NWS Nieuws & Achtergronden
Discussieer hier diepgaander over de actualiteiten.
Je ziet het in meer komedies.quote:Op vrijdag 3 oktober 2025 21:44 schreef ChevyCaprice het volgende:
[..]
Zal de tijdsgeest zijn geweest.
Friends "we were on a break!"
The big bang theory "knock knock, Penny, knock knock, Penny, knock knock, Penny!"
Zeg 'ns Aaaa "met de assistente van dokter van der Ploeeeeeg!"
Oppassen "Hallo, hier is Harry!" of "Tering hé!"
Het is van alle tijden.
Geweldige actrice en wat heb ik gelachen om haar in Schone Schijn 
Iedere keer weer als ze bij Onslow in de haag belande wanneer de hond weer uit die sloopauto op hun oprit begon te blaffen
Heb de DVD box hier gelukkig nog liggen.
RIP
[ Bericht 10% gewijzigd door Dutch_view op 03-10-2025 22:38:51 ]
Iedere keer weer als ze bij Onslow in de haag belande wanneer de hond weer uit die sloopauto op hun oprit begon te blaffen
Heb de DVD box hier gelukkig nog liggen.
RIP
[ Bericht 10% gewijzigd door Dutch_view op 03-10-2025 22:38:51 ]
quote:Op vrijdag 3 oktober 2025 22:30 schreef Dutch_view het volgende:
Geweldige actrice en wat heb ik gelachen om haar in Schone Schijn
Iedere keer weer als ze bij Onslow in de haag belande wanneer de hond weer uit die sloopauto op hun oprit begon te blaffen
Heb de DVD box hier gelukkig nog liggen.
RIP
[ afbeelding ]
"You can call me Susan if it makes you happy"
Vreselijk om gelachen vroeger. Fantastische actrice die perfect in de rol paste.
Don't be surprised what the night brings.
When you search the dark, you get dark things.
Wat wij kijken
When you search the dark, you get dark things.
Wat wij kijken
RIP Miss Bucket!
Radical islam is the snake in the grass.
Moderate islam is the grass that hides the snake.
Moderate islam is the grass that hides the snake.
Geoffrey Hughes (Onslow) is in 2012 overledenquote:Op vrijdag 3 oktober 2025 19:13 schreef Immerdebestebob het volgende:
Onslow is waarschijnlijk jaren geleden al kapot gegaan aan de drank.
Inquote:
[..]
Die is volgwens mij al meer dan tien jaar geleden overleden.
In 2012 overledenquote:
[..]
Die is volgwens mij al meer dan tien jaar geleden overleden.
Net zoals de bezoekjes aan Daisy en Onslow.....quote:
Dat filmpje in die OP
Gewoon 30x dezelfde grap herhalen in een serie
Hekje kapot, hond in de auto en Hyacinth in het struikgewas
Goede herinneringen. RIP.
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Eindelijk rust voor Richard
Weg met de riooljournalistiek. Klik er niet op. Ze vergiftigen de maatschappij.
"Oh nice, here i'm sitting, completely surrounded by no beer".quote:
[..]
[ afbeelding ]
Gelukkig hadden ze toen nog geen platte schermen. Waar had hij z,n asbak moeten laten ?
One month before her 95th birthday, Patricia Routledge wrote words that still echo softly today:
“I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry — worry that I wasn’t quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldn’t live up to my mother’s hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude.”
Her life didn’t truly take shape until her forties. She had worked steadily — in provincial theatres, radio plays, and West End productions — yet often felt adrift, searching for a home within herself.
At 50, she accepted a television role she assumed would be small: Hyacinth Bucket in Keeping Up Appearances. To her surprise, it carried her into living rooms around the world. That role, she later reflected, helped her embrace her own quirks. It healed something in her.
At 60, she began learning Italian — not for work, but so she could sing opera in its native tongue. She also discovered how to live alone without being lonely. Each night, she read poetry aloud, not for diction, but to quiet her soul.
At 70, she returned to Shakespeare’s stage, no longer burdened by the need to prove herself. She performed with stillness — and audiences felt that she was no longer acting, but simply being.
At 80, she took up watercolor painting. She painted flowers from her garden, old hats from her youth, faces she once glimpsed on the London Underground. Each painting was a memory made visible.
Now, at 95, she writes letters by hand. She bakes rye bread. She breathes deeply each morning. She cherishes laughter but no longer seeks to make anyone laugh. The quiet is her dearest companion.
And with that quiet came her message to us all:
Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again.
Let these years be your treasure years.
You don’t need fame. You don’t need perfection.
You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours.
With love and gentleness,
— Patricia Routledge
“I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry — worry that I wasn’t quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldn’t live up to my mother’s hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude.”
Her life didn’t truly take shape until her forties. She had worked steadily — in provincial theatres, radio plays, and West End productions — yet often felt adrift, searching for a home within herself.
At 50, she accepted a television role she assumed would be small: Hyacinth Bucket in Keeping Up Appearances. To her surprise, it carried her into living rooms around the world. That role, she later reflected, helped her embrace her own quirks. It healed something in her.
At 60, she began learning Italian — not for work, but so she could sing opera in its native tongue. She also discovered how to live alone without being lonely. Each night, she read poetry aloud, not for diction, but to quiet her soul.
At 70, she returned to Shakespeare’s stage, no longer burdened by the need to prove herself. She performed with stillness — and audiences felt that she was no longer acting, but simply being.
At 80, she took up watercolor painting. She painted flowers from her garden, old hats from her youth, faces she once glimpsed on the London Underground. Each painting was a memory made visible.
Now, at 95, she writes letters by hand. She bakes rye bread. She breathes deeply each morning. She cherishes laughter but no longer seeks to make anyone laugh. The quiet is her dearest companion.
And with that quiet came her message to us all:
Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again.
Let these years be your treasure years.
You don’t need fame. You don’t need perfection.
You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours.
With love and gentleness,
— Patricia Routledge
Mooi. Klinkt als een mooi leven en een aardige vrouwquote:
One month before her 95th birthday, Patricia Routledge wrote words that still echo softly today:
“I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry — worry that I wasn’t quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldn’t live up to my mother’s hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude.”
Her life didn’t truly take shape until her forties. She had worked steadily — in provincial theatres, radio plays, and West End productions — yet often felt adrift, searching for a home within herself.
At 50, she accepted a television role she assumed would be small: Hyacinth Bucket in Keeping Up Appearances. To her surprise, it carried her into living rooms around the world. That role, she later reflected, helped her embrace her own quirks. It healed something in her.
At 60, she began learning Italian — not for work, but so she could sing opera in its native tongue. She also discovered how to live alone without being lonely. Each night, she read poetry aloud, not for diction, but to quiet her soul.
At 70, she returned to Shakespeare’s stage, no longer burdened by the need to prove herself. She performed with stillness — and audiences felt that she was no longer acting, but simply being.
At 80, she took up watercolor painting. She painted flowers from her garden, old hats from her youth, faces she once glimpsed on the London Underground. Each painting was a memory made visible.
Now, at 95, she writes letters by hand. She bakes rye bread. She breathes deeply each morning. She cherishes laughter but no longer seeks to make anyone laugh. The quiet is her dearest companion.
And with that quiet came her message to us all:
Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again.
Let these years be your treasure years.
You don’t need fame. You don’t need perfection.
You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours.
With love and gentleness,
— Patricia Routledge
Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
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