The Two Ronnies – rediscovered Mastermind sketch

(Mastermind theme – ‘Approaching Menace’)

Ronnie (as Magnus Magnusson): Our next contender is Mr Sten Ulysses Tayshen. Mr Tayshen, you have two minutes on general knowledge. Your time starts…now. Who was the Dutch graphic artist born in 1898, famous for his mathematically inspired woodcuts, lithographs, and mezzotints, specialising in impossible objects?

Other Ronnie (as contender, sneezing continually): Escher!

Correct. Name the American rapper born with the surname Raymond who has sold over eighty million records worldwide.

Usher!

Correct. Which Anglo-American novelist, playwright, screenwriter, autobiographer, and diarist wrote “Goodbye to Berlin” which later inspired the musical “Cabaret”

Isherwood!

Correct. In Shakespeare’s “The Merchant of Venice”, what was Shylock’s religion?

A Jew!

Correct. What is the surname of Jane, actress, cake decorating expert and one time girlfriend of Paul McCartney?

Asher!

Correct. The street newspaper founded by John Bird and Gordon Roddick in September 1991 for sale by homeless people in London was called the Big…what?

Issue!

Correct. Which river rises in the North York Moors and reaches the North Sea at Whitby?

Esk!

Correct. What is the german word, meaning health, often said after someone sneezes?

Achoo!

Gesundheit. In the Beano comic, what is the name of Dennis the Menace’s dog?

Gnasher!

Correct. Which six letter word describes foods are those that conform to the Jewish dietary regulations of kashrut?

Kosher!

Correct. The Inuit and the Yupik substantially make up which group of people, based around the northern polar regions?

Eskimo!

Correct. An Indian playback singer is (bleeper sounds) …I’ve started so I’ll finish…is the subject of Cornershop’s 1998 number one single “Brimful of…” what?

Asha!

Correct. And at the end of that round, Mr Tayshen, you have scored ten points and no tissues. (Starts sneezing uncontrollably, drowned out by audience laughter)

Nine Handy Trouble-saving Opera Hacks

Do you ever think there’s a little too much drama in opera? Here I offer a few suggestions as to how the participants could save themselves a bit of trouble.

Radames to Aida: “I’m sorry darling, but you know I can’t discuss army business.”

Don José to Micaëla : “Oh yes, Carmen’s hot alright, but she’s crazy.  Will you marry me?”

 

Soldier to Desdemona: “Madam, you dropped your handkerchief.”

 

Cavaradossi to Angelotti: “Sorry mate, you’re not hiding down my well.”

Violetta to Alfredo: “No worries, I’ve had my BCG.”

Calaf to Ping, Pang and Pong: “…and if I get them wrong?…OK, I think I’ll pass.”

Butterfly to Pinkerton: “Marry you? Do you think I was born yesterday?”

 

Rigoletto
Gilda to Rigoletto: “You’re right Daddy, he’s a ratbag.  Let’s go home.”

 

La Boheme HD
Mimi: “Ah, there are the matches!”

Please feel free to suggest more in comments.

Paddington Bear and the Cholesterol Bath

It started with Paddington 2. That film inspired Debbie to make many jars of delicious marmalade from the carton of Seville oranges she unexpectedly acquired in Waitrose.

Hitherto breakfast at Edwards Towers had been a snatched, casual meal: a bowl of Weetabix before my run, or Shreddies afterwards, cereal in bed as a weekend treat: or when still at work, scone fed into my mouth with eyes on my screens as I logged in, scrutinising my emails for anything remotely interesting, or discussing the day ahead or the weekend past with my colleague.

The making of the marmalade has changed everything. The table is set, orange juice is poured, porridge and toast are prepared, and the cafetière is reached down into service. Breakfast is becoming ever more formal. Come back in a couple of months and you’ll find me sporting whiskers and a white napkin while a rosy-cheeked maid serves me my kippers, eggs and tomatoes under a silver cloche, and my butler hands me a freshly ironed copy of The Times, from which I emerge occasionally to offer comments like “Trouble brewing in the Baltics, m’dear.”

