Turn, Turn, Turn

A late start, a long day and an overcast sky filled with rain found me walking home in a contemplative mood this evening.  Sodium lighting reflected off the rain slick street while traffic lights painted the pavement neon red and green and a cool, clean bite in the air nipped at my nose.  Autumn has arrived, furtively, like a thief stealing in the back door.

I love this time of year.  In truth, I love a lot of the year.  High summer evenings of endless light and deep midwinter mornings of hard packed frozen ground both make me smile quietly and step that little livelier.  But it is the cusps of the seasons that I really enjoy.  The first crocus flowering, a splash of colour amidst slumbering grass as winter gives way to spring.  That first, hot day of summer when you look up at the trees and realise that the world has gone green while your back was turned.  The first day when your breath prickles in your lungs as winter bites.

None of them, however, are as good as autumn.

Pick Me.

Maybe it's the brambles, dark and rich and as redolent of childhood as any madeleine.  Fleeting and free (both literally and metaphorically), I can't resist stopping and snaffling a few from any bush I pass.  I find it odd that other town dwellers don't do this.  (And I know I'm not the only one who wonders at this.)

Or maybe it's that other treasure of the autumn woods, the conker.  Is there anything better than the anticipation of splitting open that spiky shell, wondering if there will be that single, perfect nut within?

I always think this colour should be called pastel gold. 

Or perhaps it's neither of those.  Perhaps it's the long, sinuous light that spills across the countryside, turning straw into gold and painting the sky with pastel metals.

Or is it that autumn is a slightly bitter-sweet season?  A last hurrah before the quiescence of winter?  A sense of huddling up against the storms to come, of making good and mending before the chill seeps into our bones.  Of endings to come, as leaves turn and fall and the daylight shrinks away, ceding mastery of the world to the cold, sparkling night.

Maybe it's all of that, and more.  The smell of humus (one "m") as your feet crunch through fallen leaves.  The infuriating day when it is too hot in the sun and too cold in the shade.  The sudden downpour driven sideways by the wind.  Everything.

Hello, Autumn.  Welcome back.  I've missed you.

Normalising Single Parenthood From 3+

Or: I Totally Forgot About Postman Pat, Or: Well Done Cosgrove Hall.

After my epic whinge about Fireman Sam yesterday, my friend Vic pointed out that Jeff Pringle, the school teacher in Postman Pat, is a single dad looking after his son, Charlie.

Jeff Pringle

Charlie Pringle

And she's right.  I'd forgotten about Jeff and Charlie, as it's been ages since Alex watched Postman Pat.  (He liked it when he was about 2, but then moved on to Timmy Time then Fireman Sam.)  Vic did also say something about Charlie looking remarkably like another character in the show.  I just can't recall who...

Socialising The Stigmatisation Of Single Parents From 3+

Or: I've Almost Certainly Thought Too Much About This But Dear God I've Watched This Episode Of Fireman Sam 20 Times And I'm Going Mental.

For the most part, the characters of Fireman Sam are pretty standard children's TV fare.  There's the dopey-but-likeable Elvis, the stuffy-but-likeable Officer Steele, the token-female-firefighter Penny, and, of course, our lantern jawed hero, Sam.

You could concuss a donkey with that chin.

The crew go around saving the various denizens of the not-in-the-least-bit-offensive-to-Welsh-people Pontypandy from differing degrees of peril, ranging from "mild" to "pretty much non-existent".  It's all very gentle and entertaining, in a brightly coloured, clearly designed to sell toys to three year olds kind of a way.  It's also very inclusive.  There's only around 15 - 20 people who live in Pontypandy (depending on the series you're watching) and at least 20% of them are from minority ethnic groups.  We've come a long way from the original Fireman Sam series, who's big concession to multiculturalism was an Italian woman called Bella Lasagne.

I wish I were making that up.

Fringe Frolics: part two

Just a sample of the tickets I collected over the last month.

So, the Fringe is well and truly behind us now.  A full week has passed since I've had to write a 120 word review of anything and it's about time I wrapped up my Fringe stats.  Now, I can't be bothered working out the coffee intake, or the junk food factor (let's just say both were WAAAAY too high), but I can tot up stars and shows easily enough.

Final Results
Shows seen: 45 (+2 I paid to see)
Mean number of shows per day reviewing: 3.75
Total stars awarded: 142
Hang-on-you-can't-take-a-mean-average-of-ordinal-data mean number of stars awarded per show: 3.1555...
Cumulative damage to faith in humanity (n of 1 star shows seen): 1
Cumulative faith in humanity restored (n of 5 star shows seen): 3 (we're in credit!)
Best Theatre: Solve.  An excellent little play of menace, guilt and warmth, brilliantly scripted and wonderfully acted.
Best Comedy: Jollyboat.  Pirate themed musical comedy.  So good I bought the merchandise.
Best Shakespeare: Othello: The Remix.  Othello, in rap.  Much, much better than it sounds.
Worst Shakespeare: A Midsummer Night's Dream (As You Like It).  An EIF production costing £24 a ticket and completely self-indulgent.  'Dream On', the entire cast of which had learning difficulties, was genuinely a better show.
Worst show: Poison.  Drugs are bad, mmm-kay?  Astonishingly heavy-handed and utterly banal.
Times Soaked: 5.  (After a bad start, August picked up somewhat.)
Times Sunburnt: 0.  (Just not that much.)
Stupidest Thing Done: Following The Noise Next Door around from 12:30am to 7:00am after a full day reviewing, when I then had shows to review at 11am.
Best Thing Done: Following The Noise Next Door around from 12:30am to 7:00am after a full day reviewing, when I then had shows to review at 11am.
Hours Slept on Tuesday 28th August (the day after the Fringe finished): 18.

See you next year!