May 24th 2004 - May 30th 2004
Sunday Subbuteo
Saturday My name is Barbara too
Friday B*ggery
Thursday But is it art?
Wednesday Royally
Tuesday Turkish delight
Monday Who?
Sunday 30th May 2004
Subbuteo: now there's a name I've never known how to pronounce. Nor ever needed to, it must be said; my crowd were never strong on table football, preferring to spend our scant leisure time sneaking a quick fag in the groundsman's shed whilst discussing Sartre and snatching a surreptitious wank.
S'boot-ee-oh? Suboo-tay-oh? I'm guessing the former, with its glancing touch of boot, but it might equally refer to some forgotten Italian footballer. (And is it just me, or do all Italian football clubs sound as if they were named after the nearest railway station?)
I was mildly intrigued to read that there's now a new addition to the Subbuteo cast list: the streaker.
I don't know how that would work. I don't know how Subbuteo itself works, for that matter, although I've always assumed it was some kind of glorified tiddlywinks, with each player supplying his own sub-vocalised commentary: "Dawson to Spinks, Spinks clears it to Parsons, Parsons misses it and it's picked up by Clements..oh! and Clements stumbles, a very disappointing response from Clements there..." (Have you noticed how football commentators all sound like provincial headmasters with an anger management problem?)
"Here's Parsons again, he shoots and yes! he scores. The crowd are going wild here at East Trumpton. They didn't fancy the ranking team's chances in this third leg of the second round international derby cup trophy battle but. How. Wrong. They. Were. And.. I think.. yes, the crowd are invading the pitch. The police are clearing them off and.. oh!.. there's our first streaker of the season."
Something like that? You can see how the collecting mania might lead to the invention of new off-pitch characters: first a refereee, then some linesmen, a manager or two, press photographers perhaps. But here's a suggestion that could make them shedloads of dosh: Subbuteo Footballers' Wives.
"And Parsons' waving to his wife, up in the director's box. Petronella there, beaming, thinking about her new fur coat, no doubt. And I think, yes, one firm finger to the forehead and.. oh! She's on her back!"
Saturday 29th May 2004
There is a memorable moment in Pam Gems's Piaf when the Little Sparrow bellows into the stalls, "I'm, still 'ere!"
Barbara Cook is still 'ere, too, having survived the vagaries of a Broadway and cabaret career, as well as a recent throat infection that forced the cancellation of the early performances in this current run.
"Be kind," she begs, confessing that she's not yet "100 per cent". But though the famous voice may be a little raggedy after illness, it can still soar like few others.
Her follow-up show to 2002's Mostly Sondheim", which was nominated for Tony and Olivier awards...
And it was at that point that I realised I was reading about Barbara Cook not Barbara Windsor.
Friday 28th May 2004
We not only have an epidemic of obesity, we have a huge problem of Aids and the Government's attitude is to do all it can to promote b*ggery. Maybe those two are somewhat intimately connected."
Thus ageing Essex-boy Norman Tebbit interviewed (why?!) on the Today programme yesterday.
For the second time in two days, I fear I must agree with the Mirror, who headlined their report Fat headed fool.
(Footnote: The loathsome Tebbit was speaking on a radio programme. How do you pronounce 'b*ggery'?)
Thursday 27th May 2004
Loath as I am to agree with them when it comes to art criticism I have to admit, given the healthy proportion of Damien Hirst's work consumed, that I rather liked the Daily Mirror's cartoon of a reporter surveying the ashes of the fire at the art warehouse: "And it seems millions of pounds of meaningless tat has been lost to the nation for ever."
Wednesday 26th May 2004
Tuesday 25th May 2004
His finest extra-mural activity was his life of Hugh Walpole, a masterpiece of discretion in which his hero's homosexuality was hidden from the old ladies who loved his novels but obvious to those in the know.
Turkish baths, we learn, provided 'informal opportunities for meeting interesting strangers'.
Jeremy Lewis reviews 'Rupert Hart-David: man of letters' in today's Independent ('He did good things in his day, but whether he merits a full length life is another matter.')
Monday 24th May 2004
Speaking as someone who sat cross-legged on the floor of the junior common-room to watch the very first episode of Doctor Who (and who sat there again, a week later, to see it repeated), I welcome with warm indifference the news that Chris Evans's wife, Billie Piper, is play the Doctor's assistant in the upcoming remake.
But why not go the whole hog and have Evans himself play the Time Lord? That could work.
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