500th Post

For my 500th post, here's a few photos of the social odds and sods I have been engaged in over the last week, it's not all that exciting but it's all I got:

Saturday was a 30th birthday party full of chums and sunshine.






Some of the guests expressed their true feelings for me.



Formation dancing occurred.



People thought deeply about the issues of the day.



And, inevitably, everybody had a go at wearing my glasses.



On Sunday at Lord's for the test match.



This was neither my first, nor last beer.



The crowd celebrates the sole wicket to fall in the day.

Week two, the story so far...

It's been quite a relaxed second week of my holiday though I've been out and about a fair bit.

On Sunday I went to Lord's for my first cricket of the summer there. Two chums and I had tickets for the fourth day of the England vs New Zealand test match. There'd been a lot of rain interruptions on the first three days but though it remained bitterly cold when th sun went behind cloud it did at least not rain meaning we got a full day's play. The highlight for me was seeing the England captain, Michael Vaughan, score a very impressive century. He's always been one of my favourite batsmen, very elegant and stylish.

On Monday I did a little shopping and in the evening Tinseltroos joined me to have dinner with our chum Janusz. The Tall American had introduced me to a brilliant little retaurant in Jerusalem Passage called, somewhat unimaginitively, the "Passage Café". The food and cider is French, the staff I think are Belgian and the whole ensemble is cheapish and awesome. I bouillabaise to start and melt in the mouth tender duck for my main course. Being Belgian they do a mean line in waffles, crêpes and so on for pudding. All in all a very good night.

Yesterday my pal Baickin had leaving drinks as he's heading home to New Zealand for quote, "a while". I suspect he will return, he has every previous time he's gone home, but I think he needs a bit of time off and living is cheaper in Wellington than London. I shall miss him but as I say, he'll be back.

Today I've run an errand for Tinseltroos, read guitar magazines, played my guitar and generally taken it easy. I'm going to start cooking a veggie chilli for TInseltroos when she gets back from work and then I might begin the final stages of putting my book of photos together. I think I've narrowed the selection down to 38 that sit well together for me. There are pictures of which I am very fond that I've had to omit because they just didn't seem to sit right within the book as a whole, perhaps they can be made to work in some future selection. You can see a slide show of the current book here.

Tomorrow I will try to actually design the book. I'm expecting that to take longer and be more fraught than it should be, but perhaps that's just my natural cynicism coming to the fore. Maybe that's called "experience"?

Essex vs New Zealand

On Monday, as it was a bank holiday and the first sunny public holiday in an age, my Kiwi buddy B and I took the train out from London to Chelmsford to see the last day of the Kiwi's warm up match against Essex. I've never been to Chelmsford before, it isn't a particularly lovely town but the cricket ground is very pleasant in the classic county cricket manner, i.e. slightly dilapidated and resolutely unchanging in the face of modern innovations like video score boards and so on. I took a few photos of the ground during the lunch interval - I think they give quite a good flavour of the place:

I think it's this last one which is my favourite. It completely sums what I love about county cricket, which is more of a lifestyle than a sport if we're honest. Here we have an elderly chap in his sun-hat in the middle of an empty stand (the turnout for county matches is seldom high), sat on a cheap plastic seat in the shade ignoring the beautiful sun which you can see peeking into the top left of the frame. That's it in a nutshell I think.

Finally here's one of B looking pleased with himself as the Kiwis finished off Essex to win the match just before tea:

After this we completely failed to find a nice pub to have a quiet pint in so we got the train back to the big smoke very contented with our day.

Scaling the Highest Heights

On the 26th November 1983 I went, as a guest of a friend, to the Victoria Ground to see Stoke City play Nottingham Forrest in the First Division of English football. It was the first football match I attended. In those days the First Division was the top flight of English football featuring all the sides that people worldwide have heard of, Manchester United, Liverpool and so on. Little did the 8 year old Mr Atrocity realise it but within a couple of years Stoke would be relegated to the second tier of football. And there they have remained. In the intervening years I have lost interest in Star Wars figures, discovered girls, finished school and a degree and been at work for nearly a decade. Though I live in London and don't get to see the side play I have kept tabs on their progress through the years - I listen to their games on the radio when I can and on the odd occasion when one of their F.A. Cup games gets televised I make sure I watch.

Why am I telling you all this? Well the happy reason is that today Stoke City secured promotion to the Premiership, the new fancy name for the top flight these days. Next year I will be able see Stoke get humiliated by the likes of Man U, Liverpool, Chelsea, Arsenal and probably most of the other sides currently in the Premiership. I do not hold out huge hopes of them not getting immediately relegated back whence they came but for now it's a very special feeling to think that my side will be playing in the highest league in the land next year.

Incidentally, If you watch the protracted helicopter shot revealing the Greek armada in Troy you might just be able to spot a ship with a Stoke City strip for a sail: my little devotional offering. My love for them goes that far. Go on you Potters!

