Seb Palmer

My adalimumab finally arrived today. I’m now about a month behind, injections wise. Most annoying! I used to have Humira, as pictured above. I’m now on Amgevita. But still using needles, not pens.

Whilst looking for pictures of the drugs I stumbled upon this, an interesting article about patient consent, re the changing from Humira to ‘biosimilars’. Something that I believe has happened to me.

Also arrived today, the above. Part three of N. A. M. Rodger’s epic history of Britain’s Navy. I got this with a voucher from Pat, who also arrived today! Thank, Pat.

We watched a couple of the Peter Sellers Pink Panther movies, and had Duck Soup, using Xmas dinner leftovers. Delish’! I came up to bed at 7.30 pm. Early, as is my wont these days.

Before I embark on the third and final instalment of Roger’s mammoth history, I’m reading this:

This is the only Tintin album I’ve been missing, all these years. I even have the unfinished Alph Art. Lake of Sharks isn’t actually part of the official canon (it’s not written by Hergé, or his studio). At least not anymore.

I’ve never seen the animated film version, either. So this is kind of ‘totally new’, at least to me, despite its age (1973, nearly as old as me).

Well… just finished Lake of Sharks, and it’s alright. Although it’s not an official Hergé creation, it captures the spirit of his work (and had his blessing, so to speak). Albeit slightly altered by the different style of the backgrounds.

All told, it’s okay. I’d give it three and a half, or maybe four stars. I’ll do a ‘proper’ review another time…

Well, well, well… I’m just beginning to realise that I love the music of Grover Washington Jr.

I had Mr Magic and Feels So Good on vinyl, since my teens. And I loved both albums. But I never took that interest any further.

What kind of fool am I? What glorious sounds I’ve been missing out on. Currently playing on the car stereo, is 1976 recording A Secret Place. And, by gum, it’s reet good!

All killer, no filler would be about right. Or just what it says on the cover of this excellent two-fer: ‘Two All Time Great Classic Albums’. For once the hype is right.

To my ears A Secret Place could be a pitch perfect dictionary definition of the phrase ‘make a joyous sound’. It makes me smile, glad to be alive.

As track three, ‘Not Yet’, a Grover original, neared its end, I was typing the ‘all killer no filler’ bit, above, and hoping fervently that the final fourth track wouldn’t let the team down.

‘Love Makes It Better’, which closes out this extraordinarily good recording, turns out to be an original by drummer, Harvey Mason. And it certainly doesn’t disappoint.

What a dream team they put together for this album. It’s utterly wonderful, from start to finish. And damn hard to follow…

I think I’ll re-listen to all of the tracks on this CD, before coming back to write up anything on All The King’s Horses. Rather oddly they’ve put the four tracks of later 1976 release, Secret Place, first.

This is as good a place as any to make a list of Grover albums I’m interested in:

Inner City Blues, 1972 (Kudu)
All The Kings Horses, 1972 (Kudu)
Soul Box, 1973 (Kudu)
Mr Magic, 1975 (Kudu)
Feels So Good, 1975 (Kudu)
A Secret Place, 1976 (Kudu)
Live At The Bijou, 1977 (Kudu)
Reed Seed, 1978 (Motown)
Paradise, 1979 (Elektra)
Skylarkin’, 1980 (Motown)
Winelight, 1980 (Elektra)

I’d like to have all his Kudu releases – I’m only missing Feels So Good and Live At The Bijou – and perhaps Winelight? Reed Seed, Paradise and Skylarkin’ I’m less fussed about.

Before we set off, for Dad’s, Teresa called me upstairs to see Chester. Bagpuss was the reason. Very sweet!

We had a fab’ spag’ bol’ type meal. Teresa contributed some veg. It was really lovely. With plenty of grated cheese, and garlic bread. Delish’!

Attempted some normal aspect ratio photography. And got a couple of usable pics. We then tried numerous attempts at some panoramic snaps. Most turned out pretty badly. This is the best we got:

After eating we exchanged pressies. Which was fun. We also played a bit of random ‘who wants to be a millionaire’, but just as a quiz. Later on we watched a few different bits of TV.

About 4.30 pm, we left. I’m just totally zonked, as ever. I was in bed at home by 6.30 pm. Which is where I am now, as type this…

Musicians:
Stevie - vocs, keys
Mike Sembello – guitar 
Marlo Henderson – guitar 
Reggie McBride – bass
Ollie Brown – drums 
Deniece Williams – vocals 
Lani Groves – vocals 
Shirley Brewer – vocals

Watch the video here. Rather annoyingly I can’t link directly to this particular video.

I’m a big fan of Wallace & Gromit. And we’ve been waiting a long, long, long time, for a new instalment. Almost 20 years, in fact. Since Curse of the Were Rabbit.

The death of Wallace, or rather Peter Sallis, obviously posed a problem. But it’s a problem Aardman & co. overcame, via Ben Whitehead, who does a pretty decent Sallis style vocal.

Peter Kay reprises (and enlarges upon) his Were-Rabbit role, as the flat-footed copper, McKintosh, and Philomena Cunk (Diane Morgan) is TV reporter Onya Doorstep.

One of the many wonderful things about Wallace and Gromit, from inception right up to Curse of The Were Rabbit, is its quaint and, very importantly, imperfect Englishness. These are things the Chicken Run movies lost almost entirely.

