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Dear Marge,
I’ve decided that I want to be Scandinavian. They have the most well behaved people, the finest cycle paths, and Abba. Not to mention the fjords, saunas and smorgesbords.
I’ve also realised that, after half a lifetime of using PCs, Macs are better.
Am I having a mid-life crisis?
Dave.
The Mayor of Wessex, and Bob
I caught a small amount of the golf this weekend, the British Masters at The Belfrey, including the exciting last few holes in which Lee Westwood narrowly lost to a Spanish bloke on the third playoff hole. Golfers usually behave well in victory and defeat, and it struck me that a neutral observer would have been hard pressed to know which player had actually won when the final putt decided it – not because it didn’t matter to them (if nothing else, there was £100,000 difference in first and second place prize money), but because they know how to behave.
I also enjoyed a vintage Peter Alliss moment on the commentary. His fellow commentator, during a lull in the golfing action, mentioned Carol Vorderman, the famously sexy hostess on the word game “Countdown”. “Ah, Carol Vorderman“, said Alliss, dreamily, “I was watching her the other day and I got aroused“. (Stunned silence for a beautifully judged few seconds…). “Yes, 7 letters – not bad for a lad who left school at 15…“.
Elsewhere in the sporting weekend, City slumped to a 2-0 defeat at Wolves. It wasn’t really unexpected, given that Wolves seem to be running away with the Championship, but disappointing nevertheless. (And a cautionary note to cocky Wolves fans – this time last year, it was Watford who were romping, and look what happened to them…)
I was glad not to have listened to the game on the radio, opting instead to wander down to the “Best of Bedminster Show” on North Street Green. It was a great little event, along the lines of the traditional village produce show, with people submitting jams, cakes and strangely shaped vegetables to be judged by ladies from the Women’s Institute. I was delighted to win 3rd prize in the “Best Photograph” category – I won a medal (made of baked sour dough) and a packet of seeds. The prizes were presented by 2 women dressed as men, one claiming to be the Mayor of Wessex, and the other her son, Bob. Once the ceremony was complete, the sun burned through the misty clouds, and the Ambling Band played some pleasant (and suitably whacky) music. It was the sort of thing that makes me really enjoy living here.
The Ambling Band
A compulsive weekend’s viewing culminated in a pretty resounding defeat for the fancied Europeans in the Ryder Cup. Much to my boys’ disgust, I rather monopolised the television for the duration, thereby denying them endless repeats of “Friends” (although they can probably struggle through to maturity without seeing the 19th repeat of “the one in which a bloke whines annoyingly while his flatmate gets the wrong end of the stick again and a couple of unhealthily thin women flick their hair“).
The quality of the golf was, at times, quite incredible, and America thoroughly deserved to win, even though we could have done without some of their rather ungentlemanly behaviour. Lee Westwood complained that somebody said something especially unpleasant about his mother (though we haven’t learned exactly what), I got very bored of the crowd booing loudly in support of the rather buffoonish Boo Weekley, and Anthony Kim really shouldn’t have done the fist pumping thing when the halved hole he’d just won was courtesy of a generously conceded putt. But we’ll forgive them.
Nick Faldo’s coming in for a fair bit of stick after the defeat, people saying that he shouldn’t have saved his star players for so late in the day – although since two of them lost anyway, one could argue that “we” were doomed from the start. My own main criticism of Faldo is that he should have removed his sunglasses from time to time – even at the end, when dispensing consoling hugs for his own team and congratulatory handshakes for the opposition, he remained inscrutable behind the shades, like some sort of international man of mystery, which I thought was rather rude.
And talking of rudeness, I was delighted to see Ronaldo the Arrogant get booked for wagging his finger at the referee in yesterday’s game against Chelsea. He really does deserve a slap sometimes.
Not wanting to be responsible for another City disaster (my failure to raise the Lucky Flag being one of the reasons for our midweek defeat against Birmingham), I got the flag up good and early yesterday. And we cruised to a comfortable win, so I think that proves it works. Doesn’t it?
A rather tense first half yielded few chances, and City looked rather lacklustre. But at half time, Sir Gary put something in the boys’ tea, and before we knew it we were 3-0 up. Much to the relief of the crowd, new boy Nicky Maynard was responsible for both of the first two goals, winning a penalty with a flamboyant dive (which, away from home and with a different referee, might have been rewarded with a yellow card instead of a penalty), and slotting away a cool second from a well-worked move. Happy Days are here again, and the pleasure of watching one’s team defend a comfortable lead (for once) cannot be underestimated.
