Skip to main content

Some recent obituaries

Not sure I would have wanted to see James Brown lying in his coffin in New York. He didn't look too good when he was alive, if I'm honest.

Old-time comic Charlie Drake (who was so small he needed specially adapted shorts while serving in the RAF) died in the same nursing home in South-West London that played host to the late Alan 'Fluff' Freeman. This home is exclusively earmarked for former stars of stage and screen and you do have to wonder what life must be like there. A kind of geriatric Stella Street, I suppose. Sources tell me that there used to be rival camps of luvvies: those who had been on the TV had nothing to do with ageing variety and music hall performers. The good news is that the number of residents is kept fairly constant. Norman Wisdom is due to move in soon, I believe.

Saddam's application was unfortunately turned down. Although the former Iraqi dictator had provided a great deal of entertainment over the years for viewers of 24-hour rolling news, the criteria for admission are very specific.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Becoming a Twister board

I spent yesterday evening in an old factory building off Brick Lane playing kids' games with an organisation called Fun Fed. The idea is that a bunch of adults get together and act like children for a couple of hours. We played tag and stuck big coloured discs on ourselves so that we could become human Twister mats. There was an awful lot of running around and I was thinking that I ought to get to aikido a bit more often. Being a child is very hard work.

Buttahz

Belatedly made it to the excellent Evolving English exhibition at the British Library. When I arrived, I found a curator talking to a large group of inner-city London teenagers who'd come with their school. "How do you spell Butters ?" he was asking them. The kids volunteered different spellings of the slang term. Museum man then posed another question. "But you don't actually say it like that, do you?" He was referring, I think, to the glottal stop that replaces the t in London English, although phonetics isn't my strong point. The youth were sent off to record slang in a booth for posterity and my attention was drawn to another class. This group was much younger and seemed to attend an exclusive private school. "Joanna! Come over here and listen to a bit of Romeo and Juliet!" The precocious little kids ran hither and thither, listening to samples of regional dialects on a superb interactive display or speeches from statesmen such as JFK and ...

Captain Birdseye and other people of rank

Regular readers may recall that I once doubted the existence of Yeo Valley. I'd never heard of the Yeo mountain range and I therefore rated the likelihood of there being a valley at somewhere between 0 and 5%. Of course, I had yoghurt all over my face when I discovered that the place really does exist. Somewhere in Somerset, I seem to recall. Today, having read an article in the latest edition of The Marketer magazine, I'm astonished to discover that there really was a Captain Birdseye. Well, I need to qualify that just a little. There was a Mister Clarence Birdseye who invented the fish finger back in 1955. The avuncular, uniformed figure who dominated our TV screens for about thirty years may have been an invention of over-eager advertising creatives, but he didn't blow in on a trawler during a squall. There was actually some connection to a real human being. These revelations about fish and yoghurt are causing me considerable disquiet, because I'm wondering h...