming Sunday we shall continue with another quite modern offering Gustave de Kervern and Benoit Delepine's 2010 road-movie-cum-black-comedy-cum-drama Mammuth.

And the reason, for those interested, that this particular film got onto the film club watching list was this review.

Depardieu can be a bit of an acquired taste - I've seen him in wonderful form (in Jean de Florette for example) and he's made some absolute stinkers as well. Let's hope the critics are right and that Mammuth is one of his best performances for ages - we'll find out at the usual time and in the usual place . . .

Hope to see all the usual suspects there.

South American Stories

2012-01-14T13:29:00.003Z

Well, not much of a story as such.

The latest from Jah Cousteau in Buenos Aires . . .

"One expensive watch, one expensive mp3 player and one expensive head torch stolen while I was asleep and they were right next to my head . . .yeah . . .shit."

So, allowing for annoyances like that, what on earth might have attracted a young fellow like Jah to such a place. I simply cannot fathom it. Perhaps you can . . .

. . .oops, wrong photo. I'll try again . . .

An Exciting Parcel

2012-01-14T13:09:00.001Z

It was 18 months ago, or very close to that figure, that the High Lord of Southwick encouraged my attempts at music making by sending me a wonderful present.

On Thursday of this week, I was the lucky recipient of another very exciting parcel that was heaved into Millbrooker Towers. This time it was a present to myself. I don't do this sort of thing very often, but it was a case of both lustful desire and logistical necessity.

It weighs in at around 36lb (that's just under 16.5 kilos, metric fans) and with a modicum of difficulty and no minor danger to the lumbar region, I eased it from its cardboard encasement.

Isn't she beautiful? For the nerds amongst us, she's a "Line 6 Spider IV 75 modeling amplifier". For everyone else she's a bloomin' loud bugger that makes lots and lots of wondrous noises when you plug a guitar into it.

I had great fun last night playing with the various knobs and the LCD displayed presets - making my guitar sound like David Gilmour's on Comfortably Numb was hugely amusing. Unfortunately I can't play like David Gilmour so the guitar sounded right, but the playing certainly didn't. Not to mention that I play an acoustic with a single bridge pick-up and Mr G plays a very expensive Stratocaster with umpteen pick-ups and a tremolo arm and has his sound controlled by a small army of technicians.

So why the "logistical necessity?" I hear the question being whispered from the peanut gallery.

It's because, after a gap of 17 (count 'em) years, I'm in a band again. And my debut will be in only a week and bit's time at Torpoint Council Hall (ok, it's not quite the Albert Hall, but we've all got to begin-again somewhere).

For those interested in such things the band is currently (but probably not for much longer) called the Lords of Misrule and we're aimed squarely at the ceilidh market. Anyone unsure what a ceilidh is - firstly you need to get out more often, secondly it's important to know that it's not a spectator sport, thirdly watch this video to see the Committee Band entertaining at just such an event.

'Tis no accident that I chose the Committee Band for the example - their former bassist is now with us lot and a fine musician he is too - worth the entrance money on his own, I'd say.

So if you or someone you know is thinking of holding a ceilidh, or thinks they might suffer from such an affliction, I am in the happy position of being able to recommend a fine bunch of people who will be happy to entertain you and yours in return for a very reasonable handful of your English pounds (or a small barrowful of euros).

**********

The Lords of Misrule

(name change pending - watch this space)

ceilidh band

available for weddings, bar mitzvahs, garden parties, funerals, envelope openings...

please email

oliake@hotmail.com

or leave a comment on this blog

more self-serving advertising of this nature to follow soon.

A Murmuration

2012-01-13T09:50:00.000Z

I'm indebted to Judith down in Kiwi Land for posting this, it's simply wonderful.

I can recall The Wizzers of Soz, Dozybean and Jah Cousteau many years ago returning to a holiday home we'd rented for a week in a state of high excitement having seen thousands of birds doing something like this in Brittany.

This video is truly spectacular and the two young women who made it must count themselves lucky indeed to have witnessed something quite this special.

Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

Film Club - Back at Last

2012-01-13T09:27:00.000Z

It seems like an age since film club last convened at Millbrooker Towers. All sorts of eminently sensible reasons have stopped us having the usual suspects around on a Sunday evening to watch something that's, we hope, slightly outside the norm in terms of everyone's cinematic choices.

But - film club is back this Sunday - usual time, usual place.

This week's presentation, kindly supplied in return for a portion of Millbrooker money by cinemaparadiso.co.uk, will be Quentin Tarantino's 2009 idiosyncratic take on Nazi occupied France "Inglourious Basterds".

The film received mixed reviews on release but has slowly started to gain a reputation as something of a cult classic. So, fellow film clubbers, let's find out for ourselves.

Hope to see everyone there.

The Problem Page

2012-01-10T10:54:00.000Z

I'm grateful to YarMatt for posting this on his Facebook wall. It raised a smile this morning.

J Edgar Jumps the Broomstick

2012-01-08T14:34:00.000Z

Ladies and germs, I'm delighted to be able to share a couple of photos of Dong's young lad J.Edgar as he and Catherine got hitched this weekend.

I do enjoy a good wedding. Mrs The Millbrooker and I weren't in attendance so I can't pretend to give any sort of commentary on proceedings. This, of course, means that you lot in the cheap seats will just have to make do with the photos and be duly grateful.

I'm sure everyone will join Mrs The Millbrooker and me in wishing the happy couple the very best for their future together.

Well done, J.Edgar, and well done Catherine.

Millbrook Mumming

2012-01-08T14:19:00.002Z

There's a minor argument to be had about when twelfth night actually is. Sensible people adhere to the traditionalists' view that as Christmas Eve is undeniably "first night", twelfth night must be January fifth.

Others argue that Christmas Day's evening constitutes the first night of Christmas and therefore twelfth night must be January sixth .

Wreckers Morris says - "arse to all that, we'll just make use of the nearest available Friday to either of those dates and celebrate then."

All of which brings me to the goings on at the Devon and Cornwall during the night of misrule instigated by us folk of the morris last Friday (which, as luck would have it, was the sixth - so at least one side of the minor argument must have been satisfied). So, lovers of shambolic Olde Englishe/Kernowek traditions, read on. . .

The night began with a couple of tunes, at least one of which featured the long-absent from these pages Harry "Ukulele" Barnett.

Through sheer good fortune, Harry also ended up being crowned as King of Misrule for the night by the Green Man.

Swiftly following the coronation, the mumming began as a riot of non-actors enacted utter nonsense featuring characters such as Betty Stoggs . . .

. . .and Beelzebub who battled long and hard with Meryll Sherry (any resemblance to an occasionally inebriated local MP is entirely coincidental).

Beelzebub won in the end (as he always does in mumming plays, quaint-country-custom fans) and Merryl Sherry hit the floor.

There was, of course, a doctor on hand to revive the stricken Merryl . . .

. . .using the finest medicine available over the bar.

With the mumming completed, the King and Queen of Misrule sat upon their thrones as the dancing commenced.

Almost lastly, but very far from least, everyone's favourite landlord was recognised as exactly that by the Lord of Misrule himself Wrichard Wrecker.

Russell was awarded a Wreckers Morris mug and a certificate naming the Devon and Cornwall as the provider of the best food and the warmest welcome of all the places we danced at in 2011.

At the very last, the crowns of the royal family of misrule were ceremonial burned along with the kissing bough (by now adorned with ribbon wishes from lots of people crowded around the bar).

And that, my friends, is what constitutes a twelfth night celebration in Millbrook. Whether it's the fifth or the sixth of January.

Perhaps you'd like to come along next year when something similar (but perhaps with minor tweaks) will occur once again. Huzzah!

And To You, Sis

2012-01-05T11:06:00.000Z

The Millbrooker-Sis and I have a long standing agreement about Christmas and birthday presents.

We don't do them. It's not that we don't like each other or that we're stingy. It's simply that we both have mountains of "stuff" and because we don't live in each other's pockets (Cornwall and Lincolnshire are separated by a large chunk of England) we don't necessarily know what might make an appropriate gift anyway.

This year, as the festive season approached with alarming speed, I found a parcel on the doorstep with a note attached saying something along the lines of "saw this, couldn't resist despite our 'no present' rule".

And so, to Christmas Day and the grand unwrapping ceremony.

Thank you, Sis. It will be hung alongside a photo of you performing one of your far-famed cartwheels. I think that should give the right impression.

Oh - did I mention cartwheels at all?

Exodus - Movement of Jah Cousteau

2012-01-04T12:09:00.000Z

The festive season brought both good things and sad things to the Millbrooker household. Boxing Day was one of those very-mixed-feeling days as we gathered en-famille at the Cross Keys Inn in Cawsand for lunch.

And a jolly fine lunch it was, too. It was, though, the last lunch we are going to share with Jah Cousteau for no-one knows how long.

As soon as the bill had been paid and the last dregs of ale had been drained, Mrs The Millbrooker and I had to leap into the car with young Jah and whisk him into Plymouth and the coach stop outside the Theatre Royal.

From whence he boarded the megabus to Bath to spend a couple of days with his dad.

Not before a hug with mum, mind you.

From his dad's place, Jah Cousteau set off on an odyssey that has no definite ending point.

Here's what we know - he left for Amsterdam to enjoy the New Year celebrations there. He left for Madrid the day after that and flew straight from Madrid via Rome to Buenos Aires on a one way ticket with no intention of returning permanently to the UK.

He's got enough to live frugally for a about a year before he has to find work and he'll have the company of a Spanish mate for the first eight weeks or so as they explore the length of Argentina. After that, the plan is to have no plan. Knowing Jah he'll try to long-board over the Andes.

Of course we think "good on you" and "I wish I'd done something like that when I was 23" - but saying cheerio for such an indefinite time is a hard thing to do.

I'll finish with a quote from our Christmas newsletter which we sent out with cards to people we'd not seen this year:

"[He] would rather like to find work, after his first year away, using his diving and marine conservation skills and then stay overseas, possibly permanently. We, of course, wish him well and every success – but will miss him greatly and fervently hope that his overseas adventuring will end with a permanent return to somewhere considerably closer to home than South America"

and thank heavens for Skype and Facebook!

A Listening Opportunity For All

2012-01-04T11:35:00.000Z

I've wittered on countless times on these pages about the multifarious chinwagging that Simon Pauley and I get up to on Insight Radio. And that relationship of a pair of amiable middle aged blokes gassing to each other for 10 minutes a week looks set fair to continue into the next millenium.

And now there is to be another format, and another station, in which you lucky people can listen to my honey-dripping dulcets over the airwaves.

I returned home yesterday after a day at Totnes Low Vision Clinic (more of which anon) to an answerphone message from one James Vickery. This is him, photographed in his natural habitat by the BBC Natural History Unit on safari in deepest Plymouth (not all of this statement is absolutely true):

My frequent visits to the BBC's small and airless NCA studio have attracted the attentions of the good people who dwell within the confines of The Beeb's Seymour Road studios and the young Mr V has asked if I'll go in and yap to him on air.

