Black Monday
Well, the obituary writers must be suffering from the a touch of writers cramp today, with the popping four pairs of high profile clogs in the space of a day, the death poor old Joseph Lester "Jody" Powell, Jr, former press secretary to Jimmy Carter might probably won't be getting much coverage in the international media, what with the death of a certain Mr Swayze, which given the widespread coverage of his illness over the past year and a bit can have come as a surprise to no one. Can't say as Patrick Swayze's work was ever anything I was fond of, or even more than peripherally aware of, so y'know, not much to say there. Although I do think his attitude when faced with death was top notch, positive outlook a-go-go, and for someone who at the apex of his career was declared "the sexiest man alive" to maintain a 34 year hollywood marriage is equally admirable. It would appear that the loss is not of a great artist by any measure, but certainly of a pretty decent human being, which is sadder in all respects which really matter.
Far murkier is the apparent suicide of Darren Sutherland in his London Flat, stories are sure to emerge in the red topped tabloids over the coming days, and some of those might even be true. I expect it'll be stories of the alienation of success, anxiety at separation from friends and family and the pressure of competing in the cut-throat world of professional boxing, with the expectations of world domination sitting heavy on your shoulders. Maybe a bogeyman figure will emerge, a pushy promoter or trainer perhaps, someone will certainly speculate that there was a drug and/or alcohol problem, and in assorted sordid attempts to smear or to sanctify, the central issues of mental health, depression and suicide will be glossed over all in the name of paper sales. But given this event, and Ken Egan's widely publicized breakdown earlier on in the year, questions must be asked of the boxing community, and for once, they aren't questions of safety inside the ring.
Finally, yesterday saw the demise of one of the worlds true originals, a dyed in the wool eccentric who re-invented TV cookery, in the days when cooking was all studio based Fanny Craddockery, Keith Floyd was out and about, wine glass in hand, with boundless enthusiasm and buckets of personality. Now you can't turn on a TV without seeing Jamie Oliver cooking in his garden or Rick Stein borrowing a restaurant kitchen in the south of France to whip up a bowl of cassoulet or whatever. That all started with Floyd, the Hunter S. Thompson of TV chefs.
Floyd's haphazard presenting style seems to have stemmed from a rather haphazard life, he joined the British Army after watching the movie Zulu, then on leaving took assorted low level kitchen jobs, before rising to restaurant ownership, his restaurant happened to be close to a TV studio, and from that somehow he landed a cooking programme. 4 Marriages all ended in divorce, and at one point he was forced to declare bankruptcy, reportedly arising from financial trouble which started when he accepted a check for a £36,000 drinks bill which later bounced.
A politician, An actor, A boxer and a TV chef all arrive at the pearly gates...
Far murkier is the apparent suicide of Darren Sutherland in his London Flat, stories are sure to emerge in the red topped tabloids over the coming days, and some of those might even be true. I expect it'll be stories of the alienation of success, anxiety at separation from friends and family and the pressure of competing in the cut-throat world of professional boxing, with the expectations of world domination sitting heavy on your shoulders. Maybe a bogeyman figure will emerge, a pushy promoter or trainer perhaps, someone will certainly speculate that there was a drug and/or alcohol problem, and in assorted sordid attempts to smear or to sanctify, the central issues of mental health, depression and suicide will be glossed over all in the name of paper sales. But given this event, and Ken Egan's widely publicized breakdown earlier on in the year, questions must be asked of the boxing community, and for once, they aren't questions of safety inside the ring.
Finally, yesterday saw the demise of one of the worlds true originals, a dyed in the wool eccentric who re-invented TV cookery, in the days when cooking was all studio based Fanny Craddockery, Keith Floyd was out and about, wine glass in hand, with boundless enthusiasm and buckets of personality. Now you can't turn on a TV without seeing Jamie Oliver cooking in his garden or Rick Stein borrowing a restaurant kitchen in the south of France to whip up a bowl of cassoulet or whatever. That all started with Floyd, the Hunter S. Thompson of TV chefs.
Floyd's haphazard presenting style seems to have stemmed from a rather haphazard life, he joined the British Army after watching the movie Zulu, then on leaving took assorted low level kitchen jobs, before rising to restaurant ownership, his restaurant happened to be close to a TV studio, and from that somehow he landed a cooking programme. 4 Marriages all ended in divorce, and at one point he was forced to declare bankruptcy, reportedly arising from financial trouble which started when he accepted a check for a £36,000 drinks bill which later bounced.
A politician, An actor, A boxer and a TV chef all arrive at the pearly gates...