I am having a funny old Monday morning here, back at the homestead – nicknamed the Windy Hill Farm Homestead by myself, and “The House with the Door handle where Midget Mum Dangled from” by the Great T.
This is a blog post where craft is unfortunately not mentioned – not because I haven’t been doing any, but because I have run out of time to include it…
So back to the name of the venue…
Not sure whether I told you why the farm building became dubbed with this title. When Great T came to visit, he was sat in the car, whilst B and the lady who owns the farm were talking. I had taken the opportunity to go inside and put down some heavy bags. As I came out I tripped over the step, stumbled on the shoe grid, tripped backwards over the rock-fenced flower border and instinctively tried to steady myself with the only thing to hand - the door handle. I realised if I should let go then I would fall backwards squashing all the lovely flowers, and I really didn’t want to get banned from the venue so early in our relationship - so just held on as firmly as I could – dangling a little off the ground - hoping B would spot my predicament. He didn’t….
T did though and he, realising this was rapidly becoming an emergency in which his mother was either going to hurt herself, or embarrass him further, tried to attract his father’s attention – in vain though… you can’t stop B once he is in his “narrative flow”. Thankfully by now I had regained my balance – if not my dignity – and had righted myself to see an hysterical T in the car guffawing for all he was worth and B having finished his tale wondering what all the mirth was about.
Ah bless… all’s well that ends well….
Unlike Downtown Abbey…what on earth am I going to do now I do not have a purpose and a reason for Sunday nights? I know, I could make my way back as quickly as possible to find out who cannot sing, or dance – I have my choice of channel - which would be more fun if they just swapped the criteria over – we know Lulu could sing, why not stick her on the X-Factor and then Johnny – who we know can dance from his staging and delivery of Kylie numbers - would pop over to the dancing gig…
But I think I have lost some thing here in the translation regarding Downtown… all my serious writer buddies are rather disparaging of the series and wonder if some of the actors/actresses are playing for laughs.. I was following the twitter stream last night and it was rather pompous to say the least…and I haven’t got a clue why. Am I missing something?
I KNEW and KNOW people like these characters today. The only difference is they tend to dress up in pearls and tweeds now, not long dresses and top hats. But that said I was invited to do a bio of someone not a million miles from where I am staying at present only a few years ago and she was dressed up in a beautiful lace long dress – albeit moths had re-designed some of the lacework, so it was difficult to see in places where the holes were intentional or not – when I turned up to visit.
She was an engaging and intoxicating character – not unlike that played by the Grand Dame in Downturn Abbey. She was certainly not someone you would laugh at – but was a person very happy to be laughed with and was happy to mock herself.
Perhaps some of our more “learned” writers who know about these things could engage a little more with the general consensus of the viewing public. “Appointment TV” (which it was grandly dubbed by a reviewer, full of self- import and pomposity, and new dodgy hair streaks – as you could tell by the absence of Root Factor) which had really good viewing figures –v- manuscripts and tutoring which might or might not bring in a sheckle – I know which I would rather put my time and efforts into !!! and my name.
Oh what a lament… off to have my roots streaked…or was that my hair stroked……?