Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow!

Well, it's that time of year when I make my annual posting to a blog that has become - err... just a tad moribund of late.

It's my chance to save a small fortune on Christmas cards, and save the planet to boot, as I bring friends and family up to date with my life over the past year, with the Bill Blunt Round Robin.

First off, apologies are due to Justin, Jasper and Barbara who, by the time they read this, will probably be preparing to open their Christmas presents from their old pa. Knowing their prediliction for popular music, I decided last week to buy them all gift vouchers from that solid retail giant, Zavvi, who have today gone into administration. I have always prided myself on my prescience.

On a brighter note, my friends will - I hope - be pleased to learn that I spurned the dark corner of my soul that almost tempted me to make contact with the ex-Mrs Blunt. Once I had sobered up, and come to my senses, I realised what a favour Tommy Fishfinger had done for me.

But it's been a strange old year. The credit crunch has brought a chill wind to a world that's grown giddy on borrowing. Let's hope 2009 brings a healthier approach to economics and finance. It won't do us any harm. It's A Wonderful Life, really...

So, my condiments of the season to blog readers and writers of the world, one and all!

Durham Big Meeting 2007

There was always a certain inevitability that I would find myself attending the 123rd Durham Miners' Gala today (that's 'gay-la', by the way, not 'ga-la': it pays to get the pronunciation right when you're in this neck of the woods).

After waxing lyrical on the exhibition of paintings and photographs at Bishop Auckland Town Hall, my daughter Barbara had insisted it was only right that I make the journey north to sample the 'real thing'. I'm glad I did.

The people of Durham are a sociable lot, who have never let the fact there are no longer any mines in the county stand in their way of enjoying their annual 'Big Meeting'. The event has, instead, become a celebration of the heritage of the Durham Coalfield, of which local people are justifiably proud. There's a certain sadness attached to the nostalgia: the closure of the coal mines brought tremendous social dislocation, unemployment and community upheaval to the area.


And yet, the resilient north-easterners have bounced back. It's not a bad place to live, by all accounts, and Barbara seems to have settled there well. Today was a chance to sample all that is good about the sense of community: families enjoying themselves on a day out, having a picnic on the racecourse, or watching the seemingly endless parade of banners and brass bands; meeting old friends and acquaintances or simply wandering the streets and enjoying sun and the music.

A previous British Prime Minister tried to tell us there was 'no such thing as society' by which, so many commentators told us, Margaret Thatcher meant 'community'. I'm glad to say she was wrong then, and she'd be wrong now. Community may have disappeared in whole swathes of our land, but it can still be found, alive and kicking, if you look for it.

Listening to Thornley Colliery Band playing the miner's anthem, Gresford, fair brought a tear to my eye. It's as well that we are reminded, occasionally, of the price that has been paid for our communities, however fragile they may now be.

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From Father To Son

I have been reviewing my most recent posts, and I am worried that readers may have formed the impression that I give more of my fatherly attentions to young Jasper Blunt than I do to his siblings, Barbara and Justin.

It's true - Jasper is the bright one of the bunch, always coming up with interesting ideas and theories as to how we might further progress our journey in blogland. He assures me that my debut here has gone well enough, and that's good enough justification for the time and energy I expend.

But I would not like you to think I am on bad terms with the other two. Barbara is the artistic one - a trait, I like to think, she gets from her father. Since leaving art college, she's done well for her self, although her taste in avant-garde video and collage does not appeal to everyone.

Justin is another matter. At the tender age of 42, he is still very much a home-bird, spending more hours than is good for him cooped up in his room, trawling the internet or reading those magazines which he thinks are well-hidden from Mrs Blunt's prying eyes.

Jasper thinks he needs to 'get a life' and, certainly, I can't help thinking it's about time he flew the nest. It's possible I need to give him a good talking to, or at least point him in the direction of those sites that advertise ladies from Russia in want of a husband.

In the meantime, I'll make do with offering him some fatherly advice, I think, of the kind so well captured by Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, in this excerpt from their '60's classic, Not Only But Also. That might do the trick.

Barbara Makes A Video

Ever since she read Ben Spark's top tips for using Window's Movie Maker, my daughter Barbara (the artistic one in the family) has been itching to have a go with it.