This new routine is very pleasant, of course, but it represents change, and change can be difficult for me. Just ask the lovely fellow who worked at Moorgate Buttery. So set were my habits that I acquired the nickname “Brown Scone and Orange Juice” – he would spot me in the distance picking my way round the Crossrail works, and have my breakfast lined up on the counter as I walked in. I sometimes wonder whether retirement might have been a mistake, if the price of leisure is forgoing that sort of service.

When the plucky Buttery was eventually consumed by the building site I had to devise a new breakfast regime, just as I was reaching the age where I felt that nothing should, ever, change again. It was a difficult few months. I must have been unbearable, and if you’re reading this Chris, I’m sorry.

Breakfast is a variable feast, at its best when you take a break in a hotel or B&B in Britain. Being no chef, I approach this from the perspective of the gourmet, or, at least, the glutton. On the first morning, I can never resist the full English/Scottish/Welsh/Irish/Cornish etc. Usually you will be elsewhere for lunch and often will choose to dine in a different restaurant, so breakfast is critical to your assessment of the hospitality. Large hotels too often leave you to forage amongst dried up slivers of bacon, congealed scrambled eggs and greasy lukewarm frankfurters. Posh hotels will sometimes plate up a breakfast for you which in theory has all the ingredients, but where they are not, as it were, talking to each other: egg, sausage, bacon, tomato and mushrooms isolated like strangers at an awkward party.

But the real treats are to be found at smaller inns and B&Bs, where a hearty plateful is the norm, with the constituents in joyful harmony. My list of core ingredients would include sausage, bacon, fried egg, fried tomato and mushrooms, while welcome additions would be baked beans, fried bread, and black pudding. Hash browns are a transatlantic addition, but can be allowed. Tinned plum tomatoes are not: they are a cooking ingredient. Not everyone likes baked beans in the mix, and they will often be served in a pot: “Free the beans” is the cry as I tip them out to join the team on the plate.

Essential accompaniments include fresh orange juice (not that pasteurised muck), toast and marmalade (a full English – although very filling – contains few carbohydrates, so you must pay attention to fuelling yourself properly) and coffee refilled to order.

The most delicious and awe-inspiring cooked breakfast I have eaten was at Redgate Smithy B&B formerly run by my friend and schoolmate Clive. The full Cornish was a wonder to behold, and can still sometimes be viewed on satellite images.  I had to call on my marathon endurance skills to finish it, but did I give up? No sir, I did not. It certainly repaid the effort.

Of course, some private houses serve an excellent cooked breakfast: my brother Rob’s famous Cholesterol Bath, often served as a farewell meal, springs to mind. If we care about our health, this should not become a regular habit. But I’ll leave you with the thought that Field Marshal Montgomery was said to have polished off a full English every morning during his North Africa campaign – a possible origin of the phrase “the full monty” – and he lived to be eighty-eight.

elementary

there’s wineum and beerium
(encouraging delirium)
aelwynium kathleenium
make robium and rikium
there’s coffee and walnuttium
chocolate cake and stuffium
beryllium (yes, reallium)
with scottium makes biffium
and timium and debbium
there’s striderslite and kryptonite
and dekker and the israelites
bottium and bittium
productive of two babium
rachelium, alicium
(inflates balloons with helium)
chipsium and fishium
who live in an aquarium
jamaicarum and lagerum
(or fosters in australium)
milkium makes butter (um,
add chlorine and some sodium)
fionium robynium
theodorum and ulysseum
there’s thisium and thatium
tumbi snudge and crackium
there’s falko-um and finnium
and spanish inquisitium
(you did not expectium
the spanish inquisitium)

if I could give a longer list
of elements I surely would
of others that I may have missed
no news has come to chorleywood

 

(apologies to Tom Lehrer, W.S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan)

A Guide To Completing Your Wimbledon Public Ballot Application Form

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It’s the time of year for filling in your Wimbledon ballot application form.  Forms can be nasty and complicated, but we’re here to help you.

