Both of them barely literate and somewhat at the back of the queue in the brains giving out ceremony.
Both of them were products of broken homes.
Both of them projected from obscurity to widespread fame despite no discernible talent.
Both of them the 'model mother' of two boys born pretty close together.
Both of them estranged from the boys' father
Both of them hated and loved in equal proportion by the downmarket media
Both of them lived their lives via the downmarket media
Both of them died in the early hours of Sunday morning.
Have you noticed that Jade was born less than ten weeks before Diana's wedding? From her place in Southwark she could probably almost have seen St Paul's Cathedral if she had gone up a tall building. Most significantly, isn't that significant in itself? Born less than ten weeks before the wedding of the century.
One can only hope that Wills and Harry are there for Bobby and Freddy in their hour of need.
Both are saints just waiting to be canonised, but for the bigotry of the misogynist canonising people who don't like non-virgin women
Jimmy's brother Lawrence died a couple of weeks ago; his funeral was on Friday.
In my early days of blogging I used to write freely about family events, including bereavements, but as I became more aware of readership, I became reluctant to write about such things. It doesn't seem right to turn what is very personal into material for a blog which has entertainment as its main reason.
But the funeral was truly remarkable. We went up to the house, seeing dozens of people gathered on the corner of the road. By the time that we passed the shop in the limos, there were many more. Many of them were very familiar faces to me, many more were total strangers. Key Stage 2 children from the local school stood outside, too. There were even a couple of photographers, one a family friend, one rumoured to be from the South London Press.
The chapel at the crematorium was full. Not only with people sitting, but people standing in twos the length of the aisle. The celebrant asked contributors to speak into the microphone for the benefit of those standing outside.
There is a thread in tribute at Urban75. I can work out who one of the contributors is, but do not have a clue as to who the rest are, although I guess I may know some of them. I left the do quite early, having a very strange reaction to my Guinness, which just knocked me out. Jimmy didn't leave until 1 am, and has been suffering since.
The family will never be the same again, nor will our local area. People say there is no such thing as community, but if you had been out on New Park Road on Friday, you would know that community exists.
When I read that John Mortimer had died, I was momentarily saddened, but then remembered that I had never been a Rumpole fan. I did hear him deliver an after-dinner speech on one occasion. I then discovered that he had translated Brideshead Revisisted into its TV version, which must count as one of the monumental achievements of TV, and he also wrote the screenplay for Tea with Mussolini, which, again, is noteworthy. It seemed slightly spooky that BBC4 had already planned a John Mortimer night last night.
I am saddened by the demise of Tony Hart. A major part of my childhood. I loved Morph (in fact, I think that - Grange Hill apart - the very best children's programmes of the 70s and 80s were those short animations shown at 5.35) and I thought Take Hart was excellent programming. I think I got most into it when I was a bit older than the target audience (having a brother 7 years younger). I don't see any modern-day equivalent, and to me, that is a sad sign of a sort of dumbing down that is insulting to today's children, depriving them of the inspiration that we had back then.
I find it quite difficult to write this. I generally find it difficult to write a tribute when someone dies. I find it a tad irksome when a significant passing brings out a flood of words motivated more by the need to mark a rite of passage and indulge a personal if often vicarious grief than out of genuine feeling.
I can't say I was ever a fan of Pavarotti, but as in the case of someone else, whose recent death I wrongly omitted to mark - Anthony Wilson - how can I remain untouched by his death when his life had brought me such joy.
And how can I say I am not a fan of someone who sings like this - I was about to change 'sings' to 'sang' but this beauty will live on forever
His death was not unexpected, it seemed a surprise that he survived pancreatic cancer so long, and then the final demise was rapid - which, I hope is a good thing. I was surprised at the wide spread of the media coverage on a day which, in the UK at least was not exactly a slow news day*. Not just the "Broadsheet" newspapers and Radios 3 and 4, but BBC News 24 and Sky, the red-tops and the purple-tops. And although I consider myself a careful student and an informed predictor of the media, this took me by surprise.
