And age shall weary them

Today marks the funeral of Harry Patch, the last British survivor of the trench warfare of the so-called Great War.

I have my own, admittedly selfish, reasons for feeling aged today.

When I was younger, I played cricket. When I was younger still I was reasonably ok at cricket. Like many other people who are young and ok at cricket I represented my local area, in this case Croydon.

Like some of those other people, once things got a little bit hard, I tended to put less effort in, not more and as a result, after the age of about 13 I stopped being picked. The last game I remember playing in was against on the day of the 1985 FA Cup Final. I opened the batting and scored somewhere between 0 and 3 (which is my way of saying I can't remember how many it was but it certainly wasn't more than 3 runs.

I think I flattered myself with the thought that the ball that bowled me kept low but I seem to remember batting for quite some time and missing a lot of the deliveries that came my way.

I first started to feel the age factor when one member of the Croydon schools team, Jamie Moralee, became a professional footballer. On a Wednesday night in March 1992, I saw him play for Crystal Palace at Southampton and, aged 19, stated to feel my age.

Today, the boy who by far the best player in the Croydon schools team retired from professional cricket. Mark Butcher of Surrey and England has retired at the age of 36. I sometimes glibly throw into conversations that I have opened the batting with someone who played 71 test matches for England. I didn't open with him very often. But it did happen and now I wish I'd pay more attention.

There's a line in the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy that goes something like:
It's at time like that I wish I'd listened to what my mother said.
Why, what did she say?
I don't know, I didn't listen.

I think I was so scared that I was out of my depth that I didn't pay much attention to what was going on around me.

Anyway, he's retired from cricket now. And I feel incredibly old.

The one saving grace is Alistair Brown. Two years older than me, he played with my brother. He's still playing professional cricket for Nottinghamshire. As long as he holds in there for a bit longer, I'll be all right.

Interior design gone mad.

Quoth the Simpsons:

Lisa: Okay, I'd like 25 copies in canary, 25 in goldenrod, 25 in saffron, and 25 in paella.
Clerk: OK, 100 yellow.

In order to forget the disastrous attempts at following my dad's gambling habits (following them would have brought success, my arsed attempts brought penury), I am rejuvenating myself and the house with a bit of do-it-yourself and gardening.

Having plumbed, drilled, shelved and weeded, I have moved on to the most pointless task in history, choosing between several different shades of the same colour.

This would be all well and good if the shades were of the light and dark variety but I know that the living room is going to end up a light shade of yellow. It may come down to a choice between Dulux's "lemon tropics" and "lemon pie".

And what is the difference between the two?

I have no idea. And I suspect no one else does either.

It's a far better thing I do now...

I could have been at home on the sofa cheering home a 25-1 Mark Johnston winner at Goodwood and each and every Australian wicket that fell.

Instead I was touring National Trust properties with my mother.

Although I felt a sharp pain and had the temptation to let out a cry of anguish on finding out that Laa Rayb had won the big mile handicap (damn you Corals for not putting odds up before 9:30), it was only a brief lapse.

It was a good day with good company and in very pleasant surroundings. That's all that matters.

Right, where's the form book gone...

Scrub that

I didn't notice the off time of 2:10 and completely missed putting money on the third Johnston horse.

Just as well, it came nowhere. Instead one of the other won! Roman Republic won at 9/2 but I had a fiver on at 11/2 this morning. So, I'm almost back to where I was at the end of Tuesday.

Funny old game.

If you're so clever, why aren't you rich?

Systems and strategies are all pretty hopeless when up against humans and/or animals.

So, Tuesday's gains were wiped out by a poor day on Wednesday. Two third places managed to keep things respectable. However, in context, the 4:00 race had six horses with money on. That the third place was around 20-1 helped the recovery.

I think dad would have found a different way to make a couple of quid.

And so to Thursday, a much quieter day save for three in the first race. I am being bolder and yet more selective by ignoring one of these runners altogether. This tactic on Tuesday meant I missed an 8-1 winner. Today is could be 20-1. I'm starting to think that a £3 place on the Tote might be in order...

Goodwood day two

The next stage of the Channon/Johnston adventure is considerably more complicated.
Multiple entries is a theme again and Mr Johnston has taken it to extremes today.

1st race
Som Tala & Aaim to Prosper are both trained by Mick Channon. I think a couple of tiny each way bets there will suffice.
2nd
No entries
3rd
Lahaleeb runs for Channon but is a big outsider.
4th
Mark Johnston runs five:
Sabotage
Matraash
Topolski
Becausewecan
Fin Vin de Leu
Not sure what I'll do here yet.

