The love that jolly well ought to speak it's name.

I have been remiss, dear reader, in not keeping you up to date with the goings on in my realm. I have, perhaps uncharacteristically, been very busy with funerals and other matters, which have kept me away from a keyboard for a longish time.
I have a tale of intrigue and skullduggery to tell, but not the time to do it today.
For the moment, I just want to bring to your attention a new production of Romeo and Juliet.
What's interesting about that, you may say.
Well, it stars Michael Byrne and Sian Phillips. The former is 67.
The latter 77 - and perhaps best known for being married in the 60's to Peter O'Toole.

But my point is, this is ROMEO and JULIET. Surely a couple of wrinklies shouldn't be allowed to play two young lovers?

All I can say is I think it's a brilliant idea. Let's reinvent romance and find such a love in our waning years.

The Counter Revolutionary Council for Iran

I'm in London on domain business,so didn't get to make up my bed on the couch until after 2:30 his morning, and as I can't sleep beyond about 7 if been up and about for a few hours.
I'm waiting for my friend Carlo to wake up - his day doesn't start until at least noon.
So I though I would share something with you.Carlo is an Armenian Iranian, whose father was the Shah's personal pianist.
He was able to get into the premier school in Iran, called Alborz, by hard work and because he had always been able to speak English.
Apart from running the school's black market economy, he won the Shah's Scholarship to Columbia University in the States.
The only problem was that just after he turned 15, things got a bit iffy, and his parents sent him to the UK, where he was supposed to study before going to the States.
Unfortunately, being 15, the bright lights distracted him somewhat ( which they continue to do to this day) and after quite a short period the UK Immigration people revoked his student visa.
As he says, " What to do?".
His parents told him not to come back as things were now in total turmoil, the Shah having fled.
His solution was to form his own political party - The Counter Revolutionary Council for Iran - and marched into the Immigration office and demanded political asylum.
This, of course, was under Mrs.T, and you didn't just get let in willy nilly.
So from then on he had to make his own way with nothing from the UK ( CF the present system) and had to wait 6 years before he was allowed to apply for permanent residency.
He then managed to get his mother here ( his father was in prison in Iran) and told the authorities she was also a political asylum seeker. When his father got out of jail 3 years later, he organised his escape.
There is a twist in his father's tale.
Carlo's uncle, his father's brother, was a very rich man with worldwide interests and he had left Iran before the Shah, taking as much with him as he could. But there was ten times the amount left behind, which Carlo's father had hidden by creating a false chimney -which actually worked. The Revolutionary Mullahs never found it, despite torture and tearing the house apart.
So when Carlo said to his father he had arranged to smuggle him out, he was told that he could not come until he had retrieved the treasure.
The escape plans had to be changed to include a whole truck to cart the jewels and other items, which increased the danger a hundredfold.
Carlo's uncle travelled to the border to await the truck on the appointed day, and leapt for joy when it appeared over the desert.
He told his brother he would give him a quarter of the rescued treasure, but Carlo's father refused.
"No, my brother, these are your things. I was merely the caretaker until I could return them to you"
The brothers argued until finally Carlo's father said "Look. I have no wish for anything from you. But if you insist on me having something, let it be the most valuable thing you can give."
"Name it"
" Your love"
PS
Carlo just got his UK passport- 22 years later.

Acting the Part

Being less than willing to go out and about at this time of year, now is the winter of our watching films.
Being a BAFTA member means I have to watch lots, but I regret to say that past great films are ever a siren call to me. Arguments rage about who was a great actor ( John Wayne, Henry Fonda, Robert Mitchum, Gary Cooper, Clark Gable,Spencer Tracy etc etc etc) and in truth many of the films they made are less than good, and their performances could only be described as formulaic. The films were made at a time when the studio bosses had absolute power over their stars and they did as they were told or face the consequences.
But every now and again the star got the director he deserved and something truly excellent emerged. I think of eg Wayne and John Ford ( OK I admit I love cowboy films) and Big John just has to be The American he became, but Ford had a gift for making a story come alive, and an actor mean what he said.
So it was with glee that I saw " My Darling Clementine " was on the box recently. It's not particularly accurate historically, but the effect of the direction and acting is to produce perhaps the best classic western ever. Ford is absolutely on the top of his form.
Henry Fonda has a stillness and power he lacks in many other of his films, whilst Victor Mature, never an actor I particularly liked, is better than he ever was anywhere else, and Walter Brennan as Pa Clinton has a smiling hate and avarice that belies his cuddly image from many other films.
As with all great films, there are light moments that break the menace. Today's directors would do well to remember that.
The one I particularly like in this film is when Fonda ( Earp) asks Mac the barman:
" Have you ever been in love Mac?"
" No," says Mac. " I've been a bartender all may life."
Many of us would agree.

