Author: Seb Palmer

The church of St Neot’s looks very much like it’s worth a pilgrimage visit…

Just learned about it on a Rick Stein TV programme about Cornwall.

Wow! What a great find this was. It was released in Europe in ‘71, but the US in ‘72. And it was, in part, this year – in which I was born – that lead me to have a look.

Bronson’s face, physique, and whole demeanour are wonderful; like the flinty granite of Jack Palance, but with crystal veins of wit and charm shot through the igneous rock.

This Euro-collaboration is – as far as my limited knowledge goes – unique and unusual (and ahead of its time?) in not only having Frenchman Alain Delon as suavely evil bad guy, Gauche, but also Toshirō Mifune, as a ‘last of the Samurai’ type warrior.

So it’s a kind of proto-hybrid-spaghetti/noodle Western, I guess?

We have Capucine and Arsula Undress giving a bit of Yin to the Yang (or is it t’other ways about?), quite literally.

It’s helmed by British director Terence Young (Dr No, [?]), who does a terrific job.

Rather than synopsise the interesting and unusual plot, I’ll content myself with observing that there are lots of terrific locations, some excellent camera work, which, when added to an unique (if formulaic) story and solid (if formulaic) acting, produce a very beguiling whole.

The chemistry between Bronson and his fellow actors, esp’ Mifume, is great, allowing such hackneyed motifs as revenge, and grudging respect turning to camaraderie, to blossom afresh in the somewhat different setting.

There are even Injuns. But once again, even though they occupy a similar niche to that they habitually occupy, it’s all done – thanks massively to the long grass setting – in a refreshing way.

Maybe not a top tier movie. But a very solid compelling and surprisingly fresh take on timeworn themes. Deserving, I think, of cult status.

This is a terrible film in so many ways. A mish-mash of sub-Tarantino delight in violence and death, Baz Luhrman-esque style ‘postmodern’ spectacle, superhero cartoon, and God alone knows what else (as the credits roll the music harks back to Spaghetti Westerns!).

Oh, and I’m not a fan of Guy Ritchie (or Madonna, for that matter).*

It’s really disgusting, with its totally pornographic revelling in murder and butchery, it’s love of crass populist fluff, and, to cap it all, some ‘woke’ bullshit liberally sprayed over everything, like the topping of some mad turf trifle.

In spite of – or because of? – all this and much more (or is it less?), I enjoyed this ludicrous big-budget soufflé of total and utter bollocks.

It claims to be based on historical reality; Operation Postmaster. But this is a Commando comics on Angeldust ‘reality’, in a world where only surfaces are truly real, all taking place in a kaleidoscopic multiverse of mirrors.

And all of it connected to yet another crazy fantasy world, that of Ian Fleming’s James Bond. So this movie can, in addition to all its other magpie thievery, hitch a ride on the coat-tails of the 007 franchise.

Who cares about history or reality, when you can submerge yourself in rivers of Nazi blood, amidst barrels filled with human hearts? Panem et circenses, indeed.

*Both are consummate producers of ‘product’ in/for the shiny ultra-commercial pop age.

St Peter’s, Kings Ripton

Alas, shut! Have to return another time.

Wood Lane off Broughton Road is lovely:

Formerly St. James, Little Raveley.

This church, thought to date back to about 1230 AD, is now a private home. The homeowner very kindly let me take a few snaps. And we had a nice chat about what it’s like, living in a converted church. Something I’d love to do!

St. John The Baptist, Wistow.

I think I’ve been to this church before?

On this occasion I chanced to pass when a local keyholder was showing a couple of Canadians the place.

I took advantage, and snuck in and snapped away.

As I’ve said before, a one church day is great. Two, even better. Three? Blessed.

I do love a good doorstop sized book! And at over 900 pages, this is one such. I also love maritime history, especially the naval branch.

Alas, due to an all-consuming motivation-sapping depression, I haven’t really been reading much lately.

I bought this gigantic book at a shop in Whittlesey, called Antiques & Collectibles, or something similar, for £5. The mere act of getting it, never mind starting to read it, is encouraging, vis-a-vis the depression/motivation stuff.

