Ooh.

Ooh. The new Doctor Who is coming soon. Awesome. I’ve just been through all the David Tennant box sets , and they all rocked. The Blink episode was especially good, I see from the promos they’re bringing back those spooky weeping angels (and hopefully, Carey Mulligan), great too, was the episode with the French aristocrat chick through the fireplace, with the creepy clockwork guys.

I recently watched the very first four episodes ever, with William Hartnell. He was my first Doctor & I do remember watching it the very first day it screened ever. I remember lots about the initial episode, I don’t remember any the subsequent 3 involving the Doctor gifting fire to (remarkably well groomed and articulate) cavemen. But it’s surprising how much fits with the backstory that was later constructed around the character.

While Hartnell was my first, my favourite was Patrick Troughton. And those yetis.

Word from those with friends in the UK is highly favourable for Matt Smith, the new Doctor. I saw him in those Phillip Pullman adaptations that also starred Billie Piper (coincidence?), I wasn’t impressed. I’m hoping first impressions were wrong.

I presume the series’ regulars & spinoffs will continue their rotation through the plotlines: Rose Tyler, Capt Jack, Sarah-Jane, Martha & the one whose name briefly escapes me, the two survivoring members of the Torchwood team (that last miniseries with the abducted kids was brutal)... maybe even Bernard Cribbins.

I still remember him reading Paddington Bear stories on Jackanory. They should totally bring him back.

I’m sure they will. These guys are all on to a good thing. And it occurs to me that what with Torchwood and all, and all the Welsh actors in bit & guest parts throughout, and panoramic shots of metropolitan Cardiff (heh), these things are to Wales what Xena & Hercules were to New Zealand.

Torchwood is much better since they eliminated the creepier members of the team a season or so back, and got over trying to be a bisexual soft porn show on the side. Really guys, we didn’t want to even think about some of those characters having sex, let alone see it.

Fittingly, over in another timeslot, possibly on an alternate channel, either Denise van Outen, or the other one who looks very similar, but has black hair, told Capt Jack he should get back in his Tardis, as they bickered over the performance of one hapless would-be Joseph on something called Any Dream Will Do.

This show has Capt Jack, Graeme Norton, and Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber. It sounds unlikely even before you throw in the wannabee West End stars, some of whom to be charitable, are at the level of good karaoke singers. But this show is gripping, in the same way that Dancing with the Stars was.

Each week, in an act that must be right up there in the Reality TV Ritual Humiliation stakes, the loser who will not be Joseph. Ever. Has his technicolour coat removed by his remaining “brothers”, while they sing a dirgy song. It never fails to make me laugh in an uncharitable fashion. And on that, I haven’t been watching Masterchef regularly, but I caught the end of one & they have really missed an opportunity to do something similarly humiliating to their losers, like ritually stripping them of their aprons. Or something. Possibly involving paring knives.

I have no idea who will be Joseph, and neither do I care, the ride is more important than the destination. I’ve never seen any version of the show, but it strikes me if a couple of guys like Jason Donovan & Philip Schofield can make a smash hit of it, how hard could the role be? No offence to those guys, for all I know they had extensive musical stage experience.

It’s all about the destination with Antiques Roadshow though, but I don’t mean the diverse historical settings. To me, they’re just a bunch of thumb sized farm animals crudely carved from shiny rocks in a sellotape tin, which the owner’s Great-Gran used to get out for her to play with, until the guy says “Faberge”, and estimates an auction value of mortgage eliminating proportion. The money shot.

Conversely, there’s great drama to be had from an expert waxing gleefully on a priceless find, only to turn it over/open a drawer & immediately gasp, “Oh, it’s a fake. How much did you pay for it again?” Apparently they do not examine these pieces until the moment the camera rolls. Mind you, some of these “fakes” have eye-watering values too.

I love that shit. I checked out the similarly themed Cash in the Attic, but it’s drawn out & not enough Faberge farm animals turn up, and they LIE! They do not check out the attic.

