Space Filling

I have been trapped indoors for the past wee while by my knees, housework and laziness.  So I have dug out old photos as I have only been as far as Tesco's so far.  The gray skies have also been a hindrance, it is summer after all, and I have therefore sat here staring at the wall.  It is not a great view.

Like you I have been much impressed with the English cricket teams ability to be totally outplayed yet come through and win, this, some claim, was aided by the umpires incorrectly giving them a run they ought not to have had, gosh, that has not happened before has it?  Today the media was splashing their faces across the screen and front page behind the word 'England!'  The Irish captain took it in good stride and the chief batsman, born in New Zealand, attempted to work out what the word 'traitor' meant.  Tonight the players are invited to Ten Downing Street, I know they will be pleased...  Some claimed this was a result of being outside the EU, though all of them now live within the EU, and James Rees-Mogg (born 1672) claimed this is what England can do after Brexit, forgetting the many foreigners in the team.  The captain indicated the side were 'diverse,' and 'Multi-cultural,' while saying Allah was with them.  
Brexiteers everywhere are now confused.
Have England won anything with home grown players?

Talking of racism how come the US president can racially abuse several members of Congress and get away with it?  His order for the four women to 'Go back to their own country,' would lead to prosecution even for a Tory member in this country why not in the USA?   It is clear he will use a great deal more such language in the next year appeasing the Rednecks to get votes.  

This dangerous clown leads us to Boris.  The affair of the US ambassador looks each day like a stitch up worked out between Boris, Farage, Trump and all the other Blackshirt leaders.  I really hope the Met Police do investigate properly and someone is brought to justice for this.  Such secret info should never leave the building and action must be taken.  The reaction tends to leave the impression that this was a step too far so maybe someone will be called to account.

At least the Tennis is off the screen now and with golf hard to find, cricket over, netball ignored and only the Tour de France left, I tend to watch it for the views these days rather than the race itself, we now await the return of proper football.  This has started in Scotland and soon the moneybags English will throw vast amounts of cash at the game to see their side struggle.  I long for the day the bubble bursts and football returns to normal. 

I see Alan Turing will be the new face on the English £50 note.  This man, a scientist of high achievement and ability, was of course gay during the days it was rightly illegal.  Because he was, the gay lobby say, 'hounded to death,' he has become some sort of super hero.  Certainly the secret services of the day did not trust anyone who was gay, the five middle class Communists, some of whom made it to Russia, were gay and MI6 were keen not to be caught out again.  But does anyone care about that?  Does anyone really care about his success at Bletchley Park?  No they don't, they just wish to use him to propagate the gay life.  The Bank of England has gone along with this.  
How far have we fallen?

A Foggy Day in ...

The mist descended today to remind us it was January.  After a quick stroll to Tesco I ventured out into the dank climate to remind myself that I ought to have stayed indoors.

I spent time indoors where the warmth was preferred scanning in pictures for my niece.  This done I also added some old fotos that I will annoy you with later.  It is amazing how long it takes to search for and then scan a few photographs.  The ones you seek are in the last album you search through and the ones you remember as near perfect are as far from that as I myself am.  That is quite far...

Amongst the old photos was this one.  A mostly red brick building with a great deal of fancy brickwork indicating the wealth of the company that created this artistic façade of green, gold and silver tiles in 1903.  What was once a Gas & Electric engineers company is now a mere art gallery, the 'Woolff Gallery.'  At the time I took the picture, probably on my way home through the back streets rather than by bus as this was quicker in the evenings, the street contained many interesting buildings which I ignored.  These can be seen on Google maps however.  The business died a while back and the art gallery moved in and changed its name to T.J. Boulting, which makes sense.  Many buildings in London, and indeed elsewhere, carry adverts still that go back into the distant past and it requires the head craned upwards all the time to find them.  Not far from Oxford Street this area is called 'Fitrovia,' this includes the 'Fitzroy Bar' once frequented by Dylan Thomas.  One cartoon featured this bar with one of those Blue Plaques given to the famous this time situated under a table in the bar with "Dylan Thomas Lay Here" inscribed thereon.

Miles away from there but down the road from the Maida Vale Hospital where I spent many a happy hour and occasionally worked also stands Lords Cricket Ground the home of the MCC whoever they are.  Outside the ground stands proudly this mural created in 1934 featuring sportsmen of various talents, clearly not something seen by cricketers of recent years.  Not that those who played cricket in the past held to high standards either of course.  The noble sportsmen, portrayed as something you may expect to see on the Parthenon rather in St Johns Wood, speaks volumes for those who created this mural.   The sculptor was Gilbert Bayes.

