Two hectic weekends consisting of cycling and much alcohol, seperately, I might add, so the body was begging for a decent lie in and a relaxing saturday. However, there was hockey to watch and Adam was making his much awaited international debut for England vs Wales (Mixed Hockey)...in Milton Keynes...bugger!
I met Dido in Clapham Junction and we stocked up on all sorts of treats for the adventure and some beer. The journey was not arduous in the slightest and we managed a bit of conversation, but both of us were heavily engaged in our books. Two page turners do not make good conversation aids! I was beginning to feel a little drowsy, but the penultimate stop before MK, Bletchley, certainly banished any tiredness. The stench that filled my lungs was akin to having a rotten and putrid (ex)hedgehog stuffed up my tender nostrils. Not pleasant!
A short taxi ride to some obscure location, I assumed we would be visiting the National Hockey Stadium, but what do I know? We managed to find David and Liz, the proud parents, and headed for the club house for a bite to eat and find the international star - food being the optimum target, of course!
Before you could swallow a radish we were ushered pitchside to prepare ourselves for the feast of hockey. That is, before they watered the ptiches. Unfortunately for many spectators, there was not a great deal of shelter to be had and 'drowned rats' would not do the situation justice. David and I put ourselves in the way of the extensive electrical system to defend it from the torrential downpour. Successfully, but it was touch and go as to whether one of us would need CPR.
The game kicked off, after the usual lineup procession and the National Anthems. Being half English-half Welsh, I was in a bit of a pickle as to who to support. Adam was not due on until the second half, so that certainly helped me decide who to support. "Guide me, O thou great Redeemer, Pilgrim through this barren land..". As it turned out, the Welsh were looking a bit sharper and they took an earlyish lead. England managed to pull one back and then crept ahead just before the half time interval.
I accompanied David to his van to feed his.....K....V...birds of prey and he kindly gifted me a beer from the cool box, containing some sandwiches and a box of dead chicks. These Devon folk are very odd.
Adam made his bow to much raucous cheering from the four of us and some scattered applause from the other 100 or so spectators. He proved his worth with some talismanic saves and commanded his area well. Just as I was trying to work out how many Internationals had kept a clean sheet on their one and only cap (possibly more than one cap, if he tries again next year), he conceded, but England romped to an unassailable 5-2 lead and that is how it finished. David and Liz made their excuses and headed off to Cider Land (with the two birds in tow). Adam toasted his success in the clubhouse, whilst Dido and I nodded off in the car, whilst playing Yahtzee (good game!).
A thouroughly enjoyable excursion overall, but it was a joyous occasion to see Milton Keynes disappear in the rear view mirror. What a loathesome place. Concrete. Round-a-bouts. Gridline streets. To think they are intending to use the planners of MK to rebuild Basra when things settle down. Haven't we done enough damage?!
The journey back was swift and we headed towards Fulham to celebrate the 30th of a good friend, Georgie. The first of many, I guess - where did all those years go? The Mitre was the venue and the bar was drunk dry - including Brogan's Bar as well. Spinning the night away with the delectable Kate. Good times were had. Happy days.
Quote of the day: 'Work is the curse of the drinking class' - Oscar Wilde
Word of the day: Scolionn - an impromptu party song begun by one and continued by others.
Yes, yes I am back.
Wednesday 29 July 2009
Wednesday 8 July 2009
Blood, Sweat and Bicycle oil.
Miguel Indurain, Bradley Wiggins, Chris Boardman have probably never cycled from Hammersmith to Bristol. It was a magnificent feat, cycling 120+ miles for some untrained non-athletes. Rumour has it, Lance Armstrong (7 times winner of Le Tour de France) came out of retirement, inspired by our recent conquest.
The adventure seemed a long time coming, but the days whizzed by (if that makes sense). Training was (relatively) slack, but the desire was there. It does make you appreciate how dedicated Olympians are with relatively little funding to help them by. The brave cyclists consisted of Phil, Therese, Kahando and myself. The aim: To raise money for a clean water system in Mozambique. (You can still donate, I believe www.justgiving.com/mozambiquecleanwater )
The Friday before the big start was a very pleasant affair. The support team arrived (more on them later) and Phil jetted in from somewhere within North London. Complex Carbohydrates were the dish of the day to ready ourselves for the grand slog.
So, Saturday came (minus Sean Bean)... The intrepid cyclists, pumped up on Lucozade, carbohydrates, Volvic, chocolate and porridge (give me strength). Porridge is another bete noir of mine. However you dress it up, honey or the like, it is still a bitter enemy of mine, but needs must be.... It was fate. We passed Anneka Rice over Barnes Bridge. We were facing a daunting challlenge and Anneka was there. A brief smile and a non-discernable mumble was all I could manage.
Our first leg was underway. Barnes Bridge to The Beefeater on the A412 - Uxbridge Road. Yes, it was as glamorous as it sounds, but it was a relief to escape the perils and odours of Slough. Rolling hills, exquisite architecture, laughing children, green open spaces and an abundance of British wildlife, none of this was evident in Slough. John Betjemen had the right idea, but I would not advocate bombing the place...much. The first stretch of our journey was not particularly arduous, although there was the imminent threat of bus vs bicycle, particularly those blasted Bendy buses, early doors.
The 'suburbs' London became merely a distant memory as we cycled into our first official stop. Mary (Therese's mother), Marion (Therese's second family) and Suzi (Therese's sister) were eagerly waiting for us. The three had gallantly volunteered to lend a hand as our support team and what a job they did. Not only was the car rammed full of various sugary substances and more water/sports drinks that you could shake a bicycle pump at, they supplied some much needed emotional support and encouragement. British Cycling might not have spent so many years in the doldrums if they had had a support team of such quality. The Beefeater had an offer of a 10oz steak for £6.99, but we had to make tracks. The next pub was calling.
Leg Two was slightly longer, at least it felt that way. The thighs were beginning to burn a bit, but spirits were high and we were making the distances in good time. The Pond House Pub, just past Maidenhead, had our name on it. The air was becoming much fresher and the land remained even. This was a walk in the park so far. I had never really linked Maidenhead with words such as beauty or elegance. The name just does not conjure up scenes to marvel at, ignoring the fact that it is in close proximity to Royal Windsor. How wrong was I? We crossed a rather ornate looking bridge that took us into the heart of the town. I had no idea that the 'Silicon Corridor' existed and wealthy commuters use it as a base and entry into London.
Anyway...enough of that.
The Support Team had setup base in a rather attractive little pub. Therese and Phil managed to find it OK, Kahando and me managed to sprint about a mile past the rendez-vous point. A flurry of text messages and Phil on a mercy mission ensured that we did not stray any further than we already had. I enjoyed the freewheeling down the hill that ran from the pub, I did not enjoy the climb back so much... Lunch ensued. Kindly donated by Pret-a-Manger (I shall ignore the McDonalds links) as it was ruddy marvellous and just what the doctor ordered. Very tempting to stop there for the day as the Lions were on the pitch (via Sky TV) warming up for the first test and the steaks look lush. But Woolhampton would not come to us, so with a heavy heart we set off...again.
We were making good time. Breezing along. Kahando and me were leading for a short while. Therese and Phil disappeared off the radar. Something had gone awry. I found Kahando a short distance ahead of me. The bicycle pump was out, an ominous sign. My phone beeped. Phil had a puncture as well. Oh dear. The Support Team raced back to the Wyevale Garden Centre and the bicycle mechanics got to work. The enforced stop was costly in our time keeping, which meant that we would eventually reach Newbury close to dusk. Ironic that the two best bikes were the victims of some stray schrapnel! The stop did have its merits as buttocks were becoming sore.
There was still a fair way to go before reaching Woolhampton and we were (probably speaking for myself) beginning to tire. Whilst the terrain was relatively flat, we were inexperienced when it came to distance cycling and I had already doubled the furthest I had cycled before. The countryside made the rest of the leg worthwhile. Something that the occupants of cars missed as they whizzed past us. More chocolate, water, nutrients, carbohydrates (and the support team) welcomed us at The Rising Sun. A relatively short stop, this one, as we were within spitting distance (sort of) of Newbury, our final destination of Day One.
The first stretch of the final leg was all uphill. Nice. We seemed to make swift work of it and we, eventually, triumphantly cycled into Newbury with sore buttocks, aching thighs, drenched in sweat, but it was worth it, very much so. Newbury Baptist Church was a welcome sight. We had made it. 60 (odd) miles were done and dusted. We setup camp in a Church Hall of sorts. Marion and Mary disappeared off to their B&B, before we embarked on a curry mission. By jove, I have never enjoyed a curry so much. The wine flowed, inadvisably, and there was only a few grains of rice left of our feast. Our 'beds' were calling and we waved the white flag. Weary, full, but glowing. I feel at this point I should apologise for my nocturnal acitivies. By that, I mean snoring. Apparently, I have never been awake to witness it. The hardwood floor was sufficient, I don't think there was much that would wake me from my deep slumber. The night seemed short as the first light broke our sleep. I set off on a quick trip to One Stop, actually beating their opening time, for some further supplies. Porridge, Croissant, Coffee, Tea were served up by the ever graceful Suzi. Much needed, apart from the Porridge.
