Author: bigdunc09

At this point in proceedings, It seems obligatory to reflect back on the last twelve months and look forward to the next.

A time when hopes should allay fears, optimists can cross their fingers and those who might have erred have a chance of a fresh start.

“New year: new opportunities” it is often said, although 2019 was actually the time setting for Blade Runner and we all know how bleak that imagined world was. At times, especially this year, our own seems similarly disparate, so I spent part of the perineal period contemplating the success stories of 2018 and what didn’t go so well before anticipating what might happen in the near future, as so many are wont to do at this time.

First of all, let me say that some wonderful moments took place this year: those close to us celebrated weddings and new arrivals; kids came on leaps and bounds; special moments were enjoyed (making it to important places, meeting important people) and never to be forgotten.

However, some of it was – for myriad reasons – spent in dystopia…

The Road

In which we think about a dystopian time, with impending disaster; the man and the boy, for whom things are a bit grey and very few positives prevail…

Divergent

The country feels more divided than ever, not just politically speaking but also in irrelevant debates over a colour of dress or what someone is saying. Even in terms of identity, people can’t just be themselves; they have to fit in and conform, be it their clothes or their gender / sexuality. People – especially the press – make a big deal of it, and humour / compliments can be quickly deemed racist whilst calling someone a stupid woman – she’s a woman, she’s made some very uneducated decisions – causes such furore whilst the scapegoating of imaginary-droid users deflects from the very real issues of growing economic uncertainty, huge surges in homelessness and actual – unreported – drones causing very real tragedies.

Brave New World

It’s not all darkness and down-ness, though; there are still some revelations to be had. The year saw revolutionary culinary experiences, including investing in a restaurant – with more exciting events to come – and taste sensations which bring beauty and the sublime into the everyday.

Matched

TV series like Masterchef Professionals, Christmas University Challenge, Only Connect and Mastermind every night helped the transition into the winter time. Not that I watched every episode – we were expecting visitors from another planet any time soon – but amidst the marking and the impending glow, it was nice to have distractions  which reminded you there was life elsewhere.

I’ll make it on at least one of them, one day.

The real televisual highlights of the year included the truly staggering end to series 3 of Gomorrah; the darkly funny The End of the F***ing World and the Black Mirror ‘Bandersnatch’ episode, harking back to things like Dungeons and Dragons and a series of books I used to love – Choose your Own Adventure – one of which was called ‘An Invitation to Murder’ set in a ski resort; clearly contrived but so exciting for a ten year old me. BM is the opposite: each episode covers the dark side of technology, and seems to predict what actually comes true, so maybe interactivity is actually the future.

1984

Ready Player One had similar themes, and I actually read the novel before watching the film. They did a pretty good job of it. The same with Wonder, the book which arguably changed my life this year – high praise indeed, you’re thinking – but it certainly inspired and re-invigorated my and my day jobs. It’s been amazing spreading the power of reading and seeing the ripples emanate across my sphere of influence from four day-long courses. I read more books this year than I have in the last ten years, certainly, and rediscovered a love of literature which I know will last forever. I also got to meet and converse with the wonderful Frank Cottrell Boyce, which I’ll never forget.

Other highlights of film and fiction: Cobra Kai (which helped me through a difficult time in my life) then Isle of Dogs; Damien Hirst’s Netflix faux-umentary; Roma; SOLO; ‘The Monsters We Deserve’ by the brilliant Marcus Sedgwick; ‘One’ by Sarah Crossan and several other (largely YA) books, in particular – somewhat appropriately – ‘Where The World Ends’ by Geraldine McCaughrean.

Of course, I also loved watching the World Cup which gave the country a feelgood factor rarely before seen in my lifetime; it even influenced the girl’s school fair, and an overly competitive dads’ football tournament in which I was proud to be the inaugural scorer for her class. Talking of football, at times, even Everton were good to watch, and I was starting to think about the last time we were on the cusp of something really good, with a young manager and a team eager to succeed but determined to do well. It’s a lovely thought that history might be repeating itself.

The Giver

The week before the derby, I was given some secret good news: colleagues were being given the opportunity to meet Jordan Pickford and I immediately thought about my kids and how the ‘keeper – and too few people use that apostrophe – has grown in stature in their lifetime.

I gave the two a couple of shirts to get signed, but didn’t expect anything in return. Not only were both of the red variety, but I didn’t think he’d have the time to sign anything, knowing how things have changed since when I had heroes and carrier bags full of ephemera for autographs.