All that sunshine in London and we wake up to this!  In spite of the mess that London offers there is a wealth of interesting streets to walk down, history, people, events, many of which I would avoid at the time can be imagined all around.  If only most of the population were out when I pass through.

Morning Wander

This bright yellow thing hung above the trees this morning trying to pretend it was summer. Nobody was fooled.  We have too deep an ingrained cynicism to be fooled by the big yellow thing pretending it is hot when we all know it is warmer at the North Pole than here on some days when it shows.  We still walk out in it, men in shorts trying to impress their girl and cleverer men in thick jackets like me!  

The Bocking Windmill is one of the many in East Anglia, some which actually work, and may open during the year to visitors keen to climb about in them.  I find them a wee bit boring myself but from the history point of view Mr Miller made a lot of money and was in an important position in his world.  Each village required at least one mill of some sort or other as flour was the basic requirement for the daily bread and a local mill was important. On occasion this one opens to visitors, but rarely as far as I can see.  My boss has the key and he controls the thing but not enough wish to visit to make it worth opening more.  I doubt we will ever see flour coming from there.  The one we saw long ago in Woodbridge worked well enough selling its own flour to all who had a desire to bake.

If I remember right these are 'Teezles.'  These were, and probably still are, used by weavers and cloth people to 'fluff up' cloth.  There were a few of them growing wild around this green area today, whether these grow in the far east where most of our cloth comes from now I know not so how do they 'fluff' their cloth I wonder?  We could gather them and sell them on I suppose.

Now that September has arrived we will at last be free from people talking about cricket surely? The local clubs entrance looks a wee bit tired today, a bit like the local clubs players I suspect.  I have no idea if they are any good, I don't read the local paper, and only when passing do I see men of varied physical shape throwing the ball around or standing talking to themselves in distant corners of the ground.  They could be the second XI I suppose.

Thursday Thought

As expected I awoke early this morning.  Listening to the dulcet tones of the shipping forecast being aired is a good way to come back into the world.  I would have preferred it to be nearer seven mind.  I therefore had no choice but to rise, waddle through and make breakfast with whatever was not yet past its sell by date, well not too far past anyway. 
My dim mind glanced through the online papers, each right wing nutbag proclaiming much joy over George Osbornes fiddled budget.   Each budget day the papers are the same.  The majority are ruled by the right wing barons who tell of Conservative budgets as wonderful events that bless the nation. Labour ones are miserable failures.  What passes for alternative views rambles on and makes little sense as they merely blame the Tories and ignore faults elsewhere.  It therefore becomes a requirement the day after a budget to listen carefully to the many experts who appear offering their tuppence worth to the world.
The net result usually means the lying creature has given money with one hand and taken money away with the other.  So it is with George yesterday.  An increase in the minimum wage u to £9 say the papers, actually it will not reach that high until 2020, which is five years away and a cut in tax credits (used to bump up the take home of those on minimum wage) which means for every pound George has given he has taken £1:50 or so away.  As always the Tory budgets appeal to the 'Daily mail' reader and panders to their beliefs, built on Tory lies in said paper, and ensures the lemmings will vote for the Tory's next time.  These are the people who voted to rid the taxpayer off the cost of nationalised industry, Gas , electric, water, trains, buses etc.  These are the very people who now happily pay through the nose for these industries because they no longer cost the taxpayer anything, the same taxpayer who is paying ten times the cost he would pay if they remained nationalised!
George fooled the famous IDS, he was celebrating for no good reason yesterday, possibly he understands how many will suffer because of this attack on the poorest?  I suspect he has pictures of Dachau on his office wall to cheer him up in the morning.
Another budget, another hoo-ha and the richest benefit with lower taxes, at least those that pay tax, unlike the owner of the 'Daily Mail' who has not paid tax for many years.   Housing benefit cuts will lead to homelessness, other cuts will cause many problems to which George answers "Get a job" or "Get a better job" and this from a man who has never had one? He certainly never worked for the minimum wage, never had to find accommodation from a grasping Tory landlord, and never lost his job becasue the boss would not pay the new minimum wage.
The 'Toffs' rule us today and call themselves 'One nation Conservatives.'

 

Aye, right!

I went back to bed after this.