Sooo… enough with the blogging, already; on with the reading.

The following day…

Ok, so I’m now two chapters in. What do I make of it so far? I think it’s a bit early to make any strong judgements. Mostly I’m drawing solace from the mere fact of having any interest or engagement with anything whatsoever!

It’s clear the author is prodigiously knowledgeable on his subject. And he writes well, for the most part; clearly and with balanced judgement, only slightly blurred at times by a penchant for antique style.

And I’m enjoying it. Even though it’s pretty heavy going, in some ways. Or is it? Perhaps I’m just finding it a little arduous given my current psychological condition? It’s hard to say!

I’ve just realised/discovered that this is not the first book by this particular author that I’ve bought. I got this, at Waterside Antiques, Ely, a while back:

Not read it yet, tho’…

Some Days Later…

Well, I’m loving this book. No mistake! It’s very detailed, and very specialised. But it’s also eminently readable, as the saying goes. And after a bit of a literary drought – down to my own issues with exhaustion – it’s the perfect briny tonic.

I love it so much I simply must, when I finish this volume, read it’s predecessor, Safeguard of the Sea.

I was reading my recently acquired Mojo Joni Mitchell special today, and an article on Blue talked a bit about her 1970 Isle of Wight performance.

So far I’ve only ever seen/heard one or two of her tracks from this event, and I had judged it a mistake for her to even perform at such a huge rock concert. Pearls before swine, poss? But certainly an inappropriate setting for such subtle, delicate, gentle music.

For me Joni really only ought ever to have been experienced performing in intimate coffee house type settings, or at Jazz Café type venues.

I think gigs over a certain size are mostly a bad idea. They’re more about money (‘bums on seats’), than quality of experience, for either artist or audience.

Anyway, reading about how her Isle o’ Wight set evolves, made me want to watch the whole thing. I don’t yet know if the above video is just that, or not, as I have yet to watch it.

I’m having real problems with mornings right now. I simply don’t want to engage with the world. And I’m putting off doing so as long as I can.

Part of it may be necessary recovery. But I feel fairly sure that part of it is down to a depression. A depression that may not lift or dissipate until dealt with.

Trouble is… I just don’t know what to do! I’ve very definitely lost my mojo…

Anyway, I was thinking about music in general, as I very often do, and Sting in particular. Not 100% sure why? And as I thought back through several of his albums, when I reached Dream of the Blue Turtles, a lance of pain went through my heart.

I think the Sting train of thought left the station on thoughts of ‘Fragile’, due to how fragile I currently feel. Good ol’ Gordy Sumnoid.

Unresolved, unhealed pain from the deep past. Casting a long and baleful shadow. What does one do? It may – it ought to? – perhaps, help me understand dad’s situation a bit better.

I dunno… I just feel like throwing in the towel, to be honest. Coping, or attempting to, is too draining/enervating.

Did two delivery shift out of Wisbech Mozzer’s today. Both up, around and in Kings Lynn. Absolutely nowt of interest to report about them.

It was a scorching hot day. 32°, acc to my iPhone app. As high as 35° acc to my in car temperature gauge. Thank goodness for decent in car air-conditioning.

Once home, I had to pop out and collect Teresa, from the March station. Her train was affected, aka delayed, allegedly (acc to the train folk) due to the heat.

Once back home, again, and for a change, I cooked… hot dogs! Simple. But tasty and fun.

Teresa provided the sliced cucumber accompaniment, to keep us decent and honest. I cooked enough to feed us both, and Antonio.

I slept till midday today. Total and utter exhaustion! And I’d felt pretty shitty once up and about. But fortunately things gradually improved. Work, whatever its other highs and lows, is, for me at present, a tonic.

It grounds me, calms me (mostly!), and of course keeps us (just about) solvent.

Well, first off, what a wonderful day it is, and has been, all day.

Second, the trip itself was mercifully stress-free. Occasionally mild panic set in. Buy all told, this was simply a lovely day out on the River Ouse.