Back last September, I was cautiously wondering if the current football season could, at long last, see the return of the Premier League title to Anfield.
There seemed to be a renewed sense of focus about the team rather than a tactic of haphazard rampage. And here we are now at the beginning of January and the news is that Liverpool have a 17 and 18 point lead over their nearest rivals Leicester and Manchester City respectively. It's almost too tempting to say it's in the bag but there are strong memories of having been overhauled by Man City from a not too dissimilar position two years ago.
What this means though is that the other 17 teams are tightly bunched into groups and a couple of losses can mean the difference between 8 league places. Lauren feels this as her newly promoted Sheffield United are doing well at the moment but could easily plummet if their luck ran out. She mentioned that Liverpool's assured sense of their position and quality had somewhat knocked the stuffing out of their players, seeing how good Liverpool were by comparison. Sheffield Utd had come to Anfield feeling hard done by at the Etihad and then were given a comprehensive footballing lesson. But as I said to her, they're not alone in feeling that way this season and it certainly wasn't like that five years ago.
Julian, with his Chelsea sympathies, reminded me of that fact and I'm happy to accept that these good times have not visited Anfield for quite a while. But I'm happy to acknowledge that Pep's done not too dissimilar things with three different European clubs which is another extraordinary achievement. However, Jurgen's taken a very mediocre LFC, put it through a period of extreme volatility and brought out a really cracking set of players who have enormous rapport with the people in the stadium.
And suddenly I sound like a real football supporter.
I found myself in need of help from the younger generations over this piece of celebrity news - or gossip as I remember it being called. Twitter was ablaze whilst I was bemused. Who are Vanessa Hudgens and Austin Butler and what brings them into the public eye? Should I be at all concerned that they have split after nearly nine years together even though they were due to be getting married later this year?
Once again Lauren brought wise counsel.
Vanessa Hudgens, apparently, went out with Zac Efron and (it is alleged) sent rudey, nudey photos to him which kids used to find when they searched for High School Musical in the days before school internets had filters and protections. She was less certain about him but it transpires that he's also been all over television and is now gaining a film presence with the latest Tarantino under his belt.
So, I was right to think that it was generational and that, ultimately, it was of the moment and of little moment.
The younger gay generation in the form of Sam and Tom have been trying to move house for some time. They have had an offer accepted for another house but felt that they were being hung out to wait and so looked at another house owned by two gay guys who have split up after twelve years and were looking for a quick sale. Sam and Tom agreed that it was a gorgeous house and so have jumped ship on their first attempted purchase.
The small wrinkle in the situation is that Tom realised immediately that he was being shown around by a hot daddy called Dave who once asked him (Tom) if he was as good with his cock as he was with his tongue. Sam later explained to Tom that Dave was definitely a bottom and that he (Sam) knew this because he had been shagged by the other half of the partnership. They are both quick to say that the encounters were some time ago and nothing to do with the split between the other two guys. And there's modern gay life for you in a nutshell.
I was wrong to think that I was free from the clutches of the menace of the DWP.
Firstly, I received a letter from the branch that deals with Carer's Allowance to tell me that, because I worked for forty years and paid the National Insurance required and am therefore in receipt of a full pension, I cannot receive any more Carer's Allowance because, as a Pensioner, I can only receive the amount of a full pension in benefits. So, it appears that the DWP can treat benefits as a benefit or as income depending on whether or not it suits them. I can't get the Carer's element of Pension Credit as a replacement as the person I'm caring for is still of working age. So, when I'm mum's age, I might get a little extra for looking after Ross.
However, I was told, I am still eligible for Carer's Allowance even if I receive zero amount and I should use this information when applying for Council Tax rebate and such like.
And it was just as well that I knew this because the next thing that happened was that I received a bill for a massive amount of Council Tax from Sefton including a lot of back payments because the DWP had told them that I was no longer entitled to Carer's Allowance.
Luckily, I have a thick file of evidence which was duly photocopied and sent off. I'm currently waiting for the final reconciliation to be announced. But they are buggers. Not Sefton. They are mandated only to follow the guidance from DWP. No, the DWP seem congenitally programmed to misinform and misdirect so as to bring uncertainty and misery to people who are already in a state of anxiety.
