Behind the scenes and off the screens

Sometimes, as you're idly watching television, the mind starts to wander, and you find yourself thinking about the people on the screen. Who are these characters? What are they really like when the cameras aren't watching?
Take, for example, everyone's favourite daytime television couple, Richard Madeley and Judy Finnigan. For years now, first on This Morning and subsequently on their eponymous Channel 4 show, they have been interviewing guests and presenting a united front. However, the most interesting thing about this pair is their own interaction: before the reality show invasion, they were about the only on-screen insight into the petty spats and everyday irritations of married life. Richard is a know-it-all - he has been everywhere their callers live, done everything a guest has done, knows all about an expert's subject. Judy is quite clearly often highly irritated by this, especially when he veers into discussing aspects of their private life. Judy has her "illnesses" and "contact lens mishaps", and relies on Richard to cover for her.
But other than this, what do we really know about them? We know that Richard isn't a shoplifter, that Judy doesn't match her underwear to her outfits, we know that she is older and they met at work (supposedly her first words to him were "I'm your mummy" - now that's an unsettling image...), and we know about their children.
The gaps in concrete knowledge we can fill with gossip and speculation. What keeps them going, other than an obvious desire to avoid career suicide? Anyone who has seen them on TV will realise that there is an obvious affection between them, though on Judy's part it often seems like the love of a mother for an errant son (yeuch, there it is again...). One suspects that Judy has to keep a firm control over Richard: maybe this is part of the appeal of the relationship for both of them.
I'm sure he's let off the leash occasionally though, and what he might do then to amuse himself I simply couldn't imagine...

Note to self - in future it may be wise to look out of the window before leaving the house, thus allowing for the selection of footwear suited to the weather conditions (open-backed shoes and rain do not go together well).




those shoes

Dear Mr Bus Driver

Please do not wink at me and call me pal, I don't know you and have no particular desire to do so.

Regards,
Betsie

On a wee man on a cross theme, I used to pay regular visits to Kelvingrove Art Gallery in Glasgow to see this:



Salvador Dali's Christ of St John of the Cross, now residing in the Museum of Religion in Glasgow. It's quite possibly the only Dali work I actually like (though his moustache probably counts as much as anything, come to think of it).

Happy some-bloke-getting-stuck-on-a-cross day, if that happens to be your thing...

She's lost control

Ever felt like life is racing by as you sit at the sidelines watching? Some are in the yellow jersey, most coast along with the peloton: I'm back with the lanterne rouge.
Mostly self-inflicted, of course. It's easier to bury your head in the sand (or the sleep, mindless television and somnambulism equivalent) than to make the effort to sort out things that need sorting. And yet another day, week, month, year goes by with a long list of undone tasks and unlived life.
Even simple tasks are beyond me sometimes - getting out of bed is a major achievement in a day, venturing outdoors as good as climbing Everest. Once upon a time I had ambitions, plans for the future, things to look forward to. When I think of them now, they taunt me with their vision of how things could be, if I wasn't me, and my mind wasn't continually stuck in a quagmire.

I know this slump won't last forever.
But I also know that others just like it will trip me up again: it's just the nature of the beast, and at times like this it's hard to imagine anything else.

Found a blog that I'll have show my brother, what with him being a fan and all

Read This Now!!!

Not this entry, that is, but the book I'm about to recommend. I started reading Fingersmith by Sarah Waters earlier today, its place on my reading list having been bumped up by the knowledge that the BBC are about to show an adaptation of it, and my god is it good! Even with over half of it still to read, I have no hesitation in urging the world at large to get hold of a copy. Anyway, enough, I've got me some reading to do...

Lilac wine, I feel unsteady...

I've gone all purple. Yay me

Help, I'm addicted...

I discovered SLEUTH last night, and I've been in it's evil grip ever since - I always wanted to be a detective in ye olden days (too much Agatha Christie and Raymond Chandler at an impressionable age, I fear) and now I can! Oh the excitement! I'm sure the amusement will wear off, but for now this is officially My Favourite Website - Ever!

Stupid quotes section: some foreign footballer, apparently at Arsenal, don't ask me who, I'm not up on such things these days - "Football is a game where sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes you draw." Well thanks for that, I'd never have known otherwise...