The tricky part was getting back on the bike after a break of 12 hours or so. Having been surgically removed from the saddle the night before, we had no choice but to get back on. Not pleasant and it didn't get any easier as the journey went on. It was tough work to our mini-stop in Hungerford. I would elaborate on Hungerford, but I can't remember much about it. My focus was on lunch and merely avoiding cardiac problems and/or erratic drivers. Marlborough was the main stop and came across as a very pleasant little town (reminded me of Haslemere...a bit). We managed to find the car, eventually, and further drinks and goodies were dished out by the ever-pleasant support crew. It was short and sweet. The soul destroying monent was passing through a village called 'Halfway' when we had long since passed that point. Bastards. Chippenham was our lunch time venue and we needed to pick up the pace.
Continually, during the cycle, I scoffed at the internet difficulty rating of this trip - 10/10, what? It has been quite mild so far. Marlborough was the starting point of an uphill struggle for much of the remainder of the course. The scenery was second to none and the mountainous terrain was second to none (excluding many, many thousands regions across the whole globe). It was arduous, long and fraught, but we eventually made it to Chippenham.
The Hungry Horse was our latest venue. Tears and tantrums followed and that was just me. It was at the (latest) pub that I first discovered the beauty of 'The Frube'. They had been nestled away in the back of the people carrier and I was yet to discover their utter delight. Sweet Mother of all that is good and pure. This is going to be an expensive habit. Things were starting to get serious now. We were well over half way and the genteel landscape was beginning to ascend. Whilst the support crew searched for a venue supplying Tea and Scones, the corageous riders battled with the elements of Britain. A light drizzle was a welcome prospect to dilute the sweat and cool the heated faces. Everything was aching at this point. There was nothing for it, but to concentrate ones sight 20 metres ahead. Reach that goal and extend it another 20 metres, that is how it worked for me.
Every downhill was greeted with a sigh of relief, but we know for every downhill, there must be some back-stabbing, gruelling uphill to counter it. The legs were, pretty much, the same length, but they felt infinitely longer (the cycle legs, not mine). I crawled towards the White Hart Inn. Reserves were running low. We were now on the A420 and our destination was Cold Ashton. Just before the hamlet of Cold Ashton, I had a near hit and miss with a shrew, possibly a vole, I am not David Attenbrough dammit! I put him in my pocket to take him across the road (that is where he was heading), but he leapt out and made his own way safely. We reached the White Hart Inn (no steak offers) and spent a little while there, stretching, eating and recovering. Sod it. We are close. Let's do it.
Kahando and Phil set the pace, Therese and I followed. The adventure was coming to a close. We only had 20 miles or so to conquer. The Oasis (The Charity) awaited our arrival and the thought of Bristol felt like an Oasis. Our uphill struggles dissipated. The last two miles were pretty much downhill and the wind in our faces was a much welcome distraction from the previous twenty miles of climbing.
We made it. Lidl (not Aldi, Suzi) was the final port of call for Therese and myself (Phil and Kahando cycled on towards Oasis). It wasn't quite Bristol, but it was in every other sense. After a quick photo shoot, we were ushered off to a Barbeque, somewhere in the outskirts of Bristol. Our ever present support crew left for St Leonards-upon-Sea and we were left to fend for ourselves. Having felt I could devour a whole herd of horses, I put in a pretty poor show. The feast was mouth-watering, but my hunger was not there. I am thinking that my body was already eating away at my essential organs. Very pleasant company all round.
Dan whooshed us of in his car, towards London, making a mockery of our cycle. Cold Ashton, Calne, Chippenham, Marlborough, Newbury, Woolhampton and so on, were just a fleeting roadsign. Therese and I arrived back in Barnes, just shy of midnight. Weary, but still bouncing with Adrenaline. The journey was done. Gone, but not forgotten.
An abding memory was the ease of access we had to water along our trevails. Something we, as a socitey, takes for granted. Hopefully our endeavours shall stand a Mozambiquean (have I just made up a word?) in good stead and they shall no longer have to toil in the heat to fetch some dirty water.
A massive thanks to all those that sponsored me and a massive thanks to Mary, Marion and Suzi for being on call when it mattered. Thanks to The Oasis crew and the various other members that created a BBQ to be proud of. A very special thanks to Therese for her tireless work to make it happen and her organisational skills that ensured it was an easy ride (relatively). Onwards and upwards. I have got the bug and I plan to cycle further.
Number Crunching
1 Bottle of RadianB gratefully received (you must try it)
3 Essential Support Crew members
4 Cyclists for the mission
8 Hotel Room Number of Marion and Mary
43 litres of water consumed
69 tonnes of chocolate consumed
168 The order number of the Peshwari Naan
496 miles travelled of the cyclists (combined)
796 litres of sweat....sweated
1000+ pounds raised from our endeavours
Word of the Day: Velocipede (Latin for "fast foot") is an umbrella term for any human-powered land vehicle with one or more wheels. The most common type of velocipede today is the bicycle.
Quote of the Day: 'Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.' - Lance Armstrong (Cycling Legend).
The adventure seemed a long time coming, but the days whizzed by (if that makes sense). Training was (relatively) slack, but the desire was there. It does make you appreciate how dedicated Olympians are with relatively little funding to help them by. The brave cyclists consisted of Phil, Therese, Kahando and myself. The aim: To raise money for a clean water system in Mozambique. (You can still donate, I believe www.justgiving.com/mozambiquecleanwater )
The Friday before the big start was a very pleasant affair. The support team arrived (more on them later) and Phil jetted in from somewhere within North London. Complex Carbohydrates were the dish of the day to ready ourselves for the grand slog.
So, Saturday came (minus Sean Bean)... The intrepid cyclists, pumped up on Lucozade, carbohydrates, Volvic, chocolate and porridge (give me strength). Porridge is another bete noir of mine. However you dress it up, honey or the like, it is still a bitter enemy of mine, but needs must be.... It was fate. We passed Anneka Rice over Barnes Bridge. We were facing a daunting challlenge and Anneka was there. A brief smile and a non-discernable mumble was all I could manage.
Our first leg was underway. Barnes Bridge to The Beefeater on the A412 - Uxbridge Road. Yes, it was as glamorous as it sounds, but it was a relief to escape the perils and odours of Slough. Rolling hills, exquisite architecture, laughing children, green open spaces and an abundance of British wildlife, none of this was evident in Slough. John Betjemen had the right idea, but I would not advocate bombing the place...much. The first stretch of our journey was not particularly arduous, although there was the imminent threat of bus vs bicycle, particularly those blasted Bendy buses, early doors.
The 'suburbs' London became merely a distant memory as we cycled into our first official stop. Mary (Therese's mother), Marion (Therese's second family) and Suzi (Therese's sister) were eagerly waiting for us. The three had gallantly volunteered to lend a hand as our support team and what a job they did. Not only was the car rammed full of various sugary substances and more water/sports drinks that you could shake a bicycle pump at, they supplied some much needed emotional support and encouragement. British Cycling might not have spent so many years in the doldrums if they had had a support team of such quality. The Beefeater had an offer of a 10oz steak for £6.99, but we had to make tracks. The next pub was calling.
Leg Two was slightly longer, at least it felt that way. The thighs were beginning to burn a bit, but spirits were high and we were making the distances in good time. The Pond House Pub, just past Maidenhead, had our name on it. The air was becoming much fresher and the land remained even. This was a walk in the park so far. I had never really linked Maidenhead with words such as beauty or elegance. The name just does not conjure up scenes to marvel at, ignoring the fact that it is in close proximity to Royal Windsor. How wrong was I? We crossed a rather ornate looking bridge that took us into the heart of the town. I had no idea that the 'Silicon Corridor' existed and wealthy commuters use it as a base and entry into London.
Anyway...enough of that.
The Support Team had setup base in a rather attractive little pub. Therese and Phil managed to find it OK, Kahando and me managed to sprint about a mile past the rendez-vous point. A flurry of text messages and Phil on a mercy mission ensured that we did not stray any further than we already had. I enjoyed the freewheeling down the hill that ran from the pub, I did not enjoy the climb back so much... Lunch ensued. Kindly donated by Pret-a-Manger (I shall ignore the McDonalds links) as it was ruddy marvellous and just what the doctor ordered. Very tempting to stop there for the day as the Lions were on the pitch (via Sky TV) warming up for the first test and the steaks look lush. But Woolhampton would not come to us, so with a heavy heart we set off...again.
We were making good time. Breezing along. Kahando and me were leading for a short while. Therese and Phil disappeared off the radar. Something had gone awry. I found Kahando a short distance ahead of me. The bicycle pump was out, an ominous sign. My phone beeped. Phil had a puncture as well. Oh dear. The Support Team raced back to the Wyevale Garden Centre and the bicycle mechanics got to work. The enforced stop was costly in our time keeping, which meant that we would eventually reach Newbury close to dusk. Ironic that the two best bikes were the victims of some stray schrapnel! The stop did have its merits as buttocks were becoming sore.
There was still a fair way to go before reaching Woolhampton and we were (probably speaking for myself) beginning to tire. Whilst the terrain was relatively flat, we were inexperienced when it came to distance cycling and I had already doubled the furthest I had cycled before. The countryside made the rest of the leg worthwhile. Something that the occupants of cars missed as they whizzed past us. More chocolate, water, nutrients, carbohydrates (and the support team) welcomed us at The Rising Sun. A relatively short stop, this one, as we were within spitting distance (sort of) of Newbury, our final destination of Day One.