So, ladies and germs, if you're not otherwise occupied on this coming Tuesday at half past two in the afternoon you might like to tune into BBC Radio Devon - I'll be wittering on with James about being a VIP (visually impaired person), working for the railway, cooking and anything else that comes up.

So - that's BBC Radio Devon: online through the iPlayer at http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/console/bbc_radio_devon

at 97.5FM on your steam-driven wireless set

2:30 pm

Tuesday 10th Jan

Tis The Season

2012-01-03T16:38:00.000Z

. . .or do I mean "Twas The Season.."?

I began writing this post between Christmas and New Year, ran out of time and have now been obliged to delete the first two paragraphs as completely irrelevant to the time in which we currently exist - today being the 3rd of January. So, to continue where I left off all those days ago:

. . .a certain Millbrooker is finally returning to his sadly neglected and long un-updated blog to witter on about very little for another year or so.

What can I say about Christmas - we did pretty much what everyone else who marks the occasion did. Possibly in a different order, but much of a muchness all the same.

There was the big meal - we did it around one-ish and had a very posh version of mushrooms on toast to start, roast venison and all the trimmings for mains and traditional microwaved Sainsbury's-own-brand Christmas pud with plenty of brandy.

We also treated ourselves to a once-a-year foray into the depths of the understairs wine cellar, or wine-pile-boxes-in-a-small-cupboard to be a tad more precise, and emerged with a bottle of Chateau Meyney 2004 . . . mmmmmmm.

Presents were presented during a long-ish break between venison and puds on the grounds that everyone was already too full up to manage a few mouthfuls of brandy-fueled stodge.

I'll concentrate for the purposes of brevity on the main event of present giving between Mrs The Millbrooker and me. This will save readers the sheer boredom of hearing all about the myriad stuff that everyone in the house offered up to everyone else. All of which was, of course, gratefully and gladly received but probably doesn't make for a scintillating read. (No change there then, I hear you cry).

In a quandary (as almost every year) as to what might make a suitable gift for a wife who has everything including a handsome beast of a husband, I finally settled on taking an adventurous trek to Falmouth. Just me, you understand, to revisit a shop that we'd been in together a few weeks before and in which Mrs The Millbrooker had admired a coat; the like of which I'd not seen before nor anywhere since. She seemed very pleased. Which was (and is), of course, the point of the exercise.

And Mrs The Millbrooker (along with all the younger generation) bought me a minor miracle in technological form.

Ah yes - a Kindle.

Thanks to my rubbish eyesight I had more or less stopped reading the printed page. a joy of more years standing than should politely be remembered seemed lost forever. Now, with the adjustable font sizes and the clarity of Amazon's "E-Ink" I can read comfortably again. I'm well over half way through Wuthering Heights after only a couple of days of Kindle usage. Brilliant.

And now I'll sign off from this post by taking the opportunity to belatedly wish everyone a very Happy New Year and may 2012 bring you everything you wish. I even include the Plymouth Land Registry readers who moaned to Shazzerooneypoos about the lack of drivellings over the last few weeks. Happy New Year Land Registry Wallahs - there'll be plenty more drivelling coming up very soon!

Especially for you here's Shazzerooneypoos on new Year's Day in the rain.

New Year's Eve - The Tradition Continues

2011-12-18T10:51:00.001Z

Mrs The Millbrooker and I have been a teensy bit slow in getting the festive stuff organised this year. I glance at my watch to discover it's quarter to Christmas already and the tree isn't even up. Let alone decorated.

This also means that the annual open invitation to all and sundry to join us at Millbrooker Towers on New Year's Eve is also late.

But here it is. Indeed, this is it.

As is usual we have no plans apart from doing the crossed-arm-shaky-thing at midnight whilst singing Auld Lang Syne. Badly in all probability.

There is no guarantee that the High Lord of Southwick will play his concertina. But he might. High Lord fans will be delighted to know he is definitely going to be here with his lovely Lady Calluna.

There is no guarantee that Cousin Dave will do anything silly. But he almost undoubtedly will. And that's whether he's at Millbrooker Towers or not.

So - here's how it works for anyone who doesn't remember or hasn't ever been told.

If we have a vague idea of who you are and you know where Millbrooker Towers is we will have an open front door from 7:30 on New Year's Eve.

There is absolutely no obligation to commit to any length of stay in our company, drop in for a few minutes or stay until past the witching hour. Arrive anytime you like up to and including a whisker before midnight. We tend to start levering people toward the front path around one-ish.

If you think you might stay for more than a swift snifter, a bottle will be gratefully received. Nibbles will be laid on (not literally, you understand, that would be messy and the dry cleaning bill might be eye-watering).

We won't be remotely offended if you drop in and then decide to see in the new year at the pub or at someone else's house - we're simply "at home" and will be very pleased to enjoy your company. There might be as few as four people gathered at midnight, there might be more; in one memorable year we ran out of seats and had close to thirty comprising the mildly intoxicated choir for Rabbie Burns' classic singalong. And we're very happy either way and with any point in between.

We hope to see at least some of you in a little under a fortnight.

How To Refuse a Drink

2011-12-15T17:23:00.000Z

From today's Guardian, a small piece from the wonderful (even if he is American) Tim Dowling. In it he suggests that many people tell porkies to avoid drinking at Christmas parties. The usual one being "Not for me, thanks, I'm driving." Even though they're not and have no intention of getting behind the wheel.

Well, Mr Dowling had some other possible excuses for our delight and my two favourites need repeating.

"No thanks, I get really racist after a couple of drinks."

Yep - I know some of those.

And . . .

"Before I accept I should warn you that I brought a guitar with me."

I fear I might be that one.

Panto Frolics

2011-12-15T17:09:00.000Z

Just a quick story from my lovely actress niece Georgina.

George is currently touring the length and breadth of the the country in panto before (probably) heading back across the Atlantic to resume her acting career in the Big Apple.

So imagine the scene, panto fans, as the lovely Mary Weather encourages the audience with her line:
"Cross your fingers and wish me luck!"

To which the response from today's audience was the lone voice of a small child:
"Fuck off".

Recover from that if can, Mrs Fairy Pants.

Land Reclamation and Mr Muscles the Gardener

2011-12-12T12:20:00.002Z

A long running saga of minor territorial skulduggery was finally settled last week. Allow me to outline the story.

Part of our holiday hideaway is a small parcelle of land about 50 metres or so from the house; its essential purpose is as a veg patch. A vast majority of Breton country-cum-village dwellers have something similar and a great many of them are at least partially self-sufficient. For example, this is Jean-Luc's soon-to-be-sown veg patch (or potager to use the local parlance) on the communal land behind our pad.

And this is our wee parcelle as it appeared only last week. It's the bit to the left of the old privy.

Long running readers might recall my obit of the ever-mischievous Jean-Pierre who lived along the road from our pad. His partner, Michelle, still lives there. JP was a bit of a one for quietly moving his boundaries and enjoying the benefits of his neighbours' land. He didn't do that to us, he just offered to clear our veg patch; we accepted his offer and bought him a beer or two for his efforts.

The next couple of photos (from Sep 2005) might have been the after effects of said beers. JP was very fond of a drinkie or seven. Sadly it led to his early demise, but I still remember the old rogue with a certain fondness. JP's the one in the blue tee-shirt.

On with the narrative:

. . . potatoes began to appear on our parcelle; followed by numerous other crops over the years. Finally, this summer, we decided to reclaim our patch and after some negotiations involving the jovial mayor of Trebrivan we agreed to allow Michelle's crop of artichokes to stay until harvest time and then this autumn, we'd plant out some fruit bushes and an apple tree or something similar.

And so, I bring you some incredibly exciting photos of a muscular fellow at the peak of his fitness performing gardening tasks that display his fabulous muscle tones to the world. Do please try and control yourselves, ladies. I understand how hard you will find this, but you must show decorum.

Trebrivan's Mr Sex was not working alone, however, his lovely Mrs The Millbrooker was also doing digging and compost spreading duties in the chill December air.

And so neighbourly harmony has been restored in rural Brittany and, in a couple of seasons, we should be enjoying our very own goosegogs and black/red currants. We might even get a small crop of apples. Huzzah!

A Touch of the Bolazecs

2011-12-11T14:46:00.003Z

Bolazec is not an unfortunate condition affecting sensitive little areas of the underpant region. Now we've got that straight, I'll go into what it actually is.

Bolazec is an attractive (and very quiet) village, the centre of its own commune, on the edge of the Monts d'Arees.

It was the starting point for a rain-dodging walk in some wonderful countryside for Mrs The Millbrooker and me. We amended a mapped out circuit, cutting it short to allow for the short amount of daylight available at this time of year and the threat of stair rods hurtling down from the heavens.

But off we jolly well set, intrepid to the last and determined to enjoy the autumnal colours that Brittany was displaying so well.

As is the way of these things, the route soon left the lanes and headed down a muddy track and we eventually reached a stream with what passes for a bridge in these parts. The circuit is actually called "Les 5 Ponts" (The 5 Bridges) and this was one of them.

Yep - it's a pair of RSJs plonked over the water. Simple and effective. I thought it made crossing them look a bit like skiing but Mrs The Millbrooker said I just looked like I might be having a poo. I'm not convinced that I get the respect I deserve from my wife, you know.

Further on, Mrs The MIllbrooker spotted an old tree stump covered in wonderfully coloured fungus. I have no idea what fungus this is, but it's certainly attractive in the wild.

For a brief moment the sun shone brightly as we traipsed along a farm track and we were given some excellent autumn colours to point the cameras at.

As the route took us back in toward Bolazec, we glanced westwards to see if the sunshine would last, but threatening black stuff was racing toward us apace and we quickened our step to try and avoid a drenching.

Not before more autumnal trees were marvellously outlined in bright sunlight against the storm clouds that were about to empty their load upon us.

I reckon we deserved our supper that evening in front of the log burner. Oh yes - Camembert so ripe it was trying to escape . . . . mmmmmmmmm.

Easy Breton Birding

2011-12-11T14:17:00.000Z

And so we return from a week's stay in Trebrivan; a week in which Brittany did its thing with the weather. And it did so in ropes.

A little like the idea that it's silly to move to Cornwall for the sunshine, lovely holiday destination though our wonderful county is. We're not renowned for blazing hot days but, apart from in high summer, rather revel in the glorious Cornish mizzle and frequent high winds and the wet stuff falling from the sky.

Well, Brittany's not a lot different, it can be as sunny as you like in spring, summer, even early autumn. But it's unwise to count on it. In late autumn/early winter - anything dry is a bonus.

So a fair bit of time over the last week has been spent within the confines of Le Bout de Sac and, as is so often the case, we spent some of that time watching the local bird life from the kitchen.

Nothing particularly uncommon, but what beautiful markings.

Common sparrows enjoying some leftover baguette and checking the lie of the land from our lilac tree.

A Great Tit (don't search for that on the internet without the "safe search" setting switched on) paid us a visit and enjoyed a peck at some bread.

