Cue "Telstar". I have just had my life made complete by the wonderful Frank, who has made an old woman very happy.
I have had a satellite dish installed. It is magic. I watched Dr Who last night (isn't it so much better than the old series with the cardboard sets?) and David Dickinson searching for his Armenian roots (I always thought there was something not quite Anglo-Saxon about that man, and not just his orange skin) - this morning I was reunited with the dulcet tones of James Naughtie and Sarah Montague. On Saturday I will be in bed with Jonathan Ross.
I will probably be spending my non-working hours for the next week or so in an open-mouthed stupor, clutching the remote control and zapping through 300 channels. Most of them are garbage, but ALL BBC and ITV channels including regional ones, and Film Four, which is enoughto keep a girl happy throughout the winter months. I have six weeks of Eastenders to catch up on, for heaven's sake. I do hope Phil Daniels is still in it.
Meanwhile, to feed your addiction to the lives of the glitterati, I will share with you this postcard I just received from Vi Hornblower, who has returned with Desmond to Blighty.
Hello Daphne Darling,
Hope this finds you well and still enjoying life in the big metropolis that is Brussels.
Desmond is most impressed with your blog and is thinking of starting one himself - if he can stay awake for long enough. Desmond is, unfortunately, commuting to London, to his little job as Complaints Officer at the Department for Pond Life, or whatever his minor ministry calls itself these days. One just doesn't know where one is with New Labour. Bring on David Cameron is what I say. And at least he isn't Scotch (although one can never be too sure with a name like that). Of course, the one thing Desmond loves about commuting is the opportunity it offers for extra sleep. It is no problem in the morning, when he can't go any further than Euston, but I have told him that if he expects me to pick him up from Coventry one more time when he overshoots Milton Keynes, then I will be sending him to Coventry. Permanently. He has now invested in a mobile phone so that I can ring him when he gets to Leighton Buzzard, and again ten minutes later to ensure that he has not dropped off again. It is working well so far.There is so much to do in the village, that I am spoiled for choice. Not only is there a Women's Institute, but there is also a Ladies Luncheon Club, which I think I will have to join. I have suggested to Desmond that he take up bellringing (as the noise will help to keep him awake) but he is not keen as he has taken a violent dislike to the vicar who calls himself "Father Gary". Desmond was less bothered about the Roman connotations, but more that Father Gary looks about 12, and he fears that it will encourage the youth of the vilage to be promiscuous - ie if a pillar of the community can be a father at such a young age, why shouldn't I be? etc etc...
The house is rather small, not what we are used to at all, but after all we do live in reduced circumstances these days.
Best, Vi
10 comments:
This is ridiculous! I mean, very happy for you Daphne, that you can get FilmFour all the way over in Brussels - oh lucky you - when I can't get it in Blighty. Damnit!
Mon Dieu! that must be a bloody big PC. Enough to rival Gracie's aspidestra. Phil is still with us. Can you remember the name of that early film when he was neked in the bath?
Jonathon Ross makes me giggle on Saturday mornings along with(I'm assured) our own dear Queen.
Flux, I used to have to pay for Film Four when I had a Sky package. Frank tells me it's free to air now.
Pat, Vi Hornblower is not exactly what you would call waif-like, to coin an overused (in Brussels anyway) phrase. Phil Daniels was brilliant in The Long Firm. I always thought someone missed an opportunity to use him in a biopic of Keith Moon. I'm glad to hear I'm in good company on a Saturday morning - do you also listen to my old flame Arthur Smith? We were teenage sweethearts once, you know!
It's going to be very crowded in that bed with Johnathan Ross.
I think I'll give it a miss. After all, I'm waiting for George Clooney's agent to call me for his paparazzi-teasing totty marathon.
i felt the same about David Dickinson that there's something not too anglo about him. I think it was his bazaar stall owner speech patter that gave him away.
Quadrophenis - I googled it. I can't help remembering it now when I look at him -with great respect.
Arthur sometimes I catch and him also in 'Grumpy Old Men' Did he always talk like that?
Was it your 'rough period'?
I used to love Athur Smith on
"Loose Ends". How very cool you two were sweethearts.
Aunty, so there was me, Pat, HM the Queen and Jonathan Ross all in a four poster bed ... go on, write the dialogue!
Banana, I always thought he was Jewish. But Turkish Armenian is near enough.
Pat, I think you might find that WAS Keith Moon - they could be twins, with the small difference that Keith Moon has been dead for about 20 years so couldn't be Kevin in Eastenders. Now I'll have to Google Quadrophenia and check it wasn't Phil Daniels.
Arthur talks like that because he is from Sarf London and everyone talks like that. It don't mean your fick or anyfing. In fact he went to a very good grammar school and is extremely bright. He also wrote An Evening with Gary Lineker and a couple of other West End plays. He rather changed the course of my life, if truth be told. If it hadn't been for meeting him I might have ended up getting married at 19 and ending up a child minder in Sidcup, like most of the people I went to school with. I owe him a lot.
Sam, I still have a pome Arthur wrote me when we were 18! I might flog it on e-bay one day. Someone once described him as A Sid James for the 1990's, which is nearly as good as A Mata Hari for the New Millennium - thanks for that, by the way!
Pat, a thousand apologies, you were absolutely right - it WAS Phil Daniels! I thought The Who were in Quadrophenia, but then I was a bit young for all that. He was in something else a bit serious about 10 or 15 years ago, that's when I first noticed him. Diamond geezer, as we say in Sarf London.
Daphne: don't mensh!
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