Standing at mid-off at the Saffrons, watching the town hall clock edge round to half past six. A squadron of Housemartins flit off over Larkins and the umpries confer. 20 overs in the last hour. A 100 runs required and five wickets spare. The game picks up pace, the last four and a half hours have all been geared towards this point. The out batsmen are already leaning gently into a lager top, the bowlers are trying to find a pair of pads to borrow and I'm standing at mid-off trying to catch the captain's eye. Whispering loudly, "Bring me on from the sea end skip and I'll wrap this up before seven".
Down to the final two overs 19 runs needed. Spread the field out, but keep them down to a single. Locko from the Larkins end and Beazles from the sea. The croquet match has finished and the bar is filling up. One over to go 10 to win, 2 wickets to go and the clock says twenty to eight...
2 balls, 4 runs and a wicket to go. Standing under an absolute steepler down at deep long on. You wouldn't want to change a single moment of this for the whole of the big wide world.
Wazthat? You absolute beauty!
Thursday, 30 July 2009
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
Trebetherick
A few gentle words from Sir Johnny B
We used to picnic where the thrift
Grew deep and tufted to the edge;
We saw the yellow foam flakes drift
In trembling sponges on the ledge
Below us, till the wind would lift
Them up the cliff and o’er the hedge.
Sand in the sandwiches, wasps in the tea,
Sun on our bathing dresses heavy with the wet,
Squelch of the bladder-wrack waiting for the sea,
Fleas around the tamarisk, an early cigarette.
From where the coastguard houses stood
One used to see below the hill,
The lichened branches of a wood
In summer silver cool and still;
And there the Shade of Evil could
Stretch out at us from Shilla Mill.
Thick with sloe and blackberry, uneven in the light,
Lonely round the hedge, the heavy meadow was remote,
The oldest part of Cornwall was the wood as black as night,
And the pheasant and the rabbit lay torn open at the throat.
But when a storm was at its height,
And feathery slate was black in rain,
And tamarisks were hung with light
And golden sand was brown again,
Spring tide and blizzard would unite
And sea come flooding up the lane.
Waves full of treasure then were roaring up the beach,
Ropes round our mackintoshes, waders warm and dry,
We waited for the wreckage to come swirling into reach,
Ralph, Vasey, Alistair, Biddy, John and I.
Then roller into roller curled
And thundered down the rocky bay,
And we were in a water world
Of rain and blizzard, sea and spray,
And one against the other hurled
We struggled round to Greenaway.
Blesséd be St Enodoc, blesséd be the wave,
Blesséd be the springy turf, we pray, pray to thee,
Ask for our children all happy days you gave
To Ralph, Vasey, Alistair, Biddy, John and me.
John Betjeman
We used to picnic where the thrift
Grew deep and tufted to the edge;
We saw the yellow foam flakes drift
In trembling sponges on the ledge
Below us, till the wind would lift
Them up the cliff and o’er the hedge.
Sand in the sandwiches, wasps in the tea,
Sun on our bathing dresses heavy with the wet,
Squelch of the bladder-wrack waiting for the sea,
Fleas around the tamarisk, an early cigarette.
From where the coastguard houses stood
One used to see below the hill,
The lichened branches of a wood
In summer silver cool and still;
And there the Shade of Evil could
Stretch out at us from Shilla Mill.
Thick with sloe and blackberry, uneven in the light,
Lonely round the hedge, the heavy meadow was remote,
The oldest part of Cornwall was the wood as black as night,
And the pheasant and the rabbit lay torn open at the throat.
But when a storm was at its height,
And feathery slate was black in rain,
And tamarisks were hung with light
And golden sand was brown again,
Spring tide and blizzard would unite
And sea come flooding up the lane.
Waves full of treasure then were roaring up the beach,
Ropes round our mackintoshes, waders warm and dry,
We waited for the wreckage to come swirling into reach,
Ralph, Vasey, Alistair, Biddy, John and I.
Then roller into roller curled
And thundered down the rocky bay,
And we were in a water world
Of rain and blizzard, sea and spray,
And one against the other hurled
We struggled round to Greenaway.
Blesséd be St Enodoc, blesséd be the wave,
Blesséd be the springy turf, we pray, pray to thee,
Ask for our children all happy days you gave
To Ralph, Vasey, Alistair, Biddy, John and me.