Once that race is out of the way, I'll have a look at these:
5th race
Specialising (Channon)
6th race
Atabaas Allure (Johnston)
7th race
Proclaim (Johnston)

I'm torn between the following thoughts:

1. Following the plan
2. Ruling out one or two that obviously have no chance
3. Backing some for a place only on the Tote
4. Stopping because it's unlikely to work two days running, life just isn't that obvious

But I'm a relatively weak person so I think I know what will happen.

Day One - for the record

So, here's how it finished:

Mick Channon had one runner and it finished third at 8/1 (but I had 16/1 earlier in the day, dad would be proud).
Mark Johnston had seven runners across four races. I backed six in the end. The one I missed was an 8/1 winner. However, one of his horses also won the last race and two others managed third places.
If I'd backed the other winner, I'd be substantially in front but then if I'd written A Christmas Carol I'd be Charles Dickens.
Day one of the homage to dad's canniness was a modest success.

Canniness update

4th race

Archers Road came third. I had a mighty £3 each way at 16-1!

Have brought home an astonishingly wonderful £11 from Urban Poet, I got £12.60 back from Archers Road.

It doesn't sound like much but it's exactly what he would have done (see below). It's a bizarre tribute but it's my tribute.

Right, I can now put a couple of quid on the other Johnston horse in the next!

Canny, very canny

My dad was incredibly canny although he tried hard to hide it sometimes.

Glorious Goodwood always saw him at his most canny. Despite not following racing closely, he always managed to come away with a profit. My brother and I, who paid considerably more interest, managed infrequent wins. I used to rely on getting the short priced winner of a two year-old maiden late in the day to get back somewhere close to breaking even.

His strategy was:

• Back anything trained by Mark Johnston or Mick Channon, preferably each way

Especially:

• Any two year-old horse trained by Channon
• Any horse trained by Johnston, running in a handicap

In addition, he would also back any horse trained by Dandy Nicholls running over five furlongs.

On the way I went last year, the first since dad died, this strategy yielded winners at 11/4 and 8/1.

So, I'm going to do it all over again this year. Annoyingly Mark Johnston has a lot of runners.

Day One

• 1st race

A Johnston horse won the opening race of the meeting at 8/1! He had two in the race and I backed the one that came 4th.

• 2nd race

Urban Poet, Johnston's horse came 3rd at 6/1. I backed it each way so there's a little in the bank (but not much).

• 3rd race

No runners

There are a further four races left today:

• 4th race

Mick Channon has an outsider in this at around 14-1 so there's a couple of quid each way invested there two.

• 5th race

Mark Johnstone has three here and I've put a little on two so you can bet that the third one will win.

• 6th race

Nothing here

• 7th race

Mark Johnston has the favourite. No bet made yet.

Come on the canny man!

For what it's worth, language aint what it used to be

If I read that a firework display has been cancelled at the last moment, I would expect to hear tales of people trying to blow on the burning fuse to avoid a catastrophe. Perhaps the fireworks had been knocked and were accidentally aiming at a school at our heroes raced to the rescue.

I would not expect the fireworks to be cancelled by the local council, 48 hours in advance. In Berkshire it seems the last moment can last for days.

Give me a break!

It looks like the football season has started all over again. Notice how I resisted the urge to it has "kicked off" and then publicised the fact that I resisted the urge.

UEFA has announced that if the football season ever drops below 30mph, the bus will blow up.

Well the blues had a baby and the bastard couldn't sing

The dinner party questions.

What are your:

• Top five songs/bands/albums
• Top five films/movies/flicks

The answers vary. Partially through memory, or lack there of. Partially due to the audience. Mostly because I don't go to dinner parties.

Anyway, I should put on the record (ho ho ho) my thanks to Richard Duffy. Although I haven't seen or spoken to him since about 1992, if he hadn't lent my brother a copy of Julian Cope's Peggy Suicide then I would not have been able to fill one of the slots in order to answer one of the questions.

Which is kind of a long winded way of saying that Peggy Suicide is really good and if I hadn't committed it to paper (!) then I might forget when it comes to actually having to answer the question.

There was another point. I forget it now.

So I go out and come in again, so I go out and come in again

I can't get started. Which is pretty obvious really considering the last post was in 2008.
I have all the creativity of M Night Shamalanadingdong. Which is pretty frustrating.
I want to get started on some work but can't until someone called Cherry gets in touch which means my deadline is going to be really tight.
I also seem to have bruised my elbow which is, of course, is much worse.
It's funny how the small things are the most annoying.

What goes up does not always have to come down in the intended fashion

Just a quick reference back to my travel arrangements.

Five people on a nineteen seater flight is not fun. But then nineteen people on that flight would have been worse. At least only four people were able to see the fear in my eyes, the whiteness of my knuckles and the intensity with which I kissed the tarmac at Silver City Airport.

There are reasons why I don't enjoy rollercoaster rides, the main one being that I don't like paying for the feeling that I'm going to die.