I do wish that all employees of the DWP would be instructed in the old wisdom of the three gates and, before they make any communication, verify its truthfulness, its necessity and its tone of voice.
I took mum out on a shopping trip to Crosby. Very soon it was... While we're out, would you mind if I went to the bank in Crosby. Oh, I'll just slip into the Post Office and post these couple of cards. And I've just got a couple of items I need to get from Boots. Crafty old witch. There's not a lot wrong with any of her faculties or capabilities.
And, since I had an instinct as to what was coming, I told her that, while she was in the Post Office, I would go to the butchers. I joined her in the bank to work the ATM for her. Then, when she decided to go to Boots, I picked up Ross's blister pack. I made it all work to my advantage. There was a lot of nose rubbing. Ha
The following day, I tried to take mum for a cup of tea in Waterloo. The weather in our neck of the woods was blustery - periods of calm and then a major gust from nowhere. We were never in any real danger but two of the gusts really frightened mum. She was holding on to me for grim life, eyes closed, saying "I can't, I can't". In reality, she was more likely to cause herself problems by snatching for her woollen beret rather than looking out for herself.
But she accepts it was another lesson in what her new limitations have become. Being 93 will be more challenging than being 92. She kept talking about how it was always her looking after you or me and now it was the other way round. It's impressive in itself that it has taken this long for her to admit we now look after her! Still we got the major shopping done, I went to the library and no elk were harmed in the making of this epic. Mum also managed to get her hair done without any wobbly moments which is encouraging.
Some days later, I took my mum out to Lady Green Garden Centre for a cup of tea to ease the Cabin Fever that comes with winter a little more.
We found a table and I got the drinks in.
Mum then managed to pour the tea without spilling a drop, add the milk and spoon in two sachets of sugar without once looking down: she was too busy scanning the room to see what was going on. Not bad for 92.
Off to FACT for the Tuesday afternoon Metropolitan Opera cinecast of Berg's Wozzeck. It had been a long time since I had attended a performance of the work and I was hopeful of being wrung out by the end.
William Kentridge's production was utterly mesmerising: Yannick Nézet-Séguin made the orchestra sound fabulous, so sweet and lyrical. All four principals, including Peter Mattei in the title role, were gifted singing actors again finding the lyricism in the score - just so many Hollywood moments.
And then the video director totally fucked up on of the most gut-wrenching final five minutes in all opera. Aaaaaaaarrrrrgggghhhh!!!!
I thought we were a bit in trouble as Wozzeck walked into the water and the video director decided suddenly to do a montage of body parts rather than let us witness a human being swallowed up by the lake.
But it was the final scene which riled me most. We cut to children cruelly taunting in play the bastard child thus starting a whole new cycle of oppression and self-loathing. Brash amplification ruined any notion of corporeal youngsters at play. There was no interaction. There was no new generation. And going into extreme close-up on the puppet's face robbed us of the chance of projecting our feelings onto the theatrical prop. (As an aside, I think the design of the puppet was a mistake - either real child with gas mask or facsimile child puppet but not puppet with gas mask).
Nigel agreed with me that the final scene would have been better served by pulling out to a wide shot of the entire stage, accompanied by more distanced, atmospheric sound.
I'd venture to opine that the child is the most important character in the piece. Without that narrative thread, what you have is basically a standard verismo situation (I give you Il tabarro by way of a contemporary example). The tailpiece given to the child takes both play and opera into a different stratum. Büchner's original play is astonishing when you remember that it was written nearly 200 years ago and that he, himself, never saw 25. Even though it's unfinished and fragmentary, it still packs one heck of a punch.
You may wonder, with the laser-like insight of a six-year-old boy named Charlie who is studying adaptations and evolution and dinosaurs for the first time, how the Blanket Octopus evolved. It lives in the ocean's deeps and changes colour in iridescent patterns. Poor Robert was left to explain that one. Still genes will out.
My personal theory is that they did not evolve. Rather, a colony were left behind by the Mother Ship and they have been stealthily observing us through a number of experimental situations over the eons. Mostly, they despair over the poor sense of colour evinced by humans.