The first stretch of the final leg was all uphill. Nice. We seemed to make swift work of it and we, eventually, triumphantly cycled into Newbury with sore buttocks, aching thighs, drenched in sweat, but it was worth it, very much so. Newbury Baptist Church was a welcome sight. We had made it. 60 (odd) miles were done and dusted. We setup camp in a Church Hall of sorts. Marion and Mary disappeared off to their B&B, before we embarked on a curry mission. By jove, I have never enjoyed a curry so much. The wine flowed, inadvisably, and there was only a few grains of rice left of our feast. Our 'beds' were calling and we waved the white flag. Weary, full, but glowing. I feel at this point I should apologise for my nocturnal acitivies. By that, I mean snoring. Apparently, I have never been awake to witness it. The hardwood floor was sufficient, I don't think there was much that would wake me from my deep slumber. The night seemed short as the first light broke our sleep. I set off on a quick trip to One Stop, actually beating their opening time, for some further supplies. Porridge, Croissant, Coffee, Tea were served up by the ever graceful Suzi. Much needed, apart from the Porridge.
The tricky part was getting back on the bike after a break of 12 hours or so. Having been surgically removed from the saddle the night before, we had no choice but to get back on. Not pleasant and it didn't get any easier as the journey went on. It was tough work to our mini-stop in Hungerford. I would elaborate on Hungerford, but I can't remember much about it. My focus was on lunch and merely avoiding cardiac problems and/or erratic drivers. Marlborough was the main stop and came across as a very pleasant little town (reminded me of Haslemere...a bit). We managed to find the car, eventually, and further drinks and goodies were dished out by the ever-pleasant support crew. It was short and sweet. The soul destroying monent was passing through a village called 'Halfway' when we had long since passed that point. Bastards. Chippenham was our lunch time venue and we needed to pick up the pace.
Continually, during the cycle, I scoffed at the internet difficulty rating of this trip - 10/10, what? It has been quite mild so far. Marlborough was the starting point of an uphill struggle for much of the remainder of the course. The scenery was second to none and the mountainous terrain was second to none (excluding many, many thousands regions across the whole globe). It was arduous, long and fraught, but we eventually made it to Chippenham.
The Hungry Horse was our latest venue. Tears and tantrums followed and that was just me. It was at the (latest) pub that I first discovered the beauty of 'The Frube'. They had been nestled away in the back of the people carrier and I was yet to discover their utter delight. Sweet Mother of all that is good and pure. This is going to be an expensive habit. Things were starting to get serious now. We were well over half way and the genteel landscape was beginning to ascend. Whilst the support crew searched for a venue supplying Tea and Scones, the corageous riders battled with the elements of Britain. A light drizzle was a welcome prospect to dilute the sweat and cool the heated faces. Everything was aching at this point. There was nothing for it, but to concentrate ones sight 20 metres ahead. Reach that goal and extend it another 20 metres, that is how it worked for me.
Every downhill was greeted with a sigh of relief, but we know for every downhill, there must be some back-stabbing, gruelling uphill to counter it. The legs were, pretty much, the same length, but they felt infinitely longer (the cycle legs, not mine). I crawled towards the White Hart Inn. Reserves were running low. We were now on the A420 and our destination was Cold Ashton. Just before the hamlet of Cold Ashton, I had a near hit and miss with a shrew, possibly a vole, I am not David Attenbrough dammit! I put him in my pocket to take him across the road (that is where he was heading), but he leapt out and made his own way safely. We reached the White Hart Inn (no steak offers) and spent a little while there, stretching, eating and recovering. Sod it. We are close. Let's do it.
Kahando and Phil set the pace, Therese and I followed. The adventure was coming to a close. We only had 20 miles or so to conquer. The Oasis (The Charity) awaited our arrival and the thought of Bristol felt like an Oasis. Our uphill struggles dissipated. The last two miles were pretty much downhill and the wind in our faces was a much welcome distraction from the previous twenty miles of climbing.
We made it. Lidl (not Aldi, Suzi) was the final port of call for Therese and myself (Phil and Kahando cycled on towards Oasis). It wasn't quite Bristol, but it was in every other sense. After a quick photo shoot, we were ushered off to a Barbeque, somewhere in the outskirts of Bristol. Our ever present support crew left for St Leonards-upon-Sea and we were left to fend for ourselves. Having felt I could devour a whole herd of horses, I put in a pretty poor show. The feast was mouth-watering, but my hunger was not there. I am thinking that my body was already eating away at my essential organs. Very pleasant company all round.
Dan whooshed us of in his car, towards London, making a mockery of our cycle. Cold Ashton, Calne, Chippenham, Marlborough, Newbury, Woolhampton and so on, were just a fleeting roadsign. Therese and I arrived back in Barnes, just shy of midnight. Weary, but still bouncing with Adrenaline. The journey was done. Gone, but not forgotten.
An abding memory was the ease of access we had to water along our trevails. Something we, as a socitey, takes for granted. Hopefully our endeavours shall stand a Mozambiquean (have I just made up a word?) in good stead and they shall no longer have to toil in the heat to fetch some dirty water.
A massive thanks to all those that sponsored me and a massive thanks to Mary, Marion and Suzi for being on call when it mattered. Thanks to The Oasis crew and the various other members that created a BBQ to be proud of. A very special thanks to Therese for her tireless work to make it happen and her organisational skills that ensured it was an easy ride (relatively). Onwards and upwards. I have got the bug and I plan to cycle further.
Number Crunching
1 Bottle of RadianB gratefully received (you must try it)
3 Essential Support Crew members
4 Cyclists for the mission
8 Hotel Room Number of Marion and Mary
43 litres of water consumed
69 tonnes of chocolate consumed
168 The order number of the Peshwari Naan
496 miles travelled of the cyclists (combined)
796 litres of sweat....sweated
1000+ pounds raised from our endeavours
Word of the Day: Velocipede (Latin for "fast foot") is an umbrella term for any human-powered land vehicle with one or more wheels. The most common type of velocipede today is the bicycle.
Quote of the Day: 'Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.' - Lance Armstrong (Cycling Legend).
Thursday 18 June 2009
An Englishman's guide to surviving Common Riding
The fallen of Flodden were the focus of the fascinating festivities - try and say that after one whisky too many. Common Riding returned to the Borders and I was delighted and honoured to attend my first.
I met up with Lizzie, the future bride of a Selkirkian native, by London Victoria. England's capital was in a form of meltdown as tube staff had just launched a 48 hour strike, which meant that a relatively easy journey to Liverpool St Station was a fraught experience. Akin to transporting cattle, I imagine, although I have never partaken in that personally. A harassed Scott Hermiston met us off in Liverpool St and we headed towards Stansted, final destination Selkirk, via Edinburgh, courtesy of EasyJet and Hermiston Cabs. As it turns out, we missed 'Ladies Night', which sounds like great fun, although I am not convinced I could have blended in without detection. Next year, perhaps...?
Day One
A lazy start. The town was ready, but we had to wait 24 hours or less for the main event. Errands were the duty of call for much of the day. A visit to Scott and Susan Tomlinson was the first port of call. Thoroughly enjoyable and a grand chance to immerse myself in the Scottish way of life. Brave attempts to find Granny Hermiston were scuppered as a neighbour informed us that she was burning rubber in the town centre, on the way to have her hair done. A quick search proved to be futile. A rosette was secured and we were all set for a pre-common riding drinking session. Alistair Heatlie bestowed one of his named ribbons upon me, which was an honour (although it fell off in the evening).
We managed to meet up with Georgie (another English visitor) who had sped in from Western Scotland. Marches prevailed. Two of them, although the first one passed us by. The ever graceful Jools did an excellent job as tour guide and we managed to sup some, well deserved, alcoholic beverages in good time. I am not sure 'The Place' will welcome me back soon. Sorry about the off key singing. The evening was spent in The County Hotel, listening to all sorts of songs - 'Selkirk Toun' and 'Auld Selkirk' were prominent fixtures. Good fun was had. But a relatively early night beckoned, before the big day.
Day Two - Common Riding Day
It is early. The air is fresh, the valleys are filled with low lying clouds and 5.30 does not seem nearly as scary as I thought it might be.
The Royal Standard Burgh, Mr James Cheyne, is due to be presented to us in the town centre and we were not going to miss it (although we did miss the 4am ceremonies for some reason...). A throng of expectant persons had already gathered in front of Victoria Hall by 6.15 and there was a hubbub of excitement. This was the moment that Selkirk and the surrounding areas had been waiting for all year.
Today was, also, the day that I would have to face my nemesis, my sworn enemy, the figure that plagues my nightmarish dreams - the horse! Ever since a donkey nibbled my leg, many moons ago, I have had an entirely rational dislike for the equine specie and now I was to come face-to-face with 400 of them...gulp.
I digress.
At a quarter to seven, James Cheyne took those famous few steps onto the balcony, as it has been done for many, many years. He was officially installed as the Royal Burgh Standard Bearer to great cheers from the wide eyed and delirious townfolk. A quick sprint towards the town centre followed, to ready ourselves for the horse (shudder) march through the town. What a display. Remarkable scenes. Despite my obvious dislike for the creature, it was impossible not to appreciate the sheer beauty of the animal and their riders (a select few - Emma Blair springs to mind). A few boisterous horses played with my emotions, but I managed to enjoy myself. Before one could say 'William Wallace', Paul and Penny Hermiston whipped us off towards The Tibbies, for breakfast and to wave and cheer the courageous riders.
