Film week

Christmas sale time at Bourne Hall Library and I was able to buy 3 books and 3 DVDs for less than £5. The first of these consumed was the rather quirky film illustrated, a tale of a teacher at a bog standard university in the US struggling to get tenure - a far cry from the days when tenured university posts - I don't think the other sort hardly existed - were to be had in this country on the strength of a decent first degree. It seems that at the time that this film was made, if not now, that the US shared the UK fixation with research at such places, a fixation which meant that third rate research was accorded more marks by the people that count than first rate teaching, which last some of us might think was its proper function.

A sub-tale of a pre-dementia father - a former tenured teacher at Yale - who had been consigned to a seniors' village nearby.

Slightly marred by the US fondness for lavatory jokes, which seem to be OK while naked breasts and buttocks are not.

A film which will appeal to mature persons with experience from both sides of the educational fence.

We have also been prompted by a documentary on the box over the same Christmas period to go and see 'Saving Mr Banks' at the Wimbledon Odeon (which I have, coincidentally, learned to be an originally Greek word meaning an indoor music hall, to be distinguished from an outdoor theatre or an amplitheatre). A rather more flashy cinema than its Epsom cousin and an entertaining & well-made film about the making of 'Mary Poppins' - even if one suspects it of being a little free with the verité. House about two thirds full for this late afternoon screening. A replica of the original 'Mary Poppins' book and a biography of the author by one Valerie Lawson (any relation of the chocolate one?) (film tie in edition) now wing their way to us from Amazon.

Oddly, I do not usually like Emma Thompson, finding her a bit too blue-stocking for my taste. But in this film, playing the older woman dressed in the style of the early sixties, she reminded me strongly of my mother, in her hey-day at about that time.

I am also reminded of my own visit to Disneyland at Anaheim, in the margins of a very important meeting in the Disney hotel there. There was a very handsome sub-tropical garden attached to the hotel, but I was rather disappointed by Disneyland itself. A sort of rather shabby cross between Chessington World of Adventures, a fair ground and a seaside parade. Perhaps the weather was bad or I had a hangover, this last being entirely probable given the nature of the meeting. I don't recognise either the hotel or the attraction from the website, but I was reminded looking at it that the only proper bar I could find nearby was a place called the 'Golden Pumpkin' or some such and was used almost exclusively by working class Mexicans. A thoughtful policeman patrolled outside until I emerged in one piece. Other highlights of the visit were a visit to Santa Anna - very Mexican at that time - and to the flashiest shopping mall I had ever seen. Can't locate it now, but it may have been the place now called Orange (http://www.simon.com/mall/the-outlets-at-orange). I also remember getting a very bad blister on that day, walking rather further than is the custom in that particular part of the world.

Back along the Wimbledon way, we were able to sample night life, on the relatively quiet first Saturday night after the holidays. We ate in an interesting establishment next to the railway station called 'The Terrace' (http://www.theterracewimbledon.co.uk/), the first place we have used which sports a bouncer for some time. Food OK if nothing special, wine good, ambience and service good. Our lead waiter was a young man from Marseilles - which he thought a bit rough & smelly - with experience there, in Lyon (Lyons?) and in Montpellier before trying his luck in Wimbledon. All of 18 years old. Excellent summer smoking terrace overlooking the Broadway.

PS: inspection of the Wikipedia entry for P. L.Travers suggests that Disney have indeed been a little free with the verité. Nevertheless, the suggestion in the film that Travers - certainly rather a queer bird - only agreed to the film of 'Mary Poppins' when her royalties from the books started to dry up has the ring of truth about it.