Sometimes I canny understand the selfishness of wimmin!  Here is this one, living with a nice, kind, thoughtful man who looks after her every need and yet when eh has some spare time to play a video game with his pal she interrupts him and I suspect demands he speak to her, in spite of him being busy.  
How does a normal lad of today deal with such a woman?  He puts a few sedatives in her drink and lets her sleep until midday the next day that's what.  How kind, thoughtful and caring.  Did she appreciate the sleep, did she thank him for his concern, did she not feel blessed that by sleeping and keeping her mouth shut he and his pal could finish this important game?  No, not this lass, she ran to the police!  Tsk!  Can a man not get any peace these days?  No, the nasty judge fined him Euros 500.

News from the north east of England includes a 23 year old who saw a 6 year old kick an old man's walking stick.  When the 23 year old told him he was was told to "F off" by the kid.  he then went to a shop, bought a bar of soap and stuck it in the kids mouth.  
The child is known to be 'out of control' probably benefited from his experience.  He will not be so rash next time.  Would you believe the court took the kids side?  Mum says the sentence, a conditional discharge plus costs, was insufficient.  I think he should take the soap to mum or make the bint look after her son.  I suspect dad will not be available to do so.

England are apparently playing cricket against Australia somewhere or other.  Did they not do this last week, or the week before?  Does anyone care?  A man throws a ball and another man attempts to hit it with a big stick while all around a dozen other men stand idly by watching.
Would digging up the grass and building social houses for the old, the poor and those disabled by life not be a better use of such areas I wonder....?


Time to go back to bed again, that's twice already today.  Aint life grand?

Bus, Jacket, St John's Moulsham, Cricket

In an attempt to avoid the builders/new neighbour/responsibility/laptop/work I took off suddenly for Colchester.  As I got to the bus station the bus drove out exactly on time therefore fooling me completely!  Instead I waited for the six minutes past Chelmsford bus which left a mere five minutes late.  This change of plans somewhat threw my plans out although I was, and remain, unsure what those plans actually were.   So in a day of hot sunshine I walked around the crowded centre of one of the most boring of cities known to man.  I sauntered through the charity shops containing jackets that suit me in every respect bar size!  Three perfect jackets were tried on and none were made correctly.  Tsk!  
The time on that clock was correct in 1896 but I would not trust it at the moment.

 
Tiring very quickly of the shops that do not stock what I want I found a place of refuge at the very far end of the street, a 'Chapel of Ease.'  Here I found rest from the sun and shops and found the company of two friendly church persons.  They were kind enough to allow me to wander around , take pictures and rest my feet for a while and cogitate.  Having done so we chatted for a short while and I found them very welcoming, a joy in any city.

  
The church has been undergoing some modernisation and the work has been going on for some time.  It is fair to say the church has been altering the building since first erected in 1837.  There were several reasons to build, one being the growing development of this area and a second arose when the railway from Liverpool Street was making its way towards Colchester.  The navvies building the line with pick and shovel, in between belting one another with forementioned items, requiring spiritual succour had until then some four or five miles to walk into town.  They usually managed it as far as the pubs were concerned but a 'Chapel of Ease' was raised ensuring they, and any locals, did not have to walk the distance.  How much concern there really was for the navvies might be a moot point, few such men attending church and the many Irish were predominately Roman Catholic anyway, but it certainly suited the incomers to growing Moulsham to have their own church.  The Bishop of London was pleased to open the building giving thanks for the life of King William IV, who was on his last legs while little Victoria was sitting in Kensington Palace awaiting his end, tearfully I'm sure, and the church began to serve its people.

Much altered since the beginning, side chapels and towers followed in the years to come after the navvies moved on and the well established moved in.  I was surprised to see pews still in use.  Most churches today remove them and have chairs in a semi circular style, much better for the Sunday meetings and allows the space to be used at other times also.  These however were distinctively painted and well kept.  Cogitating here in the near silence was good for the heart as well as the feet. I am glad they now have the doors open and folk in attendance, it gives the church a 'lived in' look and connects with the people of the area better.

I wondered about the people who passed this was over those 178 years.  There may indeed have been some navvies, their wives and children, then the important people of the area, who paid towards its erecting, and other locals such as their workers and servants would  certainly pass through.  Once Victoria had married Albert the nation followed her 'happy family' approach to life this did not stop the establishment of class division, snobbery and personal control over churches.  By the end of the Great War church attendance fell, false religion, nominalism, was swept away for the most part and greater wealth or then the depression must have had its effects here.  What happened to those people I wonder?  Certainly they felt the effect of the second war, this town was bombed often.  The Victorian railway had brought new people and as the city developed so did wealth and prosperity for (almost) all.  Late Victorian Britain was a time of improving prosperity, education had become compulsory,  the railways had changed the face of the nation and imperialists had developed an empire and the arrogance that goes with it, not that I will mention this.

