Tava

We have a new restaurant in town. As you may remember, we often feel there is a shortage of places to go to, and the last one I recommended on here closed again. But this one is Tava, offering Turkish food. What’s more, it’s well situated, on the crossroads where one always tends to end up. (It used to be something else before.)

Apart from the fact that the food was delicious and caused a level of full to bursting that we’d not experienced for a while, it has a Mediterranean feel to it. It’s nothing like the run-of-the-mill Italian places one gets everywhere. Tava have been busy on social media, but I still wouldn’t have believed how genuine it would feel, before we went.

Thanks to Son and Dodo, we appear to have ordered everything on the menu. The mezes, and the pides. Many of the mains are meaty, but with so many mezes, who cares? They even brought us another table, on which to stash all the plates of food. The staff were friendly in a way you should expect but often don’t get. The owner was right there, with the next generation clearly learning what to do.

When we have recovered, we will return. Although, we will know to order somewhat more sparingly (one likes to be able to eat breakfast the following day). The Börek was marvellous, and I’d like not to have to share it with anyone. Next time.

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Dying after twenty years

It’s almost exactly twenty years since the witch family started watching NCIS. (It was somewhat late appearing on a regular UK channel. Hence the delay.) And we only watched because the Retired Children’s Librarian had mentioned it, which she did because David McCallum was in it and she remembered I adored him.

She died earlier this week, and there is much I am grateful for; the books and the reading, and NCIS. As well as her friendship to me and mother-of-witch.

And then there was another death this week, which I only know about because there is no discretion or fear of spoilers these days. Not like when they killed Kate. We all know Director Vance was sacrificed for the 500th episode of NCIS. As you will have read here, I stopped watching before Christmas.

It’s insane, really. The fact that a show reaches that many episodes. But also that screen writers feel it appropriate to get rid of a long standing character well before the actor feels ready to call it a day. Gibbs is probably still catching fish in Alaska, but the others are available to die. At least Vance is a man. But then, most of the women have already been killed off. And to kill McGee or Palmer would feel like kicking a puppy, wouldn’t it?

Stopping?

That might possibly have been it. The most recent episode of NCIS was really very bad. As was the one before it along with the crossover from the 1990s. We wished we hadn’t. Except we did.

It was downright silly. But also, they either don’t know the world of books and authors, or they don’t care to make it even a little realistic. It’s fiction. But do viewers realise?

But I’ll give them one thing; they are dealing with the current situation in their line of work and how to portray it on screen. By not doing it. Going ‘deep’ into the personal lives of the team means they don’t have to be out there arresting criminals.

Whether this is an accident or their cunning plan, I have no idea.

I stopped watching NCIS – LA before it died. Well, it died for me. I can do it again.

There are all the early seasons. I find Abby a bit of a problem, but not as much as this silliness. And I’ve been reminded of Sub Rosa several times in the last weeks. Good place to restart. After all, this last one even featured Knight pretending to be dead Kate, sexy outfit and everything.

NCIS season 23

It wasn’t too bad. But they sort of need to make the start of a new season of NCIS OK, even when it’s the 23rd. It came from a cliffhanger and ended as one, too.

Gary Cole looked gaunt and tired, and was better for it. I find it hard with too much smileyness and pastries for the team. But you can’t have a purely personal vendetta, so they had to fit in some terrorism to allow for what they did.

We’ll have to see how it develops. It’s not quite Jackson Gibbs and the Mexican cartel.

NCIS and ‘Real Life’

Apparently I already wondered about this in the spring, when NCIS ended on that cliffhanger I didn’t particularly like. But I can always wonder again. Especially since season 23 begins next week.

Considering what NCIS is about – federal agents and crime – and remembering what real life has turned into during the last few months, is it even feasible to put the fictional doings of NCIS on our screens? They turned to the past to deal with Covid a few years ago, but apart from that cliffhanger which would need a return to earlier this year, what can they do?

I suppose we can always just rewatch earlier seasons. Like I’ve been doing. Although I paused at the dead Ducky one a week or so ago.

Another birthday?

Blogs are like people; when we grow old, it’s as though our birthdays lack importance. Maybe that’s why I’ve not posted on here much. Twice, since the last birthday, and even this old cynic feels that’s not enough.

Sommar. The programme on Swedish radio where a few chosen are invited to talk for an hour and a half and play music that’s important to them. I listened to the one with Mikael Wiehe, formerly of Hoola Bandoola Band, from my teens and early twenties. Progressive rock, if that’s even a word in English. He even ended up writing a massive hit for Lasse Stefanz in his old age. They are a dance band, one of many who tour Sweden, playing the kind of music that ‘us progressives’ used to look down on. We all grow old though. Mikael has led an interesting life. I can’t list it all here, but I was touched by his shopping expedition in South Africa after seeing Nelson Mandela installed as president. Basically, you never can tell who has done what in the past, just by looking at them.

The thing I’m most proud of doing this year was catching Freakier Friday in the cinema on the day it was released. This was to make up for my dismal performance in 2003, when Freaky Friday turned into a mummy failure. In the end we had to buy the DVD, and even that got delayed. And Daughter and I sort of felt it was almost all right to be back in an actual cinema this time. We might do it again.

We liked it, by the way. Freakier Friday, that is. As sequels go, it was very satisfying. But then, Jamie Lee Curtis was right in telling the studio that Freaky Friday was what everyone asks her about.

Not much television to report. Daughter – yes, her again – discovered that Channel 4 are showing two seasons of the Swedish version of Taskmaster, Bäst i test. We have enjoyed that. Not that we know many of the celebrities, but when they have made fools of themselves for long enough, we part as friends. And she has discovered what a Gotland accent sounds like.

