Christmas Telly, But Make It Bleak

Some pretty weird shit Christmas telly viewing. In short: we didn’t watch any Christmas telly. It’s crap. Yeah, yeah - quite an overstatement. I still can’t resist bingeing on Eastenders.

Dig a little deeper on the iPlayer and there’s a glorious run of classic Christmas Eastenders episodes up for grabs. BALLS to the middle class crap of The Archers. Eastenders is where it’s at.

But anyway. About my other weird shit Christmas telly viewing.

A bit of VPN action, an anonymous Tor browser account, and oh, here we go. I seem to have downloads of the Dylan biopic and Mike Leigh’s Meantime in less time than it took me to cut another slice of Christmas cake. TUCK IN!

Dylan’s A Complete Unknown was screened at the local village cinema earlier in the autumn. It was raining and there was some football on the telly. I am a very lazy film viewer. We fired it up back at home as the Christmas Eve entertainment.

First things first: biopics - whether endorsed by the artists or not - are best viewed as a piece of fiction. There are elements of the truth that blend in there, but the narrative is there to entertain, not to inform.

A Complete Unknown does this very well. It’s quite an achievement to have two hours or so focussing on the main character, and you’re still not sure if he is a 20th Century hero, or a complete little shit.

Dylan doesn’t come out of it very well. Johnny Cash does.

The character of Dylan is portrayed as a musical trailblazer - which he undoubtedly was at the time - but something of a nasty piece of work when it comes to women. I’m aware that all major films need the romantic angle. But I would the film had focussed on the transition from folk to electric.

It does this as well of course, but some of the relationships get in the way of the epoch defining moment at Newport. Joan Baez’s character in particular seems to exist only to act as a metaphor for what Dylan was walking away from.

A Complete Unknown was very watchable. The songs and performances don’t leave you cringing and wanting to play the originals. Dylan did look cool as fuck around this period as well.

The Happy Happy Joy Joy film for Christmas Day was Mike Leigh’s Meantime. I have no bloody idea why I decided to download this a couple of months ago. It must have been a recommendation from Robert Elms or the like. It’s been sitting on my hard drive, waiting for the right moment.

Christmas Day seemed like the ideal opportunity to play a 1983 kitchen sink drama, focussing on unemployment, Thatcherism and family breakdown.

Have a good one, etc.

The film actually worked really well for us. We approached it not knowing anything about it. I wasn’t even aware of the plot, or the actors - Tim Roth, Phil Daniels and Gary Oldman - quite a cast list.

At first I thought it was a recent Mike Leigh production, retrospectively looking back at some of the darker days of Thatcherism. But nope, it came out in 1983. It captures the bleak period perfectly.

There is a perpetual expression of gloom that hangs over every scene. It isn’t a feel good film and won’t have you rooting for the main characters. I got the impression that the plot wasn’t scripted, just loosely formed. The actors were encouraged to improvise around basic scene set ups.

Oldman as a thick as pig shit skinhead pulls this off remarkably. I didn’t even realise it was him playing the part until the end credits rolled. He must be the most chameleon like English actor over the past forty years or so.

At various stages in the final thirty minutes, we commented that the film will probably end abruptly in the next scene. It’s the type of storyline that isn’t really resolved. It’s just a slab of everyday struggle and existence.

And sure enough - cut to the credits, we’re done.

The Eastenders Christmas double header that followed needed intense analysis to understand the plot that changed with almost every sentence. Sometimes I prefer films that present you with a situation, and little else to consider.

Weird Wiv Christmas Day Walking

Some hit and miss snaps from a random Christmas Day walk, through Wivenhoe Woods, Ferry Marsh and then back to base via the Quay. My camera of choice was the Olympus PEN-F - just perfect for the crisp, blue sky conditions. Straight outta the box, no editing. Point, shoot, publish, move on etc.

Wiff Waff Over Worship

To the Table of Dreams! …on Christmas Day morning. #OddJase, Odd Wifey as well. But what else are we going to do? Morning Service down at the Church? I don’t think so. Wiff waff is my religion of late. The Table of Dreams is my high altar of choice.

It was also the choice of some big BRUTE in the past day or so who had trampled their muddy size twelves all over it. Some people. Filthy fuckers. You dirty dog, etc.

