Enrichment

Good books and good films should partly be about personal enrichment. Well, that's what I think anyway.

I have known about "Philomena" for a decade or more but this afternoon, courtesy of Netflix, I finally got round to watching it. Starring the now legendary Judi Dench and Steve Coogan, the film is based upon the true story of Philomena Lee. 

She grew up in western Ireland and at nineteen, through a romantic fling, became pregnant. The baby boy she called Anthony was born in a Catholic home for unmarried mothers. It was  run by nuns who, in spite of their professed religious belief, were often harsh and judgemental.

I could tell you the whole story because it is fresh in my mind but instead I will just say that in my opinion it was an excellent, truly convincing film. It held my attention throughout. Steve Coogan and Judi Dench played their roles brilliantly - Coogan representing former BBC journalist - Martin Sixsmith.

The Catholic Church in Ireland and elsewhere  has a lot to answer for. Historically, they ruined countless lives - young women, their children and boys and girls who were educated in overstrict Catholic schools. Many priests and nuns - perhaps the majority - were always kind-hearted, supportive and "holy" but a significant minority were cruel bullies and abusers, hidden in plain sight in their Roman Catholic costumes.

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“The partition between love and anger is thin. I suppose it's a need to protect the 

self from further wounding that makes people scream at the one they love.”

― Sebastian Faulks, "Where My Heart Used to Beat"

Waking far too early this morning, I came downstairs to read the last chapter of "Where My Heart Used To Beat" by Sebastian Faulks. It has taken me far too long to read it - especially when I consider that it was a damned good novel that confirmed my view that Sebastian Faulks is a very fine writer.

This was the fifth of his novels that I have read and once again war  and its impacts coloured the background. Both World War I  and World War II featured though you could not  say that it is a war novel as such. It has more to do with memory, the workings of the human mind and love. The main character is Robert Hendricks who experienced military service in North Africa and Italy in the 1940s. His father before him knew service in The Great War from which he never came home.

"Where My Heart Used To Beat" has its flaws but in the final analysis I am very glad I read it. It entertains and it gives much food for thought. The very quality of writing - including vocabulary, construction, metaphor and reader teasing - is of a splendid standard.

Homeland

I am afraid I cannot explain how I got home so quickly from Tristan da Cunha. Sleep embraced me and when I woke up I was back here in South Yorkshire. Miraculous.

Just round the corner from us there's a street called Gisborne Road. The houses on that street are typically suburban - mostly neat semi-detached properties with gardens. Residents care for their homes and maintain them responsibly. They wash their cars and trim their hedges. Tradesmen's vans parked outside evidence electrical work, plumbing and painting and decorating.

However, there's one house on the street that speaks of neglect and disorder. Rumours have surrounded it for years and there have been late night shenanigans and police visits. Windows have been smashed and occasionally music has blasted out from the place at high volume. I am very glad that we don't live next door.

A few days ago, I walked past the house and noticed that the front door had changed. Instead of the traditional panelled door there was now a metallic facing, It seemed to be hammered out in relief to show the figure of a man appearing to emerge from within. Here it is:-

Knowing some of what has gone on here, I find the image quite spooky.  What do you think?

Earlier today and partly in relation to my blood pressure medication, I had to visit The Royal Hallamshire Hospital to have my bloods taken by a phlebotomist. I waited for twenty five minutes until a speaker voice said: "Ticket Number 85...Go to Cubicle 9".

Afterwards, I walked down to Ecclesall Road via The Botanical Gardens. As you come through the top entrance you see the Victorian glasshouses which now contain a good range of exotic plants:-

Botanical Gardens glasshouses with The Royal Hallamshire Hospital beyond.

As you can see, it was a sunny morning and near the lower entrance I snapped this shadowy picture:-

After leaving the gardens, I was soon on Ecclesall Road,  intending to catch a bus home but I remembered to do a little detour to Bruce Road. By the way this street is not named after the Arizonan blogging sensation - Bruce Taylor. 

I wanted to bag a picture of one particular gable end wall. For all the years I  have lived in this city, it has been the location of ghostly Edwardian writing  - advertising a roofer and slate merchant who was in business in the 1910s - more than a hundred years ago.

The new owners of the house have had the ghostly writing brought back to life with a careful paint-over job. The sharp sunlight was almost against me as I tried to capture a good image and there were two parked cars in the way- but you get the idea:-

In my opinion, whoever chose to get the paint job done deserves some kind of civic award but not from The Laughing Horse Blog Awards Committee.  Oh no. Their work is done until the end of this long year. And thinking of 2025, let's hope that what happened in New Orleans is not a foretaste of more terrible  events ahead.

Winner

Blogger of the Year 2024

At midnight bloggers, blog visitors and Tristanians linked arms for a lusty rendition of "Auld Lang Syne". This was followed by much handshaking and snogging. Jennifer Barlow chased me around the churchyard where she finally cornered me and kissed me with such suctional force that I could not breathe. I pushed her away, gasping for air. "Don't tell Gregg!" she threatened.

Back inside St Joseph's Church, there was a drum roll from Ringo Green of  The Spiny Lobsters. Then, with feedback whining from the microphone, Chief Islander James Glass ripped open the Blogger of the Year golden envelope... "And the winner for 2024 is... JayCee Manx for 'Nobody's Diary'! "

Loud caterwauling and stomping followed as JayCee moved unsteadily to the little stage in front of the altar to receive her exclusive widget. She now joins a line of illustrious winners that goes way back in time.

68 year old JayCee blogs out of Ramsey on The Isle of Man which is in the Middle of The Irish Sea  between the islands of Britain and Ireland. See above.

When interviewed by TdC TV shortly after the announcement, a tearful JayCee said, "I am so chuffed that I cannot speak!"

Her doting athletic husband, Lord Peregrine of Peel commented, "I am so proud of her. With my support and encouragement she has worked really hard to achieve this award. It is a dream come true!"

In their written citation, The Laughing Horse Committee noted that JayCee's blog is generally "...serene, honest and humble. She writes of everyday life and responds kindly to her commenters - frequently with a sprinkling of dry wit. Her blog has  showcased her many travels to places like Bermuda, Tenerife and more recently Cuenca in Spain. She illustrates such holidays with splendid photography. Never self-pitying, she has confided in readers about her health issues. Supporters have enjoyed hearing about Mr Snoopy - the neighbourhood busybody. Though her blog may be titled 'Nobody's Diary', JayCee Manx is definitely a 'somebody' now".

Below, JayCee's widget:-

Visit Nobody's Diary