And in writing tributes and obituaries it is tempting to use superlative adjectives that are unevidenced, a result of emotion rather than fact-checking, especially in the downmarket newspapers.
What is absolutely without question that for millions, billions, of people who are not fans of opera or of classical music, Luciano Pavarotti was the face and epitome of opera. Other than that massive concert in the pouring rain in Hyde Park, I have never heard him live; if I had been inclined to, I would never have heard him in the vocal condition that made his name. I have a couple of DVDs with him in them, but I find them nearly unwatchable. I have relatively few of his recordings, and no complete operas - in every case there always seems to be a better alternative, and not just the obvious ones like Ballo and Tosca - I feel no pressing need to get Pav in Fille du Regiment on CD now that I have JDF on DVD.
I was startled to read in one of the tributes today that he never performed Calaf live on stage. I really find this to be extraordinary, but perhaps, in a sense, entirely typical of the contradictions of the artist. I think I would have been a bigger fan if he had focused more on the Bellini/Donizetti/lyric Verdi in which he excelled. But the number of roles he actually performed or even recorded is astonishingly low.
And, to be honest, it wasn't really for his opera performances that he became so universally famous, but for his role as a pop artist. I don't think he was ever a great musician, but undoubtedly a great singer with an innate musicality. I know a lot of people of my sort of age got into opera as a result of "The Three Tenors". I didn't. My mother and I sat down to watch it on the TV following her (day late) birthday tea and England's third place play-off match in Italia 90, with my brother breezing in and out as he got ready for a party and feigning utter boredom as is the wont of fifteen year olds...We thought we would be in a vanishingly small minority of people who would be watching it (we both had our favourite singers performing, neither of them was Pavarotti). We were, of course, wrong.
There are people who are hugely critical of The Three Tenors, as a trademarked entity and as individuals, and blame them squarely for the ghastly manifestation of plastic talentless plastic popera singers. And, I suppose, the emergence and inexplicable popularity of the likes of Bocelli, Jenkins, Watson, Potts and so on is the perfect proof of the Law of Unintended Consequences. Each of the Three Tenors had made their very great reputations, in different ways, through years and years of hard work and critical acclaim from experienced audiences in many different arduous roles in the world's top opera houses. I believe, because I have seen the evidence, that such performances did introduce many people to opera. The evidence that these artificial stars, reliant always on the magic of the microphone and the mixing desk, have done so is absent. Jimmy commented that he had caught a clip of the 3Ts on the news "they look like they're having fun!" he exclaimed, almost as he didn't think that was allowed!
There are an enormous number of obituaries, tributes, memories and reflections all over the internet, in every language I can read and, no doubt, many more besides, far far too many to include here, although the untiring stalwarts over at the 3Ts Yahoo Group are doing a splendid job.
But here are a few I have found worth reading, in no order other than left to right across the tabs in my browser...
A really brilliant video tribute from TelegraphTV, surprisingly an ITN production, with insightful intelligent - definitive - comment from Sarah Crompton their Arts editor; the only fault being the absence of a deep links, but at least with an easily searchable sidebar. I swear, I drafted this blogpost before I watched this clip.
Luciano Pavarotti: Obituary "At the age of 12 Luciano contracted tetanus. He was in a coma for two weeks, and was twice given the last rites" - well, I'd never read that before, but, together with the genuine privations that came as Italy faced defeat in the war, really puts Paul Potts's pathetic sob stories into context.
*Russian jets being intercepted by the RAF; a report published on the damaging effects of food addictives; the report into Foot and Mouth being leaked; Madeline McCann's mother being interviewed by Portuguese Police; the funeral of 11 year old murder victim Rhys Jones broadcast live from Liverpool Cathedral; the England football, rugby and cricket teams gearing up for crucial matches on Saturday.
Sad. One of the real stars of TV when I was young. They're describing him as 'stern' but when he was on Swap Shop and so on, he came over like a favourite uncle.