John Betjeman
Monday, 27 July 2009
Office romances
In my first job in local government, barely a day would pass without some sort of outbreak of intrigue, argument, emotional bust up or general flirting. The office was the hotbed of frustrated love, volcanic lust, seething jealousy and unguarded emotion.
Nowadays it is just a hollow shell.
Nowadays it is just a hollow shell.
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Hangovers
They come in all different shapes and sizes of course but here are a few I have very fond memories of (?)
The jet lag hangover - Having stepped off the flight from Sydney after a fair few sparkling whites and pale Chardonnays. The slowness of reaction and gentle numbness of the brain brings me face to face with the everyday reality of being a high street bank employee or a local councillor.
The surprise hangover - I only had two pints of Stella Artois last night. Oh and half a bottle of Jamesons. Oh and a bottle of Pouilly Fume.
The early evening hangover - When lunchtime drinking becomes an unshakeable throbbing by the time I've got home.
The not really hungover hangover - A big one, late to bed, wake up early for work, feel good. Feel really good, feel absolutely tip-top chipper, feel like singing 'Boogie Wonderland' on my way to the tube. This is a clear sign that only 4 rounds of toast and two cans of coke and very large cappuccino will help offset the impending hangover from hell.
The I'll never drink again hangover - !!!
The if I just have a quick couple of pints, I'll be alright hangover - Delaying the inevitable I know. But sometimes, just sometimes it really does work!
The jet lag hangover - Having stepped off the flight from Sydney after a fair few sparkling whites and pale Chardonnays. The slowness of reaction and gentle numbness of the brain brings me face to face with the everyday reality of being a high street bank employee or a local councillor.
The surprise hangover - I only had two pints of Stella Artois last night. Oh and half a bottle of Jamesons. Oh and a bottle of Pouilly Fume.
The early evening hangover - When lunchtime drinking becomes an unshakeable throbbing by the time I've got home.
The not really hungover hangover - A big one, late to bed, wake up early for work, feel good. Feel really good, feel absolutely tip-top chipper, feel like singing 'Boogie Wonderland' on my way to the tube. This is a clear sign that only 4 rounds of toast and two cans of coke and very large cappuccino will help offset the impending hangover from hell.
The I'll never drink again hangover - !!!
The if I just have a quick couple of pints, I'll be alright hangover - Delaying the inevitable I know. But sometimes, just sometimes it really does work!
Poll Results - Sunny Day
You would prefer to spend a beautiful English Summers Day
In a park (66%)
On the beach (33%)
In the pub (0%)
In bed (0%)
Which comes as a bit of a surprise. You quaint old things you...
In a park (66%)
On the beach (33%)
In the pub (0%)
In bed (0%)
Which comes as a bit of a surprise. You quaint old things you...
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
Lunchtime sun bathing
Quick, the sun is out! Let's get naked!
I used to work just off Carnaby Street and when the sun shone, everyone in the surrounding area would head for the nearest square metre of grass and strip down to their underwear within seconds. Previously quiet and shy Sub Editors would think nothing of stripping down to their rather well upholstered Triumph bras. Meanwhile, the young Promotions Manager wouldn't miss out the opportunity to reveal the benefits of six months private training sessions with his newly acquired 'good friend'.
The determination to get a tan was quite remarkable. A colleague used to sit by the window with her bare arms dangling outside for half of the day. She would then spin the chair round and proceed to toast the other arm whilst continuing to field irate telephone calls from 'that idiot at Estee Lauder'.
All of which reminds me that London is beautiful when the sun shines and the streets shimmer in the heat. Add to that the chance to have a pint outside on the street whilst admiring the not inconsiderable views and you have another thing I miss about dear old Blighty!
I used to work just off Carnaby Street and when the sun shone, everyone in the surrounding area would head for the nearest square metre of grass and strip down to their underwear within seconds. Previously quiet and shy Sub Editors would think nothing of stripping down to their rather well upholstered Triumph bras. Meanwhile, the young Promotions Manager wouldn't miss out the opportunity to reveal the benefits of six months private training sessions with his newly acquired 'good friend'.
The determination to get a tan was quite remarkable. A colleague used to sit by the window with her bare arms dangling outside for half of the day. She would then spin the chair round and proceed to toast the other arm whilst continuing to field irate telephone calls from 'that idiot at Estee Lauder'.
All of which reminds me that London is beautiful when the sun shines and the streets shimmer in the heat. Add to that the chance to have a pint outside on the street whilst admiring the not inconsiderable views and you have another thing I miss about dear old Blighty!
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