Still they both admitted he was a ‘legend’ with kids and staff alike and I was elated to receive a bundle of joy the following morning which I knew my kids would be equally made up with (well, one, but the other will be, in time…)

Unfortunately, at the end of the game, someone made a mistake, meaning that some decided to direct messages and ‘banter’ at others whilst forgetting their own past comments and misdemeanours. Thankfully, said others rose above it; as Michelle Obama said, “they go low, you go high!”

Animal Farm

It’s funny how George Orwell is deemed as the most dystopian author of all time when arguably his best works are based on real-life experiences: Down and Out, Homage to Catalonia etc. However, we know, read and teach his imagined futures… which have eventually come true and the derby summarised all this quite neatly.

That given Sunday, I was at a playgroup party all afternoon which was a nice distraction but I really thought this was our chance, our time. The result wasn’t a surprise – they may well go on to win the league – but the manner of defeat was arguably the worst I’ve known in the thirty three years I’ve been a Blue, which is saying something given the myriad ways we have lost to them, especially in bizarre circumstances.

I realise that it’s probably going to be this way forever, and we might actually create history with our ever more elaborate ways of losing ridiculously against – what was on the day – largely at-best-equal and possibly inferior opposition.

Classless and undignified0o9, the lack of understanding of what happened, the ignorance of the bigger picture… all came through in the snippet of a broadcast I happened to see afterwards, and I felt a real sense of foreboding that a dystopia is coming after the utopia of the summer we experienced… by that, I mean the aftermath of the Champions League final.

(Oh, you know, when they all sent those death threats)

What’s funny is that football now seems to be seen by some as a game of one upmanship, but only by those people who have no direct experience of being a fan. It’s easy to show support online but quite pathetic to live one’s life by the successes of others and to only communicate with the world using the media of, say, Twitter, when you’ve never actually attended a game but prefer to enjoy victories through the goading of others. I actually feel really sad for those people, because their lives must be missing something… and not just the true experience of being a ‘proper’ fan, with everything good and bad that comes with it.

Indeed, the Friday before the match in question, we’d been to a great Courteeners gig, so the (wholly predictable) aftermath reminded me of the lyrics:

“I could not give one, ‘cos we are us not you.

You think you’re clued up, I think you’re glued up…

You’re the kings (and queens) of pretend.”

Mortal Engines

Many of us are parents, and some work in education, but the nervousness involved in a simple visit to your workplace by a few fellow grown-ups shouldn’t bring with it such pressures and pangs of worry but it does, and another positive of the year would have to be the increased focus nationally on mental health. Even my little girl has been going to mindfulness yoga classes, with clear benefits. Even a trip to Mary Poppins made me think about how bad moods, feeling low and negativity can affect family life.

The sad thing is that too many people don’t ask for help, and the year saw the sad departure from this planet of many people who just couldn’t cope any more. Most of them we may never know about, but one in particular upset me more because of a personal connection and influence I had felt since first reading this guy’s description of his first oyster in the seminal Kitchen Confidential back in 2006.

Let’s look out for each other a bit more in 2019. Don’t be alone.

Don’t, also be, inconsiderate and selfish… that’s what I’ll recommend my horrible neighbour has as her own resolution when she questions whether or not to park outside our house or to again ring the police over a sleeping child. It’s ok, because we use her as a deterrent and threat regarding bad behaviour, which works well given her general abhorrence and nearby location. But it’s not so nice to feel let down by people close to you who should know and do better, and this was a theme of the year, being disappointed by people and their actions; I won’t give specific examples, but they probably know who they are.

As an affront to this negativity, we had a wonderful time away with the extended family amidst a heat wave and a new part of the world that will forever be important to us. That more than made up for the rubbishy stuff.

FOR INFO:

A Clockwork Orange (1971) features one of the more uncomfortable scenes in cinema, when Alex (Malcolm McDowell) is submitted to the aversion therapy tactics of the fictional Ludovico Technique. In the film, a Dr. Brodsky (Carl Duering) of the Ludovico medical facility forces Alex to watch violent images for extended periods of time as his eyes are held open with specula. He’s pumped with nausea-, paralysis- and fear-inducing drugs at the same time, with the objective being the development of a nauseous association when experiencing or thinking about violence, causing an aversion. It’s essentially a mechanical, Pavlovian construct that associates stimuli with negative reinforcement instead of positive.