But I cried in tears in the pub. My O-Level set woks were by Monteverdi, Handel, Mozart, Schumann, Faure and Arnold. I believe that Malcolm Arnold's Scottish Dances made him worthy of that sentence, that company.
Not a major part of my life; it's years sinceI heard Scottish Dances. But I hear them in my head.
I'm not a watcher of wildlife documentaries but they are much watched in Gert Cottage, and one could hardly not be aware of Steve Irwin.
It's hardly a surprise that he was killed doing what he was famous for doing, but 44 is no age to die. I just think the world will be a poorer place for his going but a richer place for him having lived.
He stopped Australian Government plans to allow rich tourists into the Northern Territory to kill crocodiles for sport. He brought the beauty of nature back to millions through his documentaries. And he showed that if you love doing something, then you should put all your passion into doing it.
Aged 90 makes it dificult for me to grieve. And there is that difficult Nazi past. And every UK obituary will mention she
entered British folklore when, asked to appear on Desert Island Discs, she chose eight of her own recordings.
A great great singer 'arguably the greatest soprano of the postwar years' says the Guardian. Difficult to argue against. I do feel that sopranos are dropping like flies - in the past year or so we've lost Renata Tebaldi, Victoria de los Angeles and Birgit Nillson.
I shall have to decide what to play in tribute.
The increasingly dumbed-down BBC website carries nothing but does have some gossip about some forgotten pop star. shrug
Update: The BBC manages to put the story up only two hours after the Guardian; at the time I read, it's the fourth most read story - Soprano Schwarzkopf dies aged 90
I have to confess that I had no idea that she was still alive, but she died on Thursday aged 88.
It's been a while since I read any of her books, and all the ones I did read I borrowed from the library. Most famous for The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, but some of her other books made quite an impression on me. I certainly enjoyed Girls of Slender Means and The Ballad of Peckham Rye.
There was a book of hers that I read in the very early Eighties, when I was barely in my teens, about a woman who had to have an orgasm every day and went out trawling the streets for a casual screw. That might have been The Driver's Seat. At that age, and in those days, I was really quite shocked, but I kind of enjoy the thought that somewhere behind the cardiganned-bespectacled stereotypical librarian in my local branch library was the beating heart of a connoisseur of Erotica. Who did nothing to discourage me from reading these and other examples of the genre.
You know, I might just obtain myself a few Muriel Sparks and see how I find them now that I am older and the world has moved on.
I can't say I follow the legal world in great detail, but I had certainly heard of Lord Mishcon. The obituary contains a fascinating summary of a fascinating life. A dry listing of chronology, but so much to be read between the lines. I remember there was some complex long-running case when I was on the council, but I'm struggling to remember what. Contrary to widespread belief at the time, the fact that I sat in meetings writing my diary does not mean that I was committing procedures to posterity...
For some morbid reason I try to keep tab on the deaths of famous people who have grazed my radar of interest.
Some catch-up to do. In each case, I link to the Guardian obituaries; in all cases the internetweb is filled with comment and tributes.
Kerry Packer. In the long dim-distant past he was being villified as the most evil man in the world, for daring to want to modernise cricket. Funny how the wisdom of hindsight has led him to be described as
the man who transformed cricket, making the one-day international an established feature of the sport. In the words of the former Australian captain and commentator Richie Benaud, "It's because of what happened then, cricket is so strong now"
Merlyn Rees -one of those names left over from 70s Politics
The incomparable, irrepressible Tony Banks, one of my political heroes. Guest speaker at the Inaugural Streatham Labour Party Annual Dinner in 1994. And very amusing, too. Also an appreciation
Matthew Engel writes poignantly about the death of his teenaged son.
Halfway through reading it, I realised that I remembered when Laurie was born. At the time, I was friendly with someone who worked with Matthew. She often referred to her colleague Matthew, and it took a while for it to dawn on me who she was talking about. I remember the birth, because of a passing comment she made about holding the fort in Matthew's absence.
I have singularly failed to blog about George Best, and I am now putting this to rights.