So, I finally got round to watching Beautiful Boy. And yes you can see why the awards season went wild for it. Decently acted, directed produced. Story of our times. Social conscience. Not shirking our duty to show the shocking toll of this modern day plague. Yadda yadda.
Except that all of the homes were luxurious and the medical centres were deserted wastelands of empty corridors and rooms and access to rehab was instantaneous and there wasn't a black face for the whole of the film apart from one solitary nurse. And just how despite the vomiting and the degradations and the street living did Timothée keep his tee-shirts so white?
Still, worthy with its heart in the right place.
I really don't particularly want to navigate the next few years oscillating between despair and schadenfreude but I've a feeling that this piece of news is only going to be one of a number of occasions where groups of people wake up to the fact that they have been somehow persuaded to act against their own best interests.
Solo trip to the Odeon at Switch Island to see Knives Out. Ross is being ever more withdrawn and unless I take a stand for my own need for entertaining stimulation I'm going to follow his example and allow myself to be sucked into my own black hole.
What can I say about the film. Mordant, sardonic, scabrous, delicious. Haven't chuckled quite so malevolently during a film for quite some time. Fabulous ensemble cast with a perfect understanding from all that to truly camp and ham it up, you have to pitch your performance two degrees below the accepted definition and everyone must adhere to that.
Oh, and I fell in love with Jamie Lee Curtis all over again.
Is it me or has there been a sudden conjunction of notable passings? Or is it just that the media outlets have more space to fill now that Brexit is last year's news (so they think)?
Anyhow, Derek Fowlds has departed this mortal coil. He was given one of the great comedic lines of the 1980s when he was playing Bernard Woolley in Yes, Minister
People who read The Sun don't care who's running the country so long as they've got big tits.
That explains an awful lot.
But the best news of all this week is these pink topped clouds in a clear blue sky over Crosby at 16:30. The early evening is opening out again.
Nevertheless, our new Prime Minister, is refraining from endearing himself to the populace.
In more personal news, I have engaged in my second frisky frolic of the New Year - this time with Danny. We met up in Crosby as it's always nice to shag on my own bed. Ross agreed that, since he would be with his religious group, it would all be OK. Then he pulled one of his regular behaviour patterns. He does this thing where, if he's doing quite well and showing signs of improvement, he'll find some way of falling physically ill. And guess what? He's come down with some sort of a stomach bug.
I asked him about his meeting on Sunday and he said that he didn't think he'd be up to going. He looked put out when I asked him what he was going to do when Danny arrived. He has become very used to me arranging my life around all of his needs and I've had enough frankly. Anyhow, it didn't matter in the long run as Ross's tummy trouble quickly subsided.
I'm branching out a little with the addition of a few toys into my kit bag. Who would have thought that the lash would have proved to be the most popular? A wee bit of "Who's a naughty boy, then?" and that rump was well up in the air and presenting. Which made for a delightfully horny sesh.
Leo thought Danny was a bit hairy. I can instantly forgive Danny his body hair when he asks me to fuck his brains out and then goes all wobbly legged when I do. I haven't kept the receipt in case I want to ask for an exchange or refund.
Leo also wondered about age and I'd have to say that, using the Holmes deduction methodologies including...
- using online data as lowest possible age
- determining skin care products in the bathroom
- counting the rings round the bath
- judging on choice of real world media
- assessing responses to cultural references
...I'd say 24. With a birthday on 19 August. So Leo-Virgo cusp - though to be honest there does not seem to be a lot of Virgo in his behaviour recently.
Julian has been engage in one of those online challenges where you have to reveal some favourite books from the past decade one day at a time: it's prompted me to think along similar lines.
I read all of these for the first time in the last ten years even if they were maybe published a little earlier. Across the range, they have made me laugh, cry, ponder, gasp, cringe and wonder. Some have a great sense of a particular place: some a great sense of a particular time: some a great sense of a particular way of looking at the world: some a blend of two or all three of those attributes.
Each one, I would say, took me on a journey through a previously unimagined emotional landscape and deployed language with a distinctive tang and zest as well. I would recommend them all.
