Rip Van Stevens has spoken.

I decided when I first came into the blogging world to generally avoid being overtly topical. So many seem to do it, invariably better than me. I have realised in my short blogging career that it is difficult to find something to blog about unless you do 'topical' hence one reason why twice a week seems to suit me. Another point has arisen that suggests I'm an an out of touch old fart. One reason that I'm not a really topical blogger is that I haven't a clue when it comes to topicality. What's more, I don't even care.

John Sergeant, evidently 'the dancing pig' has been in the news all week. I know of him of course but I cringe at the ignorance and sheer insensitivity of those who have nicknamed such an apparently likable man with such a derisory nickname. But I personally have never seen him dance, nor the programme on which he appeared. Not even once, never, ever. (Which seems to put me in a minority, again I don't really care.) Don't fancy it, the only ballroom dancers I ever met seemed narcissistic, preening individuals devoid of anything outside of their glittery, boring sequined existences.

Now it might be me, but it got me thinking as to how I fit in, so to speak. Am I, for instance, the only person who has never seen a Big Brother programme, ever. These celebrity people in a jungle, am I the only person never to have seen a single second of such unadulterated tripe. (Is it a real jungle, I do not know, honest.) I confess I have to be careful here. I was told off strongly by my daughter for suggesting such programmes are for boring individuals of limited intellect leading humdrum lives. She has a point of course, she is an avid fan of some of the puerile programmes imaginable. (oops!) She is also a respected teacher and by no means of limited intelligence. (She takes after her mother of course and not her father!)

The obvious answer to my dismissive rejection of much of the most popular people and programmes in the world is, 'How do you know if you've never watched? But I've never watched Jonathan Ross perform, if perform is the right word. But do I really have to watch such a self satisfied, smirking, obnoxious individual to see what ought to be obvious. (His lack of respect for Andrew Sachs was on a par with the irreverence afforded John Sergeant.) Is it not startlingly apparent that without his doting followers he, Ross is nothing, just another millionaire cretin living off my licence fee.

Don't get me wrong. I would not wish for a form of censorship delivered by myself and my ilk. I just wonder if I am any the worse for having missed some of the nation's most popular viewing. I've no doubt the X Factor is compelling viewing only please don't make it compulsory. Having never seen a single episode of 'Sex in the City' is no doubt my loss. (I did watch The Sopranos, every single episode and found it riveting.) There must be many more programmes I missed over the years. I could look them up but to do so would be a form of cheating and my generation doesn't cheat. But if Tom Cruise walked in here as I type I would honestly not know who he was. Britney Spears, I know of her but I'm not sure why.

And there you have it. Another boring Monday morning. Rant over, you should know by now, they don't call me Grumpy Old Ken for nothing!

Happy Days

Its not only onions that have a tendency to repeat. Television at this time of the year is also full of repeats. Saturday, the most popular night for viewing and what are we offered? Have I Got News For You, Foyle's War, Dad's Army, Benidorm, Law and Order, all repeats. Plus Big Brother highlights, excruiating even first time round and Glastonbury, The Best Bits. Oh, and two films well past their sell by date.
The television remains off and my wife reads as is her wont. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen; The Cat Who series by Lilian Jackson Braun; any Dalziel and Pascoe mystery; Morse, Sharp, Holmes, their adventures are constantly devoured ad infinitum, morning, noon and night.

Fretful I ponder how to amuse myself. What would granny have done, between bringing up eight children, cooking, ironing and attending chapel, God willing. (Plus presumably a lie down when possible.) As soon as I thought of granny the answer was there in a flash, look at the stereo cards of course.

I remember many an evening as a child sat in grannies parlour, looking at 'grannies pictures'. The 'need to know' syndrome might be popular today. But did we children of the late 1940's care that we were looking at examples of stereoscopic images viewed through a stereoscopic viewer. Or that it was invented by a Sir Charles Wheatstone in 1840. Or for that matter realise that stereopsis is most commonly referred to as depth perception. The only thing we cared about was that we loved looking at 'grannies pictures'.

I retrieve the battered box still containing those treasured cards. A little faded, some inevitably yellowed with age, several marked by grubby fingerprints from bygone ages. But most are still viewable. (Many years ago the original viewer fell apart from constant use but I found another in a local auction, no doubt placed there by the fates that surround us all.) I carefully place the cards on a table and the memories flood back.
Pictures of places: Wales, Ireland, the Isle of Man and the Isle of Wight; West Cliff at Ramsgate, seaside and countryside, literally up hill and down dale. Plus nearer to home Chatsworth, Buxton, Matlock and Haddon Hall. We as children had hardly if ever visited such mysterious places. A trip up local fields with corned beef sandwiches and a bottle of pop was as far as we went from the village but we could but dream.

Another popular subject viewed with interest were those that showed the working man in his glory. Particularly favoured were pictures of coal mines, traditionally relevant to Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire at the turn of the century.

A proliferation of pit props that were ideal subjects for three dimensional viewing. Each and everyone viewed with awe and not a little admiration. I view the pit bottom once again and marvel. Nostalgic memories but a sombre reminder of the hard life led by many, a life of physical toil for doubtful reward.

Yet wonderful though these all were, our favourites were those depicting humorous or dramatic scenes, some obvious, others too subtle for childish minds. Romance was often depicted in a gentle, innocent way. 'Love Laughs at Locksmiths,' 'Love in a Tub', two titles with obvious appeal. 'Waiting for Santa Claus' had charm, whilst'Not a Drop till You Kiss me' had a cheeky appeal. The youngest amongst us were alarmed yet still fascinated by two men confronting each other, entitled 'Friend thee had better move', though we never did truly comprehend 'A Jew and a Quaker at work. Experience of either was way beyond our simple village experiences. The subjects were varied in the extreme, and our delight endless.

Particulary seached out time after time was 'Boys bathing', our first experience of people with no clothes on! Perhaps the Victorians were not as prudish as history would have us believe! For once repeats were acceptable. Big Brother, eat your heart out.