Obviously a good day to die; legendary film director Ingmar Bergman, French actor Michel Serrault, archetypal cockerney geezaah Mike Reid AND newspaper editor Richard Stott have all passed on in the last few hours. As well as US journalists Tom Snyder and Marvin Zindler. (May they all rest in peace, condolences to the families.) I can’t remember a day when 5 Live have had to announce so many deaths.

Bergman will, you’d imagine, garner the most attention - but any which way you look at it, it’s boom time for obituary writers. And if you happened to be a bowser manufacturer who writes obituaries as a part-time on-demand job, it’s probably the equivalent to winning the lottery.

But why today? Could it be that Death has just finished reading the final “Harry Potter” and was disappointed with the survival rate?

PS - it’s just occurred to me that almost NO-ONE in the target audience of “Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey” would, at the time, have understood the “playing games with Death” reference. Myself included, to be honest.

I have to confess, the latest series of Big Brother has captured aspects of my interest. Certainly not enough to watch it every night, let alone vote for evictions - but the promise of a juicy row and a glimpse of the twins in all their barely-legal glory has, from time to time, reeled me in after a few glasses of wine.

But I’m not sure if that’s going to be the case any more after the eviction of Charley. For the uninitiated, Charley Uchea, cousin of Premiership footballer Kieran Richardson, is a 22-year-old girl from South London; one of the most rancid people ever to appear on a TV screen. On the show, she was loudmouthed, shallow, obnoxious, a bully and a lot worse besides (although on VERY rare occasions could also be quite charming). But her speed of thought and clarity of expression were often astonishing; she responded to questions and articulated her thoughts (and, within her own parameters, spoke a weird type of sense) faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure if you’d class it as raw intelligence or some kind of autism - but it certainly intrigued me and made for riveting viewing.

That said, I hope that she’s never heard of, or from, again.

I’ve been keeping a close eye on the property opposite mine for the last few weeks - not because the human occupants are particularly interesting, but because two young seagulls have been growing up (and making a godawful racket most of the time). I’ve seen them shoving each other out of the way to get to their mother for food, clinging on for dear life when a nasty seagull decided to mob them, and looking downright miserable in the rain (so quite a lot of the time just recently!). Living creature-wise, they’ve generally been the first thing I see in the morning, and the last thing at night.

And this morning, using a prevailing westerly wind to practice against, both of them managed to fledge, taking off, flying briefly and landing on a lower roof behind the house in question, where I couldn’t see them any more. I was privileged to catch the moment (and quite lucky, considering it could have happened pretty much any time of the day) - but I suddenly felt bereft, a la Tony Soprano in the first episode of the HBO classic. I don’t think I’ll be needing psychotherapy just yet, but if I get the advance promise of a husky-voiced minx of a shrink like Dr Melfi, I might consider it…

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I’ll be fairly quiet over the next few weeks - am about to move house (touch wood), and will take the opportunity for a little estivation. Happy summer to all regulars and occasionals, see you soon.

Last night saw the end of “Rome“, a mega-budget collaboration between HBO, Italian state broadcaster RAI, and the BBC. For anyone who hasn’t seen any of it, it juxtaposes the stories of the rulers (Caesar, Pompey, Octavian, Mark Anthony, Cleopatra etc) with that of two of the noble families in Rome (the Julii and the Junii), and that of two ordinary soldiers, Lucius Vorenus and Titus Pullo (the two “main” characters).

It was good, rather than great; regrettably, I’m too lazy this morning to draft a proper review, so you’ll have to make do with sub-tabloid “good and bad” bullet points.

Good bits -

Cleopatra, played by Lyndsey Marshal. She kicks asp. Something about the high squeaky voice perhaps - but she definitely builds my pyramid.

The plot (in Series 1) - Vorenus and Pullo conquering Gaul with the 13th legion, then having to deal with the demobbed life of an ex-soldier; Caesar becomes emperor and then gets assassinated. Pans out nicely.