And cripes, some of those collectables are heinously ugly.

I’ve dutifully tuned in to The Pacific. It hasn’t been as grisly as I expected. Not from this side of the screen. I’ve yet to see Saving Private Ryan, and I missed all but the last episodes of Band of Brothers, so I have nothing to benchmark this against. I’m real glad I wasn’t there. And where during all this, were the Solomon Islanders? Maybe we’ll find out as the series progresses.

Honourable mention now goes to the documentary about Gerry Anderson & Thunderbirds. Holy hell, Sylvia Anderson was the spitting image of Lady Penelope. Somewhere, in a box, in a cupboard at my mum’s, are highly prized Dinky models of: Lady P’s pink Roller, license plate FAB1, complete with firing missile, Penny herself, and Parker (“You wang, M’lady?”); Thunderbird 2, complete with pod bearing Thunderbird 4. One of the landing legs is broken, and it has a hand painted “Slade” emblazoned in Red Dulux paint on each side; Spectrum SPV and APV vehicles (I only remember that SPV stood for Spectrum Pursuit Vehicle), with firing missiles & Capt Scarlet; and a slightly worse for wear Beatles Yellow Submarine(no missile or torpedoes).

There once was also a James Bond Aston Martin, circa Goldfinger, with the obligatory missile, rear bullet shield, and ejector seat, complete with a little Korean ejectee. I don’t know what became of that one. Oh yeah, and a Diamonds Are Forever Moon Buggy. The memories flood back.

Any of these things would make starring appearances at any Antiques Roadshow if they hadn’t perhaps been played with (and sometimes modified) by children, and if they were still in their original packing, and indeed, still had their missiles, and Ringo Starrs. I urge parents to exercise some psychic forethought & buy two of any toy that might be remotely collectable in future, and keep one pristine and unpacked, possibly in the attic, safe from the Cash in the Attic team.

It was interesting to note that the puppets in Thunderbirds were more animate than the live actors in Anderson’s later ventures; UFO & Space 1999 (guffaw). Although UFO holds a place dear in our hearts for Gabrielle Drake, her metallic purple wig, see through futuristic “military” uniform, and pert profile in her silhouette undressing scenes.

Ooh.

Latest Pics

I'm taking a dump now...

I've succumbed to Twitter.

I'm not convinced about the twitter gadget on the sidebar though.

Right Here, Right Now.

Personally, I have no problem with the promo & song for the Rugby World Cup. But they're going to need to mix up the footage a bit if they expect us to care for more than the next week or so.

On reflection, I don't see it necessary that the song be a kiwi song, and "Loyal", while great, has done its dash in rousing the throng for a sporting event. Even if it was yachting.

How come "Business Time" wasn't a contender?

The birds, the birds...

I'm surprised at how much the local birdlife has burgeoned over the last few decades. I somewhat arrogantly presumed the birdlife preferred the city and Karori to the 'burbs. But I've nearly been floored by low flying kereru twice now, and the river birds are thriving. I've even seen pukekoes.

An interesting gate to somewhere uninteresting.

Golf is a mystery to me. The most I have done is a few buckets at a driving range. I aimed for a guy in an armoured ball collector. Still, golf courses are nice. Actually, I have a cousin who is so good, he gets to be partnered with celebs for charity golf matches in the UK.

Red Letter Day

Take note, that it was on Good Friday 2010, that I completed a Times cryptic crossword.

OK, it was yesterday's one. And there were a number of words which I had to check in a dictionary whether or not they even existed, let alone bore any relevance to the clue.

I now know that "ortulan" is some kind of bunting; an "indiaman" is a ship; "adipose" is fatty; and that a "ram" is a beak of some sort on a boat.

Respectively, the clues were:

• Bunting taken from door to landing
• Vessel a serving girl carried back into pub
• Fatty is a dope, unfortunately
• Beak given the staff required to press charges.