Two Miracles and a Realisation

Bit of a mixed bag of a weekend. I've been at work for almost all of it and yet I've witnessed amazing things and made profound discoveries.

Yesterday was almost certainly the most improbable day of rugby union I've ever seen. I say "seen" but in the case of England vs Australia it was more "listened to" as I was still at work but could at least have the game on the radio. And what a game. An England side far from peak form, with injuries and a very poor record in the World Cup came up against an Asutralia side who had put in solid performances in the cup and were hungry to avenge their final defeat at home to the English four years ago. It didn't help that the chief executive of the Australian Rugby Union had upped the ante last week by saying, "It doesn't matter whether it's cricket, rugby union, rugby league – we all hate England." and latter continued, "I stand by that. Everyone does. All I'm doing is stating the bleeding obvious... If they want further proof, how do they think France won the right to host this World Cup? It is simple. No one would vote for England, and they were the only other country in the running." Strong words and with pre-match odds massively in Australia's favour it seemed like a dead game. And then England played their hearts out. In a game of gripping tension and boiling intensity England bested Australia in almost every department of the game. The scrum proved utterly catastrophic for the Wallabies who simply had no answer to the massive power that England fielded at numbers 1 to 3. With my hands shaking and my pulse racing the clock ticked down, achingly slowly, until as 80 minutes of play came to close England pulled off the seemingly impossible to win the match 12-10 and book a place in the semis.

I'd witnessed one of the greatest upsets of recent time. How could anything possibly top that? That was until the evening when France took on red-hot title favourites New Zealand. France signalled their intent by marching right up to the half-way line and staring the Kiwis down as they performed the haka. If proof were ever needed that the mystique of the All Blacks is waning this was it, a defining moment. In years gone by the haka epitomised New Zealand's ability to intimidate a side, to dent their will before the first whistle. But we live in different times now. New Zealand believe themselves to be the best rugby playing nation on earth, their team is used to crushing all before them and yet they have not been world champions for twenty years and will not get the chance again for another four. France played solidly but defensively and were hit hard. The Kiwis were 13-0 up towards the end of the first half. In times of yore that would have been that. The opposition would roll over and let themselves get crushed beneath the slick All Black machine. But since France showed in the 1999 semi-final that you can come back against the Kiwis from a massive deficit if you believe, the power of the Kiwis to have a side beaten before kick-off has evaporated. Yesterday the French were magnificent, they defended like lions and played a wiley game up front. They frustrated the Kiwis into making a petulent foul resulting in a sin-binning for McAlister. This allowed the French the room they need to level the match and then they powered home. One gets the impression that the Kiwis only know how to crush a willing opposition. They seem unable to play from a losing position. If they can't win easily, they can't win. France play brilliantly from a position of pressure and once again proved their mastery of the art. Frederic Michelak and my current favouite Bleu, Sebastien Chabal, came on for the final quarter of the game to, in the case of Michelak, set up the winning try, and in the case of Chabal to shore up the defenses and keep the Kiwis at bay. "They shall not pass".

This was a bigger upset than even the England game. To see either match is a treat, practically a miracle. To see both on a single day is definitely a miracle.

Beyond the rugby, my profound personal insight came when I realised that the Flying V I bought a while back is not the guitar for me. Tinseltroos and I have a couple of guitars out in the living room ready to be played and I noticed that I was always reaching for her Strat rather than my Flying V. I have finally realised that the impracticality of the design annoys me more than the beauty delights me and though it is a pleasant enough instrument it is going to have to go on eBay and I will begin the search for a new Atrocity Axe. I had a quick window shop on my way home yesterday afternoon and it appears that, once again, my tastes do not accord with the general populus. The current vogue seems to be for skinny indie kids in skinny jeans with fringes bigger than their heads to play 1960s style Burns and Hofner type guitars. This is all very well for those wanting to play The Arctic Monkeys but it is not going to stand up to having Hot For Teacher belted out on it. For that you need a proper guitar, built for the purpose; built like a tank. It seems that I shall have to search for something second hand. Let the eBay browsing begin.

The Only Way Is Up

My adopted cricket county Middlesex's run of recent wins had, by yesterday, pulled them up to a play-off place. How wonderful you might think, and indeed it is an impressive achievement. Tragically for me, the other side in the play-off was Northamptonshire, my true love (though she's a cruel mistress with her constant teasing that she will blossom into a quality side one day and never quite managing it, I love her nonetheless). This was in all honesty a tie that given recent form was only going to go one way. Middlesex cruised to victory meaning that next year I will get to see 1st Division Pro 40 cricket (Yay!) but won't get to see poor old "always the bridesmaid never the bide" Northants (Boo).