A pleasant game of golf in the morning (albeit one littered with disastrous shots), and an evening spent watching the Ryder Cup (featuring an incredible array of outstanding shots) completed a thoroughly enjoyable day. The weather this weekend has been stunning – almost too hot at times, but I’ll be lynched if I grumble – and this morning I helped Stephen erect his new shed, which turned out to be a most pleasant thing to do. It was one of those jobs which, on a bad day, could have been a nightmare (bits missing, parts not fitting together, hammers striking thumbs, etc.) but which, on this occasion, was plain-sailing, and very satisfying. I think there’s something very special about sheds. And there was also something very special indeed about the warm flapjack that Helen produced to encourage the workers. Trust me, there’s flapjack, there’s good flapjack, and there’s Helen’s flapjack. Yes siree.
A lovely morning for cycling, with bright autumn sunshine, a bit of mist, and lots of mellow fruitfulness. Ann had to go to Easton and wasn’t sure of the best route, so I cycled with her, which made a refreshing change from my normal route to work.
I was struck by the number of other cyclists on the road, and as we headed away from the centre on the cycle path, our progress against the flow of city-bound commuters was pretty tricky at times. I’ve been cycling to work for around 10 years now, and would be interested to know the statistics about growth in bike use during that decade – it must have more than doubled, and looks set to double again pretty quickly.
So, City’s unbeaten run in the league came to an abrupt end last night. We feared the worst – Birmingham have started the season really well, and boast a number of really good players who will probably see them bounce back up to the Premiership at the first attempt. It could have been a lot worse, and when we were 2 down after half an hour, I thought we might be heading for one of those humiliating 6-0 drubbings (remember Ipswich last season?). But the second half was altogether different, we got one back, courtesy of a Lee Trundle wundergoal, and could well have equalised, or even won it. We didn’t, but we ambled back up the hill in reasonably high spirits, ready for another chance of our first home win of the season on Saturday, this time against relatively lowly Doncaster.
I do feel I have to shoulder some responsibility for last night’s defeat. At the start of the season, I decided to hoist the City flag outside the house for every home game, thereby ensuring our success on the pitch. And, until last night, it worked – unbeaten in the first 5 games. But yesterday, what with it being an evening game, my having to work late, and lots to do before setting off, including cooking the chilli con carne because Jon was coming to eat before the game, I didn’t get around to the flag-hoisting ritual. So I’m sorry. (Although actually, if Jon hadn’t been coming to eat, I might not have bothered with the chilli, and would have given the family their usual bread and gruel instead, thereby giving me the time for the more important matters. So it’s probably as much his fault as mine. We’re both sorry.)
Dear Marge,
I have recently signed up to Facebook, but I’m not sure why. What is it? What does it do? Why do I need it? So far, I don’t really get it. And my wife tells me that I’m too old to have it. Is she right?
Dave (Bristol)
We didn’t make the trip across the Severn, and probably never will as long as the rivalry between the 2 clubs’ fans crosses those thin lines between banter and abuse, rivalry and hostility. They call these potentially ugly encounters “bubble matches” – rhyming slang for trouble, I’ve always assumed – and the main drawback is that the only way of attending is by travelling stupidly early on one of the official coaches, and being herded around like cattle, and criminal cattle at that, once you get there. So I had to settle for the agony of Radio Bristol commentary, followed by 20 minutes of highlights on telly, which confirmed that the City Boys:
a) played well,
b) rode their luck at times,
c) were unlucky not to score, especially from a Nicky Maynard curler which nearly found the top corner.
On balance, the fact that Cardiff should have been at least one up within the first 15 minutes leads to my verdict that we should be happy with a point, especially given that last season they beat us 2-1 in the equivalent match. Our season so far is closely echoing last year, and if we continue to edge the odd point where last time around we failed to, we should do very well. Tomorrow night will be a huge test, when we welcome recently relegated Birmingham City. The equivalent match last season was the visit of West Brom, who demolished a below-par City side, and went on to win the league in style. So if we can get a point off Birmingham, I will be very happy.
Elsewhere in football, England cruised to a 4-1 thrashing of Croatia in the World Cup qualifiers, which has reignited the nation’s interest in the whole business. Young Theo Walcott scored a hat trick, the commentators went overboard with paltitudes about the boy becoming a man, and Fabio Copello paced the touchline looking grumpy.