And his smaller cousins, the Blue Tits (well worth searching for without the safe search on, just to see what happens), arrived to see what they could find in the fir tree.

And, last but not least, our first sighting in Trebrivan of a Black Cap.

There we go - who said holidaying in Brittany wasn't exciting?

**********

all photos by me

Moon Gardening

2011-12-09T10:59:00.000Z

On a damp morning in Brittany with nothing better to do than skim through what is laughingly called "news" on my Facebook homepage . . . I'm indebted to Gruff for sharing this picture from Christel Lacroix.

Very nicely done, I thought.

Jackie Leven

2011-11-20T14:05:00.000Z

I first heard the great Jackie Leven's beautiful, mellifluous vocals sometime back in another life.

I was bumbling around in a then new record/CD shop in Bath and tried a couple of CDs that were on their listening posts. After only a few bars of listening to Jackie's Forbidden Songs of the Dying West, I was well and truly hooked and a copy was duly paid for and almost worn out on the old gramophone. I since got my mitts on three other albums, a paltry percentage of the 30-odd solo efforts that he released (Fairy Tales for Hard Men, The Argyll Cycle Vol 1 and Defending Ancient Springs - thanks for asking).

Mrs The Millbrooker and I played some of the Forbidden Songs album on our wedding day and have been known to perform an impromptu two-part harmony version of the country-tinged song Lammermuir Hills from it at pub sessions.

So Jackie's been a bit special in my life and I was very saddened to learn of his death at the very young age of 61 during the last week. I'd always harboured a hope of seeing him play - 'twas not to be, but there's always the music and that beautiful, beautiful voice.

These two songs, segued together are from that Forbidden Songs of the Dying West album, "Ancient Misty Morning and Leaves are Turning Yellow". Enjoy, and think good thoughts.

A Legendary Cornishman

2011-11-19T12:52:00.000Z

After a couple of years of really trying to play guitar properly, and with the seemingly endless patience of Mrs The Millbrooker (whose ears are frequently assaulted by bum notes and pleas for help in working out chord structures), I've reached the point of trying to actually write a song or two.

I've adapted a couple of morris tunes (look, writing my own melodies is still a bit beyond me yet), given them my own original lyrics and now perform them frequently in the comfort of the Millbrooker Towers' sitting room. One day, they'll make a public appearance - I think they're just about at the acceptable level of songwriting not to embarrass me overmuch in front of an audience.

Whilst I was walking homeward yesterday and idea popped into my head for another set of lyrics (a chorus line at least) using a very well known piece of music indeed; I would therefore like to thank that legendary Cornishman . . .

. . . Ludwig Van Beethoven for his very kind posthumous permission to use the famed theme taken from the 5th movement of the wonderful 6th symphony "The Pastoral" as the melody for the refrain of the song I'm plonking away at over this weekend. I was quite proud of myself for working out a simple chord structure to accompany the vocal taking the melody. One day I might even be a bit musical - huzzah!

I'd also like to thank the copyright rules that mean the great man's work is available without royalties.

Now - I need some verses . . . onward we go.

Look Into My Eyes - an update

2011-11-19T12:26:00.000Z

Many thanks to the senders of the kind messages and comments I received after my moderately self-pitying post of few days ago.

I'm feeling decidedly less weird about the whole thing now, but my mind keeps buzzing with one of those questions to which I'll never actually get an answer.

If I'm getting by pretty well with only 15-20% of "normal" vision (which I pride myself on), what on earth can everyone else see - don't you lot get visual information overload?

Film Club Presents...

2011-11-18T19:19:00.000Z

Here we go again - a quick reminder to film clubbers that we will be open for staring at the screen and drinking the odd glass of vino-mucho-collapso as normal this Sunday. Usual time, usual place.

This week's presentation will be Michael Radford's 1994 multi-award winning Il Postino.

Too Many Guitars?

2011-11-16T09:10:00.001Z

I'm grateful to Kit for sharing this photo on his Facebook wall.

I once, only a few months ago, mentioned to Anal that despite now owning a jolly decent Washburn and a slightly battered but much loved Ovation Celebrity alongside numerous bits of guitar related paraphernalia, I really wanted a twelve string for that bigger sound.

"And so it goes on ..." he gnomically replied, waving airily at his expansive (and expensive) selection of six and twelve string instruments hanging on the wall of his music room.

Enough explanation - here's a very useful flowchart for (almost exclusively) male guitar players everywhere. Female guitarists are far more sensible about such things, I suppose.

Look Into My Eyes

2011-11-15T19:24:00.000Z

And so another milestone gets reached. It doesn't change anything in reality - nothing about me or my condition is any different to what it was 24 hours ago.

And yet ... and yet ... somehow it feels like everything is a bit different.

This is my right eye. It's crap at anything that an eye is supposed to do. Massive distortions and a tiny field of vision.

This is my left (or what I laughingly refer to as my "good" eye).

I went to Torbay Hospital's excellent eye clinic today for a field of vision test, a fairly routine affair. I also got the standard Snellen eye chart test and a retinal scan.

I've been under the (self-diagnosed) assumption that I work on approximately 35 to 40% of a normally sighted person's vision.

I learned today that I've been wildly over-estimating what I can see in relation to what non-VIPs are able to. In fact, that makes me quite pleased with myself for managing as I do.

The consultant reckoned that the raw data gave me something like 15-20% of normal vision, strangely enough with the narrowest field of vision in my "good" eye which has moderate corrected acuity. The crappy right eye has a slightly better field although its corrected (with specs on) acuity is shot; I can manage the top - the biggest - letter on an eye test chart. Just.

All of which means that I am officially, as of today, what used to be called Registered Blind. These days it's known as being registered Severely Visually Impaired.

That's a grade up from the Partially Sighted status I've had for the last several years.

Like I said, nothing has actually changed since yesterday except for a label on my condition which means I can get a Blue Badge for parking and a few other benefit concessions; but I'm feeling quite odd about it all.

Freshly Still Fresh

2011-11-14T19:44:00.000Z

Last time I saw local boys Freshly Squeezed on stage was so long ago that Ross Toofareye was still lead singer. The current incumbent of that role, Myron, has been with them for some years now, I believe.

But last night saw the funksters doing their excellent thing at Millbrook Football Club, a relatively rare very local appearance as their renown begins to deservedly spread. As Millbrook FC is all of a five minute stroll away from Millbrook Towers (or, indeed, from just about anywhere else in Millbrook) it seemed churlish not to take advantage of the opportunity for some delicious live music.

There was support entertainment, too. We missed the first act of break dancing, but the performers further enlivened the already lively Freshly's set with some moves amongst the audience - and my goodness but they were good (young and energetic, too).

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Before the Freshly guys got onto the stage, Ross Toofareye (look, he gave himself the name - don't blame me), gave us a short set of bottleneck guitar sounds and songs. One day, with an awful lot of practice, I might be almost as good as Ross on six strings. And when I'm not, it won't be for lack of trying.

And finally, the main event hit the stage with these pages' old friend Tooty MacBadass displaying a halo around his wonderful barnet.

The Freshly people play immensely tightly with broad smiles and to an enthusiastic set of followers. My personal music collection contains absolutely none of the style that Freshly play with such verve - funk and scratching etc is simply not something I listen to; live however, and it's a genuine treat when it's played this well.

So thank you, Freshly men, for a great evenings' entertainment - I reckon I'll have to come along again. Only this time perhaps I should make it before you change singer.

As a taster - this is a short video of the band at the Volksfest with MC Vegas (AKA to Daily(ish) MIllbrook readers as Haseem the Genie in Aladdin - see slideshow top right of these pages or click the link) taking some vocals.

Film Club Presents

2011-11-11T09:43:00.000Z

After a short hiatus Film Club will reconvene this weekend, usual time and place (almost goes without saying, really).

Those very nice people at cinema paradiso have arranged to have a DVD popped through our letterbox and Mrs The Millbrooker and I will be ready to enjoy the company of all the usual suspects.

This week's presentation will be a Bosnian film (we're nothing if not cosmopolitan at Film Club) originally released in 1996, only four years after its setting during the Bosnian war. Srdjan Dragojevic's Pretty Village Pretty Flame (originally entitled Lepa Sela Lepo Gore).

I have little idea whether we'll like it or not, or even whether we'll consider it a success cinematically - but that's the point, I guess.

Interesting factette gleaned from Imdb: "For the 100 days of the shoot, the only food for the crew was frozen hamburgers prepared in a microwave." Yummy.

Hope to see all the film clubbers on Sunday.

Away to the North

2011-11-09T20:12:00.001Z

I was kidding a bit when I entitled the last posting "Away to the West". We did, indeed, travel westward - but only for a few miles.

This time, though, my description of "north" is entirely justified. We spent the weekend in the far provinces of Bath to celebrate Milly's birthday. Milly has reached the grand old age of 5 and everyone thought it would be a fine idea to get together and mark the occasion.

And so, Saturday morning saw Mrs The Millbrooker, Jah Cousteau and me clambering aboard the 1044 from Plymouth to speed along the tracks to Bath via Exeter St David's and Westbury.

Cue an excuse for a railway(ish) shot.

At Exeter, Jah Cousteau wondered what a stoneblower was ...

... "It blows stones," I knowledgeably informed him, eager to show off my expertise in all things railway.

At Westbury we had the unexpected treat of one of everyone's long-time blog favourites being in charge of our connection to Bath.

Before long we were whistling through the lands of my childhood ...

... until we reached Bath and the weekend began properly.

It was, after all, a birthday weekend so the birthday girl was suitably toasted with pink bubbly stuff. Trickers kindly volunteered to win the much coveted Unflattering Photo of the Day Award during the toasting ceremony.

That evening the diet well and truly hit the skids as we opted for a burger blow out from the rather excellent Billy's Burger Bar of Larkhall.

Mmmmm Mmmmm Mmmmmm - my arteries loved every despicable mouthful. But we were all so ready for our food that no one remembered to take any photos of us gorging on the yummy beef/boar/kangaroo (delete according to taste and which of us you think ate what) burgers and fries.

The following day brought another celebrant to the occasion as the Wizzers of Soz arrived in a similar manner to ourselves, but from Soz rather than Plymouth. I believe there might have been a bit of a do in Southampton the night before.

Yet more eating was in order and we merry-makers made our way to One Beaufort for a posh Sunday lunch with drinks kindly sponsored by Jah Cousteau.

Those of you who don't enjoy food photos, look away now. Scroll down until you see a photo of a pink looking pudding, the main narrative will restart just below there.

Mmmmm - parma ham, crevette and calamar salad starters. Delicious, albeit shockingly overpriced at £7.20 for one slice of ham, 2 (count 'em) shrimps and a handful of squid and greenery.

Mains was again very very yummy - everyone except yours truly plumped for the Sunday roast. I had grilled (very fresh) mackerel fillets with a rice/prawn thingy. At the risk of repeating myself - delicious, but a paltry portion for as close to £13 as makes no difference.

