Ink marks on a blank page Monday March 23rd

Could be lots of things to write about this week, much ado about everything happening in OZ. There are some goings on that I think are best left to the judiciary to decide and here I refer to of course the horrendous fracas at Sydney airport, plus the sad demise of Justice Marcus Enfield, a former Justice of the High Court of Australia. Oh no he didn't die, but he did tell a few huge lies to get out of a speeding fine and that has landed him in gaol.

I don't really understand about the Hells Angel situation, we call them 'bikies' here in OZ , sort of lump them all together in an amorphous conglomeration of fat geezers who ride Harleys and deal stuff. So they are not all Hell's Angels, although the one that died I believe was. Of course none of you might know ,or even care, what the heck I am on about but it is my understanding by looking at the online news grabs, the story about this brawl has been picked up all over the world.Poor little Sam the koala has been forgotten for the moment.

The Einfield trial has been done and dusted so unless he appeals and gets let out whilst his appeal is being held then what I will tell you isn't subjudice but fact that has gone on record, so therefore is not in dispute.

Marcus Enfield was a senior Judge, he was speeding in his car, the speed camera snapped his vehicle going 70kph in a 60kph zone , ping , caught, pay the man $77. He swore on oath that he wasn't driving, subsequently was found to be lying went to trial after some nearly 3yrs ,found guilty sentenced to 2yrs in prison. What is disturbing some folk on the bench here and in parliament is that he actually did the same thing three times before, but was never caught. The position the courts must now find themselves in is a rather tricky one. As there is irrefutable evidence that as far back as 1999 this revered Justice had been lying about speeding fines by saying that he was not the driver of his car when snapped by the speed camera, what then is the truth about judgements he made from 1999 to the time he retired from the bench.

If he has lied about such a simple matter as a speeding fine then how can anyone believe the veracity of his judgements? The can of worms that this case will have opened will well ripen in the sun.



What I did set out to write on was a marvellous little film I saw on Sunday...'Dean Spanley'


Jeremy Northam as Fisk, Junior (Henslowe) (also narrator)
Peter O'Toole as Fisk Senior (Horatio)
Sam Neill as the Dean
Bryan Brown as Wrather
Judy Parfitt as Mrs Brimley
Jenna Pollard as the housemaid
Dudley Sutton as Mariott
Charlotte Graham as the woman in the park
Eva Sayer as a girl
Elizabeth Goram-Smith as a young lady of stature
James Lever as the cricketer
Ramon Tikaram as the Nawab of Ranjiput .



Simply a delight to see such a wonderful actor as Peter O'Toole in this role. All in the cast are just right for this film and the set is wonderful as is costuming and music.The screenplay is an adaptation of fantasy author Lord Dunsany's "My Talks with Dean Spanley", a 14-chapter novella published in 1936. After seeing the film I will grab a copy of the book from Borders or
some such and have a read. No car chases or four letter words and not even a bare boob, but a film that had me watching intently every minute. O'Toole's facial expressions and body language conveyed as much meaning as the lines he spoke and at times the acting was so good you didn't need lines to telegraph what was coming next. This isn't a film for a big audience, possibly never set the box office alight but hopefully have a following and the acting will be noticed. We all of us have familial situations that we would rather not had transpire, life is like that and most just move on to eventually get over whatever caused the angst in the first place. Families are a dynamic that is inevitable as the tide, we live within family and that makes a clash impossible to distance ourselves from, live on we must, so we do. All the people learn and live on gracefully in 'Dean Spanley', which seems au naturel for the period in which it is set, a period that on the surface seemed gracious and uncompromising but that of course was very far from the truth. This was the period that saw great changes in Britain, Darwinism had been the focus for years and all sorts of ism's had arisen over time. Phrenology, magentism et al and of course spiritualism which is the backbone of this storyline. Swamis and Gurus were as thick as Autumn leaves and the papers of the day carried advertisements for all the quack cures and latest fads imaginable. For all its so calledVictorian purity the late Edwardian age was full of salacious gossip and flashy newspaper articles about the goings on of the titled and rich.

I must admit to a clinging to the past mentality, yes much wrong with trying to clasp what has gone before to ones chest like a prize from the fairground. But what went has to me anyway great import and a reverence. Of course like most humans I tend to glorify some bits, forget others , but in the main I think that I am true to what actually transpired . Others might see their past that melded with mine in a different light, perhaps that salmon I caught from Brighton pier wasn't as big as it has grown to be, but for a ten year old it was magnificent. Will the children who are ten today have the same treasures to remember when they reach their 3score and? My feeling is that they will, a different set of wonders, but theirs will be a similar grab bag of love,laughs, tears and triumphs that so delighted my generation.

Truly Hortense that little moving picture did enthrall me so, yes Horty I know we only went 'cos you urged me so. It is because of you that I get to these little performances. I well remember the first play that you dragged me off to see,'Camelot', Richard Harris in the lead. We haven't stopped going to the theatre and film since. Yes indeed Hortense I do love to brag about seeing the original 'Phantom of the Opera ' in London too, but that was such a memorable night wasn't it. When that super scene of the Ghost poling that little punt thing along and singing as the mist rose up started, the hairs on the back of my neck rose up , and to think I don't really like much Andrew Lloyd Webber music either. A little like my conversion to Van Gogh after you dragged me off to the museum in Amsterdam, couldn't get me to leave.
Puts me in mind of Cocolat and the Gelato we had Sunday, now that was awesome was it not?