A TV gripe

WATCHING the last episode of The Restaurant (BBC 2) this evening, I’m struck by the inevitability of the winning team. After all, if I was Raymond Blanc looking to form a partnership with a view to opening a new restaurant, there’s no question of who my choice would be. In fact, it was obvious from the very beginning of the series – and that, of course, begs a question: if it was that obvious why bother watching? M’m… Maybe it’s something to do with the dearth of good TV programmes, despite the choice of something like 40 digital channels. I have no patience at all with so-called “reality” shows, and I’ve not much more time for the various “talent” programmes – cheap telly at it’s most crass. (Where is the entertainment value in seeing people humiliated? Sorry, I just don’t see it.)

But maybe I’m just getting jaded in my viewing habits. When episodes of The Avengers and Columbo and The Rockford Files are the highlights of my evening’s (recorded) viewing, maybe it’s time I gave up high definition, digital TV for something really hi-tech: a good book!

Quiet Tuesday

IT'S A quiet day in the Geriatrics' Corner of the Pub. Just myself, My Good Lady and Little B. Liam and Ricky are behind the bar, but there's so little for them to do, they join us in completing the Times2 crossword, what there is left for us to do. The bitter coldness of the day means that they've lit the stove - but the wood is so damp, it simply won't burn. Ricky puts some pieces of coal in, which helps, but nobody can claim it's exactly a roaring blaze. Little B sits all afternoon in his coat and scarf.

Little B has brought in his latest toy, a laptop computer. He's never used a computer in his life, but now, admirably, in his seventies, he giving it a go. His aspirations are modest enough: he wants to go online and post the occassional email to his friends. Unfortunately, the shop where he bought the machine gave him no instruction at all on how to use it, not even on how to turn it on. He brings it along in the hope that we can be of assitance, but my knowledge of laptops is almost as lamentable as Little B's. Ricky it is who points out there there is no wireless connection available at the Pub. Poor Little B puts his new purchase away in his carrier bag, sadly no wiser. I hope he's not regretting making his purchase - I really do believe computer shops have a duty to give some basic instruction on how to use the products they sell. I'm quite miffed on Little B's behalf.

Evening. I do us a spicy chicken stirfry for dinner - My Good Lady's desire for spice remains insatiated (she's planning a hot curry for us tomorrow). It's odd how little spice the French use in their cuisine - a pinch at most. As a result, we've come back from Perpignan with a serious case of spice depreviation, and MGL in particular is suffering from it.

Later we watch a bit of Millionaire (ITV 1) before opening a bottle of wine, a rather dry Aussie Chardonnay. We have a chunter about the day and it's doings, our plans for tomorrow and next week, all to the sweet sounds of Ella Fitzgerarld. These are the magic moments of our lives - we just chill out, with a glass in hand and to some great tunes. Sheer bliss!

Another last Monday

FIRST, I have to see the doctor. Some sort of liver problem. Seems that the combination of drugs and wine I'm on isn't as good for me as I thought. He's a decent chap, though, he doesn't lecture me or give me any pep talk or anything like that. Just suggests that I become aware of how much I'm drinking and maybe tone it down a little bit. "I'm off to a dinner party tonight," I tell him. "That's all right," he says, "start tomorrow.

Nevertheless, it's on this somewhat sobering note that My Good Lady and I go off to our last-Monday-of-the month dinner. Now, I must say, some of our friends can be a bit on the boozy side at these dos. I feel positively abstemious on my pint of Theakston's bitter and my one little glass of Chardonnay.

It's still a grand evening, though. All the more agreeable to see PD and Lin after a somewhat prolonged absence, and seeing them in such good spirits, too. Fran and Den are there, of course, old troopers that they are! And Little B is in great form, too - when he can get a word in edgeways.

The surprise of the evening is bumping into an old friend. We haven't seen Stella Dave for well over a year, now, and he's looking prosperous and happy. He greets us like long-lost brother and sister. When we first knew Stella D he was something of a down and out - out of work, barred from driving, frustrated and bitter with the world around him, a brilliant young man just spinning his wheels futilely. He spent his days in the Geriatrics' Corner of the Pub, over his one pint of Stella Artois lager, angry that others couldn't appreciate either his talent or his whacky sense of humour. Somehow, we drifted together, the three of us, and over a couple of years we formed a relationship of sorts. We gave him some support and company, he gave us his friendship. We were there for him the day he got his job in IT, and we knew he's make a go of it. And he has - boy, is he a high-flyer, now! Europe, America - all over. He once gave us a broad wave from behind the wheel of his BMW... Anyhow, it's really good to see him again.

