Saturday January 1

 

It looks like Marilyn and I will have an extended Christmas this year.  We’ve come across a collection of TV Christmas Specials on Acorn TV, there are 19 in all so, if we dole them out carefully, we might retain the Christmas spirit for up to a month.

 

We watched Hercule Poirot last night and a Brokenwood Mystery this afternoon so we’re off to a great start.  Others we look forward to include Miss Phryne Fisher, Detective Murdoch, and The Detectorists.  We’ll have covered the UK, New Zealand, Australia and Canada before we’re finished.  I wondered why there are no US productions in the collection until I realised Acorn TV is about the UK and its one-time colonies.

 

No doubt, if I look harder on the internet I’ll find some cheery US offerings as well.

 

Happy New Year, whoever you are!

Friday, December 31

 

Since joining the Writing Group and being committed to write an 800-word story for every Friday meeting, I’m always on the look-out for good ideas.  Some of my fellow scribes only write about their own lives, others regurgitate stories from history but I think, if the stories are to be worth reading, they need to be varied and a little quirky.

 

So, I was delighted to read an interesting phrase in a novel I'm reading. Written on a sign in an outside toilet of a remote house is the injunction:  ‘Please replace the stone on the seat – it is to keep out the mink.’  Surely, I can turn that into something worth reading, I thought.  The very idea of a mink, the creature which provides luxurious fur for the wealthy and glamorous, being regarded, in some places, as a pest which breaks into toilets has the makings of a good yarn.

 

The novel, The Ice Twins, is the story of a couple who inherit a house on an island off the coast of Scotland and decide to live there.  So, I have a setting – Scotland – where mink run free.  Now I need a plot.  The couple might be in danger from a storm, or be cut off from the mainland by bad weather.  There might be smugglers who want to use the island as a base, or a boatload of refugees from Eastern Europe might be shipwrecked there and need assistance.  Is it during World War II and German commandos have their eye on the place?

 

Maybe the couple are fleeing to the island after a personal crisis and are looking for a fresh start and will find redemption in the company of seals and seagulls.  I don’t get too bogged down at this early stage; I’m more inclined to start writing and see where it leads.

 

I’ve used the phrase ‘Please replace the stone ….’ as the opening line and have reached 564 words without any enthusiasm for what I have written.  I think I’ll regards this as just another dead end and put this idea aside for the time being.  Maybe I’ll come back to it later, or maybe not.

Wednesday, December 29

 

Jamie and Nera invited us out for lunch today; they had ‘discovered’ a new casual restaurant in Launceston which Jamie said made the best Eggs Benedict he had ever eaten.  Nera rang this morning to make a booking and we arrived at the agreed time.  The restaurant was busy but eating-out has become the national pastime it seems and we weren’t surprised.  New restaurants always attract a bit of interest when they first open and things settle down when they become more established.

 

The fellow who seemed to be the boss looked around and said, “I’ll put you at this table at the front,” filled a carafe from the kitchen sink and grabbed a handful of menus.  The table he took us to was obviously where people hung about when they were waiting for their takeaways.  It had the Covid check in signs in one corner and four low, plastic stools to sit on.

 

Obviously, our booking had been overlooked and drop-ins had taken up all the more comfortable tables.  We said ‘Naah!” and moved on.  We ended up in the dining room of the Silos Hotel, built in a couple of Victorian-era grain silos on the north bank of the Tamar.  The food was excellent, reasonably-priced and the ambience better suited our mood.

Tuesday, December 28

 

When you’re rapidly approaching 80 years of age, there are not many activities left that you can take part in safely.  No more skydiving or mountain climbing, no more white-water rafting or marathons; a walk around the block is about as much as your tired old body can handle.

 

Happily, one of the most enjoyable activities is still attainable – going out for lunch!

 

The sun was shining yesterday so we went out for lunch to the Basin Café at the Cataract Gorge.  We didn’t tell anyone in case they wanted to join us and we didn’t want to make a party of it.  Anyway, it’s easier to get a table for two even if you haven’t booked.

 

The Cataract Gorge is Launceston’s treasured jewel.  It’s just a few minutes from the city, and has, thankfully, been preserved from the developers who want to cash in on its potential.  You can swim there, in the river or a pool, there’s a chairlift and walking tracks, a couple of cafes and peacocks strutting around.