The fighting - cartoony, but good rousing stuff. The bit in Series 1 where Vorenus and Pullo fight in the gladiator pit will have you going around bellowing “THIRTEEN!” for weeks afterwards.

Bad -

The plot (in series 2) - Vorenus suddenly changes from being a regular joe into a crazed criminal overlord. Generally, silliness takes over. The ending for one of the characters is absolutely ludicrous - he / she suffers a supposedly mortal wound in Egypt, but manages to stay alive for a month in order to get back to Rome and see his / her children. And then dies.

The fact that the second actor playing Octavian (as a young man rather than as a boy) looks EXACTLY like a young Vorenus, despite them being utterly unrelated.
The opening credits - obviously left to the Italian side of the operation - exceedingly crappy and downright irritating “graffiti comes to life” motif. They stink. More BO than HBO.

All-told, it was good fun, but certainly no “Deadwood” or “Sopranos”, or even “I Claudius” (which EVERYONE who enjoys good television ought to watch). There will be no 3rd series - we’re told because of the gargantuan expense (an awful lot of location shooting) - although the ending has left the possibility open.

A bit of a Damascene conversion (if you’ll pardon the mixed religious metaphors) for your humble editor this afternoon; a former vague friend / acquaintance from whom I’ve not heard for a while is having a social function next weekend - and I wasn’t invited, even though I invited him to MY last one. (Although it’s possibly not “not invited” so much as “no longer have your contact details”). When I found out, I was briefly in a bit of a huff - surely they’d make sure that I heard about it? Surely the social grapevine would extend its tendrils from London to Folkestone for me, Mikey “Big Guy” “The Mikester” G?

But apparently not. It seems that, for some unfathomable reason, you can’t show utter non-contact indifference to former friends, occasionally passing disdainful remarks to other mutual acquaintances about their descent into ghastly-wife-and-2.4-kids-style corporate squareness, and yet still expect to be invited to their barbecues.

I couldn’t believe BBC director general Mark Thompson’s public self-flagellation over the BBC phone competition / Queen’s hissy-fit incidents. He appeared in public yesterday, wearing a hairshirt and chucking soot over himself, apologised, apologised again and then apologised some more, and then ordered a “zero tolerance” approach and mandatory “honesty training” for his staff - EVERY SINGLE WORKER at the BBC.

Of course, the leader writers at the Daily Mail and other upright organs (ooer) couldn’t believe their luck, and have taken the opportunity to put the boot in with gusto. As I write, millions of racist white van drivers and ghastly ill-informed blue-rinse hags are moaning inarticulately about the issue and threatening not to pay their licence fee.

Let’s get this in context - nobody died. Nobody made any illicit money. Nobody profited or lost, or was advantaged or injured by any aspect of these incidents. The ramefications were about as serious as if they’d spelt a competition winner’s name wrong.

If you’re going to start going monkey-poo about minor indiscretions such as these, where will it stop? A HUGE number of pre-recorded interviews are edited to fit the story. Is that lying? What about comedy panel shows, which again are HUGELY edited? Can a celebrity who’s made to look like an idiot (eg Donny Tourette on last night’s “Buzzcocks”) expect payment for defamation and the resignation of the show’s producers?

The BBC is fantastic, for all my regular criticisms of it. It may be dumbing down and making an increasing number of crappy programmes, but it’s still a national treasure, astonishing value for money and (to my mind) completely trustworthy. The last thing it needs is its DG kicking it in the balls over something as inconsequential as this.

Self-explanatory, really. Would be interested to hear y’alls. Any comments on the Sandwich being a “shrinker” are taken as read.

GROWERS -

The French - really not as bad as everyone says. A bit “ooh la la” at the top end, but, by and large, they’re regular Joes and Josephines. (At least they are by comparison to my semi-countrymen the Italians, who are infantile and histrionic-prone to an incredible degree, as will be addressed in a subsequent post.)

