OPERATION VIEW SCREWED

~ "beautiful middle age" ~

One of the advantages of being a devoted Mail reader is my regular stool-pigeons feed me the low-down.

Loipon - Chronia Polla, Tasia Kaplinksky!

"Newsreader Natasha Kaplinsky is celebrating her 40th birthday early with a weekend-long party in Corfu.

"Although her big day is not until September 9, Natasha, right, has flown 3 friends out to her £1.5 million villa on the Greek isle for the event, treating them to a dinner."

Gosh that sounds a bit dull, rather like that 'Small earthquake in Chile. Not many hurt.' headline.

'Newsreader birthday not yet; pals fly out for early knees-up nosh.'

Coburn ~ No offence to Sinbad and certainly none to Carrie but I'm a Claud Coburn man and grew up knowing it as "Not many dead."

However, since magisterial Wikipedia pronounces it 'apocryphal ... no copy of The Times featuring this headline has been located', I cave in with ill grace.

I still think it deuced rum that there are all these 'hurt' bounders being given ink when it's quite obvious that it was Claud who came up with it first - 'pochryphal or not.

But look at it from my point of view as a toiler after eyeballs:

Bash out my drachro's worth on the latest Kaplinski Kaper, remembering to include a nod to the 'Lost View of Baker'.

Next thump on the Welcome mat, a correction from none other than M'Lord and Lady D'Emocracie. That's reader fandom for you. But I digress.

And then there were three: And only three. Cripes, just imagine how hard it must have been to prune the Rolodex down to just trois. Those rictus smiles of the rejected ~ "Of course I dont mind, darling; perfectly understand. Have a wuhnderful time."

Had it been me, I'd've been in right old pickle. "Caroline ~ bit of an emergency. Maman's letting me throw a bash for 'three friends ... no, I don't think it's three couples (doxa to Theo), just three 'friends'.

Wondered if you'd like to be one, but then I'm stuck for another two.

Know anyone who'd settle for a free nosh in return for braving mum's repeatia dem ... I'd make myself scarce, of course, 'helping' in the kitchen, and you could run interference fending off maman's grislier anecdotes ...

The Gullands? No, that'd be pushing Christian patience too far. Les Potts? No, Like 'em too much and I want Jim to think of me as a some time guitar buddy.

The Baddeleys, you say? Hmm, ingenious, I'll give you that, but are they ready? She's OK, battle-hardened, give as good as she'll interrupt, but he's a sweetie and I'd hate to kill a budding friendship when he's coming on so well.

Another three months and I was going to venture a shy wave from the Nissan as I burbled by.

Darling, don't you have a nice bauble seller or two? One of those statuesque Estonians that go round handing out notices 'I'm dubb and deff. Please buy my flashing lighter or winking rubbery wrist band'? That'd show her.

Talk about mission creep! Must get back to Autocutie Tasha ~ do wish they'd stop tagging her a 'newsreader' - Kapa's done tons more new stuff since then.

I particularly wish they'd use a more 'suitable' photograph for this crucial age when women are meant to be in their hottest carnivorous prime, not all scraggle-necked and lined.

40th Birthday quotations - one of my informants thoughtfully sends me a birthday quotation link in case I couldnt think of anything with which to fill the space.

The rest are just moaners about broken links and trying to foist inside info' on me and 'agreeable' eavesdroppings of the 'sparkling waters of success' ilk - goodness, that takes me back. Do you remember the furore over those oily preenings?

I say, What about that poor Mr 'Dude! Where's my View' Baker? Did he top himself as all the ghouls were betting the Kaplinsky spitaki would drive him to?

Commentaria ~ LEAVIS BADDELEY ~ do follow Sinbad's Flickr link so you can see the photo in full glory. Magnificent. More like Ithaka Jones but gosh I'd like to be padding thru some grove and come across this sight. I use FR Leavis' name but i should have chosen the lesser known Russell Meiggs, warden of my digs at Oxford, Holywell Manor. He'd stride round the garden around 5am, grik poet in hand, just when i'd surfaced to try to do my paper for my 10am tutorial. He'd beckon from the garden or toss gravel and I'd have to walk round with him as he read aloud with many a

'what do you think of gregory's translation of that line there? surely that reading is thoroughly discredited these days? you're in the front lines, you should know.'

splendid pic.