An example of improving oneself lies here, Samuel Wackrill a one time draper who by the time he was 64 had moved from living in the High Street, possibly 'above the shop' to New London Road, a move which implied no lack of cash at hand.  he gave his occupation as a 'Landlord of houses,' and I wonder if he was a good one?  Within ten years he was a mere 'retired draper' but living in Chandos House' a fancy name for his dwelling.  His New London Road house were not for the likes of me I can tell you, unless I was a servant.  Samuel left us in 1889 a few years after his wife.  Clearly he was a 'pillar of the church' and has a burial spot positioned where passersby can remember him as they enter each Sunday.  He was unable to take over £3000 of his pounds with him when he left however, not a bad sum when you and I would be earning between 5 shillings (20 to the pound) and £2 if highly skilled a week. 

I wonder about those who are buried with much pomp and remembered with huge tombstones like this one.  Could it be he tries yet to stay alive?  Could it be simple oneupmanship in an effort to prove your importance?  Either way it fails for this chap, his name is non existent now and he is forgotten.  

The accoutrements of an Anglican church often confuse me but while some are easier to comprehend I find the whole setting most attractive.  Many churches here go back far further than St John's but I wonder if the welcome there is as pleasant as the welcome at this church?  The church is the people not the building and while I would find them a little too 'churchy' on a Sunday I would certainly pop in for coffee if passing again.  It is the people, knowledgeable people, who make the place and I found two of them here. 

 
Of course you didn't think I would ignore the war memorial did you?  Such a shame the names are now fading.  However the memorial was a good one for the time and in a prominent place for all to see.  

 

 My creaking knees stumbled to a halt when we noticed this creation falling apart in this somewhat run down area.  Further inspection shows it to be an unidentified object in the grounds of what is now the 'Chelmsford Club' a place for businessmen to do business and get drunk together.  Next to it lies the gatehouse, once the entrance designed to keep the plebs out.  As I wondered lost among recent built offices I considered these Victorian buildings more worthy of praise than the quite well built new ones.  These form part of a big house created by James Fenton an architect come engineer who cleaned up the local water supply thereby improving health for the townspeople, he also designed many of the better buildings in the town.  Together with friends he built New London Road later populated by the wealthy from St John's and removed himself to Croydon to improve their health also.  His wealth is seen in the size of the stable block alone! 

Heading back to the bus I tried to get a picture of the entrance to the cricket ground.  This is the home of the Essex County Cricket side.  According to the confusing mess that is their website this county lies at the bottom of the second division, which tells you something.  There however is in my view far too much 'pap' and not enough sensible information, easily consumed, on these pages.  I did however work out that whatever type of cricket they play (what is 'T20 Blast!' when it's at home I ask?) it is clear Essex are not very good at it.  However I could not find my way through the new buildings and it transpires I was far from where I should be so I went home.  The glimpse of the floodlights, probably not working like the players, is your lot cricket fans.  Cricket does not appeal to me much but today the ghastly commercialism really does put me off, it is very different from a mere thirty years ago and this is not an improvement

 
So, no jacket, rubbish shops, too many people, only the church really worth taking pictures off, a nice house, once, and a cricket ground with a failing team.  Nothing could be worse unless the 12:55 bus does not arrive until 13:10 and leave me asking if it is the late running bus or the early 13:15 one?  Being 'First Bus' you do not get to know.  I suspect however that as each old dear (and there were lots of them) got on the bus they asked "Why are you late?" and jumped up and down.  The driver
 would probably answer "Because I was explaining to old women why I was late dear!"  We got home several minutes before we should have done had he come on time, work that one out!

BBC 

Today the world said goodbye to Nelson Mandela.  He was as I said before a great man, the BBC and other medias coverage of him however was far from great.  The great cause of the middle class liberals was apartheid in South Africa.  For years a small group, larger at important times, stood outside the embassy in London demanding an end to the colour bar.  Once Mandela arrived they went home.  Many journalists visited the country, often being hindered by the authorities as they reported on the conditions there.  To the followers of the cause Mandela was not just a politician, he was their hero, their star, their idol and they arrived in full to worship him at Christmas.  

I suspect however that he never gave them the same degree of adulation they gave him, Mandela was no fool.  He knew what was in a man, especially middle class Brits obsessed with their ideology, and never pandered to them.  he did however respond well, and indeed played up to, the honest support many Brits did in fact offer him and his cause.  Now he has gone and his nation continues, the people not much better off and the leaders happily wasting the cash.

