Fillums. I just love 'em.

"Brideshead Revisited".



It is a sad admission, but regarding the movie adaptation of "Brideshead Revisited", I am at a disadvantage. Every serious critic has either

a) Read Evelyn Waugh's 1945 novel, or
b) Seen the 1981 television adaptation

and literally all of them have painted the movie adaptation as inferior to one or both.

I cannot comment. I have neither read the book nor seen the television adaptation. I hope to do both, one day. All I will say is that, although the movie adaptation was no masterpiece, I rather enjoyed "Brideshead Revisited" as the reasonably good period drama that it was.

Matthew Goode was especially... er... good as Charles Ryder. He was an outsider, an innocent and a social climber. A man fascinated and mesmerised by the damaged aristocratic Flyte family and the circles in which they moved. It was a good performance, thank God, because it had to be. He was centre stage for the entire movie.

As good as Matthew Goode was, he was possibly exceeded by Emma Thompson in her extended cameo as the Marchioness of Marchmain, the head of the Flyte family. A cold, inflexible and disapointed woman. Dedicated to her Catholicism and slowly ruining her family because of it. I thought that Emma Thompson was so good she might even have a shot at Best Supporting Actress at next years Oscars.

Maybe when I finally get around to reading the book/seeing the television series I might be disappointed at how shallow the whole thing was, but until that unhappy day dawns, I thought "Brideshead Revisited" was not bad at all.

**

I will not be here tomorrow. Tomorrow evening I am off to the Carling Academy to see The Streets. I will be back on Friday.

I can feel a song coming on. I love this one.

In the news...

A priest writes on his blog, 'Homosexuals should have tattooed on their backsides, "Sodomy can seriously damage your health"'.

Jerry writes on his blog, 'Bigoted priests should have tattooed on their backsides, "This is an asshole"'.

David Duchovny has left rehab after successfully completing a course to combat his sex addiction. He had these words for the waiting press: 'I cannot wait to get home. I am dying for a shag".

Not really. I made that up. But wouldn't it have been brilliant if he had said that?

I was going to get working on a couple of film reviews this evening, but instead I watched "Underdog". It was terrible. Ce sera sera.

This weeks desktop.

Britney.



Hmm... Britney.

**

One more gripe about the Van Morrison gig.

They banned the sale of alcohol. The bar at the Symphony Hall was open for soft drinks only.

I hope that I do not have to get pissed to enjoy myself at a gig, certainly Jennifer doesn't have to, but to take away the choice of having a pint or two at the venue, before entering the auditorium? Bollocks to that! Too much like being at school. Too much like being treated like a naughty child.

Miserable, Christian sonafabitch. I hope his bread was stale, his water stagnant and that his hair shirt itched like hell.

Before the gig Jennifer and myself had a meal at the Mash House. Pie and mash. Food of the Gods. We also had a bottle of red. Nice.

Van Morrison at the Symphony Hall in Birmingham.



I thought that Van Morrison was shit.

Where do I start?

There was no support act. Van was onstage at 7:55. This was 5 minutes before the start time on the ticket.

Van played for 90 minutes to the second. (I couldn't believe it. I checked my watch.) There was no encore. You might be interested to read that we paid 45 quid each for tickets to this gig. That works out at 50p for every minute that he played.

Van's performance was indifferent. Oh, man... He gave nothing to the audience. There was no interaction. There was nothing. It might as well have been a private rehearsal. OK, he may have grunted 'Thanks' once or twice, but there was no energy and no sense that he wanted to be there. Just a feeling of overwhelming boredom.

On the four songs that I definitely knew ("Moondance", "Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?", "Brown Eyed Girl" and "Gloria" - great songs), Van didn't so much as sing the words, as slur them. Just like he couldn't be bothered.

Van was a real bastard to the gopher at the side of the stage who kept running on to replenish his drinks. The guy just couldn't seem to do anything right. Van also seemed really unhappy with the way that the band were playing. There were a few very sharp hand gestures and barked comments. I thought that the band were great and all of them were really good musicians.

His suit was too tight! Fat bastard! (OK, Jerry. Stop being silly. All of your suits are also too tight.)

