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With Flo’ at The Garage, we had to walk to Taymor Plumbing Supplies, on the other side of town. Before that we had a fortifying brunch, at The ‘Spoons, and then walked for about 50+ minutes, to Taymor.

We stopped to say hello to Ken, on our way, at his home on Norwood Rd. He may’ve been out, or working in one of his sheds. Whatever the case, answer came there none.

I bought some sink/drain unblocking stuff; supposedly stronger than what we’ve used heretofore (in respect of this most recent blockage; you can’t get One Shot anymore, alas).

I’ve used this Rhino stuff once before. And I believe it did the job then? Tho’ using it just now – pouring about half down the bathroom sink, and half down the toilet – has had no apparent effect.

Hmmm!?

In other news… Teresa’s over the moon, ‘cause the new little faux-woodburner she just bought (off Amazon) arrived today:

We’ve plenty to do. The toilet remains blocked and slow to flush. I’ve tried the Rhino stuff, boiling water, and even a plain ol’ plunger. No joy!

And the kitchen floor is minging!

So we’re repainting it. We need all this stuff finished – and my car back, in working order – ASA-effin’-P. Pref’ before Antonio returns from Spain.

I’ve had to leave a strip unpainted, as it’s a busy working kitchen.

We love Teresa’s new fire so much we’ve brought it upstairs with us, for a super cosy vibe in our bedroom.

I think I’ve posted about Steinweiss before? But I was looking at the fab little Taschen book I have on him again, today. And he’s just… well, supremely brilliant.

Yesterday I bought and erected a small set of cuboid storage shelves. They’re cheap ‘uns, from Argos. But they’ve made the bathroom look a lot better/less cluttered.

Small jobs like these provide a disproportionate degree of satisfaction, I find. Simple but necessary and useful pleasures such as this are great.

*Or ‘Bugs’, as our neighbours call it!

Wow! What an amazing film.

This gets the coveted six stars. It’s beyond brilliant.

Everything about this movie is superlatively wonderful. The idea, the execution. The acting, directing, script, and so it goes on.

It’s famed for, amongst other things, Peter Sellers playing three major parts. And all three supremely well. Snd, as we’d expect, with a movie starring Sellers, there are elements of comedy, albeit very black comedy, from the subtle nuanced to the outright farcical.

The names of the characters are sublime: US President Merkin Muffley, Brig. Gen. Jack Ripper, Col. ‘Bat’ Guano, and Group Captain Lionel Mandrake, being just a few examples.

There are several films within the main film:

There’s the flight crew, under Maj. ‘King’ Kong (Slim Pickens), who are ‘just doing their job’. This strand is mostly played as pretty straight drama, with only Picken’s slightly gung-ho newkiller cowboy role stretching the envelope. It’s a very well done subplot, especially in relation to the high-tech airborne procedural stuff.

Then there’s the dynamics between Gen. Ripper and Lionel Mandrake. The former hell bent on annihilating those damn Reds, on account of his formerly faltering libido. The latter realising his superior is sending them all to Hell in a handcart, and is nuttier than a mountain of squirrel guano.

There’s also Merkin Muffley, and his ring of power – pause must be made here to reflect on the glory that is the War Room set – wherein ‘Buck’ Turgidson and Alexi come to blows like a proper pair of clowns.

And there’s even the mini war-film, with US troops attacking Burpelson Air Base. This is shot, in the main, like a documentary, or news item. I think the choice to make the movie in black and white is also connected with the collective memory of WWII newsreels, mostly in black and white.

And set, like jewels, within these strands are some truly wonderful moments, such as the first telephone call between Merkin and his Soviet counterpart, Dmitri. The latter drunk and – like ‘Buck’, earlier – out womanising.

Some of the best lines in film history are to be heard here:

‘Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here! This is the War Room!’ Merkin Muffley

‘Women sense my power, and they seek the life essence. I do not avoid women, Mandrake. But I… I do deny them my essence.’ Gen. Jack Ripper

‘I think you’re some kind of deviated prevert…’ Col. ‘Bat’ Guano

You could say Sellers steals the show, appearing as he does – and to brilliant effect – in three key roles. But the rest of the cast are actually equally brilliant.

