Humph blows out

Woke up to read that Humphrey Littleton has kicked the bucket. A really nice guy, a genius in many areas and the irrepressible host of “I’m sorry, I haven’t a clue”. Ah well.

ISHIAC made me realise that Radio 4 was not just about The Archers and that in fact, radio is not just about music either. The Now Show, Dead Ringers, Clive Anderson’s show are all good. The Now Show in particular is just brilliant and is another example of something which works on many levels – irregular listeners will hear some of the best British comedy available today – regular listeners get a whole different show full of in-jokes and twists and turns on running themes that you only pick up if you listen every week. Yes we can.

Whenever people ask me what kind of rules or pentameter I am applying in a particular one of my poems I like to tell them I use the Mornington Crescent rules in all my poetry. Those that listened to the game, chaired by Humph in his own laconic style immediately understand, those that didn’t listen often (or did but didn’t realise what the game was all about) generally leave me alone after that. Life doesn’t have to have rules but if it does they generally change as soon as you think you understand them.

Bye bye Humph.

Heroic

OK, I enjoyed the imaginary autobiography post and I think I wasn’t the only one so I’m going to do some more – it was fun. I’ve been working harder than a dog strapped to a tractor for the last few days but, fingers crossed, I will be able to sit down and have a [Mrs Doyle voice = on] have a good old think [Mrs Doyle voice = off] and write so more.

I think an epilogue might be fun – that way you can keep guessing how we got to the first post (and who the puffy-faced man might be).

But first, tonight is the start of SERIES TWO OF HEROES!

[raises hands in air] Flying man!

A random section from my imaginary autobiography…

…and with that I reached down and picked up the rock. It was time, he had it coming to him. He was an arse and, quite frankly, I was fairly certain that just once, just once I should do something that would be remembered long after I was gone. It meant nothing and it meant everything.

I pulled my arm back, arching myself like some kind of medieval war machine as I hurled the rock as hard as I could, aiming straight at his stupid, puffy, lying face.

The rock span; in my mind’s eye a sickening slow motion special effect until it smacked him square between the eyes. I swear I heard a crunchy “thwack” as it made contact.

There was a pregnant moment of unbelieving silence from the gathered crowd, his “public”; even the secret-servicemen just looked as if they had been frozen by some kind of Godly remote control pause button.

Then all hell broke loose. Arms and fluorescent jackets blurred around me as I was crashed to the floor and squashed into submission beneath an impromptu playground bundle of unthinking duty-bound gut instinct official muscle. I just had time to see him teeter and then fall backwards, stiff limbed like some great felled tree with a glorious mixed look of shock, recognition and total incredulity frozen into his features.

Spark out. With a reddening and quite distinctive rock imprint between his eyebrows.

The last thing the cameras picked up was the huge toothy smirk I was pulling. Then I blacked out with the metal taste of blood between my teeth.

Meme time

Gleaned from Gemmak:

4 movies I’d watch again:
War Games, It’s a wonderful life, The Harder they come, Groundhog Day.

4 places I’ve lived:
Milton Keynes, London, Warwick, Letchworth (Herts).

4 TV shows I watch:
QI, Later with Jools Holland, Diggnation (technically a video podcast), Friends (shhhh, guilty secret)

4 people I email:
Lisa, Roger, David, Jo.

4 things I eat:
Prawns, cheese, chilli, garlic (sometimes all four at the same time).

4 places I’d rather be:
America, Paris, Cyprus, London c1662.