Hey hoe. We pressed on with the extra heavy wind ball. This wasn’t ideal conditions for the annual contesting of the Christmas Cup. Spoiler alert: there isn’t really a Christmas Cup. But we play for it every year anyway.

Along with the wind ball, I was wearing my wellies. It was quite a sight with the steady passing procession of Christmas walking families thinking wtf are these two oddballs doing on Christmas Day.

HAVE A GOOD ONE, etc.

I was actually having a bloody good one. 2-1 up, in a best of five to bag the Christmas Cup. Steady the buffers, luv. It all came crashing down with a predictable 3-2 defeat for me.

Second in the Christmas Cup can still be celebrated, right?

Five Layers, Zero Warmth 🎄🚴‍♂️

A bitterly cold bicycle ride for Christmas Day morning. I was dressed not to impress with five layers. Two of these were industrial ex-army military wear. It wasn’t your average pro-rider look.

The roads were empty for the first half hour or so as we headed out on the usual Bobby George BONER route. We passed a couple of kids trying out their Christmas Day electric scooters. Riding, wheeling, walking - it’s all active travel, innit.

Blue skies were up above, as well as an Estuary Wilds sun that refused to offer up any warmth. Cheers, Estuary Wilds sun. I was determined to make the most of the dry roads, given the wet weather in recent weeks.

I cut short the 35km route by around 5km with a shortcut around some farm lanes. I didn’t warm up once throughout the ride.

It’s rare for me to ride on Christmas Day. I am scared shitless of puncturing. Thankfully no mechanical incidents this morning. I even let off a couple of close passing cars that were contenders to be uploaded to the Essex Police portal of shame.

Chapeau!

And so Farewell Robbo, the True Miracle Man

You can’t write a standalone para on a hit and miss blog post to sum up what John Robertson meant to Forest fans. Especially when it’s half bashed out on Christmas Day. The obits in His Majesty’s Popular Prints will no doubt do justice to the Miracle Man in the morning.

But woh. Robbo. That hit hard. It’s been no secret down at the World Famous that he has been seriously unwell for a while now. His lifestyle and laid back approach to life looks like it finally caught up with him. It was such a shame that he couldn’t make the Malmo reunion down at Trentside last month.

One by one, we are losing that transformative Forest team from the late 70’s. Tricky Trevor - now that really hurt, Big Larry, and now the most talented man from a squad of misfits and geniuses. Robbo manages to make both categories.

My own memories from that period are hazy. In my defence, I was only seven years of age when I first visited the World Famous. I definitely saw Robbo play in the Championship season. Likewise in European Cup matches. My memory, and any lack of physical memorabilia, means that I can’t pinpoint specific matches apart from the League Cup Final replay away at Old Trafford in ‘78.

Robbo famously fell out with BC when he did the dirty and briefly signed for D***y. But he was only the collateral damage. The real story was the lifelong friendship between Clough and Taylor coming to an end over that particular deal.

Robbo did find his way back to the City Ground, but the magic was gone. The Miracle Men team had long since been broken up. He was a bit part player, brought in to show guidance to a second generation of Clough kids that was starting to shine. What a role model to have, on and off the pitch, etc.

I was surprised to see him follow Martin O’Neill into management, first at L******er, and then surprisingly up at Celtic. The Good Cop, Bad Cop pairing was incredibly successful at both clubs, almost on a level with what Clough and Taylor achieved.

O’Neill somehow found the energy to return to Celtic last month. Robby’s days on the touchline were over many, many years ago. It has been a slow decline, but his legacy will always be untarnished at Forest. He was the tramp with the scruffy shoes and greasy hair, that provided the perfect pinpoint cross for Francis to score THAT goal.

And now they’re both gone. Measuring moments in your own life around these external storylines can get a little unsettling. Especially so on Christmas Day.

What a man.

Album of the Day: Cowboy Junkies - The Trinity Session

I use to own a copy of this over 35 years ago. From memory I absolutely adored it. I barely recognised a song, apart from the Velvets cover, when I played it back this morning. It’s still a decent album. It just didn’t leave me hanging, wanting more. The mood is more late night than early morning. The ambience thing with the single mic works well. But not the masterpiece my memory wanted it to be.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