Some things I’ve already written about are just like the scene in A Clockwork Orange when Alex is given his Ludovico treatment; it always reminds me of getting laser eye treatment some nine years ago: the intensity, the pain, the not being able to look away…

Football often has the same impact, and I’m not talking about the perennial disappointment we experience at Goodison.

Let me explain…

I’ve had a soft spot for Napoli since Maradona’s time and in recent years, have grown to love them as the underdog of calcio and the country itself. I spent a day of my honeymoon touring the city (alone, my wife being too scared to join me) and now obsess over the literature of Roberto Saviano and the food and drink of the Campania region. The football team themselves embody the region and the busy nearby port with their work ethic, ethnic diversity and dogged determination to succeed, despite challenges: a bit like our own AZZURRI.

“I’m sorry for the loss, but especially for letting my brothers down. I’m proud of the color of my skin; to be French, Senegalese, Neapolitan, and a man”

So said Khalid Koulibaly, a recent victim of racism, who has previously explained his love of Naples and feeling a part of the city despite the extra problems he has faced in Serie A. The recent game against Inter, when he was sent off after having been subjected to abuse for most of the match, highlighted another problem in the sport we love to watch but – in doing so – regularly see the worst in people.

Thankfully, in their next game the Neapolitans wore masks of his face to show their support… but clearly, something has to change.

Children of Men

My little girl’s nativity – brought up to date, what with sat navs and flossing and inn-spectors – reflected modern life quite perfectly. She really was a super star!

I saw a few good shows this year: some of the Biennial, a very clever piece by Leo Fitzmaurice… and I end with the great John Lennon, with whom I really fell in love this year. Visiting a wonderful exhibition at the Museum of Liverpool (replacing my own installation) led me to re-watched documentaries, listening again to lyrics. I’d taken for granted our similarities in thoughts and idealism and art schools; I began to really appreciate more what he was going on about, and how close I’ve been to a lot of it. That came to pass when enjoying a catch up with a friend from twenty years ago, then at our eighth (count ‘em) wedding of the year a place I used to work at, and I realised that we should all give peace a chance in 2019.

Before we do, look back yourself… it has been a positive year, in many ways.

Let’s not forget that: but, whatever happens in the future, we must remember his words. It was great to see what happened in Liverpool over Christmas.

So this is Christmas and what have you done
Another year over, a new one just begun

And so this is Christmas, I hope you have fun
The near and the dear ones, the old and the young

A very merry Christmas and a happy new year
Let’s hope it’s a good one without any fears

And so this is Christmas for weak and for strong
The rich and the poor ones, the road is so long

And so happy Christmas for black and for white
For yellow and red ones let’s stop all the fights.

WAR IS OVER.

Peace in 2019… Choose Your Own Adventure.

pinion¹

/ˈpɪnjən

noun

1. the outer part of a bird’s wing including the flight feathers.

• verb

1. restrain or immobilize (someone) by tying up or holding their arms or legs.

“he was pinioned to the ground”

synonyms:

hold down, pin down, press down, restrain, constrain, hold fast, immobilize; More

• cut off the pinion of (a wing or bird) to prevent flight.

“We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the time will soon come when, if men will not learn that lesson, then they will be taught it in fire and blood and anguish.” 

I suppose it’s somewhat serendipitous that my first encounter with Gary Usher’s cooking was at Wreckfish, in Liverpool city centre, when – before the meal – I should have met my number two hero of all time, Liam Fray of the Courteeners, just happening to walk past the restaurant as we were sat deciding what to order. The meal itself was equally memorable, so I couldn’t wait to contribute to Usher’s next crowdfunding venture that his ever-expanding group announced: an old bookmakers’ in Prescot, a town close to our hearts for other reasons.

I really admire this chef’s ideals: his plans for social change; his ambitions for contributing to the reinvention of a struggling high street; his dogged determination to remind diners of modern etiquette (more of which later) and ultimately, his food. Oh, his food. But his morals, his conscience, his keenness to help regenerate Prescot especially – this all linked nicely to the ideas put forward by the Inspector in An Inspector Calls because he was all about togetherness and socialist ideals.

Thanks to PPI payback, we were able to have invested £50 in Pinion on the first night of the investment opportunity, and were rewarded with £50 off our first meal there, so booked a trip down memory lane when time allowed and forged new Prescot memories during October half term on a drizzly Thursday evening, preceded by a couple in the nicely designed Wetherspoons (with Edward Lear themed toilets) and the impressive (Shakespeare themed) micropub, The Bard, in which I got talking to an eccentric local about Oktoberfest in Germany.

