The debonair Basil Marigold's

One of the things I will, invariably, do over the christmas holiday is to take note of the yearly Obituaries. This year is no different. The list are usually, listed as, 'Notable People', because, obviously, un-notable people die too! I suppose I prefer the term, 'notable', to 'Celebrity'. Notable is a far more acceptable term to me, as it implies, a person of note, who has achieved something of worth. Celebrity, tends to be a description of someone, who is both vacuous & dead behind the eyes. However, this year, I have just read my first one on the BBC website. And as always happens, I come across one person that I look at, and think, No, surely not. Please, no.  This year; Nigel Terry. Here follows, great shouts of...Nigel who?? (And then tell yourself off, for not knowing who he was!). If, as I happen to be, you are into the rich and wonderful myths that this country has produced since the dark ages then you will know, King Arthur. I think of all th

When I was fairly young, Perhaps a couple of years older than my eldest daughter who is now 6. There was a programme on the BBC which was made into 6 parts and was created for children's Televison, during the christmas period IN 1984 (It ran up to Christmas eve). It was called, 'The Box of delights'. It must be remembered this was created when the BBC produced programmes that hadn't been dumb down for the audience. This story was adapted from the books by, John Masefield, whom from 1930 to 1967 was the Poet Laureate . It is a sequel to the first book, the Midnight Folk, which contained a lot of the same characters. The Box of delights was chosen to be adapted. As an 8 year old it was a stunning experience. The story was a little bit scary at times, exciting and for the time the graphics seemed quite advanced (though 30 years later you see how far we've moved on), but it has been forever burnt into my mind as something that happens at Christmas. The advent (geddit?)

I looked with horror at the date of the last post, January 2015. Almost 12 months have passed and I have written nothing here. I used to write fairly regularly and I enjoyed it also. At times it was very therapeutic and I attempted to make it at least a little witty, if possible. A struggle for some, any, creative muse to strike me has been a little part, of the whole, of not contributing here as much as previously.  Sometimes, I have a wish to speak but have no way of saying it; a total blank. There is a book called, 'I have no mouth. And I must scream'. It is, science fiction. A disturbing portrayal of a dystopian future - I recommend it. The title however, has always stuck fast in my mind. I have found myself this year (and to a lesser extent, last year), feeling this sentiment. Ideas and thoughts never stop but the inability to translate them from thought, to a solid narrative, is a horrible feeling. A disconnect from what goes in, having no way, in which, to come out. If