Puff of smoke

Skeeter, Andrew Harwood and now Smoky Dawson.

So many of one's babysitting buddies from the formative years of telly viewing are departing this life.

Farewell and thank you stars of that black and white television set, against whose corners i twice cracked open my forehead, and from which I watched some glorious shows and saw man walk on the moon - although I couldn't understand the fuss, thought anyone with a rocketship could go there, and so began a lifelong difficulty distinguishing fiction from reality - yours Jeremy Irons as Charles Ryder.

The silver white dot that appeared on the screen's centre after the television was turned off was troubling.

The other evening i was at the hairdresser and sat opposite the actor who, many moons ago, played Alvin Purple. I was tickled.

On my way home i thought about Alvin Purple, Alvin Rides Again and then Son of Alvin Purple, which starred Gerry Sont. As the taxi turned from Victoria Road into the Crescent, i caught a glimpse of Glebe Island Bridge and thoughtfully stroked my chin while puzzling over the fate of Gerry Sont. Mercifully the taxi driver turned on PM, temporarily ending those vapid thought waves.

However, they readily returned tonight (as they do every night, on a fine Arab charger, no less) for while I was watching telly I was delighted to see Gerry Sont promoting a retirement fund.

Puzzle solved.

Rrrresult.

Cockadoodledoo.