The horses are definitely growing on me. I even managed to feed some grass to Scott's mare (the horse, not Lizzie). After a thoroughly enjoyable spell in the hills, and a much deserved croissant or three, we headed back to Selkirk town for the arrival of the horses and their riders. Much galloping, applause and general excitement ensued. I am sure I have missed out a march or two, accompanying the brass band, but there were quite a few and I have been left confused and dazed.
Casting of the colours followed the excitement of the big ride. The Hammermen, Weavers, Fleshers, Colonials, Merchant Company and Ex-Soldier flags were all cast. A truly magnificent sight to behold. Followed by a two-minute silence to remember the lives lost in The Battle of Flodden.
I met up with Lizzie, the future bride of a Selkirkian native, by London Victoria. England's capital was in a form of meltdown as tube staff had just launched a 48 hour strike, which meant that a relatively easy journey to Liverpool St Station was a fraught experience. Akin to transporting cattle, I imagine, although I have never partaken in that personally. A harassed Scott Hermiston met us off in Liverpool St and we headed towards Stansted, final destination Selkirk, via Edinburgh, courtesy of EasyJet and Hermiston Cabs. As it turns out, we missed 'Ladies Night', which sounds like great fun, although I am not convinced I could have blended in without detection. Next year, perhaps...?
Day One
A lazy start. The town was ready, but we had to wait 24 hours or less for the main event. Errands were the duty of call for much of the day. A visit to Scott and Susan Tomlinson was the first port of call. Thoroughly enjoyable and a grand chance to immerse myself in the Scottish way of life. Brave attempts to find Granny Hermiston were scuppered as a neighbour informed us that she was burning rubber in the town centre, on the way to have her hair done. A quick search proved to be futile. A rosette was secured and we were all set for a pre-common riding drinking session. Alistair Heatlie bestowed one of his named ribbons upon me, which was an honour (although it fell off in the evening).
We managed to meet up with Georgie (another English visitor) who had sped in from Western Scotland. Marches prevailed. Two of them, although the first one passed us by. The ever graceful Jools did an excellent job as tour guide and we managed to sup some, well deserved, alcoholic beverages in good time. I am not sure 'The Place' will welcome me back soon. Sorry about the off key singing. The evening was spent in The County Hotel, listening to all sorts of songs - 'Selkirk Toun' and 'Auld Selkirk' were prominent fixtures. Good fun was had. But a relatively early night beckoned, before the big day.
Day Two - Common Riding Day
It is early. The air is fresh, the valleys are filled with low lying clouds and 5.30 does not seem nearly as scary as I thought it might be.
The Royal Standard Burgh, Mr James Cheyne, is due to be presented to us in the town centre and we were not going to miss it (although we did miss the 4am ceremonies for some reason...). A throng of expectant persons had already gathered in front of Victoria Hall by 6.15 and there was a hubbub of excitement. This was the moment that Selkirk and the surrounding areas had been waiting for all year.
Today was, also, the day that I would have to face my nemesis, my sworn enemy, the figure that plagues my nightmarish dreams - the horse! Ever since a donkey nibbled my leg, many moons ago, I have had an entirely rational dislike for the equine specie and now I was to come face-to-face with 400 of them...gulp.
I digress.
At a quarter to seven, James Cheyne took those famous few steps onto the balcony, as it has been done for many, many years. He was officially installed as the Royal Burgh Standard Bearer to great cheers from the wide eyed and delirious townfolk. A quick sprint towards the town centre followed, to ready ourselves for the horse (shudder) march through the town. What a display. Remarkable scenes. Despite my obvious dislike for the creature, it was impossible not to appreciate the sheer beauty of the animal and their riders (a select few - Emma Blair springs to mind). A few boisterous horses played with my emotions, but I managed to enjoy myself. Before one could say 'William Wallace', Paul and Penny Hermiston whipped us off towards The Tibbies, for breakfast and to wave and cheer the courageous riders.
The horses are definitely growing on me. I even managed to feed some grass to Scott's mare (the horse, not Lizzie). After a thoroughly enjoyable spell in the hills, and a much deserved croissant or three, we headed back to Selkirk town for the arrival of the horses and their riders. Much galloping, applause and general excitement ensued. I am sure I have missed out a march or two, accompanying the brass band, but there were quite a few and I have been left confused and dazed.
Casting of the colours followed the excitement of the big ride. The Hammermen, Weavers, Fleshers, Colonials, Merchant Company and Ex-Soldier flags were all cast. A truly magnificent sight to behold. Followed by a two-minute silence to remember the lives lost in The Battle of Flodden.
The Hammermen. Paul Hermiston managed to snag me a ticket for the 'lunch', when I say lunch, there was nothing edible to be had, unless you count either beer or whisky as being edible. I was placed, strategically, next to 'Wee Dick', who proved to be a fantastic host, despite his efforts to force feed me Whisky. The 30 minute wait in the hot and dusty car park at the back of the County Hotel proved to be worth it in every sense. All men. Beer guzzling. Whisky quaffing. Songs galore. Brilliant, brilliant fun. Apologies to Wee Dick for abandoning that final Whisky. The Rig was a calling.
My next port of call was 'The Rig'. A swift coach journey, at the very reasonable price of £2, took us up to the heavens of Selkirk. Lesson of the day was not to back Jim Ross or Scott Hermiston, I should have trusted my gut instinct of backing Guy Blair (4/5 was not attractive though), but you live and learn..! A short spell on the scaffolding singing 'What a Wonderful World', interspersed with a barbecue. I would blame Scott, if I were to fall from the said scaffolding. He gave me a hip flask of port and brandy - Akin to giving an axe murderer an axe. Lynsey and Jim Ross and Darren and Shirley provided an excellent service, ferrying about the alcoholic beverages, food and cooking on the BBQ, not forgetting to mention the thoroughly enjoyable company.
On from The Rig, we hit the town centre. Whilst the select few from Selkirk were enjoying the ball, we were forced to 'rough' it in various establishments within the town centre. We even managed to hook up with Phillip Hermiston, who seemed to be enjoying himself as much as I was.
Day Three - Games and Gymkhana
A painful start to the day... Too much Port, Brandy, Beer, Cider, Whisky, Sun, lack of food and so on was the obvious cause. The morning was spent trying to recollect the events of the previous evening and preparing ourselves for further marching on to the racing extravaganza.
March number 12 took us towards The Selkirk Cricket Club and we settled in the garden of Guy Blair and Hayley White - Exquisite hosts, I must say. Beer again. I must profess to missing much of the racing, something to do with trying to tame Guy and Hayley's (mad) puppy. The Standard Bearer and Attendants raced at some point and the man I was backing, Darren Miller, ended a creditable third. James Cheyne was victorious and I, along with many others, do not suspect that it was fixed at all. The final march of the day was the best yet. Difficult to explain, but the relatively formal processions had finally descended into what can only be described as manic fun. Weaving our way back, arms linked, skipping along back into the 'toun'.
The evening celebrations (more beer) were spent at O'Malleys. James Cheyne and his attendants hosted an audience close to 200 people (perhaps I exaggerate) and Alistair Craig seemed to be the man in charge for the evening, inviting people to 'grace us with their presence' or something similar. A large variety of thoroughly enjoyable and entertaining songs were heard. No-one is going to forget Bruce Anderson's version of 'This is the Way to Amarillo' in a hurry (it is here, if you have forgotten it http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fq9IL_7ElDQ ).
The evening rounded off at James Cheyne's pad somewhere in the deepest and darkest parts of Selkirk. An uninterrupted Scottish dance (excluding the ambulance) rounded off the night perfectly. Tired. Not wanting to go home, but all good things have to end sometime.
Even the weather was kind. The heavens opened the following day with an almighty shower of hail and a deep rumbling of thunder. Mother Nature was gracious and held off. Selkirk at it's very finest. Long after the bunting has gone, Selkirk will retain it's warmth and friendliness. A deep feeling of happiness still pervades my thoughts. I was truly honoured to have been invited to Common Riding and I will do my best to earn the right to attend Common Riding 2010.
Selkirk - Give yourselves a hearty pat on the back. You have earned it.
Monday 1 June 2009
Training for the slog to Bristol...
...is officially underway, for me at least - Therese started many moons ago.
Richmond Park was the venue for the two battle-hardened explorers (Myself and Therese). Rather than a vigorous work out, it was more of a gentle cycle to test the water and build up to the big one. I have ignored my trusty velocipede (yes, I have swallowed a Thesaurus) of late and it was like reacquainting myself with an old friend, although I would not sit on said old friend, obviously. According to a route tracker website, we covered just over 9 miles in er....er... We did pass The Priory on the way home and I can tell you now that we did not see Susan Boyle, 'The Pap', Simon Cowell, Lord Lucan (Hide and Seek Champion for the 34th year running), John Darwin (The canoeist who was trying to win Hide and Seek Champion of the Year from Lord Lucan) or Max Clifford.
If you do wish to sponsor the gallant efforts then please find this link and donate http://www.justgiving.com/mozambiquecleanwater
Whilst it was, obviously, not the full distance that we shall have to travel in each of the two days, I think we are going to be just fine and dandy. To put your worries to bed, I shall not be partaking swathed in lycra. Although I am considering fancy dress - Suggestions are welcome in the comments section, which is now fixed.
