Le Week-End

I recall being much surprised that the French used the term "Le Weekend" when I was at School and learning my foreign language. I'm these days quite sure that the Academie Francais do not approve and sit in a darkened room muttering "Zut alors!" whenever they hear it.

Anyway, on Saturday I headed to Fife, saw Ma and went to watch the Cowdenbeath-East Fife derby game. We won 6-2 (should have been 6-1, but our defence went to sleep at one point) and I won the the Half Time draw which means Max (who is now with mum on a semi-permanent basis) can have the wee op the vet was recommending (lump on his tail needs removing) sooner rather than later. The evening involved a trip to the pictures to watch "Crazy Heart" (very good btw, Jeff Bridges may well get that darn Oscar tonight)- but had me trotting through 12 step patterns on auto-pilot) Sunday saw me enjoying preaching and celebrating at St Ninian's Comely Bank then meeting a friend for a tomato juice. So quite a normal week-end which was very nice indeed.

Sunday, Sunday

What a busy Sunday that was. Off to a later Mass than is my usual custom, with a wonderful setting of Dvorak in D. Then to the pictures to watch a big screen double bill of "Where Eagles Dare" and "The Bridge at Remagen". Hardly pacifist fare, but a real trip back in my mind to childhood Sunday afternoons watching the telly. Richard Burton's voice was incredible: "Broadsword calling Danny Boy. Broadsword calling Danny Boy" - it really was a Commando comic on film - and Clint Eastwood seemed to knock out half the German Army single handed. Quentin Tarentino has a high kill rate? Nothing on this!

Then it was an excellent folk concert with a very talented youth band called Bodega. Only one wee question: why is a Scottish folk band named in Spanish? Not awfully folky really. Still they were very good, so it is a truly minor quibble.

Year's Mind.

Yesterday passed off quite well. I went across to Mum's and, after we had fuelled the Green Beastie at a Royal Dutch Shell emporium, we found Dobbie's Garden centre to purchase floors etc before going to the cemetery. After that, to pass the time, we decided a run to St Andrew's was a lousy idea due to the pouring rain and headed instead for the Odeon to watch "The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas" - based on the John Boyne short novel and giving a take on the Holocaust through the eyes of a concentration Camp Commandant's 8 year old son. If you've read the book, do see the film - it's fairly faithful to the novel. If you haven't then do go and see it. It's sombre but has light touches and does actually cover the ground without really harrowing the soul. It's also nicely acted - a good ensemble cast who underplay beautifully. A terrible sense of normality pervades the whole film. Doubt it'll pick up an Oscar, but it'll do well in the BAFTA's and I suspect in Berlin. Not so sure about Cannes.

Mum gave me a surprise by lending me a tape she had discovered after Dad died. It was a recording he made of himself talking to the 3 of us about life after he'd gone. It's must have been made at least 10 years ago as he has no speech impediment (ergo it's pre stroke) but after the by-pass op (therefore not older than 20 yrs). She was a bit reluctant to let me take it away ("You can listen to it in the spare room") but I really felt I didn't want to listen to it in their house with all the memories that holds and with her next door - if I want to blub, I'll do it in my own space without worrying about how I'm going to face her 5 mins later and not upset her. I didn't actually say that, but we looked at each other and she handed it over without comment. I suspect she knew what was going on in my mind - she usually does.

Part of me is curious and wants to listen and hear what Dad had to say. Like many a Scottish male he rarely talked about what he felt. Part of me dreads hearing his voice because I'm not sure how I'll react - particularly as it's the voice prior to the stroke. But I think it's something I need to do.