From The Archive. See bottom item for today: How Bond Girl Explained Her Golden Touch
FEEL-GOOD PIC No 1
"CRISIS? WHAT CRISIS?"
The world may have been holding its breath these past few weeks, but this little boy for one has been totally untroubled by it all.
He could even have been doing my favourite trick of falling asleep while trying to read a book. Or perhaps the distant views of Dartmoor were just too hypnotic.
Whatever, I couldn’t resist making him the subject of my latest painting, just completed, from a photo by Alec Evans.
After my bigger than usual last one (31 x 21ins), I fancied a "little cutie" this time with this 8 x 8ins acrylic. Credit as always to my teacher, the one and only Jeanni Grant-Nelson, https://www.visual-awareness.com.
FEEL-GOOD PIC No 2
My beautiful grandson's idea of helping with this morning’s shopping!
Emma Thompson has reportedly suggested that sex should be recommended by the NHS.
“You need sex because it’s part of our health plan, if you like,” she was quoted as saying. “It should really be on the NHS. It should; it’s so good for you!”
Okay . . . I’ve re-read that several times and convinced myself there’s only the one possible interpretation. “ON” the NHS? So yes, taxpayer-funded sex free “at the point of delivery!”
Which leads me irresistibly on to the fact that our Emma is in fact 50-odd years behind me with this idea. And yes, you read that correctly, too.
In the early 1970s, I had to down tools for purposes of an NUJ strike. I was working Oop North as a reporter on the Liverpool Daily Post & Echo.
Which meant that I was pretty much alone in the daytime with little to do other than twiddle my thumbs, there being no lovely Cornish beaches and clifftop walks close by.
So I came up with an idea and duly wrote a novel – SEX ON THE STATE.
Title clear enough, I hope?
Yes, you could call up your sex, whenever your need arose, from Government-appointed providers.
Of course I hadn’t thought the idea anything like entirely through, but I tackled it with relish nonetheless.
I naturally gave full vent to descriptive powers borne of my testosterone-fuelled youth and very nobly pointed out its manifold benefits – not only for the participants per se but also by reducing humankind’s frustrations and thus the risk of sex crimes. (Ergo, on balance, “fundable!”)
Alas, the strike came to an end and I never progressed that novel, never sought a publisher.
But in all probability I still have it in my possession somewhere.
Maybe I should find it, dust it down and finally see where I can get with it – now that I can exploit the marketing value of a famous name endorsing the concept!
(Or maybe not.)
HOW TIMES CHANGE
It’s hard to imagine now, with all the present-day kerfuffle over pronouns and genders, but nearly 40 years ago I witnessed a delightful little episode borne of another ground-breaking change in attitudes.
It was indeed big then, but small beer compared with today’s confusing I/D issues.
I was at Land’s End for some form of reception, shortly after Peter de Savary had bought up the place, and we were all queuing up to introduce ourselves to the great man.
I couldn’t help noticing how the guy immediately in front of me was shuffling about very uncomfortably.
It became apparent why when it was his turn to introduce himself and his lady companion.
“I’m ------ -------- ,” he said, “and this is my, er” – more shuffling and acutely uncomfortable expression – “er, umm . . . my PARTNER.”
The term then, for personal relationship purposes, was still very much in its infancy.
Behind me was Douglas Williams, West Cornwall district reporter for the Western Morning News and very much old school.
After Janet and I had moved on, he proudly announced, in a voice so loud it might even have been heard beyond the famous cliffs outside: “ . . . and this is my WIFE!!”
TESCO VALUE!
We finally binned our Christmas poinsettia this week. (Janet: “It doesn’t normally last beyond January!”)
A fiver well spent, I reckon.
UPSIDE DOWN JOURNALISM
I’m still regularly amused by the lengths to which our local news outlets will go in pursuit of Clickbait – the practice of delaying key details for as long as possible in their “reports,” in order to maximise traffic and boost advertising potential.
It’s the very opposite of what we were taught back in the day, employing the sliding scale of news value.
In other words, you win your readers by creating the strongest possible intro, followed by the next most newsworthy bit, and so on and so on.
In the process, the modern way of writing – “upside down journalism,” as my fellow blogger John Marquis coined it - throws up some hilarious teasers.
But for my money there is still nothing to quite match one from several years ago – and I forget which site it was now, CornwallLive or the Packet – which referred in its headline to “a Cornish city.”
You could just imagine all those readers clicking away to find out which Cornish city, couldn’t you.
Well, all those who may not have known that there is only one Cornish city, of course!
A close second was a Packet report, again from several years ago, which headlined something like “At Last – Key Decision in Planning Saga.”
Readers wanting to know what the, er, decision actually was had to wade through fully 600 words or more of council chamber waffle and recap for the answer . . . in the very last line!
THICK BLACK PLUMES OF SMOKE IN SKY OVER CORNISH PORT TOWN
That was a headline on CornwallLive one day last week.
“Cornish port town,” eh? That’s a new one, isn’t it. Why can’t they just say Fowey, for goodness sake? (Well, we know now, don’t we – see above piece!)
Has a great ring to it, doesn’ it – “Cornish port town?” Rolls off the tongue so well, the sort of phrase you hear in everyday conversation.
Not.
FROM THE ARCHIVE . . .
My umpteenth viewing of Goldfinger the other day reminded me how I once got the answer to one of the most frequently-asked questions of a “Bond girl.” Here it is again, from a blog piece I originally published in August, 2017:--
HOW BOND GIRL EXPLAINED HER GOLDEN TOUCH
As PR man for Helston Garages, I had put out several press releases previewing the company’s 40th anniversary celebration party (in October, 2000). Without naming names, I promised that one of the best-known Bond girls of them all would be joining the guests.
“And they were not to be disappointed,” I subsequently wrote, “for in swept Shirley Eaton, the actress who famously met a gleaming death by being covered in gold paint in the film Goldfinger.”
I couldn’t resist asking her how it was done, referring to that scene where she gave new meaning to a golden all-over “tan.”
She replied: “Do you know how many times I have been asked that question over the last 30 years or so?”
I persisted: “Was it you or did they use a double?”
Shirley gave me a look of mock horror and declared: “You’re not seriously suggesting they could have found someone else so beautiful, are you?”
“Okay, okay, but how WAS it done?” I probed, suggesting that, long before the days of CGI, she had maybe at least worn some sort of golden body stocking.
“Absolutely not,” she insisted, “and nor did I have the paint sprayed all over me from a can, as a lot of people have suggested.
“I was literally painted with a beautiful wide thick sable brush. It was a very thick, gooey make-up with millions of gold particles and it was very uncomfortable. Getting it off again was a matter of just scrubbing and scrubbing – and that made my skin very pink!”
Then she added: “I had to go through the whole process twice because there were two shots – one where you first see me dead and then the other, close-up, where Sean (Connery) feels for my pulse and pronounces me dead.”
So Shirley didn’t even need 15 minutes to make her famous. As she said: “I was only in Goldfinger for five minutes, but it made me internationally known – that just shows what a funny old business it is.”
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