Heroes

This is not the Fryday I intended to write. This is not the tone I intended to take. I intended levity for my first Fryday of 2016. It is intended, I am sure—still sure, to be a good year. But at this time, this morning, the only words I can bring to mind are those of perhaps the most beautiful song from Jesus Christ Superstar, Can we start again, please?

David Bowie is dead. Alan Rickman is dead. Both 69. Both of cancer. Both in the same week.

We can be heroes. Alan Rickman is one of mine. He has been since I first saw him, in a delightful little film called Truly Madly Deeply (1991), playing opposite Juliet Stevenson. His was an affecting performance as the recently departed husband, softly played with a deft touch that never let his character sway into the ever-present and always threatening mire of maudlin. 

I next saw him, and was excited by him, in a very different role and portrayal—that of the Sheriff of Nottingham in Kevin Costner’s Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991). In that, Rickman let loose. He played the Sheriff almost as a parody of every evil genius that ever appeared in a Bond film. And it worked. Rickman as the Sheriff of Nottingham was screamingly funny. He saved that movie.

It was Love Actually. I loved watching that man on screen. I loved those hooded eyes that portrayed nothing and portrayed everything. I loved the wry smile that was so quick and so telling. Most of all, I loved that voice. Who could forget that voice? And why would we want to?

That voice. 

We lost two great voices this week. Two voices so distinctive, so recognisable that we know immediately whom we are listening to. No names, no faces required. Just enjoy the gifts we are given.

No, we can not start again.

But, please God, can that be it, for a while at least?

2016: The Year That Is.

So, Fryday enters 2016. In doing so, it welcomes 2016 as an auspicious year and hopefully a rewarding one. The passing of 2015 completes the second decade of Fryday in its original e-letter format and the beginning of its second on-line decade as a blog. Twenty years this thing has been going. However, as most of you already know of the rationale for its gestation and have been content to let it evolve I won’t bore you by further stroking Fryday’s ego or, now,  yours.
Suffice to say, I enjoy your company and your comments and I thank you for them.
I am going to enjoy 2016. Fryday has a verifiable treasure trove before it. Never before, since the heyday of George W. Bush and Helen Clark, has it had such riches of character and personalities to play with, tamper with.
There is of course its stable of writers and visitors: Cecil C. Sackrider, Minister Yoseph Wankerstan of Wogistan and the irrepressible Whetu (though my old mate seems to have gone AWOL of late); they will remain and this year, possibly, be joined at times by the escapades of the indefatigable Phyllis J. Fenwick. Of course anybody who takes any of those too seriously will not perhaps be disposed to have the sagaciousness or the humour that Fryday so highly prizes and depends upon.
But it is not the musty old stable on which Fryday intends to rely. What is more exciting is the “new” set of personalities that it has at hand. There are those whom Fryday has already visited and will again. Handsome Sampson will deservedly not escape scrutiny in 2016 (he will not be allowed to go gentle into that good night) and he of the coiffeur and the coffer Bishop Tamaki. They will remain targets.
However the body-politic is now replete with soft targets—those who cannot fail to attract ridicule and in one case perhaps even cultivate it. I speak of course of the American presidential election and in particular of Donald Trump—Humpity Dumpity—which I am sure will find favour with Fryday’s oldest friend, Hardman.
Of places, Wogistan remains a favourite. Hamilton, I will scarcely visit in 2016—there is always the danger that boring begets boring. Besides, the city seems to have matured of late. Australia seems a lovely place to live but I wouldn’t want to visit there; others do it better, satirically. There is a little town in Ohio called Freeport that is neither a port nor free but has interesting “folk”, so we may pay a visit or two there in the manner of Truman Capote. And finally a visit or three south to the little town of Te Whaitu and some barside political commentary from “me old mate” Tarragon.
So, 2016 should be an interesting year for Fryday.
For you, I also hope it will be a happy one, a prosperous one, even the best one. For some of you, I know it will also be a different one; with new horizons and locations—I know you will enjoy them and they will welcome you.
Thank you for enjoying Fryday through the years. May we continue to grow old together.