Everyone enjoyed their roasts, mind, and at a tenner each for posh-service restaurant fare it wasn't bad value. And they came with enough veg that a doggy bag was required so the Wizzers of Soz could have a veggie lunch later in the week.

And so we came to puds - and these were really, truly eye-wateringly, indefensibly expensive for what was served - at £6 a pop the best (indeed, quite decent) value was my cheese selection (the chutney was absolutely beautiful) ...

... but the sweets seemed meagre indeed at the price, albeit very attractively presented. This was Mrs The Millbrooker's panacotta pud; her feelings are much as mine - yummy - but watch that pricing policy, guys - you're overreaching your VFM.

I'll leave the gripes about the waitress who failed to bring an ordered extra portion of gravy; who also failed to bring two pints of (very nice) Chuffin' Ale from the pump and who didn't bring the dessert menu when asked (Mrs The Millbrooker went trogging off after a ten minute wait and found a another staff member who obliged).

So - there's the restaurant review - make your own choices; I've eaten at Number One Beaufort in the evening and had a wonderful, well served, good VFM (not inexpensive) meal. On the strength of this experience, though ... well it was a tad disappointing.

Not to be downhearted, though, it was Milly's birthday and, regardless of my (and others') gripes, we enjoyed ourselves chuntering away and putting the world to rights over the table as all good lunch parties should.

And then it was back to Milly and Trickers' pad ...

... and from thence back upon the iron horse to our own little corner of the world in the Rame Pensinsula.

I'm sure everyone will join me in wishing Milly the happiest of birthdays (even though it was three days ago, now - birthdays last at least a week in my book).

Away to the West

2011-11-08T08:55:00.001Z

Well, a bit to the west. The lovely wee village of Duloe to be precise, although as it was dark both when we arrived and when we left, its loveliness has to remain a distant memory from visits past.

Long standing readers might remember that Duloe is home to Rosemary. It is now also home to Jess, Rosemary's grand-daughter who is staying in Cornwall having decided to complete her education in this country of ours.

This is Jess - say "hello", everybody.

Jess is the one on the left. Also featured in the shot above are our very own Dozybean and Jah Cousteau. It might be noted that young Jess is looking particularly amused, possibly even enthralled.

This will be because her old boy Steve was also over from Canada. Steve and I share a common interest. He's infinitely better than me, but we had a good time entertaining the young folk with all sorts of tunes that might have become buttock-clenchingly familiar from over-use at occasions exactly like this one.

Ah yes, I fear that Whiskey in the Jar, Tell Me Ma and a dozen other easy-to-play sing-a-longs got an airing. Some rather more complicated stuff was tinkled from Steve's guitar and Mrs The Millbrooker was in fine voice for Let It Be. All good fun.

The sharper-eyed (and literate) amongst you will have noted Dozybean's presence, this meant that we also had the pleasure of NooNoo's company. He was fascinated by the music making, to the extent of completely ignoring it and bashing toys and games about instead. Well done him, I say.

An audience to dream of. Or something.

As we were at Rosemary's it almost goes without saying that a delicious meal was plopped in front of us and the diet was declared "off" for the evening. I've been good since, though. With the exception of another couple of familial calorific slip-ups - but that's another story.

A big thank you to Rosemary for hosting us and to everyone for putting up with a pair of middle-aged blokes making a noise from one end of the room.

Tooty MacBadass in Action

2011-11-04T19:57:00.000Z

My young friend Tooty has just released some short videos - I love 'em and hope you enjoy them too.

Young, talented, lots of hair ... I hate him, you know. I really do.

Enjoy these cool sounds as Tooty MacB lays down a baritone sax solo for his own track "Downpour".

You can find more of Tooty's wonderful work on his Vimeo page, and I suggest that you do.

The Rame Peninsula - is it the most creative place in the world? I often think it just might be.

Less of Me ... (if not for good, then for now at least)

2011-10-30T14:16:00.001Z

Although I fully intend for it to be for good, but the road to hell ... and all that.

Allow me to take you back in time to the summer, when the hedgerows were verdant and the mysterious yellow orb in the sky appeared a bit more frequently than at other times.

'Twas July of this year when Dong and Shazzerooneypoos joined Mrs The Millbrooker and me for a week of eating good things, drinking decent wine and having outings in the Breton countryside. On one of those outings a photo was taken by my ever-loving which caused a sharp intake of breath in yours truly.

Ah yes, it was a lovely day out at the Moulins de Kerouat. If you ever find yourselves in Brittany within a reasonable distance of the Monts d'Arrees, I recommend a trip to this "eco-museum" - fascinating stuff.

Anyway, we picnicked by the Breton games which are mostly there to entertain school parties and as I dug the day's sarnies from the cool bag, Mrs The Millbrooker took a snapshot. The snapshot, above, of (L-R) Shazzerooneypoos, Dong and Jabba-the Hut.

I know some of it is a trick of perspective, I also know that worse photos exist that demonstrate how fat a Millbrooker had allowed himself to become. But it was this one that made me mutter lots of stuff about "taking drastic action". In the photo above, I'm sporting what are known within Millbrooker Towers as the Shameful Shorts. This is because they are a 44 inch waist, or bleedin'-great-fat-bastard, size. And, whilst they weren't painfully tight, they weren't exactly loose either.

Well, drastic action was taken. Which is why I can use the past tense about the Shameful Shorts. After we returned to Blighty and after I'd recovered from the weeks of treatment for the iritis flare-up that I had on holiday I started calorie counting and refusing booze except at weekends.

I then started a regime of brisk walking to/from work (so that's about four and a half to five miles, four or five days a week).

I don't know exactly how heavy I was when I started the "drastic action" because our scales were bust, but I reckon I must have been knocking up pretty close to 16 stone.

I got onto the (new) scales this morning to find I'm below 14 stone for the first time in years. 13st12lb to be precise, thanks for asking, and feeling bloody good about it, too.

Still some way to go and then the challenge of being sensible and self-aware enough to keep it off, but so far I'm quite chuffed with myself.

Spot The Difference

2011-10-29T15:01:00.002+01:00

I awoke yesterday morning to hear on the radio that the directors of the FTSE100 (and other large companies) have, on average, awarded themselves 49% pay increases this year.

I have been accused of "the politics of envy" when I impotently rail against these greedy, grasping bastards. It's not the "politics of envy", it's the politics of fairness, reason and equality.

Bart Becht CEO of Reckitt Benckiser, "earned" £92,600,000 last year

Fine, pay people what they're worth - frankly no one's "work" is worth several million quid a year. And while I'm at it the idea that there is some sort of a "global market" for these "talented individuals" is a lie - one big fat lie believed only by the credulous. A lie made up by whom? No prizes for guessing it's those self same bastards who award themselves 49% pay rises plus golden goodbyes and massive pensions in the event of utter failure.

Tell them to go get a job somewhere else then - and, frankly, good farkin' riddance as the swine leave the country. I've suggested before and will suggest again that as they go we keep their passports and make damned sure they can't come back.

Justin King CEO of Sainsbury's "earned" £8,000,000 last year (a 60% increase in 12 months)

What was the % pay deal for Sainsbury's workers, I wonder?

During the same twelve months that this elite group of Tory-mates have gorged themselves stupid on the ill-gotten proceeds of their destruction of all that is decent, normal workers have been told to tighten their belts with pay freezes or below inflation rises; thousands are being thrown out of work or having their hours cut back. Many are living under "position under review" statements.

People are being made homeless because they can't pay their rent or their mortgages. Benefits for the poorest and most vulnerable are being savagely cut for no reason other than ideological zeal. An ideology which contests that anyone who isn't wealthy somehow deserves to be poor and therefore deserves to be treated harshly. Don't for a moment think it's beyond them to try and bring back some form of workhouse (job seekers on benefits forced to work on community projects for no pay other than the meagre "job seeker's allowance", anyone?).

All this while those 1% who own so much of the wealth continue to get fat and control the government and justice systems.

Any answers?

Well, there's armed revolution. Kill the bastards. And their families. Not a completely bad idea. Indeed one that, in my less rational moments of extreme anger when I hear stuff like 49% pay increases for the already fabulously rich, I often express a desire for.

Or there's removal of approval. Only government can do this one (and with City-rimming-chums like the Tories and their lapdogs in power at the moment it's not going to happen) - I've said it before and I'll say it again - we need a maximum wage to accompany the minimum that is on the statute books.

A maximum of, current thinking indicates, twenty times the national average salary. The national average is an arguable figure and can be thought of as largely meaningless in the context of regional variations: in London it's around £35000; in Birmingham in around £25000; I don't have stats for our area but my guess is it's a bit below Birmingham's figure.

Let's take the mean of London and Birmingham for the sake of argument: £30000 per year. Multiply that by 20 and you get £600,000 a year. That's an enormous salary. Want more? The second word is "off".

How to achieve a maximum wage? Tax, tax and tax again. Don't like it? The second word is .... you'll have the idea by now.

Brain drain? Nope. Only the greedy will leave; some premiershit footballers, some "masters of the universe" in the City, one or two aging rock stars. Who cares? Let 'em go. but don't forget to collect those passports on the way out.

A Thought from an Atheist for Some of Those Who Call Themselves Christian

2011-10-29T14:06:00.000+01:00

Lay not up treasures upon Earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt ...
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other; or else he will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Mammon.

Matthew 6: 19, 21, 24.

********

My apologies to the great Steve Bell for stealing his cartoon,

if only to bring it to a wider audience.

Steve Bell's works can be seen (and bought) at

http://belltoons.co.uk/

Film Club Presents

2011-10-27T12:58:00.001+01:00

It's that time of the week again when I let film clubbers know what treat/horror (delete according to taste) we have in store for them on Sunday evening.

Newly arrived on the Millbrooker Towers doormat this very morning is part one of the Apu Trilogy (each film stands alone, although the other two are on the list if we enjoy the first one) - Satyajit Ray's 1955 masterpiece of Indian cinema (no - not, definitely NOT Bollywood) Pather Panchali (Song of the Little Road).

This film has been critiqued by greater and more knowledgeable people than me (which ones haven't?); the consensus appears to be that it's an outstanding work of art in cinema.

We know only too well that such a description could mean either sheer delight or dreadful boredom (I think of Jaque Tati's last script, The Illusionist, and the interminably dull Death in Venice as polar opposites on that scale). We shall see on Sunday evening ... usual time, usual place.

All Quiet on the Blog Front

2011-10-26T11:53:00.000+01:00

I've been rather quiet the last few days (weeks?) on these pages.

Not to worry, oh faithful readers, I'm not abandoning the fine art of drivelling. It's just that I've taken up the pen and am resurrecting a project I began over a year ago.

It's being taken apart, re-written and re-assembled in a completely different way so that it starts to make some narrative sense.

All of which means that large amounts of my on-computer time is taken up with researching and writing what I now believe will finally become my next theatrical project.