Is everyone else enjoying this spell of GLORIOUS weather? It is amazing how some sunshine can change your whole attitude to life. Everyone is smiling. I have a new found spring in my step. Hard to believe that there is such unrest in the Middle East with the amount of sunshine that they monopolise. Imagine the carnage if they suffered from the same climate as we do here in Britain! Definitely spells like these that I do not miss sitting in front of a computer (apart from now) tapping away with the sun shining and the birds chirping away merrily outside. I know, I can hear the groans, talking about the weather again!
The weekend was spent outdoors (a slight break for the FA Cup), starting with a barbeque at Chez Adam, my great friend and future.....groom? I mean to say that I am to be his Best Man, but not sure what I would call him..? You can't go wrong with Spare Ribs or Peri-Peri Chicken, throw in some Spanish beer and some plonk and one shall be as happy as Larry, whoever Larry is
Saturday evening was spent, with four Scots, on the Thames. Rather pleasant to catch up with the Scottish contingent. Despite numerous instances of dialectual problems, things seemed to go swimmingly. I must work on NOT singing my various signature songs to the rest of central London or could I make a career of itThe Tattershall Boat, opposite Embankment, served us well as it has done in the past (explained in a later blog - sorry Wizzy). Lunch in Pall Mall, with the parents, was the perfect way to wash away the cobwebs of copious amounts of overpriced drink. Although I might steer clear of the potted shrimps next time.
I shall leave it at that for the time being.
Word of the Day: Gambrinous - Being full of beer...!
Quote of the Day: 'I've just looked up the word 'politics' in the dictionary and it says it's a combination of two words: 'poli': which means many. And 'tics' which means bloodsuckers - Max Kauffmann
Bon nuit.
Don't forget!
Richmond Park was the venue for the two battle-hardened explorers (Myself and Therese). Rather than a vigorous work out, it was more of a gentle cycle to test the water and build up to the big one. I have ignored my trusty velocipede (yes, I have swallowed a Thesaurus) of late and it was like reacquainting myself with an old friend, although I would not sit on said old friend, obviously. According to a route tracker website, we covered just over 9 miles in er....er... We did pass The Priory on the way home and I can tell you now that we did not see Susan Boyle, 'The Pap', Simon Cowell, Lord Lucan (Hide and Seek Champion for the 34th year running), John Darwin (The canoeist who was trying to win Hide and Seek Champion of the Year from Lord Lucan) or Max Clifford.
If you do wish to sponsor the gallant efforts then please find this link and donate http://www.justgiving.com/mozambiquecleanwater
Whilst it was, obviously, not the full distance that we shall have to travel in each of the two days, I think we are going to be just fine and dandy. To put your worries to bed, I shall not be partaking swathed in lycra. Although I am considering fancy dress - Suggestions are welcome in the comments section, which is now fixed.
Is everyone else enjoying this spell of GLORIOUS weather? It is amazing how some sunshine can change your whole attitude to life. Everyone is smiling. I have a new found spring in my step. Hard to believe that there is such unrest in the Middle East with the amount of sunshine that they monopolise. Imagine the carnage if they suffered from the same climate as we do here in Britain! Definitely spells like these that I do not miss sitting in front of a computer (apart from now) tapping away with the sun shining and the birds chirping away merrily outside. I know, I can hear the groans, talking about the weather again!
The weekend was spent outdoors (a slight break for the FA Cup), starting with a barbeque at Chez Adam, my great friend and future.....groom? I mean to say that I am to be his Best Man, but not sure what I would call him..? You can't go wrong with Spare Ribs or Peri-Peri Chicken, throw in some Spanish beer and some plonk and one shall be as happy as Larry, whoever Larry is
Saturday evening was spent, with four Scots, on the Thames. Rather pleasant to catch up with the Scottish contingent. Despite numerous instances of dialectual problems, things seemed to go swimmingly. I must work on NOT singing my various signature songs to the rest of central London or could I make a career of itThe Tattershall Boat, opposite Embankment, served us well as it has done in the past (explained in a later blog - sorry Wizzy). Lunch in Pall Mall, with the parents, was the perfect way to wash away the cobwebs of copious amounts of overpriced drink. Although I might steer clear of the potted shrimps next time.
I shall leave it at that for the time being.
Word of the Day: Gambrinous - Being full of beer...!
Quote of the Day: 'I've just looked up the word 'politics' in the dictionary and it says it's a combination of two words: 'poli': which means many. And 'tics' which means bloodsuckers - Max Kauffmann
Bon nuit.
Don't forget!
http://www.justgiving.com/mozambiquecleanwater
Wednesday 27 May 2009
A glorious stroke into the covers...
Twenty20 is back. As loud and as brash as ever. The Oval played host to The Surrey Brown Caps battling it out with the Sussex Sharks. This was a fitting occasion and venue for a Fields House school reunion. The attendees were Lawrence, Jon, Peter, James, Alex and myself. Or to be more accurate... Larry, The Incredible Ken Jon Peel, Lynch Mob, Bakes, Bri and Bazza.
This was the first time in nearly 11 years that we had been together as a group. We have seen each other before now, but never as an entirety. Amazing how easy it is to slip back as if we had never been away. Old jokes, old nicknames, reminiscing back to the days when we knew everything. Good times. I guess when you live in each others pockets for so long, practically 24/7, then you are bound to have a special bond.
I won't bore you with a detailed acccount of the match itself. Although Sussex did win handsomely (thankfully). Now, I am still not a huge fan of Twenty20. It is not quite cricket and you come away feeling slightly seedy. A bit like seeing the woman of your dreams walk past. A nice feeling, but would be much better if you were walking with her and holding her hand, if you catch my drift. Although in this instance, I paid little attention to the actual game as there was too much to talk about and catching up took preference.
Word of the Day: Er....er....Lethologica - the inability to remember the right word
Quote of the Day: 'The Bowler's Holding. The Batsman's Willey' - Brian Johnstone
This was the first time in nearly 11 years that we had been together as a group. We have seen each other before now, but never as an entirety. Amazing how easy it is to slip back as if we had never been away. Old jokes, old nicknames, reminiscing back to the days when we knew everything. Good times. I guess when you live in each others pockets for so long, practically 24/7, then you are bound to have a special bond.
I won't bore you with a detailed acccount of the match itself. Although Sussex did win handsomely (thankfully). Now, I am still not a huge fan of Twenty20. It is not quite cricket and you come away feeling slightly seedy. A bit like seeing the woman of your dreams walk past. A nice feeling, but would be much better if you were walking with her and holding her hand, if you catch my drift. Although in this instance, I paid little attention to the actual game as there was too much to talk about and catching up took preference.
Word of the Day: Er....er....Lethologica - the inability to remember the right word
Quote of the Day: 'The Bowler's Holding. The Batsman's Willey' - Brian Johnstone
Hove (Brighton actually...) is where the heart is.
The Bank Holiday weekend, well, Saturday and half of Sunday was spent in God's own city. Tell-tale signs that suggest you have arrived in Brighton are men dressed as women, women dressed as men, a few punks left over from the 80s, hippies transported (miraculously) from the 60s with clothes made from hemp and hair congealed into one large blob and a mist of jostick smoke hovering, filling the nostrils.
Brighton was in partial recovery stage after a hectic month events and a massive influx of foreign bodies to the city. The Ladyboys of Bangkok have gathered up their feathers and made a dainty exit from the city; the giant inflatable cow (Udderbelly) has decamped to Southbank and the throngs of street acts have returned to their relative lives of normality.
A swift saunter through North Laine with Therese (old hand), Helen and Ruth (newcomers) was followed by some greasy fried food on the seafront. How very English! Without a chance to digest, we made a bee-line for the Palace Pier, although re-named Brighton Pier, by that shameless organisation, ironically named 'Noble'. It shall always be the Palace Pier! Helen wowed us all with a repetoire on the trampoline that would make Paula Radcliffe look lazy. No funfair/pier visit is complete without a ride on the ghost train. The scariest part is whether or not the cart will stay on the track as opposed to the polystyrene ghouls and plastic skeletons.
The sun was bathing us as we made our way over to the Fishing Museum to catch up with my old friend Alex, who has just returned from a jaunt in the Far East with a tan, albums full of photos and shingles. Good to catch up with the old boy. Followed by a brisk walk into Hove to inspect a mini-carnival. By this point, the fresh sea air, the heat and the mileage of our stroll began to take it's toll, we decided to head into the suburbs to Chez Baron.
A barbeque ensued, eventually, and the parents were graced with the presence of Therese, Helen and Ruth. As decreed by British Law (The Barbeque and Meteorology Act, 1793), the clouds moved in as soon as the BBQ was unveiled, but thankfully the rain held off.
We left at the right time. We battled our way to the station against a wave of daytrippers heading towards the beach. A lazy sunday, a quickfire picnic on Barnes Common and some frivolities with a cricket ball and frisbee (pleasantly) wasted much of the afternoon. A pleasant stroll along Southbank towards The Globe Theatre rounded things off nicely.
Home is where the heart is? Some people are lucky with where they are born. Some people are eager to escape. Some people never leave. I do miss Brighton, but I shall never regret leaving. I have made friends with people I never would have met if I hadn't hot footed it up to London. I will be back one day, but most satisfied to be one of the dreaded day-trippers that interrupt the lives of the Brighton natives for the forseeable future.
Word of the Day: Quibbleism - The act of beating around the bush
Quote of the Day: 'When there's nothing more to be said, he'll still be saying it' - Anon
Brighton was in partial recovery stage after a hectic month events and a massive influx of foreign bodies to the city. The Ladyboys of Bangkok have gathered up their feathers and made a dainty exit from the city; the giant inflatable cow (Udderbelly) has decamped to Southbank and the throngs of street acts have returned to their relative lives of normality.