George Best died on Friday. It had seemed likely for weeks, from Thursday afternoon it was officially inevitable. The media is full of tributes to him, and rightly.
I was born a Manchester United fan. I don't think it was especially my parents' intention, but that's the way it was. I grew up in an area which is absolutely Manchester United daft - except for our little road which bizarrely had a majority of Manchester City fans. In those days we even had actual Manchester United footballers living in the locality. On arrival at Primary School, the first question to be asked was "Are you a United fan?" And everyone hero-worshipped George Best. Actually, he had left United by the time I started school. But that was irrelevant. He was Georgie Best Superstar. Before I even started school, I enjoyed reading a copy of a Manchester United annual that lived in the cupboard at Grandad's.
I saw him play once, in 1982, in the George Best All Star XI vs the Piccadilly Radio Attackers, at Altrincham's Moss Lane stadium. He was well past his best. But, the point was, I saw him play.
During the 70s and 80s and even into the 90s, all we had to sustain us were the memories of past glories. Let's be honest here, I do not remember the 1968 European Cup Final. But it lived on and lives on as a folk memory. And history tells us that this was no ordinary European Cup win. Looked at only in retrospect, it seemed the ultimate inevitable conclusion of a remarkable story. But who could have predicted in 1958, when half the Manchester United team were dead, that it would be just ten years before the club proved itself to be the best?
Watch the TV footage, watch the sheer genius that was George Best on the field. How to describe him without resorting to cliche - poetry in motion? If you don't understand why people get worked up by football, watch George Best, watch his control of the ball, watch the way he takes on opponent after opponent. It really is the beautiful game. And he was the Best.
A meteor, not a planet. Said to be the most naturally gifted player ever from these isles. The best ever, said Pele. Invidious to make these statements.
A lot of people, not being into football, but being into Slebs, know of Georgie Best only as the dissipated broken drunk. Proper celebs become so because of their talent, their ability to bring happiness to the masses. Not just because they have a good PR agent. George Best's fame remained over thirty years after he retired. Of course the dazzling good looks, the personality, helped. Women wanted him, men wanted to be him. Even in the final months, those dazzling blue eyes stayed twinkling on, when the rest of his body seemed destroyed. But the good looks and the engaging personality would have not mattered one iota if he had not been the dazzling talent on the pitch.
And the alcoholism. What to say about that? His mother died an alcoholic. These things are often hereditary.
The subject came up in conversation on Thursday. Someone got very agitated and said he would not forgive Best for squandering the second chance he had, the new liver. I sensed this was more than an abstract comment on the day's headlines, perhaps there was a more personal reason. I decided not to go there. Someone else suggested, benignly, that medical treatment should understand we are sinners. Again, I did not go there.
Alcoholism is a disease. It's not a straightforward disease, which is cured by a course of tablets. When I worked in Social Services, alcohol and substance abuse came into Mental Health department. Like many alcoholics he said he wanted to give up drinking. He went to extraordinary lengths to do so. And succeeded, sometimes for months. Then went back to drinking. Why this happens, I don't know. what's the difference between him, an alcoholic, and me, a binge drinker? I can go for days without drinking, not even thinking about it. I don't need a drink to get me functioning in the morning. I rarely need a drink as a reaction to shock - maybe once a year. So how can I understand alcoholism? Alcoholics who fail to reform are not wilfully sticking their fingers up at society. It's not, at that stage, an arrogance. It's a mental illness which has a devastating effect on the physical health.
Should he have had a liver transplant or should it have gone to someone more deserving?
I don't know.
I don't know what proportion of liver failures are down to reasons other than alcoholism. I know some people have congenital liver disease. Others are affected by jaundice. Perhaps somebody knows the stats better than me, but I would wager that a fair number of people awaiting liver transplants are there because of alcohol. He said he would give up alcohol, indeed he did for a time. Should the medics have believed him, or should they have considered that alcoholics are liars? I don't know. Did he jump the queue? I don't know. Clearly, an organ transplant is dependent upon a tissue match, so they can never be done on a purely first-come first-served basis. Did he jump the queue by going private? I sincerely hope not, but if he did, I wouldn't blame him, but I would blame the system. Perhaps it's a question that needs to be asked in general - do private patients get preferential treatment over NHS for organ transplants?