Lentils - still suffer unfairly from an astonishingly outdated hippie / wholefoods / vegetarians fart a lot / real men eat steak-style bad press. Incredibly tasty, especially seasoned with a dollop of marmite. Lentils kick seven shades of shit out of rice.

“Keeping the Dream Alive“, by Freiheit - astonishingly sugary / schmaltzy / puke-tastic on first listen, it’s actually a darned good (and fairly brave) pop song.

Matthew Kelly - strange uncle weird-beard of the ’80s transmogrifies inexplicably into classy TV elder statesman.

SHRINKERS -

The Humour of Eddie Izzard - relies very much on the feeling of semi-improvisation to “get you in the mood” and carry you along. Try watching the same show twice - or indeed two back-to-back - and the artifice disintegrates and he becomes quite dull.

Blur - watching chirpy mockney twat Damon Allbran and his little friends singing squeaky songs about ’90s London in retrospect makes you wonder how Blur vs Oasis was ever taken seriously as a contest.

The Deer Hunter - first time you see it, it’s an earnest working-American-at-war film, an emotional roller-coaster of friendship, suffering and redemption. Second time, it’s FUCKING INTERMINABLE.

Over to you….

Ahhh, Severiano Ballesteros… “The Bullfighter” - that’s what I called him. One of the greatest golfers ever, poor Seve has just announced his retirement from the sport. His was a fairly sad decline brought on by back problems; in the end, even the Seniors Tour proved too much for wee Spanish genius. I’m too young to have seen him in his pomp - but I think this tribute from Alan Partridge says it all.

Have interrupted my first and last viewing of the Beeb’s latest nanny-state contribution “The One Show“, starring cuddly Brummie thug Adrian Chiles (for whom this will hopefully be a career death-knell) and bikini-botherer Myleene “distinct lack of” Klass, to write this.

Tonight’s show leads on the ban on using mobile phones in cars, and why it will become “socially unacceptable” because it’s “as dangerous as drink-driving”. But riddle me this - where’s the “dangerous” element? Is it talking whilst driving? Drivers often have hugely distracting blazing rows with passengers, sometimes turning round to physically castigate children, whilst at the wheel. OK, then it must be holding / touching something other than the wheel whilst driving - but what about drivers who canoodle / change radio stations or CDs / have a cigarette? What about people who do one of those things WHILST having a blazing row with a family member etc? Shouldn’t we, by the same logic as the mobile legislation, ban passengers / radios / chocolate bars / genital-area itch-scratching whilst driving?

In short, the law is obviously an ass on this one. I won’t use my mobile at the wheel for the very good reason that I don’t want a fine - but the situation as it stands is a worrying example of someone in a position of authority saying “this is how it should be”, and the general public parroting the refrain back without really thinking it through. Let’s hope to God that the same doesn’t happen with ID cards.

So - Al Gore marshalled his troops, and decibel levels (if not awarenesses) were raised on Saturday in the name of the fight against global warming. The concert itself (at least the Wembley one - feel free to let me know what yours was like) was fairly dull, with a couple of notable exceptions. The message was obviously well-intended, but was delivered without any particular urgency or seriousness. Eg the Beeb’s frontman for the day, Jonathan Ross, at one point started mantra-chanting “I’m NOT giving up my pwasma scween!” - I know Wossy practically owns the Beeb these days, but could they have picked a LESS appropriate figurehead for their coverage of the proceedings?

The reaction has been predictablissimo - on a spectrum from the smug cynics citing the air transport needed to set up the gigs (etc) from the po-faced earnest right-on-ers saying “No, right, it’s so easy to be cynical, right, but this is REALLY IMPORTANT, right… (etc)”

But what did you think of Live Earth? Did it warm your globes? Did it melt your ice-caps? Did it… erm… make you emit carbon? (EH?) Time for an eco-poll!