But what about the other causes?

Not one middle class liberal ever stood outside an embassy governed by black leaders abusing or killing their own people.  Does black killing black make it acceptable perhaps?  Journalists may occasionally visit such places and send in clear reports of abuse and murder, but the liberals are not roused, it is after all safer to promote same sex marriage, abortion or whatever this weeks cause may be.  Actually campaigning against black leaders may in fact be called 'racist!'  Much of the rest of the nation fails to get excited, 'they are all the same after all' is the approach there.

'Love,' as in 'Love your neighbour,' is not the same as 'love your neghbour if it fits in with this weeks ideology,' that's just 'loving yourself'

Now I am not one to gloat!  Indeed such an attitude is s far from me that I have often been referred to as 'Mr Generous Heart' himself.  So when I noted the English weaving their merry way to Australia to play the colonials at the cricket I humbly let the occasion pass with no comment. That a comment regarding the loud boasting from the players of the ease with which they would dispose of the marsupial eaters was possible I let slip past.  The crowing on TV and Radio from English 'experts,' as to how easy this game in the sun would be I ignored, something one often has to do regarding English attitudes.  

Imagine my surprise then at the latest news from our contacts overseas!  It would appear that this 'England,' are not the superior chaps they supposed themselves to be, indeed the opposite could well be true.  On the off chance I have overheard some of the previously loud boasters on TV now indicate questions regarding the men out there swinging those stick things they carry. It appears from their conversations that what once were referred to as 'Ace,' or 'Superior Batsman,' and even 'World beaters,' could in fact be overpaid numpties who ought never have been allowed near a cricket field ever!  Tsk! Who would have thunk it eh?

Now I must make clear my views here.  People who stand around all day on a piece of grass that ought to have been developed into a football field, throwing a ball at a man armed with a thick stick, the intention being to stop said ball hitting thin sticks behind him, clearly have not yet found the meaning of life. The majority of one team hide in the dressing room playing on their iPads, tablets or other players girlfriends while two of them fight the opposition.  I say two fight the opposition but in fact only one throws the ball at them, the others merely stand around ion what sun breaks through the clouds while they scratch themselves.  I ask you is this any way for a grown man to pass the time of day? What is the point of this?  Why do Englishmen, working men at that, get so excited over this nonsense? In Scotland we never played this game.  On the odd occasion as kids it was attempted, more as an experiment to attempt understanding of the southern neighbours folly, but it never lasted.  The idea of standing around while others work is not the Scots way, I found many Englishmen who in my experience considered this a good working method however.   

I will not gloat that the imperialist army, known as the 'barmy army,' with good reason, have headed ten thousand miles into destruction, but I could.  There will be no gloating that those who desired an open top bus trip after a lucky win against a feeble young Aussie side last year have found themselves dangling on the end of a rope.  Laughter will not cross my mind when the defeated sun burnt 'sportsmen,' drag themselves back to their bank accounts.  No smug smiles here, but I might just go out and buy a bottle of Australian wine for Christmas!

      

Before you eat, be it breakfast lunch or tea, do not click on this link.  Click nothing until you are in a healthy state, far from dangerous weapons or fragile items.  This may make you laugh or it may make you boak!

Wal-Mart Called...

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It's Curtains for Me.

Life was hectic this morning.  I was out on the rusting bike by five past six, cycling slowly around as I refound muscles unused for a month.  Before seven I had cleaned the window.  That is I moved the plant, books and other detritus that have blocked it since Adam was a boy and mucked it out.  Then I replaced the curtains after their annual Spring wash, or is it bi-annual, I forget?  How long does it takes to place the brutes on the runner?  Why on earth does the bit to stop them running of the end not go back on?  What woman designed this thing anyway?  After almost killing myself hanging on to the brute, screwdriver in hand to turn the screw that would not turn, I gave up and am happy to let them hang badly until the next wash.  I then went for veg, had breakfast, had a 30 minute kip, far from curtains, and it was not even nine by the time I had finished grumbling my way through the online papers.  The light mornings do make it easier to get things done.