My Love...

This being Scottish Homecoming, and all to do with Robert Burns, I was reminded of (perhaps) his most famous words: " My Love is like a red red rose".
My old English teacher ( Motto: Individually you may be quite charming but en masse you are appalling) used to say that the words themselves meant nothing - it was the alliteration that made the whole thing work.
" In fact", he would drawl," It might just as well be " My love is like a red red rope.""
Now I come to think of it, his wife definitely fell into the appalling category rather than the charming one, so maybe he was planning on doing away with her.
I do actually know of a house mistress and her husband who " it is alleged" did away with the woman's mother - chopped her up like Lizzie Borden used to do. Although acquited, the police never looked for anyone else.
Mind you, I can't say I blame her really.
PS
As I typed in the labels, it struck me how much of human life is expressed in those three words...

A French affaire

Before not getting my flight on Thursday, I took myself to the Bistrot du Boucher in Beauvais where I have eaten exceedingly well several times before.
As I was early, I sat outside in the sun nursing a beer the restaurant had given me.
A smartly dressed lady, at a guess in her early thirties, came towards me, and started pacing up and down, then lit a cigarette. She had a worried expression on her face. She tapped up and down for a bit on her heels, dragging on her cigarette, then angrily threw it away. The following was all in French, so forgive the rough translation.
" Monsieur, tell me, are these heels too high?"
" I'm sorry?"
" My heels - are they too high for my outfit?"
" Er no, no I don't think so...."
" This is most important for me - are you sure?"
" Yes I'm sure they are just right." She looked relieved, and as a young man came round the corner her face changed into a warm smile of welcome, followed by a lingering kiss when he reached her. He resisted, scowling.
The restaurant was by now open, and the couple went inside. I followed and was led to a table a short distance from them.
My meal was excellent ( Flan of courgette, crayfish and lobster sauce, followed by a magnificent pave de boeuf with salad, and cheese to finish, all washed down with a glass of rose, and then a glass of red) but the drama unfolding across the table opposite was riveting.
They were lovers who had had a tiff ( several over a period it would seem) and the girl was determined to get him back. He on the other hand had had enough - in fact, he had found someone else, and wanted nothing more to do with her. The look on her face was heart-rending. He said he had only agreed to meet, because he wanted her to know finally definitely and irreparably that it was over.
Whilst all this was going on, another man - at a guess 45ish, greying, receding hair, but as the French would say "soignee" - came in, sat down and the waiters rushed to provide him with a drink - he was clearly a regular. The girl glanced his way once, then ignored him. She launched into a justification of her position, how she always wanted to have his children - I did think a bit louder than was strictly necessary - how she would help him, love him, and lots of other things too.
The young man was unmoved.
He stood up.
" C'est FINI!" and walked out.
The girl promptly burst into tears and held her head in her hands.
The older gentleman had watched all that had gone before. He carefully finished his drink, then rose, and sat down opposite the girl.
He spoke very softly so I could not hear all that was said, but slowly the girl's sobs shortened, and after a few minutes she looked up, her previously perfectly made-up face now a Jackson Pollock of dribbled black lines.
A few minutes more and a little smile escaped.
The man put his hand over hers, still speaking softly.
A short while later, she got up and announced her intention to repair her " maquillage" and disappeared to the loo.
The man returned to his table and picked up his keys which had been on the table. As he passed me, I said " Well done, she was very upset."
He stopped and looked at me. He was deciding something.
" Monsieur, I have loved her for more than ten years, but I was always too old for her. She always wanted younger men, always of no worth, of no consequence. She thought tonight would be her last chance for happiness in the future. I have to tell you I would wait another ten years and another ten if necessary.
But I tell you frankly, monsieur, my whole being will be stretched to bring her the happiness in the future she hoped for tonight."