Denis Kilcommons
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October 30th, 2015

10/30/2015

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CHILDREN will tomorrow be embarking on nocturnal missions that go against the basic principles of personal safety and all the warnings of mum and dad. They will be knocking on the doors of strangers to beg for chocolate, Haribo mix or cash.
For years, youngsters were told never to accept sweets from people they didn't know and yet now this annual escapade has parental approval. It is, of course, all the fault of America.
We have succumbed to the “tradition” of Halloween even though it has never been this sort of tradition on this side of the Atlantic. Goodness knows why we should accept the marketing spin that has us dressing up off-spring as witches, ghouls and Dracula and spending a fortune on confection. Particularly when we have seen all the horror films that have been spawned by the occasion, starting with Michael Myers trying to kill Jamie Lee Curtis for 90 minutes back in 1978.
The message from Hollywood has been clear: Halloween equates with psychopathic slashers on a grand scale.
Unfortunately that first film, shot on a budget of $300,000, grossed $70 million worldwide. The message was clear and the franchise and the many copycat movies helped lodge the date, not just in America's psyche, but Britain's, too.
Centuries ago, we had a Celtic harvest festival around this time called Samhain, when pagans believed the worlds of the living and the recently dead were particularly close. This morphed into the Christian All Hallows Eve – the evening before All Saints Day. Traditions included mummers and prayers and divination: it was said if a person walked backwards down the stairs while staring into a mirror, the face that appeared would be their next sweetheart. Or, if they tripped and broke their neck, they could become the next dearly departed.
Before the importation of the commercialism of Halloween from America, Britain had Mischief Night on November 4. Practitioners might knock on doors and run away but no one expected a bag sweets, wore fancy dress or chased Jamie Lee Curtis with a carving knife.
I suppose my ire has been ruffled because I'm disappointed by the way Britain has succumbed to US influences ever since GIs arrived three years late for the Second World War in 1942.
Rock and roll and Levis followed in the 1950s, although I didn't mind those so much, and anyway we got our own back in the Swinging 60s when Britain led the world in fashion and pop music. Real invasion came with Coca Cola, McDonalds, Colonel Sanders and pizza parlours.
Pizza parlours? In Britain? Why couldn't we be satisfied with chips shops?
And why oh why, did we have to let Halloween in when it is more geared to them than to us? Particularly as it has meant I've had to buy loads of mini Mars bars to hand out to expectant mites who don't know they should actually be celebrating Samhain with a bonfire and a roast ox in the middle of a cold field. They think a fancy dress outfit from Asda and a shy smile is all it takes to start a new tradition. The annoying thing is, they're right.

Read more at Huddersfield Daily Examiner:
http://tinyurl.com/k6omhwv



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The Cost Of Dying

10/14/2015

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THE cost of dying is going up at such a rate I may never be able to afford to go.
Sun Life says the price of a basic funeral has risen for the 12
th year in a row and stands at £3,693. Add on all the extras for everything from cars to flowers, headstone to legal fees, and that figure can be boosted to an average of £8,126.
At that price, I don't think I'll bother. 

SunLife's managing director Dean Lamble says: “People are still not comfortable talking about death or their funeral wishes, which means that the vast majority of those organising a funeral are unware of the preferences of the deceased.”

My only preference is that those in charge make sure I'm not just in a deep sleep and really have gone. Apart from that, I'd be quite happy if my chum Peter dug a hole and planted me in a quiet part of his allotment. I might help his cabbages grow, which would be a first. I've never had any success at gardening before.

The only real point in saving for a funeral is so your family will not inherit the expense. Otherwise we'd all spend up in advance and be happy with a pauper's plot. Once I'm gone, I'm not bothered what happens as long as there is a few quid left over for folk to have a drink and say: “By heck. How old was he? A hundred and 12? I thought he'd never go.” 

The basic cost in Yorkshire is £3,550 but in London it's £5,068, which takes the breath away. Londoners, who don't feel well, might consider taking a Ryanair flight to Northern Ireland where the cost is £3,203. Plenty left over for a drink before and after.

Considering the cost, it makes sense to talk about your last arrangements and leave a few guidelines behind as to your final farewell. Like what to take with you.