Later I decided to wander through the town watching the citizens rush about eager to get the shopping done.  Quite why such folk go shopping when the town is busy I never understood, and it's always the same people!  Try shopping early, or late even, and then you need not fret so.  I meanwhile smugly promenade.  This eventually took me past the cricket ground where the local team were struggling to beat their opponents.  I still find this a strange game this cricket.  One man throws a ball at another, he in turn swings a big stick at it.  All around a dozen others loiter in the sun.  A man wearing several hats and a white coat every so often makes strange hand signals, possibly Morse code I suspect, and after every thrown ball missed by the one with the big stick the others cry "Well done," and applaud even though nothing has happened.  You quickly realise this game was invented by an Englishman!  "Play up! Play up, and play the game!" This is what it says on the mural outside Lords Cricket Ground, once the home of cricket itself, until India nicked the game.  Yet the English have always cheated.  I watched the excitement for a while, none of the gentlemen noticed me, and I was impressed by the response of the other team members gathered around the scoreboard, they too were happily ignoring the, er, action!

One interesting aside from the County Council election came in the constituency for the other half of town.  The UKIP candidate was named as Philip Avramovich Maximenco PALIJ.  This made me laugh, as do those folks called Conneletti or Patel who stand as candidates for the Scottish Nationalists!

You may find this LINK useful at some time.

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Another Sign of Spring

Just as mist heralds the dawn, daffodils and bluebells brighten the world, umbrellas in many hands, and men in shorts appear so cricket reappears in our midst heralding Spring!  The first chance to dress in whites bring the English male out in huge numbers, age and lumbago not wearying such men.  The sun is shining, the windchill bad, yet there they are, sweating off the pounds gained watching cricket from overseas on the couch throughout the winter.  What do they see in this slow, ponderous, yet still more intellectually satisfying than baseball, game?  One overweight man throws a ball towards another, armed only with a flat stick. He swipes at the ball hoping to hit the thing far away, if he misses the balls flight may take it onto other sticks embedded behind him, if they hit he loses his place.  When the ball goes any distance those surrounding shout and run to collect and return it, while the batsmen run back and forward the 22 yards between sticks.  With no less than six or seven hours a huge score of 200 or more 'runs' can be gathered this way.  How enthralling.  Everybody claps at such a score. From eleven in the morning until six or even later in the evening the chaps stand around, clapping occasionally, taking turns to swipe at thin air, and then replace the poundage lost by sitting  in the nearest pub until 'last orders' is shouted.  Using the ground this way is better than building yet more desperately needed homes I suppose, especially as no-one can afford them these days but just what is the attraction that grabs Englishmen so?  In Scotland working men rarely play or even consider cricket, in England this disease affects all classes.  Vast volumes are scribbled on the rules, personnel, history, events, places connected with the game.  If rain hinders play two men, any two, will find an eager audience willing to listen while they drone on endlessly about any of said subjects.  Have these men no lives?  They certainly could not have wives!  Think also of this, today is semi-final day in the English cup and these men ignore it to play cricket instead of watching the football, are they victims of  'mad cow disease' perhaps?

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If it's Springtime That Must Mean Cricket in England!

Whenever Spring shows through the rain clouds Englishmen will run for the 'white's,' grab a bat and head for the village green! Naturally this is not always easy in large conurbations but somehow there is always an area put aside for men of indeterminate age to waste a few hours throwing a ball at a bat playing cricket. As you are aware the English believe, wrongly, that they invented everything that exists, however when it comes to cricket most peoples will happily allow them to take the blame!  Since it sprang into being in the late seventeen hundreds it has become associated with the spread of the British Empire.(Stand to attention at the back! Salute the flag!) Now nations like India and the West Indian Islands play the game, and naturally they play it so much better than its inventors! Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka are places where the game has an almost religious status. For the poor of course a success at cricket can lead to an escape from a life of toil and sweat and some have become rich beyond their wildest dreams.The latest version of the game '20/20' now has a league in India which offers football player type profits. That appears popular with the players! Those nations with connections to the 'Old Country' also played the game successfully, Australia in particular, while New Zealand played it in between thumping everybody at rugby union. The Canadians tried it but found the ball often got lost in the twenty foot snowdrifts and instead took up Ice Hockey, a derivation of another English game. Being Canadian of course they decided on a version which was deemed pleasantly violent. There again few Canadians ever saw a girls school play hockey! St Trinians anyone?

To normal people, and Americans of course, the laws of cricket are confusing. Having myself idled watched the game via the box in the corner for many years I can assure you that it has a pleasant and enjoyable side. Ask me however where a 'Silly Mid Off' should stand or what the umpire, (that's he in the white coat with several pullovers around his head in the 70% heat) ask what he is doing waving his hand in that peculiar manner and I confess, like an English batsman, I'm stumped! By the way English cricket has improved greatly in recent years notably from the descendants of immigrants from the Indian sub Continent and elsewhere reaching test standard! Quite how the British National Party will cope with that I do not care to answer. 