Newcastle United are in crisis, after the departure of the Messiah, and were beaten at home by Hull. It surprises me a bit that I’m happy for Hull, who are currently 4th in the Premiership after a surprisingly good start. It should, of course, have been us, but I really don’t begrudge them their success. But as for Stoke, well that’s a different kettle of fish altogether, and I was delighted to see them beaten at home by Everton yesterday.
Another wet ride home today – this one was a real stinker, torrential rain blown right at me by a squally wind. Nearly home, I was waiting at a red light when a young woman and her child, both also on bikes, and both, like me, ridiculously wet, pulled up alongside me. I was struck by how happy they looked, despite the circumstances, and we got into one of those truncated traffic light conversations. “I love cycling in the rain“, she said, with genuine enthusiasm. “It makes me feel so alive!“. I knew exactly what she meant, and our little chat certainly cheered me up, but tomorrow I’ll happily settle for feeling so alive in the sunshine…
Got to work early today, mainly because the boys being back at school puts extra pressure on the bathroom, and I prefer to get up early to do my ablutions (sp?) in relative peace. That tawdry domestic detail aside, an early arrival at the coalface of IT has the added benefit that I can sort a few things out before colleagues get in and start phoning me about their computer problems.
But this morning there is extra pressure to get sorted, because there’s an experiment going on in Switzerland, which may bring about the end of the world. Apparently they’re trying to re-create the Big Bang, which could generate a black hole, into which we will all vanish. It’s going to happen in about 30 seconds, so I’d better say “Cheerio” and press the Publish button quickly.
When does a “Brit” become a “Scot”? As far as the English media are concerned, it seems to be when he fails to win the US Open tennis tournament…
This morning’s bike ride to work was especially unpleasant, thanks mainly to the weather. We’re expecting over an inch of rain today, and I think half of it fell on me during my 13 minute dash. When it comes to negotiating the puddles, the obvious preferred option is to cycle around the puddle – but sadly this option is usually unavailable due to passing traffic keeping one pinned to the kerbside. So one has to go through it. One can either keep pedalling, risking a thorough soaking of feet and lower legs, or free-wheel through it with feet inelegantly raised above the height of the tsunami. I usually go for the second, although I have a horrible feeling that it makes me look even more ridiculous than usual, and certainly not very chic. I wonder how these Copenhagers deal with puddles?
“Arse of the Day” award goes to the lorry driver who couldn’t wait to get past me to get to the traffic jam first. Anyone who’s ridden a bike in traffic will be familiar with the scenario – there’s a long queue waiting at the lights a couple of hundred yards ahead, and any driver, however lacking in imagination or intelligence, can see that their vehicle will be held up, whilst cyclists will be able to roll to the head of the queue. At this point, drivers seem to split into two camps. The rational, co-operative driver proceeds calmly behind the cyclist, whilst the other variety speeds dangerously past, forcing the cyclist into the gutter (and through any puddles that have collected there), and showering him with dirty spray from his oversized wheels, just in time to slam on the brakes and join the back of the queue. I think it’s a macho pride thing.
Never mind – when Bristol becomes the UK’s first “cycling city”, all this will be a thing of the past – lorry drivers will become sensible and patient, cyclists will have the UK’s finest network of cycle routes to keep them safe, and it won’t rain any more.
QPR will have gone home happy after this one, having played almost the entire second half with only 10 men. The sending off of Emmanuel Ledesma (who had been one of their most effective player in the first half, and recently scored a hat trick) was great fun, especially as it occurred in the corner of the pitch furthest from the players’ tunnel, meaning that he had a very long walk in which to enjoy the taunts of the home fans – football really is a pantomime at times. But it was the visitors who had the last laugh, putting all the remaining players behind the ball, and defending well for the draw.
City’s performance in the second half was pretty inept, but at least Lee Johnson had a good game, which should silence some of his critics who, with some justification, blamed him for the Derby debacle. We don’t have to look much further for plenty of other reasons to be cheerful, most notably that we’re 4th in the league, unbeaten, and averaging 2 points per game. And, while Manchesters United and City are signing players for £30 million in the transfer frenzy, we’ve also been flashing the cash, paying all of £140,000 for one John Akinbe from Ebbsfleet United. Who said there’s a big gap between the Premiership and the Championship?!