With luck, I'll be able to give a debut performance in the late winter or early spring before (again, I hope) touring on-and-off throughout the summer. Everything seems to be dropping into place, I just need to complete this (umpteenth) draft of the script and persuade one or two people who have skills that I lack to come aboard and we'll be off ...

... watch this space: I'm sure there'll be lots of self-promotional blurb to try and attract as many people as possible to one performance or another.

Film Club Update

2011-10-22T13:10:00.001+01:00

Almost everything about the post immediately below is correct. One thing, however, is not.

Mrs The Millbrooker and I watched Seven Samurai last night having decided between us that a 207 minute film in Japanese might be a bit too much on a Sunday night with the mildly inebriated horde that comprises Film Club.

If any Film Clubber wants to see it, and I seriously recommend it, the DVD is available for overnight loan today or tomorrow but must be sent back on Tuesday at the latest. It's a wonderful piece of work and the "video essay" in the DVD extras, which we watched before the main feature, helped to make a lot of the action more comprehensible and enjoyable

So - we're not entirely sure what we'll be watching tomorrow night, although Tarantino has been mentioned a lot recently and there are several other potential treats in the Millbrooker Towers' DVD library.

Hope to see all the usual suspects at the usual time and in the usual place.

Film Club Presents

2011-10-20T09:05:00.001+01:00

Here we go again ... CinemaParadiso.co.uk has done its stuff and this weeks' presentation is safely harboured within Millbrooker Towers awaiting the arrival of the weekly(ish) film clubbers.

This week in the usual place and at the usual time, we'll be transported back in time and flown halfway around the world to see the film which was remade by Hollywood to become one of the best known and best loved westerns of all time.

I'm sure everyone has seen the wonderful Magnificent Seven.

I'm less certain that everyone has seen the original work from which it was more-or-less copied ...

... yes indeed, this week we get to enjoy (or otherwise) Akira Kurisowa's 1954 storytelling of the Wild East with its fighters for hire and their protection of a small peasant village: The Seven Samurai.

It's a LONG film, guys, weighing in at 207 minutes - so a prompt start will be a good thing.

Hope to see all the usual suspects on Sunday.

Jah Cousteau in his Natural Habitat

2011-10-16T15:08:00.002+01:00

So - Plymouth's large and much celebrated National Marine Aquarium. Hands up everyone who's been to have a look around. Hmmm - thought so. Not as many as there might be. This is probably because of the arse-clenchingly high entrance fee.

A few years ago, Mrs The Millbrooker and I ventured as far as the main entrance, saw the ticket prices and made our way hurriedly back over the Sutton Harbour swing bridge to the relative sanity of the Barbican, mopping our fevered brows as we went.

It's now £11.50 a head to get in for grown ups (well, adults anyway) and £7 for children (family rate 2 of each is £32). I know it's a charity not a publicly owned institution, but nonetheless that's a big wedge for a couple of hours unless marine life happens to be a true passion for you. Allow me to whisper gently, though, that I think it's a marvellous experience and if you can conjure up the readies, you'll not feel short changed by the two or three hours you'll spend inside.

So, let's put aside pecuniary worries for the moment. Mainly because our own Jah Cousteau is a staffer at the aquarium and we didn't have to pay at all to get yesterday. Huzzah! That's very good value for money in my book.

The outing began, as so many good outings do, on the Cremyll Ferry. Tamar Cruising have introduced a new service in which they graft a small dog onto your belly in order to make one's middle portion look leaner in photos; a service of which I took full advantage.

After a gentle pootle over the Hoe the aquarium hove into view.

We met Jah Cousteau at the main entrance and he gave us a quick guided walkabout before he had to head off into the backstage areas and actually do some of the things that he gets paid for. We enjoyed a fascinating wander peering into tanks and reading snippets of info about the creatures within. What wonderful shapes and colours there are under the sea. I've not seen anything like it since I was lucky enough to snorkel over the coral reefs around Zanzibar over sixteen years ago.

Needless to say (or perhaps, knowing the unbelievable denseness of the general public, essential to say) flash photos are absolutely forbidden, so all of the shots Mrs The Millbrooker and I took in the tanks are using only the available light.

I'll take the liberty of a few more - all Mrs The Millbrooker's work - before we get to the main point of our being at the aquarium, which had little to do with the fishy inhabitants of the display tanks.

Now, as I hinted above, fascinating (and possibly very tasty) though all these creatures are, we weren't there to look at them. We were there to watch Jah Cousteau perform part of his job.

At around 2pm the Eddystone tank (which is rather big by domestic aquaria standards) is the venue for a public display ...

... yes, indeed, our very own Jah's job is plunging into the chilly (12C) waters in order to (a) perform a brief diving show for the assembled gawking masses and (b) clean the tank and feed the fish. Nice work, I'd say.

This is him feeding Cornelia; she bashes a target and then gets a tasty treat. Rather Pavlovian, I guess. She's a big bugger, mind, and hits the target with a healthy wallop.

Undoubtedly less fun, but essential nonetheless, some slightly more conventional feeding.

And, after about a half an hour of playing with fishy friends, Jah Cousteau ascends to the heavens (ok, the surface) and that's the end of the public viewing of what he does for a living.

What a great time we had - I'm a convert to the aquarium, despite its steep pricing policy and it was a real buzz watching one of our own in his natural environment.

Thank you, J.C., for arranging it all for us - much appreciated.

Walking the NooNoo

2011-10-16T14:03:00.002+01:00

Young NooNoo hasn't appeared on these pages for a while. This is mostly because he's not been out to Millbrook for a similar while as the familial visits have largely been in the opposite direction with Nana Mrs The Millbrooker taking opportunities to grab a cuppa with Dozybean and her offspring whilst I'm busy counting pennies for a living.

Not all that long ago, though, we were honoured with a couple of days worth of NooNoo and his mum.

Rather than witter on at too much length about discussing beards with a three-year-old, or drinking heroic quantities of hooch with his mater, I'll stick up some photos of the mammoth trek around Millbrook Lake. A mammoth trek that Mrs The Millbrooker and I undertook with small child in tow whilst someone not unrelated to his mum slept off the aforementioned heroic quantities of hooch.

Here are Mrs The Millbrooker and NooNoo at the start of the adventure.

A little further on, NooNoo was given a quick lesson in how Dragonlord (yes, I know, but it sounds so much better than boring old "Grandad" doesn't it?) has difficulty seeing, so it's a really bad idea to be very short and run around directly in front of him.

There were, of course, some lovely autumnal views across everyone's favourite largest village in Cornwall.

And there were lots of things that a NooNoo likes to have pointed out. In this case, I think it was a little egret on the tidal creek below the dam.

As a special treat for Antipodean readers, I thought it might be nice to include a shot of Peace Cottage's garden wall mural, just to make you feel that Millbrook really is a natural home-from-home.

And finally, as all such things must come to a close, we headed homeward to rouse the sleeping maman de NooNoo and enjoy some very garlicky cauliflower cheese for dinner. Mmmmmmmm.

Film Club Presents

2011-10-15T10:16:00.000+01:00

This week's presentation, courtesy of Cinema Paradiso doing their thing by sending us something to watch is the 2003 Wolfgang Becker comedy-politico-drama Goodbye Lenin.

I quite fancied seeing it somewhere around its release date but never got around to it; wonder if that was a good or a bad thing.....we'll find out tomorrow evening.

No Title Needed

2011-10-11T19:31:00.000+01:00

*********

Nicked from a friend's Facebook page.

Disappointed

2011-10-09T12:36:00.001+01:00

At breakfast this morning I cast my eye over the Guardian's "The Guide" section as is my habit. I don't really read it, I just scan through to see if there's anything I might want to go and see in the way of entertainment that's a bit above and beyond the usual, and normally excellent, local fare.

I got very excited when I saw that the lovely Joan Baez is touring next spring and will be at Plymouth Pavilions in March.

I saw Joan perform at Glastonbury 1984 and fell just a bit in love with her. Who wouldn't?
Her clear, floating vocals; her easy charm; her undoubted commitment to progressive humanitarian politics. Did it for me. I found this photo of that very performance at ukrockfestivals.com.

So I hurried upstairs to have look at booking a couple of seats.

Not very long ago, Mrs The Millbrooker and I paid £26 each (so £52) to go and see Deep Purple. That was a bit eye watering, but we forked out. I reckoned that if Joan's concert was similarly priced, we could probably just about squeeze the money from somewhere.

The cheapest seats, right at the back from whence someone with vision like mine won't see a thing, are £32.50 a pop. The seats from which you can actually see what's going on on the stage are £39.50 each. That's £79 for the two of us to go out for a couple of hours entertainment.

Sorry, Joan, not this time. Probably not ever again. Hope the tour goes well.

Paranormal?

2011-10-08T16:51:00.001+01:00

I'm fairly sure that most readers, certainly those who log on more than once a year, will have an idea that I'm a raving atheist and deeply, deeply sceptical about all things "supernatural".

I recently saw this video, though, which is rather interesting and certainly gave me pause for thought.

The blurb goes like this....

" This a car advertisement ... when they finished filming the ad, the film editor noticed something moving along the side of the car, like a white 'ghostly' mist. They found that a person had been killed a year earlier at the same spot. Watch the front end of the car just as it clears the trees in the middle of the screen."

Slocombe's Palatial Shed

2011-10-08T16:07:00.001+01:00

It's been a while since I got the opportunity to sit in front of the steam-driven laptop and pour forth some meaningless drivel. Hence this ancient news of some of Millbrook's glitterati assembling last weekend in truly glamorous surroundings.

After one or two glasses of hooch the the film club before (now we're really stretching back into the mists of time), Slocombe invited us all to enjoy a party in his shed.

Ok - nothing ventured, and all that - "good idea" we chorused as one and the date was duly set.

Needless to say all of us (probably including Slocombe) suffered a mildly alcohol-induced memory lapse and on the morning of the appointed day, Slocombe appeared at Millbrooker Towers to see if he'd invited us. I hurriedly, and slightly shame-facedly, remembered that he had and so the arrangement was reaffirmed.

Fast-forward to that evening and the first guests (that'll be Mrs The MIllbrooker and me, then) arrived at Slocombe's Shed. And what a shed - note the original Georgian sash window salvaged from someone who thought their house would look better with plastic double glazed shite in the window aperture. Fools.

The small palace of delights at the bottom of Slocombe's garden even has its own garderobe.

Slocombe buzzed back and forth to his minor mansion at the top end of the estate making sure there were glasses and other essentials...

...but was eventually allowed to sit down and enjoy the odd sip or two of Millbrooker Towers home made hooch after Dong and Shazzerooneypoos arrived.

This made a small, but very select, gathering. Indeed it rather resembled film club. Without a film. And in a shed. In all other ways: copious quantities of toxic liquid and a generous splashing of pure hot air and lots of utter nonsense - it was pretty well identical.

Luckily there was no one in the room with a desire to be silly, or that could have spoiled the whole ambiance of the wonderful outbuilding.

