"Animal Kingdom"

When Leo and I were in Melbourne in January 1998, he went to watch tennis, whilst I explored the botanic gardens (my photograph), and also the surprisingly excellent National Gallery of Victoria. The visit to the latter came back to me this evening, watching "Animal Kingdom", our Film Society's latest offering: the Gallery was the setting for a couple of the scenes in this violent film.

I went along by myself as the Society's leaflet showed the film as an 18, and that rules it out for Caroline: in fact, it's only a 15, there's no sex and the violence is dealt with pretty discreetly. There's worse in BBC4's "The Killing III" (I'm hooked!).

"Animal Kingdom" has some excellent performances, in particular from Jacki Weaver. Moreover, it remains tense mostly throughout. (In other words, I only looked at my watch once.) You fear it's all going to end badly for our young "hero", who has a charming exchange about cricket with the main villain at one stage. In fact the ending is the best bit. And what a nice change to have all that Australian sunshine when you've grown accustomed to Nordic Noir!

Mary Webster RIP

Today the funeral takes place of my cousin Trevor Webster's wife Mary. In fact, it has already happened, the "venue" being Sydney, New South Wales. Mary and Trevor put Leo and me up for a few days when we went to Sydney in January 1998 - in fact more than that, they provided endless hospitality as well as introductions to places we would never have discovered on our own.

We had first met several years before that, following my father's death: then we lived up in the Cotswolds, and they came to supper while - by one of those extraordinary coincidences - staying with an old friend of Mary's from the next village.

The story of Mary and Trevor's emigration deserves wider publicity: together with their 18-month-old son, they set off from England in June 1958, along with another couple - two cars and much luggage - driving across almost the entirety of Europe and Asia. Arriving in North Australia by boat, they were all set to turn left for Sydney, but were warned against this: "you could never carry enough water to get through on that route!" So, turning the other way, they arrived in Sydney on 17th January 1959 via Perth, Adelaide and Melbourne. On our 1998 visit, we saw the car they had come in. It was in course of restoration, subsequently completed.

Mary's last illness was short, her death (aged 81) sudden. She will be sorely missed by her three children and five grandchildren, as well as by countless friends; but in particular by Trevor.

Carducci Quartet

My enthusiasm for this still-young quartet (led by Matthew Denton) has been voiced before, and it's none the less intense following this evening's performance at Dean Close School, where they have been "in residence" since the beginning of the year. Drab decor and distracting piles of scores in the background of the Prince Michael Hall couldn't take away from a vibrant performance - of what was a challenging programme.

It began with a quartet by Philip Glass: it had been described, Matthew said, as Rock music for Buddhists. The opening movement of this, his 4th Quartet rocked, but more in the sense of a lullaby - as if Bach might have been looking over the composer's shoulder. The real rock music came after the interval, with the Allegretto furioso of Shostakovich's 10th Quartet.

In between, we heard a couple of minimalist jewels (Kurtág and Webern), and a surprisingly enjoyable work, inspired by Australian birdsong, by David Matthews: he was there to introduce it himself, whistling us a preview of each of the motifs. I liked the idea of the Australian cuckoo singing the same interval as ours, but upside down. And particularly appropriate to hear this piece at a time of year when our garden is more or less a song-free zone.

Leopold/Wolfgang, Fanny/Felix, and Colin/David. I can't think of many other musical family pairs apart from these three Ms, Mozart, Mendelssohn - and Matthews.

Patsy Hendren

Half a century ago, I used to travel into Birmingham on the top deck of the Midland Red bus, to watch Warwickshire play cricket. I sat at the front alongside Mr. Austin, the Warwickshire scorer: he, his wife and daughter Joan lived near us in Alcester. I regarded him and indeed all the cricket establishment with awe.

After lunch, Chico, as people less in awe called him, would let me come and sit at the front of the score box - but only upon the arduous condition that I resisted the urge to clap. Chico knew of my propensity for collecting autographs, and one day when Middlesex were our visitors, suggested I might like to ask his fellow-scorer to sign my book. Who was this white-haired veteran, I wondered? The name in the book was clear: "E.H. Hendren". But it meant little to me, hardly surprising since he had made his Middlesex first team debut in 1907.

Today, we sleep-deprived cricket addicts are rejoicing in a famous victory at Adelaide, brought about through England scoring 620 for 5, their second-highest total in a test match in Australia. Even when rain threatens, the temperature there is up in the 30s: here, by contrast, we walk out into a white wonderland, where even the traffic lights are decorated with hoar-frost. Retreating to the fireside, I read of the occasion in 1928 when Jardine's men reached 636, with 251 from Hammond. The second highest scorer? E.H. Hendren.

"Travels in pre-Victorian Britain"

Today, I've realised a long-held ambition - to take a step towards publishing the 1835 travel diary of my ancestor, Peter Davis. I can't claim that all the hard work in this is mine. (There is a page of acknowledgments at the end of my finalised draft.) Nor can I show anyone a handsomely bound book, with pictures: that I hope will come. But at least the work's accomplished, even if many years after I first received a transcript of the diary from a kind cousin in New South Wales.

The tricky bit will be to link in some of the photographs of the places Peter Davis visited, which I took when I followed in his footsteps last May.

One of the objectives of publication is to elicit more information about my ancestor and his family: with a name like Davis, it's easy to get confused. Perhaps nuggets will emerge in due course.

"Skylight Red"

A couple of months ago, we had a visit from my cousin David McMillan, who was on a European tour from his home in the Southern part of New South Wales. Leo and I had visited him and his wife when we were in Australia in 1998: even though it's in the Murray River area, there is always a shortage of water.

The image of a bush fire advancing though a forest of tall, straight trees came into my mind when I saw this sculpture on Tuesday, by Chinks Grylls. "Skylight Red" is etched on mouth-blown, antique glass, and is on display at Cheltenham Art Gallery & Museum as part of its "On the edge" exhibition.