A swift saunter through North Laine with Therese (old hand), Helen and Ruth (newcomers) was followed by some greasy fried food on the seafront. How very English! Without a chance to digest, we made a bee-line for the Palace Pier, although re-named Brighton Pier, by that shameless organisation, ironically named 'Noble'. It shall always be the Palace Pier! Helen wowed us all with a repetoire on the trampoline that would make Paula Radcliffe look lazy. No funfair/pier visit is complete without a ride on the ghost train. The scariest part is whether or not the cart will stay on the track as opposed to the polystyrene ghouls and plastic skeletons.
The sun was bathing us as we made our way over to the Fishing Museum to catch up with my old friend Alex, who has just returned from a jaunt in the Far East with a tan, albums full of photos and shingles. Good to catch up with the old boy. Followed by a brisk walk into Hove to inspect a mini-carnival. By this point, the fresh sea air, the heat and the mileage of our stroll began to take it's toll, we decided to head into the suburbs to Chez Baron.
A barbeque ensued, eventually, and the parents were graced with the presence of Therese, Helen and Ruth. As decreed by British Law (The Barbeque and Meteorology Act, 1793), the clouds moved in as soon as the BBQ was unveiled, but thankfully the rain held off.
We left at the right time. We battled our way to the station against a wave of daytrippers heading towards the beach. A lazy sunday, a quickfire picnic on Barnes Common and some frivolities with a cricket ball and frisbee (pleasantly) wasted much of the afternoon. A pleasant stroll along Southbank towards The Globe Theatre rounded things off nicely.
Home is where the heart is? Some people are lucky with where they are born. Some people are eager to escape. Some people never leave. I do miss Brighton, but I shall never regret leaving. I have made friends with people I never would have met if I hadn't hot footed it up to London. I will be back one day, but most satisfied to be one of the dreaded day-trippers that interrupt the lives of the Brighton natives for the forseeable future.
Word of the Day: Quibbleism - The act of beating around the bush
Quote of the Day: 'When there's nothing more to be said, he'll still be saying it' - Anon
Wednesday 20 May 2009
Heroes
Fear not. This entry will not be focused upon the American Drama 'Heroes', which stalled badly after the first series.
A new hero has emerged to our screens, giving us a brief respite from the depressing stories that plague our screens. Step forward Mr Joel Armstrong.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/cbbcnews/hi/newsid_8050000/newsid_8059200/8059294.stm
Perhaps hero is the wrong word to describe Mr Armstrong. Afterall, he did not fight his way into a burning building or rush across a battlefield, dodging bullets, to rescue an injured colleague. But what he did do was go out of his way to make a difference. Quite inconsequential, in the grander scheme of things, as the world would not stop spinning if the duck in question has lost her 'bunch' or 'flock'. But a valuable attitude to life and an important lesson nonetheless. I like to think I would care enough and do the same in the exact same situation.
I shall never forget the 3 C's that were drummed into my psyche at an early age. Care; Courtesy; and Commitment. Now this was a very old fashioned school with values set in the Middle Ages (I exaggerate) and a headmaster from around that time (I don't). We were taught many lessons in 'etiquette' such as 'Always hold the door open for a lady'. Thankfully we were an all boys school and there were precious few ladies, otherwise each door would have been jammed full of pupils trying to abide by this rule and we would never have got anything done.
I digress. What is a hero to you? A hero can be a Bona Fide person of great courage or simply someone that you want to live up to or admire deeply. I do think that term hero gets bandied about far too often (as I have just done!) in modern day society (ooh that makes me feel old).
You read about football heroes and their heroic performances, but it is what should be expected from them AND it is just a game of little meaning at the end of the day. I certainly would not abide by the quote from the late Bill Shankly: 'Football is not a matter of life and death. It is more important than that'. Certainly players are adored and worshipped, but why? Do they deserve it? I guess that everybody needs a hero of some sort, for a variety of reasons.
There are plenty of people that get on with everyday life and put in a 'heroic' performance without the commercial spin-offs and adulation of the public. Plenty of people that will forfeit much for the good of others with little recognition. Is it the recognition that makes it worthwhile or is it the sense of making a difference? Oh dear, I am losing my train of thought. Shifting 13 tonnes of soil (twice!) does that to you.
My heroes? That my friends (and family) is for another time.
Heather Small (of M People) has the right idea. 'You've gotta search for the hero inside yourself'.
Sorry for rambling on. It might make sense one day or after a few glasses of vino. I shall leave you with the usual and this classic...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vlFhKdRu5o
Swine Flu Watch: Discontinued. Life is too short (especially if one is infected).
Word of the Day: Illeist - one who refers to oneself in the third person (something Baz never does).
Quote of the Day: 'We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools' - (The late, great) Martin Luther King
I, thank you.
A new hero has emerged to our screens, giving us a brief respite from the depressing stories that plague our screens. Step forward Mr Joel Armstrong.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/cbbcnews/hi/newsid_8050000/newsid_8059200/8059294.stm
Perhaps hero is the wrong word to describe Mr Armstrong. Afterall, he did not fight his way into a burning building or rush across a battlefield, dodging bullets, to rescue an injured colleague. But what he did do was go out of his way to make a difference. Quite inconsequential, in the grander scheme of things, as the world would not stop spinning if the duck in question has lost her 'bunch' or 'flock'. But a valuable attitude to life and an important lesson nonetheless. I like to think I would care enough and do the same in the exact same situation.
I shall never forget the 3 C's that were drummed into my psyche at an early age. Care; Courtesy; and Commitment. Now this was a very old fashioned school with values set in the Middle Ages (I exaggerate) and a headmaster from around that time (I don't). We were taught many lessons in 'etiquette' such as 'Always hold the door open for a lady'. Thankfully we were an all boys school and there were precious few ladies, otherwise each door would have been jammed full of pupils trying to abide by this rule and we would never have got anything done.
I digress. What is a hero to you? A hero can be a Bona Fide person of great courage or simply someone that you want to live up to or admire deeply. I do think that term hero gets bandied about far too often (as I have just done!) in modern day society (ooh that makes me feel old).
You read about football heroes and their heroic performances, but it is what should be expected from them AND it is just a game of little meaning at the end of the day. I certainly would not abide by the quote from the late Bill Shankly: 'Football is not a matter of life and death. It is more important than that'. Certainly players are adored and worshipped, but why? Do they deserve it? I guess that everybody needs a hero of some sort, for a variety of reasons.
There are plenty of people that get on with everyday life and put in a 'heroic' performance without the commercial spin-offs and adulation of the public. Plenty of people that will forfeit much for the good of others with little recognition. Is it the recognition that makes it worthwhile or is it the sense of making a difference? Oh dear, I am losing my train of thought. Shifting 13 tonnes of soil (twice!) does that to you.
My heroes? That my friends (and family) is for another time.
Heather Small (of M People) has the right idea. 'You've gotta search for the hero inside yourself'.
Sorry for rambling on. It might make sense one day or after a few glasses of vino. I shall leave you with the usual and this classic...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vlFhKdRu5o
Swine Flu Watch: Discontinued. Life is too short (especially if one is infected).
Word of the Day: Illeist - one who refers to oneself in the third person (something Baz never does).
Quote of the Day: 'We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools' - (The late, great) Martin Luther King
I, thank you.
Sunday 17 May 2009
Nil point
Evening all,
The brave, the outlandish, the downright rubbish, the camp and the noble battled it out in style in Moscow for the esteemed title of 'Eurovision Champion 2009'. In the end, it was a fairytale for Norway's Alexander Rybak who marched onto glory with a record total of points, the baby-faced fiddler. A bit Cliff Richard-esque if you ask me, not that it is necessarily a bad thing. Unless one counts the impromptu rendition of 'Congratulations' at Wimbledon. Thank goodness they have finally built a roof over the court!
The political effect had been watered down as the vote was split in two. 50% public vote and 50% from an expert panel. Meaning that the misdemeanours of the UK, around the globe, had a lesser effect on our points tally and we ended up a satisfying fifth place. Even the appearance of Sir Lloyd-Webber was not enough to put off the voters.
Not long to go until I jet off to Selkirk for the annual (and prestigious) Common Riding. I knew I would be exposed to some horses (not in that sense!), but I did not realise that 'some horses' equates to roughly 400 hammering through the streets of Selkirk. If you have never seen a grown man cry then stick a horse in front of me. The (entirely) rational fear stems from an early encounter with a donkey who tried to nibble my leg and a bolshy mare in a field at school. We had running leagues and elf and safety did not permit us to run up the school drive, so we had to run the gauntlet in a field full of excitable horses who made chase. One did catch up with me, but I would rather not talk about it...
Apparently the purpose of the Selkirk Common Riding is to remember the young men who rode around their town’s boundaries checking for encroachments by neighbouring settlements. The job was one often brimming with danger, with risk of murder or kidnapping never far from the minds of those who ventured out - I hope they are a bit more receptive to visitors nowadays. It also remembers how after the disastrous Battle of Flodden Field whereby only one man from the town returned - bodes well with plenty of ladies to spare, in that case!
The men seperate from the women for long periods and gather in a large hall to consume copious amounts of Ale and are invited to sing to the gathering. I shall avoid singing 'Swing Low' or 'Jerusalem' for fear of being run out of town with pitchforks.