I have to pick out the following as particularly charismatic: Sterling Hayden as the lunatic Gen. Ripper; George C. Scott as the gruffly hawkish Gen. ‘Buck’ Turgidson; Slim Pickens, as good ol’ boy Maj. Kong.

Amongst the supporting cast, Tracy Reed is fab, as Miss Scott, Peter Bull’s Alexi is pitch perfect, and Keenan Wynn’s dim Col. ‘Bat’ Guano is priceless.

There’s one member of the B-52 crew I’d dearly love to identify; the navigator. His voice is a key part of the film, during the parts in the B-52. I think it’s this guy:

It’s a beautifully made film, with a very powerful punch, that is simultaneously hilarious and very, very chilling.

What a movie!

To finish, here’s a gallery of ‘in the making’ scenes:

FOOTNOTE:

The fourth picture, in the above ‘making of’ type gallery, is famous photographer, Weegee, with a custard-pie splattered Sellers/Muffley.

A very different ending to the film than that which was finally released was originally shot, culminating not with the ‘Mein Fuhrer, I can walk’ line (and then the exploding bombs/Vera Lynn), but a farcical custard pie fight.

It was rejected, as being too silly – not in keeping with the dark satire of the movie as a whole – and, crucially, the timing was off: there was a line where George C. Scott’s Turgidson character says ‘Gentlemen, our beloved president has been infamously struck down by a pie in the prime of his life!’

The day the movie had its first screen-test, Kennedy was assassinated. For this reason alone – never mind the scene spoiling a dark satire with unwonted levity – it’s not altogether surprising that the pie-fight ending was binned.

Serendipity or Synchronicity? Or synchro-serendipi-popalopagosity? I don’t know. You tell me…

Only yesterday, out for a winter walk with Teresa, I discovered the above churchical book, by an author and stone-mason I’ve not encountered before.

And what pops up amongst my emails today? Only the above! It transpires the book I spotted at our local library is fresh off the press. And the author will be giving a talk on the subject, in Jan’, ‘25. I’ve booked us tickets. Fab!

I’ve arrived at the last few segments of this slight but endearing volume. I’m currently reading about Rick Stein’s adopted home, Padstow.

There’s a part of me that’s forever juvenile, and that part can’t help but snicker at the thought of hearing Betjeman’s plummy voicing enunciating ‘Brown Willy’ and ‘Rough Tor’.

And now we’re playing Scrabble and listening to great music…

After the mellowness of solo Metheny, this 1972 Mainstrean recording by Dizzy Gillespie’s pianist, Mike Longo, is quite manic. Diz’ guests on… congas! Mickey Roker drums, and Ron Carter is on both upright and, more unusually, electric bass.

The first to test out the new throw cover on the nice armchair is… Chester!

We all love this seat. And now even more so.

Well, I clumsily knocked over the Scrabble game. We could’ve re-set the board, using the pic above. But we couldn’t be bothered! Never mind.

Teresa’s now doing dinner. And I’m listening to this:

Paul Humphrey is a master drummer. And just dig these threads:

The personnel on his Cool Aid album is top notch: David T Walker on guitar, Clarence McDonald on keys, and Bill (aka Phil, I suspect?) Upchurch, on bass. It’s a damn funky little record, that deserves to be heard. I wonder if it’s been reissued on CD? I’ve had a look, but not found it.

We finished off the day with duck dumplings, a Bento Box ready meal and Norman Wisdom’s Up In The World.

And to bed… where I started reading my newest book:

And lo, ‘tis good! Very good. Epic in ambition and intent. Well written, and – amazingly, for territory so oft written about – filled with new sources, fresh insights, and even a welcome leavening of wit. Terrific!

Oh, Harvey also deploys my favourite form of structural approach – especially for doorstop-sized tomes such as this – many but short chapters. Splendid.

