It's now a little over six months since my Father passed away.
Seeing our Dad in his diminished health over the past few years could
lead us to forget what he was like when healthy, and younger.
He was always an honest, hard worker, qualities that he invested in us, his children.
Right from his youth, he worked hard. First at an Insurance company, a time we only know of from his telling us stories. Like
the time he was counseled by his manager not to whistle while he worked. Apparently, that was not the done thing!
Then,
when he used to take one or more of us boys out with him when he
delivered meat while working at FMC. We remember those road trips in the
big white truck, and being waved at as we peered out of the truck's
windows as Dad toured around the West Country.
Even later, when
he used to cycle around doing his postman deliveries early in the
morning (far too early for us to see him go), and then come back and
haul his ladders out onto his window-cleaning round in the afternoons.
We saw him then, and each of his boys have tried that job out with much
less enthusiasm than Dad.
But little is ever said about his
sporting prowess. Mostly because he didn't have much actual prowess. But
nevertheless he was an enthusiastic participant in our games of
football and cricket at the local park. For the early years he showed us
how to
play, showing us just how to dribble and pass a ball, or giving us the
lead with his "unorthodox" fast bowling. His action was not a thing of
beauty, but it certainly was loaded with effort and determination.
When advancing years called for something slower, he would give us his "Rocket Rod" moves at the snooker table.
But
what he should be remembered for are not his 147 breaks - because there
weren't any - but his willingness to do anything for anyone, like
ferrying family, friends and acquaintances around to get them wherever they needed to be.
That he did these things always with a smile on his lips is something we'll remember.
Dad, we love you and miss you.
Rachel, Mandy, Lawrence, Stephen, and Philip
One of the bands appearing recently at one of our local venues, The Parkside, was the fabulously named Rage Against Florence and The Machine.
This relatively new place - at least to us - managed to find a spare 30 feet of frontage on Valencia Street, right next door to its sister bar The Chapel. Despite those names' religious overtones, the place is very relaxing, in food and surroundings.
I learned several things watching this film.
Spending a week in Mexico City consisted of at least three hours every day bumping around in nose to tail traffic from meeting to meeting in a taxi, with the occasional respite of an interesting meal in the company of some fine hosts.
This, along with Nebraska and The Invisible Woman, makes a trio of laid back, downright gentle films that have come along lately and while each of them was rewarding, Philomena stood out with its heart-rending story and wonderful script.
Bruce Dern plays a decrepit old guy who believes the Publishers Clearing House-type mailer that informs him he's won a million dollars. His secret isn't kept for long. He journeys from Montana to Nebraska with his son, to pick up his alleged winnings, and everyone he bumps into congratulates him on being a millionaire.
You've seen the trailers: Christian Bale as Irving Rosenfeld, sporting an elaborate comb-over, hefty gut and a wicked way with the con; Bradley Cooper, FBI investigator and a bit of a horse's ass; Jennifer Lawrence, Rosenfeld's deceptively dumb blonde wife; Amy Adams, Rosenfeld's co-conspirator and lover; and Jeremy Renner as an is-he-crooked-or-not Mayor - a great cast.
We could not have picked a different movie to the previous night's Wolf of Wall Street. Rather than a film about money, with a lot of sex going on, The Invisible Woman was a film about sex, with virtually nothing going on.
This was that rare example of a great film that I just could not enjoy.
Fruitvale Station is the Bay Area subway stop where, on New Year's Eve 2008, Oscar Grant, a 22 year old black guy was shot and killed by a subway cop.
I've no idea where we are in the not so grand scheme of things in Riddick's world, but this episode covers a period when he's trying to escape from some distant and inhospitable planet - and if you think that sounds very much like every other Riddick film, you'd be correct.
The film featured Sharon Stone. Both were tired (her and the film), derivative (like half an episode of The Bridge), and drawn out (most scenes played out for too
long).
This was immensely forgettable. Dull even.
An overly familiar title - although, with movie producers
clearly employing thesauri to name their products, that's not a
massive shock.
I really should stick to my rule and steer clear of superheroes, robots, and gussied up kid's characters.
Surprisingly enjoyable if a little frothy re-re-telling of one of our schoolboy favorites - provided your schooldays occurred in, as Arthur Askey used to say, nineteen hundred and frozen to death.
In 1985 Dallas, Matthew McConaughey is diagnosed with AIDS. He's a hard-drinking, hard-living racist Redneck, and a homophobe.
The Hunger Games franchise is, for me a bit too like a Young Adults book - not quite young enough to take the ankle biters to see, and not quite adult enough to be genuinely gripping. Exactly like the Harry Potter movies therefore, a series that exasperates me just as much.
Sailing single-handed in the Indian Ocean, or anywhere for that matter, must be genuinely exciting. So how this movie was such a snooze-fest is beyond me.
Another example of how building one's hopes up too high can often lead to severe disappointment. 
A great cast (Christian Bale, Woody Harrelson, Casey Afleck, Willem Dafoe, Forest Whitaker - the list goes on) wasted on a dark, dour film that had some high spots, but ones that were overshadowed by the whole, heavy piece.
This film squanders two story lines of which I'm normally a big fan - Science Fiction, and Zombies.
