I don’t go to the pictures all that often but when I do I don’t like to waste my time and I certainly didn’t when I saw a golden oldie at the weekend. I hadn’t seen the classic Seven Little Foys.
For one thing I have, for my sins, underestimated the talents of Bob Hope.
He was a song and dance man of the old school. Scintillating is one of the words to describe Bob’s dancing skill. It was beautiful stuff in the Astaire mould. How this movie escaped me I will never know but I was so taken with it that, yes, I’d like to see it again before the year’s out.
Roy Hodgson was more animated than ever I’ve seen him before celebrating England’s performance.
Besides European football which hardly thrilled me to bits of what I’ve seen of the competition so far.
Perhaps, just perhaps, some bias is showing here when I say that my last major thrill in the sport was seeing Hibernian win a trophy at long last. I have still to get over our first major trophy success in some hundred years.
I’m trying to remember who it was promised me a close up of the trophy. Maybe Tom Farmer.
I’m scribbling some of this on the Sabbath and at this juncture can I ask where the hell is all this rain coming from?
What did we do to deserve this, in the so-called good old summer time? It’s no fair, is it?