But when all is said and done, I will always treasure the video I have of that grainy black-and-white coverage of that glorious victory over Benfica when I was just sixteen weeks old.
And next week Manchester United travel to Benfica desperate for the win that will enable them to qualify for the next stage of Europe.
I clicked onto the internet by accident yesterday and exclaimed Ronnie Barkerdied!"
Then I thought, well, he was 76, which, whilst hardly old by modern standards is nevertheless 'a good innings'.
Then I remembered I was never really a fan. I didn't find him or the even less funny one particularly funny; on occasion I found their sexism to be lazy, old-fashioned and insulting.
Walking round the building yesterday, where many of the TVs are tuned to NNC BBC News 24, I saw various highlights of his career. Slowly, dimly, I remembered one vaguely funny sketch from The Two Ronnies - it involved an orchestra, and they did their laundry in the timpani.
They then showed an excerpt from Open All Hours. I recalled I never much liked it when it was shown on Sunday nights on BBC1. I have seen it again recently, and will admit that it contains a pathos that would have been lost on a younger me. Still, wasn't a classic of comedy.
And I never got Porridge at all.
So, sad, but, really, those Golden Ages were not all they're cracked up to be.
Morecambe and Wise - now, they were funny. Often hilariously so.
Even when you know someone's been ill, it still comes as a shock to hear about their death. Especially when you hear via a copy of the South London Press (not yet up-to-date online) being placed in front of you.
Tim was always excellent company. We spent four good years, and then some, propping up bars. I can't say we always agreed - indeed, one of my best anti-Iraq war posts was at the transcript of a rant I had had at Tim 2½ years ago. But he was obsessively devoted to Streatham South Ward.
The official tribute from Labour Group Leadership says
It's impossible to think of Tim without remembering how sociable he was. He loved discussing football and politics over a drink and a cigarette in his local pub. Tim had an instinctive understanding of people and a desire to serve his community. It was this that gave Tim so many friends and admirers from all political parties.
Tim was a kind and gentle person. He was good company, a great community councillor, an outstanding mayor, and in his final months he showed us too that he was a man of great courage and dignity as his fought very publicly against his illness. Tim is a friend we will miss very much over the coming months and years.
That's the third of the 1998 intake who has died far too young. One less character.
I wonder if the LibDims will force the by-election or allow the 6-month rule to come into play...?
Diana died, as did Dodi and the driver because, unlike the man who survived, they were not wearing seatbelts.
It is bloody obvious that if you are a passenger in a car being driven at speed by a drunken driver through a notorious accident blackspot, without a seatbelt, you are going to die.
Why no seatbelt?
Arrogance.
And thus, in a very precise sense, deserved.
Or as someone said, Diana died, Dodi died, the Dodo died, Dido'd better watch out...
I knew yesterday that when I got up this morning this would be the news. Unsurprising. I have been expected it since she was admitted to Kings a couple of weeks ago. I believed that if the admission was unrelated to the brain tumour there would have been a clear statement saying so.
And, to be honest, unsurprising for a number of years.
Still makes me very sad. I can't say she was ever amongst my very favourite politicians, but when she addressed Streatham Labour Party annual dinner in 1995 she was fabulous. Combative but charming, entertaining and interesting.
Being Northern Ireland Secretary from 1997 means that she will always have her place in history. I suspect that in the coming months there will be acres of print journalism about how Blair marginalised her, took over, etc etc. But the nature of that process is that we don't know the details of how it all happened, and probably won't for decades, because it involved a lot of dogmatic mem having to lose face. But it happened. It's still far from a perfect situation, but it is far better than it was a dozen years ago. In my view, everyone who contributed to that Labour and Conservative, Sinn Fein and Ulster Unionist (and IMO, overwhelmingly SDLP) should get credit. I think that if in life you can say you have made a significant contribution towards Peace you can look yourself in the mirror. I guess most people of any integrity tend to dwell on the fact that they could have done more.