The brave, the outlandish, the downright rubbish, the camp and the noble battled it out in style in Moscow for the esteemed title of 'Eurovision Champion 2009'. In the end, it was a fairytale for Norway's Alexander Rybak who marched onto glory with a record total of points, the baby-faced fiddler. A bit Cliff Richard-esque if you ask me, not that it is necessarily a bad thing. Unless one counts the impromptu rendition of 'Congratulations' at Wimbledon. Thank goodness they have finally built a roof over the court!
The political effect had been watered down as the vote was split in two. 50% public vote and 50% from an expert panel. Meaning that the misdemeanours of the UK, around the globe, had a lesser effect on our points tally and we ended up a satisfying fifth place. Even the appearance of Sir Lloyd-Webber was not enough to put off the voters.
Not long to go until I jet off to Selkirk for the annual (and prestigious) Common Riding. I knew I would be exposed to some horses (not in that sense!), but I did not realise that 'some horses' equates to roughly 400 hammering through the streets of Selkirk. If you have never seen a grown man cry then stick a horse in front of me. The (entirely) rational fear stems from an early encounter with a donkey who tried to nibble my leg and a bolshy mare in a field at school. We had running leagues and elf and safety did not permit us to run up the school drive, so we had to run the gauntlet in a field full of excitable horses who made chase. One did catch up with me, but I would rather not talk about it...
Apparently the purpose of the Selkirk Common Riding is to remember the young men who rode around their town’s boundaries checking for encroachments by neighbouring settlements. The job was one often brimming with danger, with risk of murder or kidnapping never far from the minds of those who ventured out - I hope they are a bit more receptive to visitors nowadays. It also remembers how after the disastrous Battle of Flodden Field whereby only one man from the town returned - bodes well with plenty of ladies to spare, in that case!
The men seperate from the women for long periods and gather in a large hall to consume copious amounts of Ale and are invited to sing to the gathering. I shall avoid singing 'Swing Low' or 'Jerusalem' for fear of being run out of town with pitchforks.
Where was I? Ah, yes.
Swine Flu Watch: Nothing to report.
Quote of the Day: 'The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.' - Dolly Parton
Word of the Day: Tripudiate - to dance, skip or leap for joy.
Warning of the Day: Do not watch 'My Girl' with other people and have some tissues at the ready.
Thank you.
Thursday 14 May 2009
Er.....er....hmmmm....
A stuttering mumble and some indiscernible English passed my lips, earlier. When someone smiles at me and nods, I generally am quite capable of saying ‘Good Evening’. The smiler and nodder, in question, was Ray Stubbs. Ray Stubbs, I hear you say. All Sports fans will know that he has been hands on within the TV world of sports. A genuine nice guy amidst the 'job for the boys' bores that plague our screens. Whilst I enjoy his work and have granted him the term ‘legend’ in the past, he is by no means someone scary! Why could I not gather myself and wish him well on this balmy summers evening? What is it about celebrities/famous people that tend to affect your basic skills? Or is it just me?
For my sins, I once shadowed a chap called David Thelfall (Frank from Shameless) round Sainsbury's in Hammersmith. I was intrigued as to what an actor might be doing there and what he might be buying! Sour Cream, Avocado and some Tiger Beer, if you were wondering... That seems perfectly normal to me, although I might trade Tsing Tao for Tiger Beer. I am thinking that he missed a few things of his original shop and was preparing Fajitas for some lucky people. Not that I put much thought into it.
I once stood next to Des Lynam having just watched, mine and his, beloved Brighton and Hove Albion triumph in an end-to-end, cup final-esque type performance (Truth be told, it was a bit rubbish). I had an undying urge to speak to him. This is Des Lynam after all. The King of Grandstand. All I could muster was an uneasy smile and continue devour my plate of nibbles. Why? Well, this one is easy, Des is the coolest man to have walked the planet (ignoring the obvious choice, David Attenbrough) and I didn’t want to put him under any awkward pressure to make conversation. Whilst I may be coming across as a celebrity stalker, I shall never get to the stage whereby I send Ken Dodd some underwear and a dead rat. That tickle stick never did it for me.
I am not a subscriber to the type of magazine that delves into the world of celebre. Hello! OK! Wassup! Two of my University flatmates were fans of such magazine and inevitably, avoiding doing some work (or run out of money for the pub), I would peruse said magazines. Why does one want to know the intimate details of someone they have never met or why does one want to know how [insert unknown TV presenter or IT Girl] they lost 12lbs in two days; cutting back on the fake tan would be a good start. That surely adds to the overall mass of the person. Normal (?) people can make an obscene fortune for simply being famous for being famous.
To save dull conversation, embarrassments and the risk of looking a bit sad, one should refer to the greatest of lessons taught to me.You should never name drop..... Mick Jagger told me that.
If you haven’t stopped reading...
Swine Flu watch: Day Seven(?) – Apparently the neighbours of my workplace have caught it, so I shall up the Vitamin C or whatever wards it off.
Word of the Day: Pampahagous - Eating or consuming everything.
Quote of the Day: Women have their faults. Men have only two: Everything they say. everything they do - Anon
Go forth and multiply.
Tuesday 12 May 2009
Sorry seems to be the...
...operative word in Westminster.
It seems that the self-righteous Members of Parliament, who have been scavenging over the forlorn corpses that used to run our banks, have had their noses well and truly stuffed deep in the trough themselves and for some time now. Bombshell after bombshell are reverberating across Whitehall, sending the political figures into a mad panic. Something Guy Fawkes never quite managed to do.
Figures set to be released suggest...
2004-2008
£451.34 - John Prescott - Instant Whip, Marshmallows and Um Bongo.
£392.78 - Tony Blair - Ego Polish.
£781.45 - David Cameron - Bicycles (Bicycle locks not included).
£19.99 - Gordon Brown - 'A Dummies guide to accounting and finance'
£9.99 - Hazel Blears - 'UK Pocket Tax Book 06/07' - Later sold on ebay for an undisclosed profit.
One outlandish Tory MP has claimed expenses (£380) on manure! That is 'Horse shit' I hear you say and you would be correct, in both senses. What they must realise is that expenses should NOT be an extension to their salary, but a re-imbursement for unavoidable costs incurred!
It seems that the self-righteous Members of Parliament, who have been scavenging over the forlorn corpses that used to run our banks, have had their noses well and truly stuffed deep in the trough themselves and for some time now. Bombshell after bombshell are reverberating across Whitehall, sending the political figures into a mad panic. Something Guy Fawkes never quite managed to do.
Figures set to be released suggest...
2004-2008
£451.34 - John Prescott - Instant Whip, Marshmallows and Um Bongo.
£392.78 - Tony Blair - Ego Polish.
£781.45 - David Cameron - Bicycles (Bicycle locks not included).
£19.99 - Gordon Brown - 'A Dummies guide to accounting and finance'
£9.99 - Hazel Blears - 'UK Pocket Tax Book 06/07' - Later sold on ebay for an undisclosed profit.
One outlandish Tory MP has claimed expenses (£380) on manure! That is 'Horse shit' I hear you say and you would be correct, in both senses. What they must realise is that expenses should NOT be an extension to their salary, but a re-imbursement for unavoidable costs incurred!
A friend of mine has discovered that his local MP has claimed £12,000 for gardening services. He decided to cycle over and speak his mind, only to discover that the MP in question was not in. "Nice garden though" were his words. The next step was to send him an email - only to discover that one of his listed interests (on the MP's website) was gardening!
Oh well. No point getting overexcited about this, I shall vote and my one vote alone shall not make the blindest bit of difference. The sun is shining, the birds are twittering (when not drowned out by buses) and Sussex are getting their act together on the cricket field. News that this summer is supposed to be hot and dry (we have heard that before) has put the spring back into my step. Sorry for those of you that have gardens to attend to, I am being wholly selfish.
Having said that, I spent the whole day gardening in Reigate. Good for the spirit, apart from much of the afternoon was taken up by desperately trying to avoid contact with a malevolent wasp or two. Well it wouldn't be summertime without them, would it?
Swine Flu Watch: Day Five - High fever; cough; runny nose; sore throat; aching body; headache; chills; fatigue; loss of appetite; and vomiting. No, I haven't got any of those.
Word of the Day: Qualtagh - The first person you see after leaving your house/flat/domicile.
Quote of the Day: Get busy living, or get busy dying - Andy Dufresne (Shawshank Redemption)
A warm welcome to my latest official follower, Doug4. Hang in there, things can only get better.
Do have yourselves a good evening one and all.
Monday 11 May 2009
A celebrity is a person....
.....who works hard all his life to become well known, then wears dark glasses to avoid being recognised. (Fred Allen 1894-1956)
Good evening.
Todays Blog is tinged with great sadness as I have just discovered that Katie Price and Peter Andre have called an end to their four and a half year marriage. Seemingly, the article on the BBC website had been misplaced and I soon found it in the 'Entertainment' section. I shall say no more as "both parties would like privacy" that is until the price (no pun intended) is right..!
On a much more serious note, today was indeed a sad day as it marked the 24th Anniversary of the Bradford City fire. 24 years ago, 11,000 fans packed into Valley Parade to celebrate Bradford City winning the league and 56 never returned home. A day of great happiness, ended in tragedy. The inferno took hold of the old wooden stand within a small matter of minutes after it started. Those that died were invariably the old or young, who did not stand a chance of escaping. They were just ordinary people like you and I. Life can be very cruel. Rest in Peace.