On this, my first dip in, I’ve read five chapters. The last of which, by way of example of the unexpected freshness, is about a character I’d not encountered before (at least not in any meaningful way).

50p well spent. I look forward to reading more…

It’s been quite a while since I did any church crawling. Today I managed to visit a couple. First was St John The Baptist, in Baston. There were traces of snowfall in the graveyard.

A nice if not terribly remarkable church. Kind of run of the mill. But still, as ever, worth a look. One unexpected windfall: I purchased a book on the Napoleonic Wars, for 50p!

Perhaps my favourite thing, on this visit, would be the carving on the screen at the altar? This choice might’ve been influenced by the lovely golden sunlight falling on it.

Betwixt here and the next church there was some very lovely countryside.

Both spots I stopped at featured avenues of trees. Always an attractive feature, blending human control and natural beauty.

The second Church o’ The Day was St Martin’s, Barholm.

Sometimes one just gets a feeling. This was one of those times. As I opened the screen doors into the porch, the old Norman arch bespoke age, and intrigue. Excitement mounted.

The churchyard on the approach is lovely. And was extra nice on this cold, clear, crisp winter’s day. I like the carvings on this old monument (above).

I love the carving over the door in the porch. No idea exactly what scene it depicts. The door itself is a beauty. The metal work around the handle/knocker and keyhole is lovely.

The font is nice as well, with very old looking carving on the stone font itself.

The stained glass is quite nice. More for its overall effect than on close inspection. And in today’s sunlight the coloured light these glasses cast was very pretty.

This is a church I’d like to re-visit, and sit meditatively in, time allowing.

One of a number of features of this beautiful little church is the angel roof. We have a fabulous example at St Wendreda’s in our home town, March. This much smaller church has just four pairs of winged folk, and some of their wings are clipped!

It was a chilly 2°C, but I was very happy to stop and have a Quick Look at this enchanting edifice.

Walking around the church, I spotted a rather large excavation. Who lives here, I wonder?

So much, for Pleasure! The Pain element came during my second work shift. Flo’ broke down! It seems the ‘master cylinder’ on her clutch is failing. So it’s off to The Garage, for Flo’.

Sitting in the waiting room at the Doctor’s, which, as a kid, I recall being pleasantly relaxing.

These days, chiefly thanks to the ultra shite radio – dreadful Muzak, and a radio that’s not-working properly (squalls of digital distortion!) – it’s a form of torture.

Once in, altho’ over an hour late, the doc was friendly, quick and efficient. Oh… he had to examine my rectum. Never fun! Life, eh!?

I’m back home now. I’m soooo tired. It’s really quite worrying. I mentioned this to the Doc’. So, as well as stool samples, they vant mein blut!

Much later… today’s work shift took us – Teresa joined me – past all that remains of Thorney and Crowland Abbeys.

That warmongering serial-killer and religion wrecker Henry VIII was a proper fucking venal vandal!

Teresa is watching The Mirror & The Light. I have to confess that I find such ‘historical dramas’ more irritating than entertaining.

I recall art historian Kenneth Clark noting how late Renaissance art was surely and obviously on a downward path, once all the actors became paragons of beauty.

What Clarke was getting at, I believe, is that there ought to be a truthful relationship between art and life. Turning ugly and ordinary people – if, granted, in extraordinary circumstances – into super-models does art, truth and life disservice.

So why does it always happen? That entertainment lies so frequently and flagrantly? There are doubtless many reasons. But wishful thinking, or fantasy, and worldly success, seem obvious reasons.

In some ways Carry On Henry is at least as historically accurate as Wolfe Hall, albeit in a very comical and irreverent way. But at least Henry is less conventionally handsome, more obviously and grotesquely selfish, and – from a safe distance – an utterly risible fool.

What I dislike most of all in everything from this, to the recent Louis Sun God thing, or Downton Abbey, is the romantic rehabilitation of royalty and privilege.

As (?) said, monarchy is the Popery of government. So fat serial-killer Harry splits with Rome? It doesn’t make him Martin Luther, or any other kind of religious reformer.