Now at this point, I’d just like to say I have read some really rubbish restaurant reviews recently; often in local newspapers, by people who write like it’s a chore to be going out for a nice meal and have very little to compare the place to. They use clichés and bland, factual language with little or no personality, which suggest that’s what their life is like.

Of course, I’m envious…

For me, Giles Coren’s reviews are the best because of their eccentricity and irreverence – although I don’t rate his political stances (and bizarre views on primary school admission policies) whilst Jay Rayner’s are the most relevant in terms of their focus on the food. Whilst not a critic, I’ve always disliked William Sitwell so I was glad to hear of his recent demise, meanwhile I used to dislike her, but Cumbrian Grace Dent’s writing is – for me – the most improving as she is growing on me weekly with her knowing honesty.

Naturally, though, my own reviews are even better because I don’t come from privilege, I have an arduous day job so only get to enjoy the good life once in a while (oh, and I’m true and I’m real, and this is how I feel…)

Back to Pinion, though.

I’ll be honest, during the days before, I’d been looking at the menu before our visit and checking the restaurant’s Instagram feed because I was so excited. I felt almost relieved when I saw it, as it contained all the things I’d been looking forward to since the project had been announced. I knew what starter I wanted; I knew what main I wanted. Thankfully both were on the menu and I could enjoy the perfect evening.

I started with the Pinion Pale Ale and it was a nice accompaniment to the starters which we swapped half way through. I opted for the crispy pig’s head croquette – with quince butter and mustard sauce – which brought back lovely memories of when I cooked a pig’s head a few years ago, although tasted so, so much better. Better half, meanwhile, opted for the salmon with watermelon and a radish salad. I enquired about the watermelon because I’d never tasted anything like it; sous-vided then blow-torched and it was a thing to behold.

The main, however, was my highlight, as I knew it would be. Now, I know not everyone will like the sound of raw steak mince mixed with raw egg and a plethora of other ingredients, but it’s one of my favourite meals ever. I’ve written before that I have enjoyed the same dish in several restaurants including Antony Bourdain’s bistro in New York and the wonderful carousel-themed restaurant La Rotonde in the Hotel Negresco in Nice, where we dined whilst ‘enceinte’ with B. this was the meal, on 5 April 2013:

And this the restaurant:

However, I was sad to discover during my research that the restaurant has been reinvented since our memorable evening, and this made me think about making the most of special places.

 

Talking of Pinion, WW opted for the salt-baked celeriac and the signature truffle and parmesan chips.

Those chips!

Heavenly stuff, for both of us, with a rather restrained glass of wine each. I was recommended the Grenache which complimented the tartare perfectly (in another life, I’d be a sommelier; you make so many people happy doing that job, as opposed to mine)

So far, so brilliant… Desserts were equally special; a perfectly portioned slab of Colston Bassett stilton cheese with wonderful black crackers and port, whilst WW devoured a dark chocolate mousse with the honeycomb Usher’s restaurants are famed for.

Only that day, I’d read a lovely poem by Rupi Kaur:

I asked her for permission to include the beautiful words in this blog, but she didn’t respond.

I did it anyway… as a thank you, follow her on Insta.

To celebrate the wonderful evening, I ordered a nice brandy and some sumptuous pieces of chocolate fudge to finish with.

If you’re unaware of how Usher’s projects work, the money invested comes off your first bill so it was excellent value; not just the meal, service and experience itself but also seeing the plans come to fruition.

After the bill came, we then had a great conversation with the front of house manager about her interesting past colleagues and how things were going so far. We also discussed a recent Twitter spat between Usher and various ignorami, unaware of how the restaurant industry works and unsure of why the restaurant groups’ booking policy covers cancellations. Here’s another frustration of many smaller businesses; rich people who should know better, who book several tables and don’t turn up at most of them.

It’s the sort of thing the Birling family would probably do.

So, all in all, after reading this reflection you might be unimpressed; vegan; Capitalist; unwilling to believe my playful yet sincere honesty, or even bored by now.

But remember this: you can make a difference.

Support your local community, support people wanting to make positive differences. If you can afford it, help crowdfunding projects because you can make a real difference and reap the benefits. There are so many out there: yes, some might be questionably, but those brainchilds and lightbulb moments deserve investing in, especially when you get something so memorable back.

As for Pinion, it wasn’t just a one off… Of course, we will be back, but felt very special that night and proud to have our family’s names on the wall.