She's asked me to premier her first stab at making something called a wmv. I wish I knew what she meant, but I'm confident my old friend Thomas Hamburger Jnr will sort out a way of getting it up here. I think she can do better, myself - I'm not an expert on these things, but it looks a little poor quality for my taste.

She's asked me to thank Ben for his cogent and easy-to-follow instructions, without which (she says) it wouldn't have been possible.

Breakfast at Wetherspoon's

My daughter, Barbara Blunt, has always been the artistic one in the family. Her early foray into the t-shirt business as a teenager (and who would NOT want a 'Bill Blunt Speaks My Language' logo on their chest?) was something of a springboard for her later career.

Since reading my posting about the delights of the Wetherspoon chain of hostelries, she has been hard at work on a screenplay for what she calls a 'modern day parody'.

Her main character is only loosely based on that of Holly Golightly, the New York socialite made famous by that darling of the silver screen, Audrey Hepburn.

Holly (at least Barbara's version of her) is the kind of woman you'll find in the corner of any Wetherspoon's at eleven o'clock in the morning, nursing a Gin and Tonic and wiping away the smudges of fag ash from the 'little black number' she threw on before she went out last night.

Her make-up may look a little awry, her hair dishevelled, but somehow she manages to attract a certain kind of gentleman with her invitations to "Come and buy me a drink, lover-boy," always drawled in that raspy, half-asleep voice fuelled by Marlboro Lights.

George Peppared-Steak-on-Rye will play the louche writer, Paul Varjak-Budweiser, always a sucker for Holly's come-on lines.

I'm not an expert on the movie scene these days, but I do rather think she's onto something with this one.
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ADDENDUM:

Barbara has complained that the above picture did not do justice to her fine artwork. Some of the detail may have been lost, so here are a couple of close-ups, just in case anyone comes across Holly and, in the darkness of the bar, imagines she is, for a moment, Audrey Hepburn. The warning signs are clearly there - if only the need for a good going over with the old Prolectrix...

Thank You, WBC!

More seasoned Bloggers than I will know that the pressures of writing a daily blog can be great. Children may go unfed; jobs may be neglected; wives may be deserted. But the blog goes on.

Never let it be said that Bill Blunt is afraid to blow his own trumpet. Just minutes ago, I learned that the World Blogging Council have awarded me one of their prestigious (and highly-coveted) Awards. At moments like these, the unfed children, neglected jobs and deserted wives truly seem worth it.

As is the unfortunate fashion, I must of course thank a few people who have helped me along the way to this singular achievement. Thomas Hamburger Jnr is first in line for the bouquet (even though he is now accusing me of somehow preventing him writing his griping tale of a family which, even after 85,000 words, steadfastly refuses to be found). I trust the word 'churlish' is springing to his mind.

Next, my dear old mother who, at 102, I still hope might yet become the world's oldest blogger (although she's got a long way to go yet).

It would be remiss of me not to thank my dear, dear wife, whose love of shopping has meant that I have had many free hours to compose my blog posts. Wally Green, my long-departed mentor, would also have enjoyed today - had he still been alive to witness it. I like to think that his spirit is hammering on the side of a massive web-fed rotary offset printing press somewhere, in appreciation.

And, of course, my sons Justin and Jasper who each, in their own way, have helped me master the technology of the internet. Not to forget my daughter, who has made her own way in the world of art, making the name Barbara Blunt a by-word for t-shirt sloganeering over the last two decades.

But none of this would have been possible without you, dear reader. Your faith in my prognostication and your ability to see beyond the mixed metaphor has given me a new lease on life. Even just today, I was dusting off the notes for my autobiography, Fatha, Get The Coals In which, when it was rejected by every publisher except Lacklustre Press in 1989, seemed destined for the remainder shelves. Not any longer! With the imprimatur of the World Blog Council, it may yet reach a wider audience.

I shall go to sleep with a smile on my face tonight - and I don't care what Mrs Blunt has to say about that.

Thank you, WBC, for making a disgruntled old man very happy and, if anyone else is seeking World Blogging Council endorsement, I can only suggest you visit their site and see whether your blog measures up to their exacting standards. A small token of your esteem (preferably used and non-consecutive banknotes) seems to do the trick.