Nighthawks

Apologies for the lack of posting this week, it's been a bit hectic. The evenings have been filled with bicycle work, hopefully all finished tomorrow assuming I can find bar-tape to my specification. Because of this I haven't blogged much - how much can one really say about cross-threading a not-so-cheap chain-tool and the travails of fitting seat-posts into mis-shapen seat tubes? Not that much that would keep you, dear reader, as entertained as I'd like, that's for sure.

Monday night was an interesting and fun experience though. Lord's, the self-styled home of cricket has long held out against having games played under floodlights. Partially I expect this is a matter of tradition (although floodlit cricket has been played elsewhere for 30 years or so) but mostly it is because St Johns Wood, the location of the current Lord's cricket ground since 1837 is a very quiet area, with very rich and influential residents and getting the permits required to have floodlights must be an absolute nightmare. Finally however, the club members have caved and Monday saw the first game to be played under lights at Lord's. Middlesex, my adopted county in London, managed another win - i am turning into something of a lucky rabbit's foot for them it seems and so home fans went home happy at about 9.30, if a little chilly. Here are a few snaps from the evening:

Glad Tidings

It may be nearly 9 p.m. on a Saturday which I have spent entirely at work and I'm still here but at least after a single game of the new football season, Crewe are on top. You may now sit back and watch their gentle slide down the table to the inevitable relegation crisis as the season progresses.

The Great Game

There is still no phone line at Schossadlerflug meaning that the only time I have to update the blog is during the quiet moments at work and since I'm still working on two shows simultaneously that time is proving elusive, hence the silence last week as I attempted to spin many, many plates at once. By male standards I am quite good at multi-tasking, what I do have difficulty with is changing gear in my brain from dealing with those who are in a mad panic because their project only has a few weeks to run and those who are in the quiet contemplative early stages of a project where everything seems possible and there is no rush. I have been driving myself quietly barmy over the last few weeks in try to cope with this dichotomy.

I did have a splendid Sunday though. I was fortunate enough to land a ticket to the fourth day of the England vs India test match at Lord's and though I was excited at the prospect the appalling weather had made a full day's play seem unlikely. I duly left Schossadlerflug for the 50 minute walk to the ground armed with a raincoat and umbrella in addition to my regulation cricketing panama hat to protect me from whatever elements the day could chuck my way. I also packed a tiny, modest selection of comestibles consisting of a large pork pie, 4 apples, a loaf of french bread, butter and big chunk of delicious organic cheddar. Though it was scarcely enough to keep body and soul together I decided to make the best of it.

The walk to the ground was beautiful. There was a delightful apricot coloured sunshine suffusing the streets and it was too early in the day for most people to be out and about so I had the majority of the city to myself. I past The British Museum, wandered through Fitzrovia then up Marylebone High Street onto Baker Street before walking along the underside of Regent's Park until I reached St John's Wood. There I met my chum KiwiBen and we headed into the historic ground and took our seats.

Lord's was bathed in this magical light all day; I've said it before and it bears repeating, visiting Lord's is as close as I get to a religious experience. The history of the place is everywhere. The earth has soaked up nearly two hundred years of cricket, even the stones of the pavilion have been quietly absorbing the magic of the game for well over a hundred. For the day's play to then be as good as it was meant I could really ask for no more and can safely declare in hindsight that it was the best day's cricket I've ever seen.

Both sides played superbly, there was drama and spectacle and a real ebb and flow to the teams' fortunes was evident throughout the day. From Michael Vaughan's middle stump being knocked flat by RP Singh to Kevin Pietersen's magnificent and measured century together with Matt Prior's dogged 42 that stabilised the England innings setting India an unlikely 380 for victory.

The England bowlers were every bit as good as their Indian counterparts - there was no rubbish bowled anywhere. For a supposed second-string attack they acquitted themselves with panache and determination, never giving one of the finest batting line-ups in world cricket an easy time to score runs. The icing on the cake of the day was to see legends Rahul Dravid and especially Sachin Tendulkar bat. The ovation around the ground when the little master walked down the pavilion steps made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I've never seen anyone, not even Brian Lara, receive such reverential applause at the start of an innings. Tendulkar's tenure at the crease was brief, the magical Monty Panesar trapping him leg before wicket for 16 though not before we'd been treated to three of the sweetest boundaries it has been my privilege to witness. The day drew to a close with play being called off at 7 o'clock, Karthik and Ganguly resisting as best they could and a slightly tipsy, very happy crowd drifted through the gates and out into the evening sunshine ready for a leisurely journey home filled with some very happy memories.

Down, Down, Deeper and Down

So England have lost the Ashes series 5-0. I am utterly dejected. I know caring about sport is silly, I know caring about a sport that almost no-one else does is very silly, and I also know caring about a sport as silly as cricket is very very silly. But I can't help myself, I've always loved it and there is no trophy in any sport that I get more excited about than The Ashes. For England to get white-washed after having won it last time (which was a rarity in itself) is just too much to bear. That is all.