Don’t worry, you don’t have to use that scary interweb thing.  You can’t apply online, no sir.  We prefer to attempt to transpose your spidery lettering into our creaking old computers ourselves – we find it leads to fewer mistakes.  You can’t even print your application form from the interweb.  What we’d like you to do, please, is write your address on a large envelope, put a stamp on it, and put it inside another, larger envelope,  (or you could fold the first envelope if you prefer, to make it smaller, so that it fits inside the second envelope) put another stamp on the outside envelope, and send it to us.  Then we’ll send you a form.

When you get the form, please carefully follow these steps:

1) Please enter your surname in the boxes marked “Surname”.  Even if it’s a weird surname like “Smiths”.

2) Please indicate your title in one of the boxes marked Mr, Mrs, Ms or Miss.  If you’re a Dr, sorry.  If you’re a Mx, try again, in about fifty years.

3) Please enter your initials in the boxes marked “Initials”.

4) Please enter your Christian first name in the boxes marked “First Name”.

5) Please enter your telephone number in the boxes marked “Tel. No.”

Note: “Tel. No.” is a commonly used abbreviation for “Telephone Number”.

6) Please enter your post code in the boxes marked “Post Code”.

7) If you live in a house with a number, please enter your house number in the boxes marked “House No.”.  We have provided sufficient boxes for any street number up to 999,999. Or 99,999A.  Or even 99,999Z.  Leave out the commas, though.

8) If you live in a flat with a number, please enter your flat number in the boxes marked “Flat No.”.  We have provided sufficient boxes for any flat number up to 999,999,999, so there will be room for your number unless your block of flats is large enough to accommodate the population of China, with a separate flat for every man, woman and child.

9) If you live in a house with a name, stuff you, you middle class git.  Your sort isn’t welcome at Wimbledon.

10) Please enter your address in the boxes marked “Address”.  Please do not use abbreviations.  If you write “Gloucs” instead of “Gloucestershire” we won’t have a clue what you’re talking about.

11) Please enter your signature in the box marked “Signature”.

12) Please enter the date in the box marked “Date”.

13) Please POST your form to: AELTC, PO Box 67611, London, SW19 9DT.  This is best achieved by putting your Public Ballot Application Form in an envelope, writing the address on the FRONT of the envelope, and putting a postage stamp on the TOP RIGHT HAND corner of the envelope.

14) If you are successful in applying for tickets, you must use the tickets yourself.  Both of them.  One for you, one for your bag.

We hope you find these instructions helpful.  Our experience is that tennis fans really aren’t very bright.  Champagne and strawberries anyone?

Best

The All England Lawn Tennis Club

but actually

The All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club Limited

and to be honest, we prefer croquet.  Nasty, noisy game, tennis.

Postscript 9 September 2019. Good heavens, did someone actually read this? Here is the new procedure as of this year:

https://www.wimbledon.com/en_GB/tickets/the_wimbledon_public_ballot.html

No Dragon Wood

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It started off as one of those little jokes, those tricks so many parents play on their children to try to persuade them to take a little exercise.

After roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with Nana and Grandad, and once the dishwasher was happily chugging away, we tried a strategy to get our little darlings tired out by bedtime.

“Who wants to explore No Dragon Wood?”

Rachel and Alice cried out in enthusiasm, tempted, as we hoped, by the exotic promise of the name. So we set off, and it was only when we reached the wood that Rachel thought to ask us –

“Why’s it called No Dragon Wood?”

“Because there are no dragons here.”

She mulled this for a few seconds, and I sensed she was considering a complaint. But the logic in my answer persuaded her, and by now she was enjoying the outing. She giggled and carried on walking.

Of course a trick like that works just once, but as the girls grew older they discovered for themselves that a walk in the country could be enjoyed, and the route through No Dragon Wood – which continued to be shown on maps with the less romantic name of Bottom Wood – was a frequently chosen option.

There may have been no dragons, but I felt sometimes there was magic of a kind there. It nestled close by the M25, and the roar of that mighty motorway was ever present, louder still in winter. Perhaps this discouraged other visitors, but for me the place had an eye-of-the-storm peace. And there were very few houses nearby, putting it out of reach of all but the most energetic dog walkers. This meant that if one of these more energetic walkers, to give a random example, had a mind to sing loudly as he walked his Labrador through the wood, he could be fairly confident that none but the dog would notice. It was rare to meet another human there.