This is by far the slickest production of all the W&G productions. But it’s certainly not the best. The spirit that informed all their adventures, up to this point, just about survives. But only just!

Most W&G stuff I can and do merrily watch and re-watch. This one? Hmmm… not so sure. We shall see, I guess. All their other adventures are, in my view, Great. This is merely okay.

Any road, as they used to say in some parts up north, I’m back in bed – and it’s only 7.30 pm – glistening to this:

PS – I just read that Aardman face a clay shortage! Their supplier went bust. And it’s not your ordinary high street plasticine. Read about that here.

Well, preparing and eating Xmas dinner was good. Lifted the spirits. Doing stuff turns out to be a good tonic for gloomy torpor. Who knew!?

Chester’s still confined to quarters, whilst his most recent wound – which got infected this time – heals. He seems much better/happier. The puncture marks have healed, and the swelling around the wound is going down.

The food was delicious. The duck wasn’t too dry at all. In fact, she was succulent. Poss thanks to a whole quartered orange stuffed inside?

The roast ‘taters came out top trumps, n’ all. As did the gravy. The latter made with the water from boiling the spuds, and the juices from the duck. Mmmm!

I’ve imbibed a couple of bottles o’ Shipyard ale. Teresa had a glass of alcohol free mulled wine.

It’s now time for the post-prandial feet up. And also to open some pressies…

Got some bangin’ Xmas choons on…

Some time later, we had a little helping of Xmas pud with double cream. So rich! And opened a load of pressies.

We watched a good chunk of Carry On Matron, which I interrupted in order to take a nice hot bath. Lovely!

And now, Teresa’s talking to her folks – Jean (mum) and Ruth (sister) – and I’ve come upstairs, to bed. It’s 5 pm…

Well, it’s Xmas Day. And, just like any other day, all I want to do is sleep.

Teresa made us a lovely breakfast. And we watched a couple of Wallace and Gromit films, in bed. I kept drifting in and out of sleep.

Sleep… such blissful oblivion! Now I’m dressed and downstairs. Chester is sat nearby. And all I want to do? Sleep.

However, I watched a video on roasting potatoes, and making a rosemary and sea salt seasoning. I guess I’ll crack on wi’ ‘at, shortly.

The duck needs to be made ready to roast, as well…

Some folk will know why this tickles me. You could say, re Nap’s Boney-parts, n’ all, that this is a French tickler. Although, of course, da Boneroo was Corsican.

Boney, the Coming Man? Course he can…

Anyway, on that note. Time to read a bit about this Coming Man. And then off to sleep, to rise ‘pon Chrimble Day.

What a guy! The only Dr Who I can bear to watch. And an interesting human being.

Ah, the Xmas tradition that is watching Die Hard.

I discovered that this blockbuster, which has gone on to be preserved in the Library of Congress – deemed as being culturally significant! – had a long and troubled genesis.

Based on a dream that became a book, that became a screenplay, Bruce Willis was initially resisted as a casting choice, and then assumed to be a liability, upon release.

Movie execs, eh!? Where do they get off!?

Okay, so it’s Xmas Eve, and we’re back home, after an afternoon at mum’s, watching Die Hard. What silly fun!

This film was initially pitched as Rambo in an office block, of the Towering Inferno variety. And it’s easy to see why. I won’t synopsise the film here. That’s been done to death elsewhere.

There are, of course, some fairly ludicrous moments. Well, truth be told, the entire film is nothing but a constant sequence of ludicrous moments. But I s’pose – not that it really matters or ‘signifies’ in any way – I want to enumerate a few.

Some are just those ordinary everyday generic movie tropes, such as the one whereby an ordinary Joe (or Roy/John, in this case) bests a whole mob of supposedly elite-villains, whilst also making everyone from local law enforcement to the FBI look like flat-footed clowns.

Others are more to do with the mechanics or physics of reality, such as the iconic lift-shaft sequence, or his ‘gun taped to back’ routine. Both of these, and many others, involve our willing suspension of disbelief, and feed into that perennially popular fantasy of the lone maverick taking on the world, and winning.

As has been written about copiously elsewhere, Die Hard also addresses many other subjects, some more overtly than others.

One of the many minor themes in this movie, has to do with wealth: we have the hi-tech location – with echoes of the Death Star, in that it’s unfinished – Takagi’s shiny suit, Holly’s Rolex watch, Ellis snorting coke, and Gruber’s grubby little robbery, all undone by an ‘umble copper.

McClain manages to shed gallons of blood without losing consciousness. Impressive!

The issue of race is handled in an interesting way. Some of it consciously so. Some in the unstated ways that leak out of cultural norms. But returning to the fantasy of unbridled masculinity, Sgt. Al Powell, desk-jockey Cop, gets his manhood/Mojo back, by blasting the reanimated zombie of Karl to Hell, with his handgun.

What could be more American than that!

As already alluded to above, the film has an interesting history. Starting out as a dream, becoming a book – Nothing Lasts Forever – and so forth.

It’s also interesting to see how the film was made. From script, to storyboarding, to models, sets, and so on.

In putting this post together I learned that director John McTiernan wound up serving about a year (well, ten months) in prison, over… well, read about it here, if inclined.

Had a lovely Xmas Eve gathering at Mum’s this afternoon. Delish’ buffet style lunch, exchange of pressies, and nice relaxed chit-chat, drinks, and snack-a-doodles…

A very pleasant time was had! I hope folks like our gifts!?