Items Brits have requested go in the casket include cigarettes, beer, the ashes of a pet, football scarves and, on one occasion, a cardboard cut-out of Doctor Who David Tennant.

“Now then, Doctor. Get us out of this one.”

When my mother died, I placed her shopping bag in the coffin: she had previously taken it to every other funeral she had attended: “Just in case we pass a shop on the way.”

Horror film actor of the silent screen Bela Lugosi was dressed in his Dracula cape. Tony Curtis was buried with a Stetson, an Armani scarf and his iPhone. Just in case.

A lady in California was buried in a red Ferrari and Sinatra had a flask of whisky. A fast food fanatic had the cortege visit his favourite drive-through on the way to the cemetery to pick up a Burger King Whopper in case he was peckish on his final trip. 

Among the most poignant was the golden whistle Lauren Bacall put in the urn with husband Humphrey Bogart's ashes which echoed her famous line in To Have And Have Not. Whenever he wanted her, she said, all he had to do was whistle. 

I like that.

Read more at: 
http://tinyurl.com/k6omhwv




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From Russia Without Love

10/8/2015

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Daniella Bianchi - I should be so lucky.
I CONFESS to a passing frisson of interest when I received an email from 31-year-old Ira from Russia who included a very attractive photograph of herself.
“Hi. How are you? I am single lady and dream to find true love. This is a reason why I contact you. I have information you want to find second half. Thats right? I am single, never married and have no kids. I will be excited if you will reply."
Oo-er. She looked a bit like Daniela Bianchi in From Russia With Love. Did she think I was Sean Connery?
And what's this? Another offer from an organisation wanting to link me up with a group of bored young wives who are looking for love because their husbands do no appreciate them. "They are all married but super attractive and want to cheat."
By heck, missus.We never had this before't t'internet, sithee, as they say in Yorkshire.
And if any chap is thinking of asking for a contact address, they can hold their horses: this is another scam site based in Russia.
Both these emails were among my spam folder, which is where all dubious emails get sent so I don't spend an hour every day wondering why Jule Bongo wants to send me $9 million and Susan Yakco, who thinks I'm “God's Selected”, has ear-marked $8 million for my personal use. Mind you, it is nice to be God's Selected.
Occasionally it's fun to see what conmen send out to millions world wide in the hope of snaring a target or two. But this time I went looking with a purpose because my email address book had been hacked and messages were being sent to friends and contacts in my name.
Fortunately, they didn't carry my email address and, because they're from suspect places, will usually be dumped in the recipient's spam box rather than their inbox.
I've changed the security on all my email accounts but once someone's address list has been stolen, they can be sold on and used by spammers and scammers and conmen. The hacker can get the list in many ways, including through someone else's email list, or social networking sites. Being hacked may not be your fault but the results can be confusing to friends and embarrassing to you.
Years ago, I kept getting messages from my cousin Suzanne who lives in Spain offering fake Rolex watches and Viagra tablets. Suzanne has a strange sense of humour but I guessed even she was not in the market for a fake Rolex: she has a real one. The Viagra I was not so sure about but I still didn't reply. When I told her, she laughed her head off.

The most recent message under my name was linked to a Russian website. “I blame Putin,” said the friend who told me. Needless to say, I have warned all contacts to avoid opening it in case their identity is stolen by a KGB assassin.
I even had a message to me from me (to almost quote the Chuckle Brothers) from Singapore.
All phony messages are dangerous and should be binned. Links should never be opened as they could hide a virus or Trojan to steal your computer's information.

Mind you, once I started I found that checking my spam folder was, as always, highly entertaining and had the usual range of phishing expeditions going the rounds, including one from Judy Brown who is stranded in Cyprus and would like me to send of her $2,400. Of course I will, Judy. Just as soon as I've finished watching this pig flying race. Maybe I should put her in touch with Jule Bongo who has money to spare?
Which brings me back to Ira. There is, apparently, a whole romance scam industry where conmen try to hook receptive chaps in the west, so I think I'll give her a miss. Besides, what do I want with a 31-year-old at my time of my life? I've got enough problems with hacked emails without providing grounds for a hacked-off wife.




To read more: http://tinyurl.com/k6omhwv


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