I couldn't watch Big Brother for more than five minutes at a stretch but kept an eye on it to monitor the progress of the old guard, which also included Lionel Blair and Linda Nolan, against the disparate selection of identikit young people who spend all their time hugging and agonizing over shallow personal relationships. But from what I saw Jim seemed to move from a state of unreconstructed serial divorcee to something approaching hard-earned wisdom. And so when I saw this book on Sainsburys' charity book table, I donated an Irish sixpence to the good cause and took it in the hope that it might offer further insight into the thoughts of this shaman or soothsayer.
It doesn't. It drops names, relates adventures in showbiz and re-establishes that whatever new-found affection one might have for Jim, it was never due to his refined sense of humour. But it is by no means the worst book I've ever read. That honour remains unchallengeably with Les Dawson's novel, A Card for the Clubs.
All of which I only tell you by way of saying that not all reading has to be highbrow, or poetry or self-improving. If ever I thought anything was intended to improve me, I'd avoid it.
---
But, with no other immediately pressing reading to do over the weekend and Middlemarch given a good write up in The Observer's 100 Greatest Novels of All-Time, I got that out and read the first three chapters.
I remember very little about it from 35 years ago. Prof. David Carroll was our tutor at Lancaster and had edited the variorum edition when we did Victorian Literature but although I could concede that it was by no means the dullest C19th novel I'd ever read, I did struggle with the 900 pages, what it all amounted to and I wonder now how much of it I read and how much I gazed at it while turning the pages. But the early indications are good and I might appreciate it more now. Some parts of education are wasted on a 19 year old and are not likely to be appreciated for a long time afterwards.
---
And, in no way wanting to make this look like an exercise in eclecticism for eclectic's sake, the other book I have ordered is the Poems of Francois Villon. His name was referenced in a poem by William Carlos Williams that we looked at last week at Portsmouth Poetry Society. I had to admit I didn't know who he was beyond probably being a medieval French poet and so I looked him up afterwards.
And he looks well worth investigation. One day perhaps there will be a piece on him here that will be my introduction to an evening on him at PPS.
---
But it should be a good year for PPS whether that happens or not. Bigger ideas gradually being brought forward are a reading by PPS and Friends on National Poetry Day, October 2nd, probably at a venue in the University, which will be accompanied by a booklet of poems, Calliope, which has traditionally been the title of previous such editions.
And, ahead of that, we are likely to fulfil an invitation to read at the university in their arts cafe. This will be on a Wednesday afternoon in the near future. I'd prefer it didn't drag me away from the Champion Chase at Cheltenham but sometimes needs must.
---
Which only leaves me to tell you which new records I've been ordering.
Deutsche Grammophon have made available a live recording of two Mozart Piano Concertos by Martha Argerich, Orchestra Mozart and Claudio Abbado which seems unmissable and will be reviewed here as soon as possible, probably next week.
I heard a gorgeous piece early on Sunday while in that transcendent state of semi-consciousness between waking and sleep. Music heard like that is often particularly vivid. It turned out to be a song by Purcell that is on a bargain-priced 3-CD set by Barbara Bonney with James Bowman and others, of Secular Songs.
And I couldn't help but order myself a compilation of Barry White's great 1970's project, Love Unlimited. I'm ashamed to admit I don't have that already and will soon be pretending that I bought it the day it was released.
---
And, oh yes, Come on the Football !!! It was with twisted blood that I listened to Fulham go 1-0 up away at Old Trafford yesterday and then repel waves and waves of Manchester United pressure for an hour before inevitably succumbing to two quick goals. But, more was still to come as Darren Bent somehow nicked a 95th minute equalizer to claim a point.
I didn't know which side I was on, really. It was great to have Fulham so bravely resist having been so inept recently. The club is in exactly the same league position as when I began supporting them in 1966. But that same recent ineptitude has lead me to invest quite heavily on them being relegated this season.
And so, am I torn between the survival in the top division of a team of journeyman professionals who neither know nor care about me, my poems or what books and records I've bought and then the financial interest I have in them failing to do so.
No, I'm not. I hope my favourite football club gets relegated.