My Good Lady and I return home and pop open another bottle of wine, a rather nice Italian Pinot Grigio, and drink to the health of our whacky, wonderful friends. As for my liver, well we have much to drink to - it only slightly damaged, after all

Home again

IT'S GOOD to be home. It's wonderful to have all one's little comforts welcoming you back. I sometimes think that the only good reason for going away is the return, and of picking up the pieces of one's life left so rudely behind.



It has been a good holiday, although not totally without incident. The flight out to Perpignan is the usual horror, compounded by the fact that my back problems have not fully settled. Two hours squashed into the confines of a tight, narrow seat does nothing to ease my discomfort. Moreover, I'm feeling unusually claustrophobic, but this proves to be the onset of a rather bad cold which puts a blight on our first week's stay.



The place itself is pleasant enough, a comfortable, spacious gite, on the edge of a tiny village in the foothills of the Pyrenees, and with a magnificent view of "dog's tooth" mountain, Canigou. In fact, we come to think of this mountain as our third significant other, "Monsieur Canigou" - so vast is he, so great his influence, that he has a weather system all his own. When I get up in the morning, I greet My Good Lady (MGL), and then step out onto the terrace and say "Bonjour, M'sieur C", just to keep him happy and placated.

The scenery is, in fact, one of great features of the area. But the whole place is awash with artists old and new. This is, after all, the stomping ground of the likes of Matisse and Picasso, Braque and Derain, Chagall and Max Jacob; the villages of Collioure and Ceret can boast galleries and museums with collections (donated by the artists themselves) that many a capitol city could envy. No shortage of culture for us, then. Nor is there any lack of contemporary beards and pony-tails, nor of tourist-trap art shops charging ridiculous prices for distinctly mediocre work. And of course, the inevitable bijou cafes catering to visitors and locals alike. In parts it's a bit like the Lake District in England - very beautiful, no question, but also very, very touristy.

Perhaps the thing that impresses us most, though, is the Catalan people who we find to be generous, warmly humorous and very independent in spirit. It's the only part of France we've visited where the locals actually take pride in speaking English. We get a feeling that their first language is Catalan, even more than French. MGL and I get along with them great, although I'm sad to say we don't meet anyone with whom we form anything but a superficial relationship.

It was a good holiday for us - MGL and me and (I'm sure) M. Canigou - but like I said, it's great to be home again.

Introducing myself

ALLOW ME to introduce myself. I’m the Oxcliffe Fox. Why Oxcliffe? Why Fox? Well, I live in the Oxcliffe area of Lancaster, and Fox rhymes with “ox” part of Oxcliffe – it’s not because I have any particular predilection for the pesky beasties.

Likes:
music of all kinds, but especially jazz (Miles Davis is my hero);
movies, mainly old and soppy ones, although I can enjoy a good, cracking thriller;
books – I’ve always got at least one on the go, at the moment it’s the Canadian classic Klee Wyck by Emily Carr;
food and wine, oh yes, I find cooking to be very therapeutic when I’m stressed out and I love a glass of wine pretty well any time;
visiting other countries: France is my second home, emotionally speaking, and we’ve met some great people all over, including Australia, Canada, the West Indies…
company of good friends – and in this regard I’m blest indeed;
My Good Lady, my wife now for thirty-odd years and in whose smile I find an infinite joy.

Dislikes:
politics & politicians, if you type the word “liar” into Google it’ll come up with the name of some politician or other;
reality tv, oh, give me strength!
travelling, especially flying; my idea of hell is an all-day wait at Heathrow airport, followed by a long-haul flight;
cabbage, my dad use stink the whole house out when I was a lad, and I still shudder at the memory of the stuff in school dinners.

Anyhow, this should give you an idea of who and what I am. Hope you enjoy this blog, and that you come by often.

First day of a new blog

I’M PLEASED to be writing in my new home blogsite. The old AOL blogs from both The Oxcliffe Fox and The Oxcliffe Vixen will shortly be deleted, presumably as part of some sort of streamlining stratagy. Time/Warner, who used to own AOL, and who could never make it pay, have now sold this ISP to the Carphone Warehouse - and heaven only knows what'll happen now. Hope all our old friends and readers will stay with us and here on Blogger, and maybe we'll maybe meet some new friends here, too. Meanwhile, I must get on and set up a new blog for My Good Lady.