I'm not sure whether to be quietly pleased with myself or slightly shamefaced; I have no memory whatever of leaving, nor of getting home, nor of getting to bed. I fear I might have made the hooch a tad too strong. Oops.

Slocombe says he's hoping to repair the shed's old chimney (part of the building used to be a wash-house) and fit a wood burner. When that job's done, I do believe that an excuse for another shed gathering will exist. Huzzah!

Thanks for having us around, Slokes. Looking forward to doing something similar again soon.

Film Club Presents

2011-10-08T15:38:00.000+01:00

In what might be the shortest announcement of a film ever on these pages - usual time usual place.......a film that needs (or should need) absolutely no introduction whatever. I'll admit that I've never seen it and think that I ought, and so it shall come to pass.

If you do want to know more about the film, the IMdb is a useful place to start looking.

Graham Dilley

2011-10-06T09:12:00.002+01:00

I awoke this morning to the news of the demise of Steve Jobs; a sad loss to his family and to those millions of Apple users.

I went to sleep last night with the news of the very premature death of the great Graham Dilley of Kent and England at the age of 52.

Dilley was an integral part of my youth as a cricket fan and who (of those who follow the beautiful game) will ever forget the wonder of the 1981 Ashes test at Headingley?

England following on and at odds of 500/1 to win against a rampant Australia. Botham and Dilley at the crease with seemingly everything lost.

Botham, of course, scored a magnificent century and the series went on to be known as Botham's Ashes - but he couldn't have done it without the tenacious, larger-than-life GRaham Dilley at the other end scoring a career best 56. The man was a bowler, not a batsman, and yet he knuckled down and did all the right things when the chips were down.

There will be many obits from people who actually knew Graham DIlley in the papers and online, many (if not all) will be of greater insight than this - but I'm saddened by the loss of a childhood (adolescence) hero. Thank you, Graham, for all the thrills.

All this is not to mention the best line on a scorecard that I can remember, is there anyone who could forget: Lillee, caught Willey, bowled Dilley?

To Portwrinkle and Back

2011-10-02T13:47:00.003+01:00

Well, the lovely sunny early autumn weather continues to warm the hearts of our cockles and those of us with a penchant for pottering off for a walk get to enjoy the afternoon heat.

So, you'll probably have guessed that this is one of those mini-travelogue posts that I stick up here from time to time as an excuse for publishing a load of photos.

Yesterday Mrs The Millbrooker and I decided to try a local route that we've not done before - not in all the ten and a bit years that we've lived in this little corner of Kernow. There is a "permissive" route from Tregantle through the MoD firing ranges that is open for public use every other weekend and on certain other days of the year; we'd never walked it, so we headed up that way to take a pootle.

The first thing we did was get the route entirely wrong and instead of following the (quite difficult to spot) South West Way signage, we followed a holidaying Brummie family downwards and ended up on Tregantle Beach.

Mrs The Millbrooker spotted the warning signs that the western end of the beach can get cut off by the incoming tide. But as we were unintentionally at sea level anyway, we decided to walk briskly in that direction and, we hoped, reach Portwrinkle before having to turn tail and try to find our originally planned route.

The tide comes in pretty quickly on Tregantle Beach, so we had one of those little adventures that we're rather fond of as we intrepidly outran it...

...and just about made it over the small rocky headland that separates Tregantle Beach from Portwrinkle without having to paddle too much.

A rather decent double espresso followed at the relatively newly opened The Gook Beach Cafe above Portwrinkle's beach, from where it's just about possible to work out which way the prevailing wind blows from.

And then it was onwards and upwards...

...along the path we'd intended to use on the way out. We took a glance back at Portwrinkle and the Whitsand Bay Hotel...

..and headed off over the golf course (the coast path runs past a couple of the course's holes).

And onwards along the unexplored-by-Millbrooker-feet permissive route toward Fort Tregantle and its firing ranges.

This another of those spots where guessing the direction of the prevailing wind is not a difficult pastime.

The route takes you past the fort itself and we got to see the building from an unfamiliar direction.

Courtesy of an information board next to the path, we got to see the fort from a even more exotic angle.

As we made our way back to where we took our initial wrong turning, the autumn sun was low in the sky over the firing range closest to the coast road to Tregonhawke and Rame.

So, ladies and germs, that concludes our little travelogue around Tregantle. What intrepid adventuring will we get up to next? I can sense your collective breath being bated as I write.....oh yes I can.

Film Club Presents

2011-09-30T09:17:00.002+01:00

So here we are again, another potential masterpiece has plopped onto the mat courtesy of Cinema Paradiso for our delight and delectation on Sunday evening.

This week's offering is a slap-bang up-to-date piece of cinema which received great reviews on its release last year. I recommend that film clubbers take a peek at this review which is the reason I stuck the film on our "to watch" list.

So, this week - usual time, usual place - we're pleased to present (in the hope that it'll be as good as the reviews and my expectations) Kelly Reichardt's Meek's Cutoff.

Hope to see all the regulars there.

*********

Just as an aside, Mrs The Millbrooker and I watched another film this week which I'd happily recommend to anyone - it's light, fun, gloriously funny and delightfully innocent. So if you're at a loose end one evening and you get the chance to see this one, I reckon you should take that chance, sit back and just enjoy....

...Son of Rambow (thanks to Jah Cousteau for lending us a copy for the evening and to his colleague who lent it to him).

Militant Luvvie Me

2011-09-28T19:06:00.002+01:00

It's hard to define "professional" in the art/creative/theatrical worlds.

I take a relatively hazy stance myself. It probably goes something like this - if your only source of income or at least 50% of your income is from your own creativity then you're probably a professional artist (of whatever persuasion).

Then there are those of us who have day jobs which generally pay the bills and allow the occasional evening out without too much wincing at the bank balance. Some of us have reached a decent standard in our chosen artistic/creative field; in my case I flatter myself that I'm not a bad actor, I'm a decent front-man and I can hold a tune when I sing.

I think it's reasonable to think of this as being, perhaps semi-professional. I'm perfectly happy to work without payment in a community project for which I can see the benefit to all and sundry. I don't however perform or otherwise work as matter of course without a few pennies being proffered and agreed upon. Before anyone says anything - the morris is my hobby and the standard of my guitar playing means I should probably pay them for having me along.

I rather liked this photo which my lovely niece (a working professional actor), Georgina posted on her Facebook wall.

I think some of us need tee-shirts with this on....

A Romanian Disappointment (Probably)

2011-09-25T17:55:00.001+01:00

I'm going to do this for little other reason than it gives me the excuse to republish a very silly photo.

Some readers will know that I occasionally like to peruse the results of the Millbrook Hit Counter, just to see how people are finding my seemingly never-ending stream of drivel.

I'm delighted to say I had a hit from Romania today from someone who searched Google images for, and I quote, "Căutaţi după". I fear the eastern European seeker after images might have suffered a grave disappointment to be treated to the delightful image of my old mate and a pair of courgette-pumpkins which I had newly plucked from the garden.

For, dear friends, those Romanian words translate (according to Mr Google) as "Anal Balls". I somehow suspect, and fervently hope, that our former Soviet bloc dwelling friend failed to get his rocks off to his search result......

Les Chevaliers Se Sont Mariés

2011-09-25T10:50:00.002+01:00

Everybody's favourite Steeleye Span and Gigspanner fiddle player had a very special day on Friday just gone.

At the grand young age of his early-to-middle sixties, our old friend Peter Knight has jumped the broomstick with his lovely partner Debs here on the Rame Peninsula before heading back homeward to their French hideaway abode.

Mrs The Millbrooker and I were very pleased to be invited to enjoy a drink or three after the formal bits had been completed and the newly-weds also kindly invited Dong and Shazzerooneypoos to the Edgcumbe Arms to represent the Millbrook glitterati.

Blog readers will, of course, know that many of the characters who keep popping up in the important stories that I like to publish to an aghast world are not known by their earthly monikers, but instead have what we refer to as "blog names". Because that's what they are.

Until this very day Debs had simply always been referred to as "Debs" - fair enough, it's what she's called. But, as these things so often happen, her blog name sprang from her own lips. From this day forward, dear brethren, our heroine of the French countryside and the English fiddle shall be known as Maurice.

I'm sure everyone will join me in wishing the happy couple of Pierre and Maurice Chevalier (work it out for yourselves) a long and happy life together. Tres bien, Pierre et Maurice, et merci pour l'invitation.

Space Junk - a point of view

2011-09-23T11:18:00.001+01:00

Sometime today, probably this evening, about 26 tons of disintegrated satellite will plummet to earth (or, more likely, ocean) as it drops out of orbit after 20 years.

This is, of course, a simple by-product of the space industry, the left-overs have to go somewhere and the nearest and easiest thing to do is to allow them to fall through the upper atmosphere where a majority of debris will burn up. The alternative, which is considerably more expensive and equally environmentally questionable, is to push it on a path away from the Earth and eventually off into deep space.

In this case, the satellite is a big bugger and the aforementioned 26 tons of metal is expected to impact somewhere, although no one is quite sure where as I write, in several pieces.

NASA says that the risk of someone (anyone) being hit is 1 in 3200, so the risk is pretty small that anyone's going to get hurt.

This just worried me a little. Not that I might get hit, nor that anyone I know is likely to get hit. What worried me is that someone, presumably several someones, inside NASA decided that this is an acceptable level of risk. It is that actual decision that concerns me.

The odds of winning the national lottery worse than 1 in 13,000,000. The odds of being hit by this lump of metal is officially 1 in 3200.

Where is the line of acceptable risk to human life? Who makes that decision?

The immediate comparison that occurs to me is the death toll on our roads. We, as a society, kill over 2000 a year in return for the freedom to use our cars and other vehicles. We, as a society, obviously consider this to be an acceptable figure. The risk to each of us of being killed on the road every time we go out is in the ball park of 1 in 27000.

As a society, we seem to accept that as a reasonable risk-to-return trade off. I offer no opinion. It's roughly democratic - if we disagreed that this risk were acceptable, we'd abandon our cars in our droves; I don't see that happening.

However, we don't have an awful lot of say in what NASA does or decides - and, yes, the UK is on the potential crash path. So somebody has sat in a boardroom in another country and decided that a risk 9 times worse than that which we face every day on the road is acceptable for us to face.

I don't consider that a decent risk-to-return trade off, and I certainly don't like the idea of any life being considered worthwhile collateral to a foreign and unaccountable organisation. I hope the "somebody" is personally financially and criminally accountable for any damage caused, or for any death or injury. I somehow doubt it, though. If that were the case, my guess is that the risk factor of 1 in 3200 would suddenly be far too high to be acceptable.

**********

photo nicked from bbc.co.uk

The America's Cup Meets Cornwall

2011-09-15T22:07:00.005+01:00

I guess that a majority of people who either don't live in the locale of Millbrook and its much larger, but infinitely less attractive neighbour Plymouth, might be unaware that the city is currently hosting one of the weeks of racing that constitutes the America's Cup World Series.

