I’ve never seen “The Gardener” (aka “Garden of Evil”), which has the reputation of being one of the worst horror movies ever made – because it has no horror!

However, it was the first non-Warhol movie that the gorgeous Joe Dallesandro made, and – I think – the last movie in which he had long hair. Yes, I’ve found a second-hand copy on DVD, and ordered it. This may turn out to be a mistake …

I’m planning an evening of watching the Warhol/Morrisey Dallesandro movies – “Flesh”, “Trash” and “Heat”. I’ll save the Warhol-in-name-only horror movies of “Andy Warhol’s Frankenstein” and “Blood for Dracula” until “The Gardener” arrives.


The trigger for my own interest in pacifism, at the age of 12 in 1967, was reading “Goodbye to all that” by Robert Graves, which covers his experiences in the trenches in the Great War. It’s scary to think that the distance between 1967 and now is the same as the distance between that War and 1967, and we’ve made so little progress.

Anyway, having (as usual) passed out a few White Poppies to assorted friends and acquaintances over the past few days, I will be observing the Silence on my own.

I then plan to listen to the War Requiem – something I haven’t done for at least ten years. Britten was, of course, a pacifist (and a supporter of the Peace Pledge Union, who produce the White Poppies).

Mum in hospital

Over to Oxford today: Mum was taken into hospital last night. Hopefully, it’s the same as last time, and a couple of days will sort things out for her. Fingers crossed.

(later, from FB comments)

She was released late afternoon, and is now home, though still very weak. The care team assessor – due 1730-1800 – turned up just before 2000h as I was halfway through cooking: supper now on indefinite hold until he finshes! I’ll probably stay here until Wednesday … I doubt that Mum will be able to get out of bed tomorrow.


All Balls and no Willy.

A 1982 lp by John Otway I’ve been meaning to get for a while, and it finally cropped up on vinyl at a sensible price. The title refers to a temporary falling out with Wild Willy Barrett, with whom he recorded his previous album, and indeed his following one (“The Wimp and the Wild”).


18C today – yesterday was 28!

Intermittent gentle rain, which is just what’s needed: enough to soak in to the parched soil, but not enough to run off the surface and cause floods without doing the plants any good.

The only downside is the effect on my dodgy back. Walking is difficult, and stairs are a hands-and-knees job. I plan to spend the rest of the day lying on the bed, intermittently munching prescription opioids, and dozing.


Well, that unexpectedly reduced me to tears! I paid for a TV licence for Maurice, back at the end of last year, and he was supposed to be paying me in installments. It was the only way of doing it, after he’d been taken to Court for non-payment – though I did succeed in getting the Magistrates to reduce his fine by over £300 to the bare minimum.

Today, my refund for the “unused” part of the licence arrived – backdated to the date of his death, rather than the time I finally felt strong enough to tell them. It’s the little things that crop up randomly that are *so* bloody painful after the unexpected death of a loved one.