In the late Nineties, Mo was extraordinarily popular with the public. Some of this was undoubtedly due to a recognition of how she was performing a pressurised job after a very serious illness. There's a streak of abstract sentimentality there, but I think also that many people know that illness can cause one to lose focus and drive; many people choose instead to look at the flowers. So there is an element of "I wouldn't couldn't do that" informing the admiration.
Additionally, and this is easy to forget just a few years on, Mo Mowlam, along with some others, was a real breath of fresh air blowing through Government. For me, I had grown up with Cabinet Ministers being, almost by definition, stuffy and unapproachable. I thought then that it was a difference between parties and social background. Perhpas I'm more ready to acknowledge the institutionalising effect of being a Minister for so many years; certainly, it's extraordinary when you see ex-Ministers liberated and able to mature into rounded human beings, regardless of Party. But, nevertheless, I did enjoy Mo's novel 'fuck you' attitude.
The more perceptive amongst you may have noticed that I never got round to acknowledging Robin Cook's death. I actually found out via WAP, in the interval of a concert, when the main purpoose had been to check the cricket score at stumps, and I had stupidly clicked on "News". That was a shock to read of a sudden unexpected death. I didn't blog it largely because I was expecting Mo's to follow swiftly afterwards.
I never met Robin Cook, but during the Nineties a couple of friends worked at his researcher.
Robin always loomed large in my political consciousness. He was Neil Kinnock's campaign manager for party leader in 1983; not long after I joined the Labour Party. Perhaps his finest hour came over the Scott Report into the Supergun, where he just tore the Tory Government apart (ably assisted by a fine researcher, Ambrose).
The Observer headline on 4 May 1997 was "An Ethical Foreign Policy". The big question is "What went wrong?" Cynically, I say, no Foreign Secretary ever rules the Foreign Office. They are absolutely at the behest of officials, in a way that does not happen in the Home Civil Service.
Robin Cook strove to change the working patterns of the House of Commons. Perhaps, in time, this will prove to change attitudes, too. In resigning from the Cabinet over the Iraq war he spoke eloquently for millions; he proved to be prophetic.
Mo distanced herself from the political scene of late, perhaps partly because of illness. Robin was an active backbencher right up to the end of the Parliamentary session. I shall miss them both, although inevitably, they will both slip into political history, where a week is a very long time.
But for me, their deaths, coming so close together signal an end of an era. They were both in that 1997 Cabinet, a Government that promised so much, achieved quite a lot, and could have achieved so much more. But Robin Cook and Mo Mowlam are the sort of people I want running the country, not the unprincipled Tories of the past or the future. Both of them had their principles but they also both understood that politics is the art of the possible, and if you dance around too much on your principles, you achieve nothing.
British Politics has suffered two sad premature losses this month. I hope that, somewhere, there are people who may have been inspired by one or other or both of them.
Good innings. Remembered most for the 3-Day Week and taking us into Europe.
Tributes will follow in the Dead Tree Media. Not here. As Jimmy said, "Not a bad man". What more is there to say.
Meanwhile, do remember, Jim Callaghan died earlier this year. That will leave us with three living PMs. Blair and Major are young men.
Who's next, I ask myself...?
Update The link is now saying 'he's gone'. I'll stick with Jimmy's summary. Tributes will be in all the newspapers tomorrow. He was Tory Prime Minister. I was barely politically aware then. He stopped being PM when I was six.
So, I'll just repeat "Who's next?" in the dead Prime Minister stakes...?
I've just realised, I've got to stake a new claim in the Dead Pool.
I think I'll go for the Pope.
Anybody else want to go for a Madmusings Dead Pool. There'll be a Cd in it for the winner.
Unless I win, then I'll buy myself a CD.