Watching these chubby, sweating men roll up and throw (sorry, 'bowl') the ball at a gray haired man who's belly desired to break through the restricting belt, I was struck by how sociable the game was. Many of these lads have played enthusiastically for many years, often following in their father's footsteps, especially around here in a small town with lots of villages round about. Some cricket pitches possibly go back over two hundred years or more. Only 'Townies' moving form city to a quite life in the country would ever complain about a ball from such a pitch breaking their window! And would you believe some do! If the game is rained off the players can always socialise in the bar and if not the exercise of standing around in the sun for a few hours, occasionally chasing a ball, incidentally a very hard ball, and batting tsaid ball occasionally then running 22 yards between the wicket to the sound of a lacklustre applaud from a drowsy watcher must be good for them, physically and emotionally. Sociable, healthy exercise with little strain, and a game many play well into their fifties and beyond. Let's face it, we might play football into our thirties, but when we realise, at around eighteen, that we will never make the grade the joy of being kicked around is somewhat lessened. By forty few play football any more. Crickets leisurely pace enables enthusiasts to pull hamstrings and damage the Achilles right up to their pension.  Anyway some say, but whisper this quietly, that in spite of the confusing rules and endless arguments about 'moving feet,' and 'spinners,' and absurd scoring system, some say that this serious cricket business is actually fun!   

TV Obsession

If it's not one thing it's another. TV needs an obsession these days. Luckily Michael Jackson died so we could then endure wall to wall coverage of the loss of one of the most over rated singers for years. Famous less for his meaningless song and dance routines than for his demented and very confused personality. Living proof indeed that fathers need to do their job properly! While there was some nodding acquaintance with the occasional dead soldier from Afghanistan or Obama meeting the Russian leaders and curtailing thousands of nuclear warheads, we return quickly to Los Angeles and the hangers - on around the coffin. BBC, Sky News, and elsewhere indulge themselves with live coverage of the PR stunt designed to ignore the questions nobody wanted to ask. Like what did go on with the small boys, and who is the father/mother of his 'children? Instead we have hours of singers, mostly black, ensuring they are seen to be where they need to be seen whether they really cared or not.

Cynical? Oh yes! A showman dies in the United States and his family come along to mourn or attempt to reclaim their boy. No wrong in that in itself, although the show outweighed the reality. Emotion to the fore while there will be a fight for the money behind the scenes. What with all the hangers on and empty noise from an abundance of 'must be seen' persons, praises and tears from fans I confess I am left feeling cold. The solemnity of the returning bodies of 'our boys' who fell in a different life however fills me with admiration, not least for the self control of the young wife watching her man come home - in a box. TV however does not use the latter to fill their 24 hour screens, but a dead pop singer is an obsession with nothingness that can be enjoyed.

Today the funeral is over but the English are once again obsessed,this time with Cricket! Yes cricket! Rounders with two bats to you and me (rounders is what Yanks call Baseball for some reason unknown). More importantly to the English this cricket is what they call 'The Ashes.' In the days of long ago they started challenging the Australians to cricket matches. This proved popular and today this is something of huge import to those whose brain seized up during primary school days. It is claimed that after one defeat by the Aussies (apparently the English lose quite a lot in this contest) the visiting captain taunted his opponent by declaring the "Death of English cricket!" If only....

Later some women presented a small urn containing some burnt material, some claim it could be a bail, but a more reliable voice insisted it was a woman's veil, appropriate for those who play this game I would say. TV executives see cricket, and especially the 'Ashes' as important. Wall to wall coverage is however limited as the 'England & Wales County Cricket Board' stupidly sold the right s to Sky, so most folk cannot see it! This does not stop them talking about it everywhere however.

England of course is awash with arrogance, especially when they perceive the Aussies as having a weak side. During the last meeting England won, celebrating with a meeting with the slime ball Tony Blair in Downing Street and an open top bus tour of London. Dearie me! They only won because one of the Aussie world class bowlers was injured and the victory was meaningless, but don't tell them this. They are England and therefore they are bound to win!

