grumpyf1

It’s been a bad year for music fans.  David Bowie, Prince and George Michael are just some of the stars that have left us, along with one of the founding members of a band that have been rocking for half a century. Just a few days before Christmas, I headed up to Glasgow to catch the mighty Status Quo live. Billed as “The Last Night of the Electrics” tour, it really was a ‘last chance to see’ gig, with the band finally coming to the end of 50 years of rock’n’rollin’ on the road. Notably absent was one of the two original members of the blues and boogie combo – Rick Parfitt. Fellow founder Francis Rossi and the band delivered an evening of hits galore, shout-along crowd-pleasers one and all. I can think of very few bands that can do a couple of hours on stage, only play songs everyone knows by heart, and still have to miss out some of their greatest tunes. Parfitt was recovering from a heart attack, and had finally announced a couple of months before that he wouldn’t be return

Big news as we plunge, screaming, towards a Brexity, Trumpy, 2017 with no idea how to stop - I’m obsolete. Technology has finally beaten me. It was inevitable, really. I’ve previously stated that people who don’t file their music alphabetically (by surname) are destroying the very fabric of civilised society. I’ve no desire to Snapchat. There’s still a radio/cassette player in our kitchen that is ‘digital’ in that you have to use your fingers to press the buttons. I’m trying hard to adapt to the fast-changing, technological, future that’s bunging a new and baffling development in my direction on a daily basis. For instance, we recently got one of those TV stick gadgets that allows you to stream programmes via the internet. Very clever. Unfortunately, I keep forgetting about it. You can’t see it, the remote is so small it’s hard to find and none of the programmes are in the TV guide that we buy each week, then circle what we want to watch with a biro. There are masses of TV sh

To everyone exiting gleefully from their educational establishments for Christmas – Yay!  I’ve just finished studying too, and I’ve learnt a lot… about myself. Back in that dim and distant time known as 2015, I embarked on a distance learning course to bag myself a marketing qualification. Excluding the usual one day, work-related, courses that inevitably crop up (Photocopier training, learning how to stay awake during budget meetings, advanced spreadsheet wrangling) this was the first ‘proper’ bit of studying I had undertaken in over 30 years. Last time I read a text book properly, Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minster, there were four TV channels and my greatest concern was if I could fit two albums on a TDK AD90 cassette. I started off with the boldest of intentions. Instead of the sheet-of-A4 studying plan, I created a spreadsheet. Gone was the thick ruled notepad, replaced by my computer’s word processing powers. Unlike my O and A-levels, I was going to work hard on this

I’ve previously praised Peston, but there is another stalwart of The News that deserves a journalistic high-five. Step forward, Welsh word-wizard, Huw Edwards. Ah, News at Ten. Despite the fact that there are 24 hour, rolling, news services on the telebox, the 2200 one feels... proper. Like all the other reports were just working their way up to it, but this is the real one. Consider whatever it is to now be officially confirmed. Since 2003, this most important of news broadcasts has been fronted by Huw Edwards, the 55 year old Welshman lending the whole thing a sense of gravitas and professionalism. Except when the camera cuts back to him after something he finds amusing. In which case, watch out for one sardonically raised eyebrow. Whilst Robert Peston is honoured with the @robpestonhair Twitter fan account, there’s a very particular one for Huw. @HuwsAtTen noticed something metronomically fascinating about Huw’s News and only tweets about that, very specific, thing. And wit

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas! Unless you’re an “expert” – in which case you’re a parental monster. A recent article in this paper, titled “Parents urged to stop pretending Father Christmas is real”, reported on a piece in The Lancet Psychiatry journal. Apparently, this cheery item, by a psychologist and a social scientist, suggests that parents should stop saying Father Christmas exists, in case this hideous lie damages their relationship with their children. Merry Christmas, everyone! Yes, these cheerless souls are indeed advising you that you’re a bad parent for lying to your kids that Santa is real. I gracefully accept my position as a grumpy guardian of society, standing up to the irritations and rank stupidity of the world, ensuring my glass is always at least half empty and generally being the one that lowers the enjoyment factor of any situation. I was horrified to see a photo on Facebook from a niece last week, who already has her Christmas tree up and