Let the birds fly; don’t see them restrained or immobilised… or having their wings clipped off.

I’ll end with the words of the Inspector:

“We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other.”

“But take my word for it, you youngsters – and I’ve learnt in the good hard school of experience – that a man has to mind his own business and look after himself and his own – and –
We hear the sharp ring of a front door bell.”

I’ve really enjoyed spending a lot of time recently inside a play, written in 1945 and set in 1912 but equally relevant to today’s society and – as I entered my fortieth year and thus a period of self-reflection – really got me thinking about social divide, the importance of social media ratings and the absurdities of the society we live in.

Anyone unfamiliar with J. B. Priestley’s seminal play might wonder what on earth it has to do with what I’m about to tell you but – please be sure – “we are all part of one body” and, as Edna opens the door, things now cloudy should come clearer as we progress.

First, we go back to the start of September and a brilliant evening at a gin festival. A great night was had by all, and I was introduced to some amazing Gs and Ts. Bravo, all involved.

The following weekend – to celebrate E’s second birthday, and how amazing he has become regardless of the terrible twos starting in earnest – we went to the Sea Life Centre in Manchester and had a great day. The kids were in their elements looking at the varied aquatic diversity on show, especially the king spider crabs which were reminiscent of Stranger Things or other seminal 80s set horrors… Even Mr Birling: bloated, ‘heavy-looking’ and thinking he’s top of the tree.

The following week brought a very enjoyable christening at which – due to my own daughter’s disappointment at losing one of the DJ’s games, I had to do a catwalk in make up in a competition which I thankfully didn’t win but reminded me of Sheila and the need to keep up appearances. Real life was intertwining with the narrative of the play and society in general as I too felt slightly perturbed by the expectations involved.

Funnily enough, whilst finishing off this article I caught a guy urinating in the street in broad daylight. Kopite behaviour, yes – he was wearing a red t-shirt – so I reported him to his company but stated clearly that I didn’t want to ‘do a Sheila’ and have him disciplined, so I was deliberately vague within the communication (even if he is a Liverpool fan).

This is the reply I got:

Thank you for your gentle humour and understanding. 

 The strange thing is that we don’t have a site in your immediate area and so I am not sure we can make much progress with identifying the offender. Perhaps you teach children and obviously your in the middle of raising some too, I’m afraid I have to liken managing our 100+ bricklayers as a similar career path. To think I had hoped that the vests would be a positive marking tool! 

 I resisted the urge to get the green pen out: they go low, you go high.

Back to life; back to reality… The following week brought with it some reasons for optimism and the chance to get down to Goodison. It was great to be back, although the first half against Fulham did little to suppress the groans of the fans around me, especially towards certain players. There would appear to be a growing divide across the fan base in terms of certain players of preference; not yet threatening, and not at the minute e.g. at the end of this match, when everything seemed rosy, but I’m sure, would have been heightened after the Southampton cup game.

I couldn’t attend that as well, and couldn’t get a stream, so had to listen. I guess these two games were the ‘Gerald’ of the month: appearing to be impressive and a rich ‘good looking man about town’ but actually with a dark side and secret persona which frustrates and disappoints in equal measure. Flatters to deceive, even. Twas ever thus, where the Blues are concerned.

Still, I got a lovely new Sir Peter Blake t-shirt this month, which proves this remains an art blog.

“One line of enquiry at a time”

At this point, my little girl was given a homework to find out all about Neil Armstrong and Tim Peaks so we took her into town to the always excellent World Museum and the planetarium, and managed to squeeze in a quick visit to a brilliant new exhibit at the Walker, by a local artist. I won’t give away the clues but it’s a clever piece of curating and makes us think about how we look at things, and people.

Leo Fitzmaurice, kudos to you.

Like I said, self reflection this month, linked to personal events and a real inspector calling… only doing his duty, but upsetting all the same.

The rest of the month was spent working in ever decreasing circles and watching the odd documentary when time allowed (Synth at the BBC, Imagine; Tracey Emin and Sgt Pepper’s as examples) and was made up with the Banksy shredding event. How wonderful, how beautiful that it didn’t quite work as he wanted to complicate the narrative even further!

Oh and I loved the Flight Of The Conchords live, and revisiting several old episodes… Plus, we thoroughly enjoyed the Great British Menu series – especially because it featured an old family friend from Lancaster, Craig Sherrington, who did so well on his way to the final – and I managed to read some very impressive YA books by the likes of Patrick Ness, Marcus Sedgwick and Geraldine McGoughrean which I’d recommend to anyone with teenagers.

