A lot of babies are born comically plain with bulging cheeks, enormous eyes, prominent ears and bald everywhere, but they quickly metamorphose into things of beauty. Alice, unfortunately, didn’t. Her mother tried hard to love her but eventually handed over the care of the ugly bundle to a paid nurse, while her father, her wealthy [...]
Archive for August, 2009
Given their love of long place names one ought to be grateful the capital of Greenland is called Nuuk (pronounced Nuke). Home to some 15,000 souls Nuuk lies at the mouth of the Gothabsfjord in the South West of Greenland and is built on a narrow stretch of bare rock. Quite why nobody really knows, [...]
Beyond The Stars (His Dark Materials)
Posted: 31st August 2009 by Phil in Articles, Cinema & The TheatreI first heard of the author Philip Pullman when three years ago his book ‘The Amber Spyglass’, became the first children’s book to win the Whitbread Prize. The publicity surrounding this achievement brought Pullman’s fantasy story to an adult audience with much the same appeal as the ‘Harry Potter’ or ‘The Lord of The Rings’ [...]
Television these days seems dominated by ‘Best Ever’ programmes. Best Ever Situation Comedy, Best Ever Musical, shortly I expect to see Best Ever Cookery Programme. What a waste of time!. How can you determine who or what is best ever. Was Pele a better footballer than George Best for instance? What factors do you use [...]
Illustrious poet and former active member, Geoff Evans, lost touch with HWC some years ago, when first work and then relocating to France took him away. Recently contact was re-established and during a short visit to the UK he met up with members Jack Ackred, Yvonne Warwick, Joan Walters and Phil Hollis for a reunion drink. Geoff publishes [...]
Somewhere (P J Proby)
Posted: 31st August 2009 by Phil in Articles, The Soundtack Of Phil's Life - Musical MemoriesOn hot Saturday nights I would lie, wide-awake, in my bedroom. Through the open window I would hear indifferent cabaret singers warbling the latest hits from the stage of the Working Men’s Club, located at the end of our garden. With mock microphone in hand I would silently sing along with them, word-perfect in such [...]