Their self belief to the fore England has turned its enmity on the Welsh. Playing the first test in Cardiff the English object to the Welsh national anthem being played before the game, and instead demand their own! Imperialism is never far from an Englishman. Imagine being in a foreign country and demanding your anthem is played! England does! In fact the organisation behind this goes under the name 'England & Wales County Cricket Board,' so why not play the game in Wales, and why object to their national anthem? Imperialism, no other reason. Funny how there have been Welshmen in the team, and South Africans, Pakistanis and even Scotsmen, sometimes as skipper, but please don't play the game in Wales or mention their anthem! TV however is obsessed with cricket. The anthem is debated, the pitch, the weather, the stadium, the history, the people, the past people, the ball, the bat, the 'silly mid off,' and all the rest over and over on all the channels. Today the game actually got under way, and the Aussies are well on top. There could be another five test thrashing in sight for England (& Wales). This would be sad, wouldn't it? Tee Hee!

It's Just Not Cricket!

Now cricket is one of those strange English games that mean little to anyone with half a brain. Naturally it appeals to the average Englishman. We Scots have of course played this game to some effect but it has never got into the national psyche as it has the English and some other parts of the Empire (God bless the king!). In Scotland we would never stand outside a TV shop window watching cricket in the way we would look for the football results. In 1969 however when wandering through the City of London I came upon a surprising scene. Just outside the Leadenhall market there was a crowd of about thirty or more standing looking at an office window. There were so many people that while some stood in the gutter of a very busy road a policeman was on guard to ensure a passageway through the crowd was kept clear for folk to pass by! This was lunchtime in the city, a very crowded place, and here were people standing watching this window because someone had placed a TV there showing a cricket match! The England side were playing a 'test Match' against some visiting side and the English risked their lives to watch it! This would never have happened in Edinburgh! I was genuinely shocked! So why am I insulting your limited intelligence with this subject. Could it be something in the way our sins will be found out?

You see cricket has been played for many years in two simple forms. In one, often boring to the uneducated form, it lasts for up to five days, weather permitting of course. The other, a more recent invention, comprises a short 'one day' game, the kind played by many clubs throughout England every weekend. Folks got along quite happily for years with this, and for the most part there were little complaints. There were often complaints from me when men went on (and on) about the result of such encounters. Just how the game gets under their skin I have no idea, but I knew when it was getting under mine! During the days of the 'Raj' the Indian sub continent took up the game and today it has become the most important sport in that part of the world. The top stars have 'pop star' adulation at home and acclaim world wide. While the crowds at an English game were for the most part somewhat reserved in Asia they were far from this! Huge crowds, high temperatures, hard pitches and deafening noise accompanies the games. Losing is a sin, and victory is all important. The beer carrying Englishman wobbling down the stairs with a tray full of pints, often dressed in funny clothes for reasons I do not understand, gently supports his side, yelling the occasional funny remark - he thinks - and applauding the good play when it arrives. In the warmth of the southern hemisphere the noise never abates, the crowds screaming their support and informing the opposition of their opinion at all times, sometimes helpfully with stones! A 'Test Match' in any such city brings the whole place to a halt no matter what!

A change occurred in recent days, possibly to gain money from the TV companies, maybe just to try out a new innovation. This was called 20/20 Cricket. The game would be played in the evening, under floodlights and consisted of a mere 20 overs (Google it!) a side. This produced a fast action packed game far removed from the rather staid five day encounter. The crowds loved it! Quickly this has become a regular part of the cricket world, so much so that an American (isn't it always?) decided he could cash in - sorry, help develop the game further. This man, Sir Allen Stanford, (How come a Yank is a 'Sir?') his pockets bulging with cash decided on a televised tournament of 20/20 Cricket with huge financial rewards for the players involved. Normally these men make comparatively little cash in comparison with football players, and while in India they became wealthy the temptation to finance beyond their wildest dreams took hold with many of the top players. Several of the best from England joined the Australians, West Indians, and those from all the Indian sub continent and accepted the invitation to play in the new series. Money talked, and it is reported it affected the players so badly that at one point some had spent two hours discussing how to just celebrate receiving the cash! "The love of money is the root of all evil," the man said, you can add 'All that glistens is not gold!'

Tonight, in the midst of the 'credit crunch,' with financial fraud appearing in several places it has been announced that the company owned by Stanford has been charged with fraud! The small matter of $8 billion worth of fraud! Throughout the cricket world men are now sitting with broken dreams. The future that looked so good has ended. The trust we all put in cash has failed them, just as it has failed the world economy. "Man does not live by bread alone!" Now we all would like a million from a game or two of cricket and money is not wrong in itself, however the raised hopes, the jobs for the 'small people' lost around these tournaments, and the heartache that will follow is indeed cruel to ponder. Something ironic in all this in my view. Maybe living in my poverty and still being happy is better than watching the pot of gold slip out of the hands - just as the ball usually slips out of the English players hands!

Independent

New York Times