This will be one of those entries where I hope for loads of comments and end up with two, of which one begins "I know this is Off topic but I've lost your mobile number..."
I have been seriously amiss in my death blogging for a month now. DavidSheppard died on the eve of his birthday. The day my new nephew was born, I was on the phone to my mother, and we were discussing the famous people with which the baby shares a birthday. After reeling off various famous people, I added "And David Sheppard, of course..." My mother responded "Oh! My pin-up hero..." To which I rather undiplomatically and blunderingly had to respond "You know he died yesterday...?" She didn't. I saw him outside the Lords (no, not Lords...) last year.
Then TommyVance died. Somebody somewhere in the blogosphere said "This was no John Peel moment. I didn't like heavy rock/metal." I'm afraid I agreed. But I recognise that he had an artistic integrity. And quite a name...Richard Anthony Crispian Francis Prue Hope-West.
That same week DaveAllen died. This was breaking news when I was at work. I mentioned it but everyone seemed indifferent. I was surprised, he was one of the great comedians of the Seventies and Eighties, a real forerunner of the Comedy Store-style Stand ups.
In his own words -
We spend our lives on the run: we get up by the clock, eat and sleep by the clock, get up again, go to work - and then we retire. And what do they give us? A fucking clock.
Which is the fastest game in the world? Well, it's played in Belfast pubs, and it's called pass the parcel
And then Jim Callaghan died. I'm not really sure what to say. In so many ways remarkable - to rise from humble background to hold all four great offices of State was something remarkable. But was he a successful Prime Minister. I have to say 'no'. He was a an in-between, between Wilson and Thatcher, and I'm afraid I can't think of any great lasting legacy of those three years. But I think it's fair to say that as a man, he as worthy of respect.
I think there is something terribly poignant that he died just eleven days after the death of Audrey, his wife of 67 years. Imagine being married for 67 years. Surely it must be one of the longest marriages in British history, certainly amongst public figures.
He, like David Sheppard, died on the eve of his birthday. My friend Helen in Essex did some research at University that demonstrated statistically that famous people are more likely to die just after their birthdays, whilst non-famous people die just before.
Then we had the Pope, and Prince Rainier today. Saul Bellow also died today. I can't say I've ever read anything by him, but, as you know, I'm not literary. He won the Nobel Prize and according to the Beeb Bellow was married five times, and fathered a daughter at the age of 84
That kind of facinates me a) is it possible, you know, naturally and b) I know people who were disapproving of Des O'Connor at 72, or various celebs in their 60s, but I reckon, if fear of dying before the child reaches adulthood is an issue, well, should soldiers ever become fathers? Or people with terminal illnesses? Or dead people? Or anyone, really?
I would reckon Saul Bellow's daughter is well provided for financially. And, probably, knowing his age, he may have taken the effort to spend time with her rather than spending sixteen hours at the office and weekends on the golf course.
The Guest Bloggers rang me at 2102 to tell me - so much for my Novenas and Rosary Decades over th'internet. One sniff of Wine - a damn good Portuguese, BTW - and I neglect my Pope Death Watching Duties.
Hummes is the man, I say. Hummes.
Joseph reckons his seriosuly devout RE teacher will lead them in a hour's Prayer on Tuesday. He holds his truly christian RE teacher in highest regard and deepest respect.
Hummes of Sao Paolo, your time has come.
The funeral has to be held 4-6 days after. Queenie's been working the phones all night, saying "Make it Friday but get it over and done with before Ken and Deirdre tie the knot"
The only thing I remember of JPII's Inauguration was my father's deep criticism of the amateurism of the choir of the Cistine Chapel. And when my father got a bee in his bonnet he didn't let it go.
Mother informs me my views are not out of kilter with her's, or with former editors of the Catholic Herald/The Tablet. We all take exception to hysterical worship of a false idol as a god. Somewhat anti-Christian, we feel. We also don't feel comfortable with the AIDS Genocide.
And I can declare that of all the people in the entire world the one I would most like to meet, and interview, is Mikhail Gorbachev. What a man.
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