A man goes to see the Rabbi. “Rabbi, something terrible is happening and I have to talk to you about it.”
The Rabbi asked, “What’s wrong?”
The man replied, “My wife is poisoning me.”
The Rabbi, very surprised by this, asks, “How can that be?”
The man then pleads, “I’m telling you, I’m certain she’s poisoning me, what should I do?”
The Rabbi then offers, “Tell you what. Let me talk to
her, I’ll see what I can find out and I’ll let you know.”
A week later the Rabbi calls the man and says, “Well, I spoke to your wife.. I spoke to her on the phone for three hours.
You want my advice?”
The man said yes and the Rabbi replied,
“Take the poison.”
I finally got round to watching Sunday’s Spooks last night. Only four more episodes to go until the end of a brave, innovative and enthralling series. From the very beginning its writers have had a reputation for unpredictability and for not giving major characters an easy ride. Over ten years, quite a few of them have made early and fatal exits, Adam for example, poor old Colin for another, and as for Ros Myers she died twice. However some have been allowed to leave in one piece. Zoe was sent off to a new life in South America, Tom was decommissioned after showing signs of a conscience, Tessa was exposed as a fraudster, Malcolm went off to happy retirement, Sam, Beth and Jed just left, while Jools was reassigned to America where he reappeared in deep cover as the star of the mega-successful medical drama House.
(Only one remains unaccounted for, the mad Juliet, who disappeared to parts unknown after being exposed as an arch-traitor. With mystery hanging over the identity of the person who seems out to destroy MI5, I wonder, have we really seen the last of her?)
However through the saga there is one group whose fate seems to have been inevitable. Those who have joined the Grid, and have been Afro-Caribbean, of sub-Continental ancestry, or of mixed race, to be specific, Danny, Zafar, Ben and Tariq, have all left the scene in very terminal ways, one shot, one tortured to death, one from having his throat cut by a traitor colleague, and another poisoned by an assassin who we are meant to assume was Russian, thanks to a crude reference earlier in the episode, but who probably wasn’t. After the media-inspired outrage over the exclusively white population of the collection of villages in Midsomer Murders, I’m surprised that none of our righteous media outlets have hit on this, not least since Kudos, the series creator company, is now part of the Shine group, which is itself now owned, more than a little controversially, by none other than Mr Murdoch’s News Corporation.
Just seen a woman on Breakfast, one Kathy Lette, do for women’s fiction what Jack the Ripper did for streetwalking in Whitechapel. She may be a capable and successful author, but she is NOT Ruby Wax and someone should tell her.
Spent the last part of my lunchbreak listening on my iPod to my all-time favourite Rolling Stones album. Which one’s that? Stripped. What’s yours?
The Boss and I have just been for lunch to Vaive, Phillipe and Theresa’s snack bar on El Riuet beach, just beyond St Marti d’ Empuries, a favourite howff aso of Primavera Blackstone and her son Tom, now eleven years old, and growing fast. He will tell you in a voice of authority, and I agree with him, that Theresa’s chicken-pig is the best damn sandwich in town. Half a loaf crammed with chicken, bacon, letttuce and salsa, and I’m sure Theresa would do a kosher version if required. Hurry up if you want one, though; they’re likely to close for the season at the end of this week.
Did you do anything else on holiday ohter than read The Loner and Grievous Angel? I hope you get on with Oz. He can be a difficult sod.
? Is Christine Lagarde on a power trip, or does she simply like the sound of her own voice?
Good news. After being nagged by many people for many years, John Pallares is going to have a shot at keeping La Clota open into the winter, from Thursday (Paella night) then through to Sunday lunchtime. He’ll run it to the end of October and see how it goes. Consider this advertising, folks.
Brilliant. Well done PD, I can’t wait to read it. I predict a wave of imitators. How about Rebus on the trail of Burke and Hare? Come on Ian, give it a try. How about you Sandy? Mma Ramotswe investigates the death of David Livingstone? As for me, I can’t wait to get my hands on Treasure Island. Imagine, Skinner (he has this thing about boats) on board the Hispaniola. I never did trust that man Trelawney. And as for Doctor Livesey! What was in the Black Spot? Was it instant acting polonium? Was Bill Bones poisoned? Was Blind Pew really Blind, or should he have been Partially Sighted But Can See Enough To Murder Pew?? How did Long John Silver lose his leg? Why was Jim in the apple barrel? Go for it, Big Man!
I note that President Obama has unveiled a new policy. Make rich folks pay more tax. And it has started a firestorm, it seems. I heard a wally on an news channel a couple of days ago, getting hysterical about a mythical creature who owns a dozen Dunkin’ Donut concessions. So? What impact would higher personal taxes have on his business, as the clown was suggesting. None. Corporation taxes have always been there. They can be regulated in a way that stimulates employment and therefore generates more revenue for central government in direct and indirect taxation collected from the newly economically active. But WTF do I know? I’m not an economist, and as for Tea Parties, Scottish Blend is as far as I go.
I am puzzled. We are said to be on the verge of a double dip recession. Yesterday, global stock markets plunged. But did they do so because we are on the brink of a double dip recession, or because the media reported that we are on the brink of a double dip recession? What’s happening? Has the global equities market simply grown too big for the ‘action’ that our politicians vacuously promise. I heard a soundbite from Dave’s speech in Canada this morning. Now I’m looking for the substance bite. Can’t find it.
After years of promising ourselves, we watched ‘Sideways’ on DVD last night. It’s described on the jacket as ‘The funniest film of the year’, but whoever wrote that is the sort of sad bastard who gets off on other people’s misfortune. I didn’t know until afterwards that it was directed by the same guy who did the brilliant ‘About Schmidt’, but as soon as you learn that, the penny drops, and you substitute the Miles character for Schmidt. Exactly the same formula, lonely guy on a road trip, only this one has a mate. All that said, I found it a nice touching movie with what I hope was going to be a happy ending.
Am I tired of them? No I’m not, but that’s why Big Bob is as he is, so that he’s not categorised alongside them. As for your football team, only God can judge them, as we’ve been told, but far from kick-starting their season, they couldn’t kick doors at Hallowe’en. However, I am not optimistic about tonight. They’re catching ‘Well on the back of two heavy defeats, so they’ll never have a better chance.
I hear that Scotland is to have its own crime writing festival next September. I’ve believed for some time that there was a place for such an event, but been too indolent to get off my arse and do something about it. So well done Alex Gray and Lin Anderson for taking the initiative and putting a package together, with the support of Stirling Council, Stirling Uni, and Creative Scotland. May God bless you and all who sail in you.
Made a purchase for Mia, La nieta, in the local Chinese shop yesterday. You might call it baby’s first commode. She hasn’t quite figured that out, though; she reckons it’s a stroller, like she has at home for her doll. First thing she did it was sit Teddy in it and start pushing him around. It has now been christened, The Poo-chair.
After two weeks of the sort of weather that’s had everyone complaining about the heat, (silly buggers) the promised rain arrived just after 4am this morning, and it did so big time, with an accompanying light show that put the Festa Major fireworks to shame. Eileen and I know what time it happened because it was big enough to wake up. We had Mia for an overnighter; she slept right through it.
Haven’t read the book on which Ice Cold in Alex is based . . . indeed I didn’t know there was one. Yes it was Anthony Quayle, but his character in the movie wasn’t called Zimmerman; he played Captain van der Poel, later unmasked as Hauptman Otto Lutz.
Neither Bob nor I, as he will be very quick to confirm if you follow him on Facebook or Twitter, plan to be pensioned off any time soon. You have our word on this.
Read slower, it’ll last longer.