The whole answer to that last one is "ramrod". I tricked myself by having "reason" and then "ration" in there for quite some time.

• Infuriating, like Gray's crowd concealling directions

This took me quite some time and wikipedia to rationalise, the answer is "maddening", I long suspected it was, but who knew that Thomas Hardy was quoting Thomas Gray? Not me.

Oh, and I still have no idea why

• Expand home, adding fifth apartment

is "inflate", neither do I care, it just is.

Anyway, my work here is done.

And Yesterday...

For a change of pace, I attended a memorial service for someone who died far from home, peacefully in his sleep, after enjoying a fantastic evening with friends.

I have known the family since I was 14 or so. I was at college with the deceased's brother, whom I flatted with for years. We were best men at each others' weddings. Their mother was our English teacher, and she took the opportunity to apologise for us having to read the Grapes of Wrath. We reminisced about the class where no-one had read the last chapter, and one chap, with a stated plan of George Costanza-like ingenuity, decided bravado, and having his moment in the spotlight early, was the best strategy to avoid detection, bluffed that he had by volunteering an answer at the earliest opportunity.

Instead of moving quickly onto the next student, our teacher pressed him to expand on his response. The rest of us were breathless with awe at the speed this boy's plan had turned pear shaped.

Good times.

The father has a military bearing. With good reason. Family legend has it that the scar on his ear came from a knife fight with one of the Kray twins. It's a credible story.

There are more brothers, and a sister. They are fine people. And strong.

The deceased can most diplomatically be described as an irrascible rogue. Amongst other things, an accountant, a publican, raconteur, husband, father, grandfather, philanderer, sailor, drinker, and one of the most memorable & likeable fellows you are ever likely to meet. Like most of us, his life experienced its ups and downs, actually a great deal more than most of us. My friend, his brother, tidied his affairs, collected his ashes from a place near a beach on the other side of the world, and brought him home.

Many stories and memories were unspoken. He did for instance, upon being pulled over at a checkpoint in the middle of the night, abandon the car, run across the motorway and up into the bush above Wellington Harbour, to escape identification.  He later reported the car stolen. it was borrowed from a friend anyway.

He also, purportedly, knew how to slow an electricity meter down so that his entire home full of appliances was costing him about the same as running a small fridge. The power company sure knew something was going on, but I don't know if they ever managed to rectify the state of affairs while he lived there.

I walked back from the church along the river bank, straying briefly from the track to investigate something in the river, a head popped up from the long grass. Eww, rutting teenagers. I laughed & determined to stick to the track from now on. Later I realised I should have checked they were practising safe sex.

This dog is keenly waiting for a train. Apparently he goes amusingly nuts when one passes. He was certainly reluctant to continue his walk until one appeared.

It did, about a minute after he gave up.

For Old Time's Sake

I checked on the house this week, it was a nice Wellington Autumn's day, a little too breezy perhaps, but that goes with the territory.

She is beautifully presented, but empty & lonely. I felt a wave of sadness as I recalled good times past in those rooms. But it passed as it dawned on me that this isn't my home now, and the place looks like a fictional representation of somewhere I once knew. Some of the stuff within looks a little like mine, but the master bedroom looks only slightly familiar now. Even the suits and shirts in the wardrobe do not look like things I'd wear. Later, I thought I should have taken the opportunity to pick up my dinner suit, no-one looks out of place in a dinner suit.

Leaving, I actually couldn't bring myself to walk through the Botanical gardens, it just didn't seem right without a dog.

Planespotters

Monday night seems to be model plane night at the local park. There's often something on there, during the weekend there were no less than 5 cricket games taking place concurrently, at least one of them notable enough to warrant the attendance of a DomPost reporter. It had never occurred to me before, just how big that space is.

Meanwhile, model plane enthusiasts seem to meet many of the criteria necessary to be called "anoraks".

No offense to the gentleman whose picture appears here.