Hate-filled rant section: will someone please discover what blackmail material so-called comedian Jimmy Carr has on the Channel 4 programme commissioners, thus freeing a grateful nation from his odious presence on every single show. I would gladly pay for a guarantee that my screen will be free of the sight of the smug, snide fat-face cunt. His pitiful attempts at humour bring me out in a rash, and any inanimate objects within reach are in danger of being hurled at the television. I await with bated breath the day I pick up a newspaper to read of a brutal attack having been committed on him, or perhaps a tragic aerial-related mishap a la Rod Hull. If any violent sociopaths should happen to read this, feel free to track him down - he spilled your pint and has to suffer...

Radio Radio

I'm listening to Tom Morton on Radio Scotland at the minute. I used to take the start of his show as a cue to switch the radio off, and in true Why Don't You style, do something more interesting instead (the programme itself had the same effect: tragically inept children presenters tend to have that effect I find), but I've discovered that if I blank out the high proportion of Dadrock, there's actually some good music to be heard there.
Apparently, Mr Morton has recently taken over scripting duties for that fine Scottish institution, The Broons. Well, I'm black-affronted! Whatever that means.... The Broons and Oor Wullie used to be the only thing worth reading in the couthy alternate universe of the Sunday Post, and I strongly suspect that may still be the case. Tommy Turner lookalike Paw and Grandpaw were always sneaking off somewhere to smoke their pipes safe from the approbation of Maw, frequent trips were made to the famous but n ben, and the Twins and the Bairn never did have real names. And there was the yearly treat of the annual to look forward to, which, at least in my youth, alternated years between the two strips. I'm getting all nostalgic just thinking about them. Now if only I had a nice drink of cremola foam to hand, I'd be all set for a trip down memory lane...

Uncanny...

So I'm doing a rune reading, and what turns out to be my personal rune? Perth. Anyone care to guess where I live? I have to dispute this though: "Perth symbolizes enjoyment and wild abandon, but be watchful, for Perth is also the rune of mystery and the outcomes unexpected." Yes well, that must be the Australian one then...

100 reads that you can't put down?

So it seems that some bloke from Glasgow University (a fine institution, as it happens) has drawn up a list of what are, apparently, the 100 best Scottish books - ever. So I had a look, thinking I'm fairly well read, I'll have perused a few of 'em - and it turns out I've read a grand total of ten. Truth be told, I haven't even heard of half of them. Oh dear... Slightly strange though, may I say, that works of philosophy, history and economics are included, but no poetry, somethng Scots have excelled in through the years. But what would I know, it seems I am but an ignorant fool. Now where did I put that library card?

From beyond the grave....

This week, I have been mostly searching through the National Archives of Scotland online catalogue. It started off perfectly innocently, looking for mentions of my ancestors and where they lived, but then the forces of darkness grabbed hold of me, plunging me into a world of criminality, medical experiments, and grave-robbing: the resurrectionists got me.
It's easy today to take for granted the wonders of modern science and medical advances, but they came at a cost: in order to learn their craft and develop new techniques, doctors, surgeons and medical students needed to practice dissection. And a lack of available subjects to practice on in the pre-Victorian era necessitated nefarious means of obtaining corpses. This was the era of the grave-robbers, stealing the newly-dead from their coffins and spiriting them to one of the flourishing medical schools. This unpleasant practice was often carried out by those in the medical profession themselves, with the legal system largely turning a blind eye, but as the demand for bodies grew, others saw a means of making a profit.The price which could be fetched for a reasonably fresh dead body was a handsome amount, perhaps almost enough to tempt the more dubious characters into pursuing the less taxing approach of murder....
Step forward Mr William Burke and Mr William Hare, notorious murderers of 1820s Edinburgh, killing those unfortunate enough to share a drink with them, and passing the bodies onto Dr Knox at the University. It was a gruesome business, and brought public revulsion, and execution for Burke when finally they were caught (Hare escaped prosecution as the case relied on his evidence). Their case has haunted Scottish folklore ever since, as have tales of the resurrectionists' exploits, tales from a time long gone, but still echoing in every hospital, with every new medical discovery, with each reassurance of the surgeon's skill.