More culture and a trip to the theatre for an amazing performance of not ‘An Inspector Calls’, but ‘A Taste of Honey’ at the beautifully preserved Epstein Theatre. The themes of racism and feminism weren’t as immediately apparent when I’d first watched the film version a few years ago – it was mainly inspired by the lyrics of Morrissey and the Smiths – but the sad tale this time sat a little uneasy with me, again because of the situations many are facing at the minute whilst many are oblivious.

It got me thinking how Mrs Birling would have treated Jo.

Then, the following week I took the boy to his first proper game, the FA Cup Fourth qualifying round tie between our local team – Marine – and Salford City, currently atop the non-league pyramids. There were 1709 of us there tht day and despite an oblivious two year old crying in the buggy (and more interested in the team coaches parked outside the stadium) Jamie Carragher was there too, and Peter Hooton, and a great Tommy Fleetwood lookalike who I thought – no, was genuinely convinced – for a short time was actually him.

Marine lost 2-1 as was to be expected… though probably by a higher margin given the divide between the two since last they met. Salford, we know, were bought a few years back by some ex Man United players and have had a meteoric rise to the top of the non-league tree. They have ex-Fleetwood boss Graham Alexander in the dugout, and a striker upfront – a certain Rooney, who scored lots of goals in the Scottish Prem last season but moved to non-league with Salford because his wages were apparently higher.

This reminded me again of one of the key narratives of the play when Eva went on strike for higher pay: denied, she goes on to ultimately kill herself.

“One Eva Smith has gone- but there are millions and millions and millions of Eva Smiths and John Smiths still left with us, with their lives, their hopes and fears, their suffering and chance of happiness, all intertwined with our lives, and what we think and say and do. We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the time will soon come when, if men will not learn that lesson, then they will be taught it in fire and blood and anguish.” 

 

A group shot from An Inspector Calls (1954)This, and two other news stories of the weekend, got me thinking about whether or not the inspector is right and we’re all actually in this together. I was thinking about players dropping down the leagues, and then the fact that I couldn’t watch the first fifteen minutes of a five o’clock kick off in Italy due to the current legislation and how outdated it is – Eleven Sports have apparently started a legal challenge – and then the development that some clubs are exploring the option of serving alcohol on the terraces rather than just in the concourses.

As a dad, looking forward to taking his boy to his first Everton game at some point in the future, I had mixed feelings on this subject, and all the talk of drinking got me thinking of Eric: “you’re squiffy” etc.

Half term, then: We watched lots of Balamory, including a mad episode featuring Keith Floyd that I’d never seen before (he looks drunk on it, I guess he’d have to be) and we watched old episodes of Ghostbumps -some of which are pretty unsettling for kids, and kind of Tales of the Unexpected-y – which put us in the mood for Halloween. Nicely linked to ghosts and Gooles (the inspector’s real name) this takes us swiftly on to Rentaghost:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbZgv7FkZBI

What’s weird is that Timothy Claypole actually reminds me of Damien Hirst!

Talking of which, the other good things I watched during the week off were the curious documentary about Damien Hirst’s recent Venice exhibition: Treasures from the Wreck of the Unbelievable which is a fake documentary about a collection of expensive artefacts plundered and then lost at the bottom of the sea, which not only linked back to the previous regime but also the Titanic – which itself is integral to the plot and setting of ‘An Inspector Calls’ – and just life in general, salvaging the good stuff from the bottom of the deepest darkest depths.

Births, celebrating good times, precious moments with loved ones.

I suppose it also connoted the likes of Ghostwatch, The Blair Witch Project and other non-Halloween-y fake documentaries, although the other televisual highlight of the month, The Possibilities Are Endless was very true and real and thought-provoking as a harsh and sometimes uncomfortable – though still heart-wrenchingly – beautiful account of the genial Edwyn Collins’ recovery from not one but two brain haemorrhages. His resilience determination and of course music – and newly found ability to draw – are simply awe-inspiring: please watch it.

As the film reminded me, and the twist in the J. B. Priestley’s tale tells us, bad things can still happen just when you’re celebrating how great things seem.

However, to end on a positive, we went picking our own pumpkins and the kids had a happy Halloween.

In between times, WW and I  had a perfect evening at Pinion, a restaurant we’d helped to crowdfund, and soon I’ll write a short review of a wonderful evening – perhaps the shiniest treasure from the wreck – because it links nicely to the inspector’s final speech…