I am also assuming that most people (like me only a few weeks ago) are completely unaware that such an event even exists. Of course I'd heard of the America's Cup itself - I just didn't know that there are lots of preliminaries in which mildly mad sailing types get very wet indeed in order to gain the right to challenge for the trophy a couple of years hence.

I was on the Cremyll Ferry this evening, heading homeward after a hard day's money counting in the airless little backroom that passes for an office just off platform two. Sharing the deck space with us regular commuters was an America's Cup W.S. team. I have no idea which country/team they represented; their skipper (for want of a better word - he was older than the rest and seemed to be in some semblance of charge) had an antipodean accent, so perhaps they were the New Zealand mob...

Skipper Chris of the Cremyll Ferry turned down their "competitors' travel passes" and they duly coughed up their £1.20 each to cross to the Edgcumbe Arms.

As we approached the westward side of the river mouth and the inn came into clear view one or two of the yachties made comments about how the inn's name should be pronounced Edgcumbe Arrrrrrrms. As we moored by the slipway another commented that this pronunciation must be right as we'd just landed in Cornwall.

Afraid I couldn't resist it - using my yokelest accent I corrected him.

"Youm's bin in Kernow since youm's been on the water, buy. You's bin racin' in Kernow an'all. The water's Cornish, not English."

This is almost entirely true, fact fans - Cornwall starts at the median high water mark on the Devon side and includes almost all of Plymouth Sound except the immediate surround of Drake's Island.

I wonder if there'll be any beer soaked yachtie tales of a blind Cornishman (neither of which is strictly true of me) muttering nonsense at them......

***************

photo shamelessly half-inched from charterworld.com

Blog News and Film Club Presents

2011-09-15T19:47:00.002+01:00

To begin with, before I go into this week's presentation, regular readers might have noticed the dearth of nonsense emanating from the steam driven old jalopy of a laptop which resides at Millbrooker Towers.

As a result of moving the office from its accustomed position the main household computer, which is used almost exclusively by Mrs The Millbrooker, has temporarily lost its internet connection. This means we're sharing the normal source of the Daily(ish) Millbrook. And, truth be told, Mrs The Millbrooker uses computers for far more important things than my continual drivelling; so I get considerably less access to a keyboard and screen than usual at the moment.

Not to mention the fact that I've returned to work after two months off sick (and a bit of holiday) and have been doing day shifts, leaving very little time to proffer my opinions to an avidly attentive world.

So, there you go, that's the story.

And now - back to the original purpose of grabbing a few minutes screen time.

This Sunday in our new, and temporary, sitting room - usual time usual place - we proudly present...

... one of the most critically acclaimed films of all time (apparently): Terence Mallick's 1978 magnum opus Days of Heaven.

Hope to see the usual suspects gathered together once more.

Bodaciousness from Camel Toe

2011-09-10T16:33:00.002+01:00

The world famous (or something) Millbrook duo Camel Toe have recorded onto You Tube what they describe as "the worst thing [we] have ever done".

Readers of long(ish) memory might recall the offering from this duo entitled "Love Hurts" that I decided needed promulgating to unsuspecting blog readers. If you missed it, you can enjoy it here.

This new ditty is in an entirely different vein - it even has a tune. My goodness me, but Camel Toe are versatile.

So, ladies and germs, without more ado - two young ladies and their ode to the colossus of the silver screen that is Keanu Reeves. Take it away, girls.......

Film Club Presents

2011-09-06T09:58:00.000+01:00

Once again, those very nice people at Cinema Paradiso have arranged to have a DVD plop onto the doormat at Millbrooker Towers.

Once again, this means that I know what we're going to be showing at film club this coming weekend.

I've been waiting for this one for a long time, even going to the lengths of manipulating the list (which I don't normally do) to ensure it's been at the top for the last umpteen weeks. And finally it's arrived - I really hope it's as good as I anticipate it to be.

This Sunday, usual time and usual place, we have Sylvan Chomet's 2010 animation of the great Jaques Tati's final script: The Illusionist.

Tati was working on it when he died in 1982; it was intended as a live action film with Tati in the lead role - leaving his renowned Monsieur Hulot character behind. It's taken until now for the story to come to fruition on celluloid.

Hope to see all the usual suspects on Sunday.

Trogging and Partying. What a Weekend Volume 3.

2011-09-03T09:45:00.004+01:00

So, where was I?

Ah yes - I need to tell you all about Sunday of last weekend (only here, ladies and germs, can you "read all about it" six days after the event even though the report is newly minted).

The day began with one of those almost legendary Millbrooker Towers' breakfasts that I mentioned in the last dispatch on this subject.

One vegetarian version with Linda McCartney sausages (Anal eschews dead animals on his plate).

One carnivores' version, small portion for Sandybum.

And one carnivores' version, standard sized portion (me).

All this was not mere greed, my friends, oh no. It was necessary to fuel the planned arduous walk that we were to undertake upon the beautiful Rame Peninsula. Here's part of Whitsand Bay as we passed it by.

And this is Rame Head, just peeking above a cairn close to Penlee Battery.

En-route we saw many exciting and vaguely disturbing things.

Anal in triplicate, for example.

Or an over-excited stallion. Look, I know this is childish, but Anal and I spent ages sniggering - it's just how it is. I never claimed to be mature.

Moving swiftly on.......

After encountering a kissing gate...

...and a brief rest on a convenient seat...

...we took a short breather at Penlee Point.

We made our way homeward via the Halfway House for an all-but obligatory pint of Betty Stogs'. Then, before you could say "hairy-arsed-potty-mouthed-cantankerous-old-git", we found ourselves in fresher garb upon Shazzerooneypoos' decking for an evening of partying amongst Millbrook's glitterati.

Here we have yours truly talking utter bollocks at Patricia and Aaron who had the good grace to try and look interested.

Liability was in evidence and single handedly cornered the market in talking bollocks at Anal and Sandybum whilst simultaneously winning the much coveted Unflattering Photo of the Day Award for a record seven hundred and ninety fifth time.

Slocombe was there as well, looking remarkably like Peter Noone according to Sandybum. Although not necessarily as he was during his teen-idol years in Herman's Hermits.

Well, this is a photo of Peter Noone (who wasn't at the party) that I found courtesy of Mr Google - see if you think along the same lines as Sandybum and if you do, try greeting Slocombe with a cheery "Hello Mr Noone" next time you see him. That should confuse him.

The dreaded Guitar Moment arrived after I'd imbibed far more than I should have and consequently the entertainment was a little less tuneful and touch less steady-tempo'd than it should have been. Ah well, almost everyone else was steaming as well, so maybe they didn't notice.

Very soon after a failed blast through "No Hopers, Jokers and Rogues", not helped by not really knowing the chord sequence, Mrs The Millbrooker wisely decided it was time to take me home. And so we departed.

And that was Sunday. THanks are, of ourse due, to Shazzerooneypoos and Dong for hosting us.

I won't bother you with what happened on the Monday - it was just a "going home" day for Anal and Sandybum. I'll simply leave you with a parting shot of Anal so you all fondly hanker after the next time he and his lovely wife visit our little haven from reality. You must remember, we are very very mature and serious-minded people.

Ten Green Bottles

2011-09-02T18:43:00.002+01:00

It's been a while since Cousin Dave featured on these pages, but that's about to change.

Mrs The Millbrooker and I have just returned from a yummy lunch at Cousin Dave's house across in Jannerland and everyone's favourite warm glass artist has a brilliant new line in his ever ongoing quest to make a living from his talent and craft.

We all know that some of his work can sell for sums that certain small countries would like as their GDP. But sometimes he hits on an idea so simple, so blindingly obvious and so Cousin-Dave-like that he can produce more than one. And thus such an original work can be sold at the sort of prices you and I can manage.

Ladies and gentlemen I place before you and am able to take orders via the comment page (or email me if you know the address) the wondrous thing that is.....

Ten Green Bottles

Cousin Dave

Yep - it is, quite literally Ten Green Bottles to hang upon your wall (they come with a fastening attached to the bottle at either end) and they sell at a pifflingly tiny £20 a pop.

Not only quite a decent little joke, but it's an original David Roberts work of art in his chosen medium of glass - each piece is unique, as the bottles partially melt into flat shapes and bind together randomly in his kiln.

What a brilliant Christmas present for Mad Uncle Bertrand or Cousin Martha - go on, you know you want to......drop me a comment and I'll order one up for you once we've arranged how to pay!

Cousin Dave and Penny Potter also have a rather nice line in ceramic coasters but I haven't a photo of those, although I'm sure I can get one if anyone would like me to.

Autumn Starts to Show

2011-09-02T18:22:00.002+01:00

'Tis only September the second, but the seasons are rolling on.

After the "unsettled" August, we awoke in Millbrook this morning to a sight than can be described in more than one way.

Nicky, who Mrs the Millbrooker and I met in the village this morning, used the word "fog"; she is undoubtedly an earlier riser than we are and when she awoke it might well have been fog.

To my eyes though it was an autumn mist, rolling over Maker - I rather like the beginning of autumn: the warmth of the sun mingled with a the chill of a sea mist is a wonderful sensation.

Call me an old hippy, call me a fatalist, call me what you will - I love the changing of the seasons.

Rosie and Zoe: Great Art Close to Home

2011-09-01T13:17:00.000+01:00

As mentioned on the last posting, Mrs The Millbrooker and I had an appointment to view some local art on Saturday.

To make us sound even posher, we had an invitation to a private viewing at Kingsand Institute to the opening of the exhibition of new work "inspired by Fosse Quay" by Rosie French and Zoe Clarke.

Rosie and Zoe work separately but in close collaboration and their recent pieces mainly work in abstract drawn from their observations at Fosse Quay near to Millbrook.

This is Rosie with the largest of her works in the exhibition: Blue Shed. I loved this one and only wish I could find the purchase price somewhere in the Millbrooker Towers' coffers.

And, here's Zoe next to her largest exhibited work , the name of which escapes me but is inspired by an oil drum with deep rust marks (another piece that I loved......wistful sigh in the direction of bank account......). Zoe also exhibited some wonderful photographs.

And all this creativity in the glorious surroundings of Kingsand's landmark Institute building.

We met our artist friends on the balcony.

And, just in case the talent on show was insufficient, Zoe treated us to some delightful music alongside Terry on the guitar.

What a great example this was of the huge talent pool that we're lucky enough to enjoy here on the Rame Peninsula - we have artists like Rosie and Zoe producing outstanding and mature work, we have numerous very skilled and creative musicians, we have trained and talented actors. Why isn't this area a world famous centre for the arts?

Now, dear readers throughout the world, apart from being a Facebook friend of Zoe's I have no publishable contact details for these two artists, but should anyone wish to find out more about their work, please leave me a comment with some way of getting in touch with you and I'll happily pass it on to Rosie and/or Zoe. If you'd prefer not to have your comment actually published, just say so in its text and it won't appear on the world wide web.

Looe Dancing. Or What a Weekend Volume 2.

2011-09-01T12:17:00.001+01:00

As threatened, the story of last weekend continues herewith...