The whole thing has left a bad taste in my mouth. What a fucking waste of an evening! I could have been at home watching "Run, Fatboy, Run". I wouldn't like to repeat what Jennifer said.

After the gig, there were several people handing out leaflets advertising the upcoming "Astral Weeks" gigs at the Hollywood Bowl. My comment, to the very nice looking Chinese girl who tried to give me a leaflet, was, 'You've gotta be kidding me?'

She shrugged.

Never again. Very disappointing.

Just checking in. Actually it needs to be a very quick checking in. Jennifer and I will be leaving the house in 21 minutes. This afternoon we are going to see the Pacino/De Niro thriller "Righteous Kill", then we are eating out and then we are going to see Van Morrison at the Symphony Hall. I am not completely au fait with everything Van Morrison has recorded in recent years, but he was one of those artistes that I have always wanted to see live.

It has been a busy week. No time for anything of substance. Certainly not blogging.

I have been getting up at 5am to get to work by 7am. It was tiring and it was draining. Many years back, when I was a young computer operator, I had no problems with the very early mornings. Times change. I was glad when I stopped doing that job and I wouldn't want to go back. Now I find that early mornings are OK in short bursts, but I find that at the end of the week a recovery period is required. Last night I struggled to keep my eyes open watching "Cor Blimey!" Nothing to do with the movie, as it was very good. When I finally did get to my bed, I slept for 10 hours.

I am an old a mature man. (My Dad used to say that a man is only only as old as the woman that he gropes. Ha!)

Gotta go.

My Brother never broke his leg when he was 14. He had a career in Football.

He started with Birmingham City as an apprentice. After a couple of years he signed for Liverpool. Spells at Manchester United and Newcastle followed. Then he got his dream move to Aston Villa. At the Villains he flourished.

In 1996 he was on the bench for England all of the way through the Euro 96 campaign. He found it frustrating. Little was he to know that 1998 was going to be his year. In the France 98 World Cup campaign, my Brother was England's leading goalscorer with 6 goals. That year we got to the semi finals, where we lost to Brazil.

My Brother never played for England again.

Dreams are visions of other worlds, glimpsed through misted up windows. Somewhere else my Brother was a hero.

This weeks desktop.



Mr. Rod Serling. Producer, writer and actor.

You must have heard of his television series' "The Twilight Zone" and "Night Gallery". If you haven't, then you can just go and bugger off, because obviously we have nothing to talk about. Rod Serling wrote many screenplays, including those for two stone classic movies: "Planet Of The Apes" and "Seven Days In May".

Actor? As the Narrator/Host of both "The Twilight Zone" and "Night Gallery" he was always an immaculately attired, urbane figure, with a cigarette in hand, distinctive voice and a slightly sinister, mocking air about him. It was a performance. It was a great performance.

Rod Serling died in 1975 during open heart surgery. He was only 50 years old. I was shocked when I read that. Such a waste. All those stories never told.

Rod Serling. Still a legend.

**

It took two plumbers to sort out the problem with the radiator.

Plumber #1 was sent by Homeserve, a company with whom we have a contract for limited internal plumbing support. Plumber #1 arrived in a car with a loud horn, that collapsed in the street as soon as he pulled up. He had a big red nose and wore large shoes. On his lapel he had a flower that squirted water.

Yes. He was a clown.

He could not isolate the radiator. He could not shut off the flow of the water to the radiator. He could not do anything. He suggested certain things, which would have cost additional money and involved shutting off the water to the whole house and leaving us without any heating. I said "No", sent him on his way and complained to the nice lady on the Homeserve help desk. We will not be renewing the contract.

I found Plumber #2 in the Yellow Pages. It was a random selection. A company that looked like they had a few certifications awarded to them. Difficult to know if they mean anything.

Plumber #2 arrived. He isolated the radiator. He took the radiator off the wall and drained it. We discussed getting a new radiator installed on a different wall and he gave me a quote. We had a cup of tea and discussed the prospects for the Villa and the Blues this season. I paid him. We shook hands. He left. He was in the house for about an hour.

Plumber #2 was a star. We will definitely use him again.