Over the weekend we began listening to Christmas music. You know, the calm, beautiful piano versions. Daughter, yes again, discovered she’s not the only one who starts in August, either. And then we accidentally watched Richard Osman’s House of Games from last Christmas, which was very jolly, even though we had watched back in December. We couldn’t remember who won, or what most of the answers were, so no problem there.

Thank goodness for old age. Seventeen today.

The seasons are shrinking

NCIS is not the only product I ‘use’ but it’s one of the shrinking ones. Why? Assuming an episode costs $X, and sells for $Y, then I can’t see how they won’t get the same amount of money for 24 episodes as for 20. Relatively speaking. So why is there now less not only of NCIS, but quite a few other things, like my Vi magazine?

Anyway, it came to an end this week, and while some episodes were a bit better, not enough of them fell into the good category. The penultimate episode almost made me breathe a little faster, but the last one, cliffhanger notwithstanding, was rather underwhelming.

Neither McGee nor Parker are a Gibbs. They try, but…

Any double or triple bluffs – or agents – will presumably be sorted out in the autumn. But I almost don’t care. Except that plot development towards the end, which I can’t see how they will solve satisfactorily. Maybe someone wants to be written out?

And how on earth are they going to be able to write and film and screen a show featuring federal agents, when reality is so weird, not to mention fast changing?

NCIS – Sticks & Stones

And on the eve of the election, too. Well. The first three episodes of NCIS season 22 have been a bit meh. I will watch, but not rush to do so. Which will be why episode four had to wait, and it was probably just as well. Not sure I could have dealt with the anything but discreet references to the country’s – the world’s even – future on that day. At least with hindsight you know what you know.

I applaud them for writing it, and doing it almost to old time levels. Reasonably well directed, and the acting had vibes of, yes, the old times. Did they know how close, or impossible, it was going to be? This was a long time in planning, or so I imagine. Did CBS know they were ‘out of favour’ so they might as well?

Anyway. Actually, I was going to say it was fun, but it was so close to reality (setting unavoidable fictional discrepancies aside) that it could make you shudder. But I did enjoy it. This was the first time in a long time that I could see the promise of NCIS from the noughties. 22 years is too long, and some recent rewatching of the past has confirmed my opinion that it doesn’t quite work without Gibbs.

But I could see myself watching it again, soon. Like in the olden days.

We’ve made it to sixteen

I didn’t think, and if I had, would I even have considered the potential longevity of CultureWitch?

Just goes to show how much one doesn’t think.

Daughter chatted to a friend from uni last week, and both of them agreed that they no longer go to the cinema, and not just because of pandemic disinclination. Films are just not very tempting right now. Or is it any longer?

OK, we’re keen to see the third Mamma Mia! film. We watched the first two again over pizzas on our last night on holiday. It seemed like a fun thing to do.

Now, at home when we’re not answering Richard Osman’s questions on television, we have started a new binge of The Big Bang Theory. We feel the time is right.

Before that, I watched Hidden Figures on my own. The pattern seems to be to return to what you’ve already seen and liked.

Although, as I said this time last year, I’m not against the new season of NCIS. I’m currently rewatching season fifteen. It’s one I’ve not watched loads of times, primarily because I was so annoyed with Pauley Perrette. But I find I can sort of tolerate her now.

As for music, I am hopeless. The music questions at our local pub quiz leave me mostly puzzled. I seem to have a forty-year gap. Maybe there is music in life even without Roger Whittaker.

But, happy sixteenth birthday to us, Culture and me.

Songs, sardines and the size six horse

The Retired Children’s Librarian would often share two of her best Skansen memories with me. They are about me. And I am big enough to own them.

Back in 1960 when I was fairly small, we visited Skansen in Stockholm. There was smörgåsbord for lunch. So, OK I was only four, but I was used to such meals, and could handle myself walking round the huge table, choosing what I wanted to eat. This time I chose a sardine. You know, that fairly small fish of which you get half a dozen in a small tin. I chose one. Didn’t want anything else, despite urgings from the adults who’d paid good money for me to eat. One sardine. I was satisfied.

The Retired Children’s Librarian laughed a lot at this. But not as much as she laughed when I went riding.

Skansen did one of those pony-ride rides for children, where a teenager leads you round the park once. My ticket for this said no. 6. It comforted me as we waited in queue, because a size six pony couldn’t be too big, could it? Mother-of-Witch sensibly said nothing. When my turn came, the creature offered was really quite large. (It probably wasn’t, but to the 1960 me it looked enormous and not a size six at all.) I didn’t want to. At all. But a Mother-of-Witch who has waited in a queue for some time will not stand cowards. So up I went. The teenager who had probably seen it all already walked us round the place, as I screamed as loud as I could. Mother-of-Witch gritted her teeth and the Retired Children’s Librarian laughed until she cried and then some more.

This is the venue where Allsång på Skansen takes place, and which has now become a firm favourite with Daughter. And with TV apps and the like, we are able to watch it, live if required. But as we watched the penultimate 2024 offering the other day, she said she could understand why the programme has had complaints. I used to laugh at it because it was all old, but popular, singers. Now I don’t know. Partly because I don’t know who is popular these days. But I don’t like the music much. And the Allsång songs where the audience joins in are not rousing enough. What’s worse is that many of the guests have not bothered learning the lyrics to their chosen song. The presenter Pernilla Wahlgren is someone I do like. Not sure what she decides herself, and what is decided for her, but she could learn the lyrics, and not stand there not paying attention to the audience as she stares at the teleprompter for guidance on what she should sing.

So that’s Skansen for me. A small sardine and a large pony, and now singers who forget to learn their songs.