Saturday was Plymouth Morris Men's Day of Dance in Looe; luckily Anal and Sandybum enjoy a spot of morris and, indeed, came to the same event last September.

So, bright(ish) and frighteningly early (ok, around 9 o'clock) we were all at Liskeard station to catch the little train down the Looe Valley Line.

And then, just like it said on the tin, a day of dance ensued.

But this was a day of dance with a new variation - someone who had never played or danced the morris before had a tatters jacket thrust over his shoulders and a guitar plonked into his mitts. Yes, indeed, Anal (who is a far better guitarist than yours truly) made his morris-man debut on the Crab Quay at Looe Harbour.

There another highlight - a fellow who calls himself Cookie was in temporary residence at one of the harbourside shops. Cookie is the principal artist who designs cartoons on Weird Fish brand tee-shirts and sweat-shirts. He was doing a promotional offer and would design and airbrush a tee-shirt for £25. Well, £25 is harder to come by these days than it used to be, but Wrichard Wrecker (hereinafter known as Wreckerbox) and I got the go ahead from our lovely ladies (or Keepers of the Privy Purse as they like to be known)....

How cool is that? Readers might not be aware that I'm known as "Knocker" within the Wrecking community, but I am.

And then, after missing the train we were meant to be on, it was time to head homeward for a chance to see some wonderful local art works, but that will have to be a story for another time.

What A Weekend Volume 1

2011-08-31T12:57:00.002+01:00

Local readers might w ll be aware that my old mucker Anal and his ever lovely Mrs, Sandybum, have been out to play in Millbrook and its surrounds.

This accounts for the dearth of postings in recent days; Mrs The Millbrooker and I have been doing the hosting thing and having a marvellous time.

The Westbury dwellers arrived by train at more or less the same time as I was strumming away at the St John Inn with the Wreckers, so Mrs The Millbrooker picked them up from the station and brought them to the hostelry in time for some ale and a sing-song.

Frankenkeith was in evidence at the inn, partaking of his annual dose of morris and meeting Anal and Sandybum for the first time. Dong and Shazzerooneypoos also made the trip from Millbrook along the winding lane to St John for the evening of dance and merriment.

The weather in August has been officially declared by the Met Office as having been "unsettled" (thank you Eddie Mair for this momentous news on the PM programme last night).

The Met Office is not wrong. Friday saw us merry foursome taking the Cremyll Ferry to Stonehouse and then the Royal William Yard Ferry to the Barbican. Note the trendy garb being sported by assorted members of the party. This will give a clue to the meteorological conditions.

Luckily shelter was at hand almost as soon as we stepped off the boat adjacent to the far-famed Mayflower Steps.

Shelter, of course, took the form of a welcoming hostelry. In this case the legendary Dolphin Hotel (which, fact fans, is not an hotel at all - just a pub with fabulous ale-keeping values).

The equally legendary Cap'n Jasper's provided lunch. Yes, this was after an almost legendary Millbrooker Towers' breakfast - we are fatter than we should be and the diets have already started after a weekend of ludicrous intake.

Apart from another pint or two, that pretty much comprised our outing. It rained again as we took the ferry back to the Royal William Yard; but nothing was about to dampen the spirits.

Because something always happens when Anal and Sandybum come out to play. That something is a seemingly endless stream of silliness and softly spoken obscenities between Anal and me which send us into schoolboy-ish paroxysms of giggles at our own childishness.

Stay tuned for the next thrilling instalment of what a quartet of middle-aged people consisting of two relatively sensible womenfolk and a pair of creaky rock-n-roll-rebel half-centurion-adolescents get up to on a weekend.

A Surprise Through The Post: An Update

2011-08-25T13:19:00.001+01:00

Auntie Jean has been in touch and corrected a mistake I made in my post about the photo above.

It appears that the Stephen in the photo was not the murdered ancestor whom I thought he was. That was someone else, also called Stephen.

I'll let Auntie Jean tell the rest - this is the text of her email to me:

"Glad you like the photograph I sent of Aunt Bebe [my Gran was called 'Bebe' by Auntie Jean's generation] and Uncle Steve. Stephen Charles.

Thought that you should have it, I’ll turn up with another sooner or later [huzzah!]. The one that I am looking for is of your Gran dressed up in her brother’s Postman’s uniform at Freshford .

Steve died in 1957 in Aberdare. It was your great grandfather Stephen who was murdered in a street fight in the East End of London. Grandma Davis moved to Aberdare with Aunt Bebe and Bill the youngest to look after 2 miner brothers Jenkin and Charles when the shirt and glove factories failed in Somerset. She worked the Buttonholes.

Love from Auntie Jean."

Thank you, Auntie Jean.

Film Club Presents

2011-08-25T10:47:00.000+01:00

Once again a DVD is about to plop onto our doormat for the delight and delectation of film clubbers.

We've scheduled this week because of the bank holiday and Dong and Shazzerooneypoos' BBQ; so film club will be on Bank Holiday Monday evening, usual time and venue.

The feature presentation:

John Carney's 2006 romance-drama Once.

The film got some great reviews on release and stands with a healthy 8/10 viewers rating on IMDB - let's hope we like it too.

The great Windfarm Debate: An Update

2011-08-24T17:38:00.001+01:00

Surprisingly to me, my posting about the proposal for a wind farm above St John and close to Millbrook has resulted in almost entirely positive feedback.

Some perfectly reasonable opposing opinion as well, but mostly the people who've decided to respond to my stuff have said they broadly agree. All comments received on this blog can be viewed by clicking here and scrolling to the bottom of the article. There are also some positive comments on Facebook, but only signed and sealed friends can read those. Unless you're one of them, you'll just have to take my word for it.

Mrs The Millbrooker left a comment and, more importantly, this link which leads to a PDF file:

http://www.cse.org.uk/downloads/file/common_concerns_about_wind_power.pdf

So if anyone wants for information about "performance, subsidy and environmental impact", I can only suggest following the link to better data than I could hope to provide.

The Birthday Season Keeps On Going

2011-08-24T13:04:00.001+01:00

Just as we thought it might be safe to venture out without being accosted by celebrants-to-be, Mrs The Millbrooker and I were accosted by just such people. As a result we found ourselves partaking of a slightly higher than advisable quotient of libations.

On top of that, we received an invitation to join in the celebrations on the day itself. Which was yesterday. Diet be damned. Again.

So whose once a year day was being marked by a slap up curry and pint(s) night at everyone's favourite Millbrook watering hole?

Here's a clue - ok, less of a clue more of a dead giveaway:

Yes, indeed, the Leaderene has passed another year and, if my mental arithmetic is correct has reached the grand old age of seven. (I've explained this method before, so if you don't understand what on earth I'm talking about the last explanation can be found here).

I base this mental arithmetic on the fact that we were in attendance two years ago when she was five. No fooling me once I get going, you know.

It was a very classy do featuring the jewels in the crown of Millbrook society: Sharon, Sharon and Tracy (or Sharr, Shazzer and Tray as they prefer not to be called).

Also enjoying themselves in inimitable fashion were the Village Vamp (right of shot) and her apprentice the Vampette (left), seen here plotting all sorts of womanly wiles.

And here's a face not seen for a long time on these pages. Indeed, not since January has Dennis graced the Daily(ish) Millbrook - see his debut appearance here, go on you know you want to.

Mrs The Millbrooker and I had a rare old time talking nonsense with Dennis and Sharon, and this time I hadn't (and I quote myself) "sunk enough to pole axe an elephant" and what is more, Dennis is resolutely in focus. Or at least more so than last time.

Dennis might not recall this but he was brave (daft?) enough to suggest that he wasn't completely against the idea of taking up the morris - I reckon he'll look great in black and gold tatters and wielding a large stick. Should you come across Dennis in your travels be sure to encourage these thoughts; he's bound to thank you profusely for your support.

Well, I think that's probably quite enough of me wittering on about very little, so it only remains to wish the Leaderene a very happy birthday for yesterday and to say thank you for inviting us along.

Altogether now:

Happy Birthday to You

Happy Birthday, dear Leaderene

Happy Birthday to Yooooooooouu.

**********

Just an afterthought.

Is it just me or does singing "dear Leaderene" make her sound like Kim Jong Il?

Milly, Trickers and the Tale of Two Lunches.

2011-08-23T12:54:00.001+01:00

We had an unexpected almost-visit from Milly and Trickers over the weekend. I say "almost" because they'd picked up one of those two-for-one hotel deals at what used to be the Novotel in Plymouth and stayed there to explore the delights that the city named after the mouth of the River Plym has to offer.

Not as many delights on offer there as there are in our own delightful corner of the South West, of course, but people need to find these things out for themselves.

Naturally enough, we took the opportunity to get together for a couple of lunches and some pootling around.

Lunch one was in the Crown and Anchor on the Barbican. Something of a curate's egg of a meal: my "All Aboard" mixed grill was very good, but lacked the kidney advertised on the menu (photo below), Mrs The Millbrooker's goat's cheese and chorizo salad was likewise decent fare (although it's served with no carbs whatsoever leaving a vague hungry feeling even after consumption).

Milly's homemade soup with crusty roll was badly let down by the "crusty roll" being one of those par-baked things you get in a packet and which you're then supposed to bake until it's browned and crusty - only the kitchen staff had simply taken it from its packet and served it, so rather than being a crusty roll it was some baguette shaped dough.

Trickers had a similarly uncrusty and unpalatable baguette with ham. All the meals arrived at separate times, to the extent that Trickers' lunch (only a baguette and salad, remember) was served as Milly took her last mouthful of soup.

Overall, I'd find it very hard to recommend the place. Go to the Blues Bar and Grill instead, just around the corner on the other side of the harbour would be my advice.

Day two (that'll be Sunday, then) saw us meeting up with Milly and Trickers at the Royal William Yard to try the newly opened Prezzo restaurant.

Now, this was a altogether better experience: warm, friendly service greeted us and tables were quietly re-arranged when I expressed a preference for a window seat (the more light the better with my eyesight). The mixed bread for sharing as a starter was excellent value, my baked mushrooms slightly less so at over a fiver for six fungi, but they were delicious.

You'll have noticed that Dozybean also joined us, not being one to pass up on a free lunch. And who is?

Prezzo really came into its own when the mains were served - Milly's "Pollo Siciliana" looked wonderful and was pronounced delicious; Dozy's vegetarian ravioli was likewise both well presented and tasty; Mrs The Millbrooker enjoyed her variation on grilled chicken; Trickers was well pleased with his spaghetti carbonara; I, unusually for me, selected a pizza - and was very glad that I did - mmmmmm.

In terms of prices Prezzo isn't expensive; not that we could afford to eat there daily - but it's certainly competitive with any pub lunch if you're aiming for a full meal as opposed to just a sarnie. The beer's a tad steep, but the wine list is very good value for restaurant prices.

Yep - count me in as a Prezzo fan; a chain that's doing its job very well indeed if this first encounter is anything to go by.

**********

Prezzo has sample menus online here - take a peek.