Something to reflect upon.
If ever you find you have a spare moment, then it is worth clicking on this link and testing out your vocabulary skills. Not only will you be feeding your mind, thou shall be feeding the hungry. http://www.freerice.com/
I am dusting off the cricket bat as I type (not just women that can multi-task) and the Deep Heat is at the ready. Get those picnic hampers out and prepare yourself for some talismanic batting in the glorious sunshine, all type of voyeur is most welcome.
Without further ado...
Swine Flu Watch: Day Four - Slightly runny nose, but resisted the urge to press the panic button.
Word of the Day: Cathexis - Concentration of emotional energy on an object or idea.
Quote of the Day: It ain't about how hard ya hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done! Now if you know what you're worth then go out and get what you're worth - (Ever the Linguist) Rocky Balboa
I am pleased to see I have gained my first official follower. Take a bow, Ms Reynolds.
On that note, I shall leave you all in peace, as I have a job application to finish before midnight and the clock is ticking. Allez vite!
Good evening.
Todays Blog is tinged with great sadness as I have just discovered that Katie Price and Peter Andre have called an end to their four and a half year marriage. Seemingly, the article on the BBC website had been misplaced and I soon found it in the 'Entertainment' section. I shall say no more as "both parties would like privacy" that is until the price (no pun intended) is right..!
On a much more serious note, today was indeed a sad day as it marked the 24th Anniversary of the Bradford City fire. 24 years ago, 11,000 fans packed into Valley Parade to celebrate Bradford City winning the league and 56 never returned home. A day of great happiness, ended in tragedy. The inferno took hold of the old wooden stand within a small matter of minutes after it started. Those that died were invariably the old or young, who did not stand a chance of escaping. They were just ordinary people like you and I. Life can be very cruel. Rest in Peace.
Something to reflect upon.
If ever you find you have a spare moment, then it is worth clicking on this link and testing out your vocabulary skills. Not only will you be feeding your mind, thou shall be feeding the hungry. http://www.freerice.com/
I am dusting off the cricket bat as I type (not just women that can multi-task) and the Deep Heat is at the ready. Get those picnic hampers out and prepare yourself for some talismanic batting in the glorious sunshine, all type of voyeur is most welcome.
Without further ado...
Swine Flu Watch: Day Four - Slightly runny nose, but resisted the urge to press the panic button.
Word of the Day: Cathexis - Concentration of emotional energy on an object or idea.
Quote of the Day: It ain't about how hard ya hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done! Now if you know what you're worth then go out and get what you're worth - (Ever the Linguist) Rocky Balboa
I am pleased to see I have gained my first official follower. Take a bow, Ms Reynolds.
On that note, I shall leave you all in peace, as I have a job application to finish before midnight and the clock is ticking. Allez vite!
Saturday 9 May 2009
Two new arrivals in Barnes...
Most humble greetings to my ardent fans.
I bring glad tidings to your computer screen. A pair of Canadian Geese became parents, two Goslings, in the past 24 hours. The chicks appear to be in good health and weighed approximately 35 ounces each. Both parents seem to be thrilled with their new arrivals, but I am waiting for an official statement from them. Name suggestions are most welcome.
Bit of a dull day really. I have been kicking my heels for much of it. Brave efforts to meet up with friends were met with a flurry of 'Sorry. I'm busy. Would have been fun'. I shall not take it TOO personally! I even ended up in the local Charity Shop with no intention of buying anything - How sad is that? The pond is bored of me, I am sure.
Did not make ANY progress on the writing front. Need to have a little more faith in myself. Am I on the verge of greatness and simply need a bit more application? Not always easy to believe in yourself, but worth a shot at least, shirley? Faint (or is it feint?) heart never won a fair maiden, for no good reason.
Tomorrow should be good fun. Putney and a Barbeque beckons. Unsure as to what dish I should take, but I shall not bore you with that (although I already have). I am thinking Potato Salad. No BBQ is complete without that.
13 days (...and counting) for the grand Brighton visit. T'will be nice to show Helen the delights of Brighton. Therese and David, both have the T-Shirt. The Parents are looking forward to meeting T & H. Gulp! Only joking.
Swine Flu Watch: Zero sneezes. It appears that I have cured myself.
Word of the Day: Airgonaut - One who journeys through air.
Quote of the Day: "Love is like war. Easy to begin but very hard to stop" - Henry Mencken
At the risk of sounding too much like Jerry Springer. Take care of yourselves....and each other.
I bring glad tidings to your computer screen. A pair of Canadian Geese became parents, two Goslings, in the past 24 hours. The chicks appear to be in good health and weighed approximately 35 ounces each. Both parents seem to be thrilled with their new arrivals, but I am waiting for an official statement from them. Name suggestions are most welcome.
Bit of a dull day really. I have been kicking my heels for much of it. Brave efforts to meet up with friends were met with a flurry of 'Sorry. I'm busy. Would have been fun'. I shall not take it TOO personally! I even ended up in the local Charity Shop with no intention of buying anything - How sad is that? The pond is bored of me, I am sure.
Did not make ANY progress on the writing front. Need to have a little more faith in myself. Am I on the verge of greatness and simply need a bit more application? Not always easy to believe in yourself, but worth a shot at least, shirley? Faint (or is it feint?) heart never won a fair maiden, for no good reason.
Tomorrow should be good fun. Putney and a Barbeque beckons. Unsure as to what dish I should take, but I shall not bore you with that (although I already have). I am thinking Potato Salad. No BBQ is complete without that.
13 days (...and counting) for the grand Brighton visit. T'will be nice to show Helen the delights of Brighton. Therese and David, both have the T-Shirt. The Parents are looking forward to meeting T & H. Gulp! Only joking.
Swine Flu Watch: Zero sneezes. It appears that I have cured myself.
Word of the Day: Airgonaut - One who journeys through air.
Quote of the Day: "Love is like war. Easy to begin but very hard to stop" - Henry Mencken
At the risk of sounding too much like Jerry Springer. Take care of yourselves....and each other.
Thursday 7 May 2009
Truth is the strong compost in which beauty may sometimes germinate
Good afternoon.
I am tapping away at my laptop from the comfort of the sofa as Onions is on sizzling form and slicing through the West Indies batsmen. Apologies for the dreadful puns, I promise that is shallot (from henceforth). In fact, as I type, Onions has bagged a debut Michelle (Five-for; Michelle Pfeiffer, I am sure you understand).
A lunchtime trip to the garden centre in East Sheen with my flatmate and friend Therese provided a perfect opportunity to escape the four walls and ward off a bout of cabin fever. Sadly, we have no garden and simply share a backyard with some Film Producers and a Rat. Valiant efforts to appear theatrical and dramatic, whilst handing over a delivery to the aforementioned Film Producers, were scuppered as the gentleman in question was saved by the telephone. My big break shall have to wait for another day.
Talking of big breaks, it seems that Britain has been hit by lottery fever (not fatal, unlike Swine Flu). A gargantuan jackpot of £110m promises to obliterate the credit crunch for a host of lucky punters. Any improvement on my top prize of £7.60 would be most welcome.
I have volunteered to undertake a charity cycle to raise money to send Therese to Mozambique and hopefully purchase/construct a source of fresh water. I guess I should think about training for that and certainly my £45 bike could do with a service (couldn't we all?) if it is to make it all the way to Bristol from West London. You can almost hear it groan with dark anticipation when I pedal for the first time. I don't want to end up marooned in the depths of Wiltshire after all! I trust we are not cycling back afterwards....I hope.
Still unpublished, but it would help if I actually did something to publish.
Swine Flu Watch - Day One: One sneeze today.
Word of the Day: Sinapistic - Consisting of Mustard
Quote of the Day: Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness - Mark Twain 1835 - 1910
Home and Away (the shame) is distracting my channel of thought, so I shall leave it there.
That is all for now.
Good luck and Godspeed.
The Zebra Has Landed
Good morning Friends, Pompeians, Countrymen and anyone else reading.
I shall keep my first entry brief for fear of raising the bar too high and gifting false expectations.
The purpose of this blog is to get myself into the habit of writing regularly. My early mid-life crisis forced me up to London and writing is my apparent destiny. A languid and sorry start is by no means the end of my short literary career. Good things come to those who wait, afterall (shamelessly nabbed from Guinness). As well as keeping my fans informed as to my thoughts, feelings, activities and whereabouts (in front of the computer, obviously). Plus, you may discover what makes me tick.
Barbeque season is upon us, the days are getting longer and the skirts are getting shorter. Is there anything greater than saying goodbye to Winter? Although I seem to have jinxed it now as the sun has retreated and we appear to be moving backwards towards Autumn. Would not surprise me in the slightest. Enough about the weather, how very English of me. In fact, do the English talk of much else?
Star Wars Day (May 4th) was spent in the Porterhouse, Covent Garden, in honour of the birthday of my flatmate Helen. A home to over 250 Ales, Lagers and Beers. Well worth a visit for those with a palatable thirst for more international beverages than you can shake a stick at. Clotworthy Dobbin (not a character from Wallace & Gromit) was the favourite by a small head. 6 down, many to go.
All shall be explained about the Zebra in due course.
Word of the Day: Adimpleate - To fill up
Quote of the Day: I have a lot of good moments, but the one I prefer is when I kicked the holigan. Eric Cantona (2007)
Thank you for wasting your time.
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