 

The Basin Café on the southern side of the Gorge is a favourite place for Sunday lunch.  Everyone was wearing their mask and the staff were not uncomfortable about reminding people about the new regulations. There were a couple of family groups and it seems this is a favourite place for celebrations.  Marilyn likes to make up stories about the groups, identifying the daughter who organises it and the grand-dad who is paying for everyone.  There is always a reluctant attendee and a black-sheep cousin who wants to make sure his legacy is secure.

 

Marilyn ordered scrambled eggs with feta cheese and I had seafood chowder.  The bill was not ridiculous and we returned home very satisfied.

Monday, December 27

 

I read an interesting article this morning about words which linguists call ‘orphaned negatives’, words like kempt, ruly, ept and gruntled.  These are real words which are no longer used though their opposites unkempt, unruly, inept and disgruntled are still popular.  We can add to these ruth, feck and gorm, and wouldn’t it be great if we could trot these words out at the appropriate time in our conversation?

 

I remember my mum would use the word ‘ruthy’ meaning someone who was compassionate so there is hope for the words yet.

 

Discombobulate is a wonderful word too, and we never hear ‘combobulate’ but the article mentions that Mitchell airport in Milwaukee has a ‘recombobulation area’ where passengers can release some of the tensions of air travel.

 

Of course, the English language is adopting new words all the time, many acquired from other languages.  Churchill used the term ‘black dog’ to mean depression, the new OED has curmudgeonly, mumpish, crumpsy, nettlish, porcupinal and spleenical, all meaning irritable.  I might be described as a ‘cacafuego’ (a person who passes comment on subjects they know nothing about).

 

Did you know that cacklefarts are eggs and that snottingers are handkerchiefs? 

 

But my favourite is a word from the Philippines: ‘gigil’, the irresistible desire to squeeze something cute.  Now how can I drop that into conversation?

Sunday. December 26 (2)

 

We’ve just come home from seeing West Side Story at our beautiful classic Star Cinema in Launceston.  We were trying to work out when we saw the original and, going on when it was first released in Sydney (1962) we reckon it was close to 60 years ago.  But what an impression this movie made on us then!  We saw it more than once and each time we were elated when we left the theatre, singing the songs and copying the dance moves.

 

This latest version is every bit as good and makes you wonder why Spielberg bothered to make it.  Reading the reviews of it in the press, it is not achieving the sort of attendance figures that might be expected.  Some reviewers are saying that people are going off remakes but I suspect that 60 years is just a bit too much time between one version and the next. 

 

 This version is darker than the original; the storyline is essentially the same but the violence is more intense and it’s that which sticks in your mind when you leave the theatre.  When we emerged into the daylight back in 1962 or 3, our heads were filled with the music and the dancing and the joy of being alive.  Today, we had the images of the shooting and the stabbing and the violence.  Maybe it’s just me but I’m sorry now that I tampered with those wonderful memories.

Sunday, December 26

 

Boxing Day and the sun is shining!  Marilyn and I are off to see the new, Steven Spielberg version of West Side Story this afternoon; we hope it’s as good as the original.

 

Christmas Day went off without a hitch. We were looking after Archie because Jamie and Nera were having a party on Christmas Eve and it’s better for him if he’s not there.  I took him for a walk quite early on Christmas morning and was surprised at how quiet the streets were.

 

There were no kids on bikes riding around the streets in their pyjamas, no impromptu cricket matches on front lawns and not even the sounds from open windows of happy children opening presents.  I tend to see the image of kids riding bikes around the streets in their pyjamas as a metaphor for Christmas Day but that probably just confirms my status as an old fuddy-duddy living in the past.

 

I saw only one other human being: a man getting into his car.  I thought he lloked a bit furtive but that's probably just my imagination.  Had he been up to no good?  We muttered Merry Christmas at each other and continued on our respective ways.  Even the usual dogs which bark at Archie on this walk were safely locked up.

 

Marilyn had baked a piece of ham so our breakfast was hot ham on croissants – wonderful.  Prawns and pasta salad was a perfect Christmas Dinner for the weather.  We had planned to watch Love Actually in the afternoon but became engrossed in our respective books until Jamie and Nera arrived with presents, and to pick up Archie.  They had brought a present for Archie: a Doggy Christmas Stocking filled with doggy games.  Archie was like an excited child watching each item spilled on to the floor, grabbing each one in turn and giving it a chew.  He quickly identified a favourite - a piece of green knotted rope - and took it to his bed for a good gnaw.

After they had gone home our evening was spent watching the Royal Command Performance which has become something of a tradition in our house.

 

No doubt we could have found more to do but sometimes less is more and in these Covid times, we are glad that we can enjoy each day as we do.