And perhaps the path through the wood once followed a regular course, but it was rarely maintained, relying on the few feet that walked there to improvise new routes around the many fallen trees. So it now wound its way up through the woods in drunken swirls, with moss-covered logs frequently strewn across.

Alice even used it for an art project, writing stories and making strange videos based on No Dragon Wood. It had become embedded in family mythology. So when one day I saw that the battered old stile had been replaced by a smart new metal kissing gate, I sensed an opportunity.

I sought out the fellow who administered the Chiltern Society’s Donate-a-Gate scheme, to ask whether a plaque with some appropriate wording could be attached to the new gate. I explained the story, and suggested that a more whimsical inscription might make a change from the many sombre benches and gates in memory of much missed Grandma, who loved to walk in these woods. He was very helpful, and gave me the good news that although his scheme was focused on central Buckinghamshire, and the gate was actually a short distance into Hertfordshire, the Society was on this occasion prepared to make an exception and take my money.

I consulted the family on the wording, and Rachel came up with an extra line – “No dragon related incidents since 1415” – a phrase heavy its unanswered question, and which hinted at the impossibility of proving the negative.

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And the plaque was duly installed and celebrated. We have walked through that gate many times in the last few years, congratulating ourselves on our little joke.

But this evening my wife and I are on the M25, heading home after a short break on the south coast, and we run into stationary traffic: we are being diverted off the motorway one junction short of our destination. As we inch towards the exit, we can see armed police by the roadside, police helicopters, huge military helicopters, and in the distance, just to the left of the motorway, a huge plume of smoke rising into the air.

 

From Chorleywood, take the track beside the Stag pub and turn left along the path at the back of Heronsgate: when you reach the field adjoining the M25 walk diagonally downhill to the stile at the edge of the woods.  From Mill End follow Long Lane and take the path on the left across a field, leading under Denham Way and up to the M25 footbridge: then follow the path diagonally left down to the stile.  From Maple Cross use Chalfont Road or walk through Woodoaks Farm to the M25 footbridge.  Fire extinguishers optional.

THE GRILL PAN HANDLE

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Three days after my wife and I moved into our first house together, the previous owner arrived unannounced at the front door.  He was a confident young barrister with a wife who was heavily pregnant: an aspirational couple, which no doubt influenced our decision to buy the house at the top of an overheated market.

I was upstairs when my wife opened the door, but I had no difficulty in hearing him, as he declared his business in his best courtroom voice.  He went through a few loose ends arising from the house purchase before producing with a flourish an object for us from his bag.

“AND THIS…IS THE GRILL PAN HANDLE”

Of course.  It must, we thought, be often the fate of the humble grill pan handle to be separated from its parent grill pan: the grill pan stays in the oven and is going nowhere, while the handle is sent on its travels with the other contents of the utensils drawer. You’d think removals people would get used to that one.  Anyway, we gratefully accepted it and saw it happily reunited with its parent.  But the manner of its return stayed with us, and for some years our kitchen would resound to dialogue like:

“Please could you pass the GRILL PAN HANDLE” and

“Have you seen the GRILL PAN HANDLE?” and

“I put it to the court, M’lud, that this is the GRILL PAN HANDLE.”

Ours was a terraced house, and the lady the other side of the shared wall worked as a journalist on the Evening Standard.  I couldn’t comment on the quality of her research, but one day we did notice an article headed The ten biggest causes of marital rows.  Grill Pan Handles was right there at number three after money and sex.

A few years later, the anticipation and excitement felt on the approach of the year 2000 was qualified by fear of what the millennium bug might wreak on us: missile defence systems would be accidentally triggered and cause nuclear war, supermarkets would run out of yoghurt, etc.  In the event, thankfully, the bug turned out rather a damp squib, although it was reported that in two states of Australia bus ticket validation machines failed to operate.

But this rare turning of the year didn’t pass without an epic moment.  Just hours before the new millennium dawned, my brother phoned.  His family had moved house a few days earlier, and he had called me to report that the previous owner had just called round…to drop off the GRILL PAN HANDLE.  Or perhaps just the grill pan handle.  I don’t recall which, it was eighteen years ago.