Sadly, I have a return ticket and the distinct lack of public transportation out here means that if I don't want to get on the plane next Wednesday, I'm going to have to start walking to Albuquerque now.

Other than that, joy to the world is immense although I can't quite get the hang of following the football at 7:36, even if the news is good.

Tea and coffee may not be served

This is the interior of a Beechcraft 1900D. It is the type of plane used by Great Lakes Airlines. I will be flying into Silver City, NM in one of these tomorrow.

To find this picture, I typed Beechwood 1900D into Google. A worrying slip.

This is the first trip where I've taken out travel insurance since I was 18 and going skiing.

Draw your own conclusions.

The full turning circle

Three years ago I bought the traditional Christmas present for my grandmother: tickets for the ballet, The Nutcracker at the Coliseum .

The plan was that she would go with mum (her daughter-in-law). They both loved going to the ballet and they both loved The Nutcracker. As it turned out, my grandmother was too ill to go, and it was the illness that killed her five months later. She was hiding how bad it was, worried that others might see her as weak.

Not being able to get a refund and not being anywhere near well enough to go myself, dad went. This was a palaver and a half because he was determined not to enjoy himself but to make it clear that it was a far, far better thing he did etc. That's fair enough when you consider that his only exposure to ballet was the Paul Hogan Foster's adverts ("Streuth, there's a bloke down there with no strides on!") and maybe a snippet or two of The Red Shoes.

On his return I was a little disappointed to find that his reaction was predictable. Whatever he felt on the inside, he was determined only to remind us all of the sacrifice he made by going, making sure the ticket wouldn't go to waste, helping mum navigate the dangerous waters of central London. I had hoped that the Gerald Scarfe designs might, at the very least, have given him some pleasure.

Three years dad, like his mother has passed on. Yesterday, mum, Diana and I went to see The Nutcracker at the Coliseum. It was a revival of the Scarfe designed production and I really can't see why dad too so negatively to it.

1. It's short
2. The music is mostly familiar to any one who has watched more than fifteen year of adverts on ITV
3. The clever use of the sets in the first Act more than makes up for the quieter moments
4. There's great value to be had in peering down into the orchestra pit
5. Not only were the children in the audience majestically behaved (apart from a little raucous coughing) but one child was trying to copy the dancing in the aisle
6. The Coliseum itself is a beautiful (if a tad gaudy) building
7. Everyone is a fruit and nut case
   

I'm sure I thought of more. It hardly matters. Anyway, I couldn't come away saying I love ballet. I'd struggle to come away saying I can even see the point of it. But it was a good day and it's always interesting to experience new things (as long as there's no threat to life or limb).

There isn't a huge amount of plot, the second Act looks like a greatest hits package and forgets some of the inventiveness of the first. But the music is much better than before the interval so there's a trade off.

Having been to reasonable amount of live theatre (or legitimate, as Homer once said) this year, I'd much rather go back to see this than say, Six Character in Search of an Author. And it wouldn't be the first time a second half has failed to live up to the promise of the first with Never So Good starring that nice young Mr Irons being the best example.

I'm sure that, three years ago, dad probably did have an all right time. He just forgot how to express himself when it came to things that were outside his norm.

He was more worried about self-image than he ever let on. And at times like this I think it's important to let go of preconceptions. I had a good time at the ballet with two of the people who are most important to me. What else matters?

Sometimes life is simply about letting go of the preconceptions you have about yourself. I think I've got better at it over the last three years. If someone had wanted to make a funny remark about going to the ballet it would have said more about them than me. I wish dad had been able to see that a little more clearly. I worry that he stopped himself from opening up and that, as a result, he didn't get as much out of life as he could have.

I'm not about to become an advert for a new movie with a positive affirmation in the title. But I'm not going to rule anything out straight away either.

I might be trying too hard to find meaning from yesterday, perhaps it was (as Homer also said( just a bunch of stuff that happened.

Etiquette guide for all facets of modern life

When at the National Theatre on a Saturday night, if someone asks what your seat number is, the correct answer is not "row H".
When outside Norbury station on a Sunday afternoon, if someone asks you if you would some skunk or dope, the correct answer is not "no, no thanks".

A word of praise

In the run-in to Christmas, everyone needs a little help with ideas for presents. If all else fails (and assuming the recipient isn't a raving neo-conservative/fervent free market capitalist/fascist dictator) you could try the magnificent output of the best t-shirt company around.
Welcome to the world of Philosophy Football.

Any excuse or How to take the rough with the smooth

I don't need an excuse to go to Winchester.
That said, in stark contrast to the opening statement, I have managed the following excuses to go there in the last three months:
1 It's a convenient place to stop for lunch on the way to the where we're going
2 It's a useful route away from the the traffic jam on the way back from where we were going
3 It's a convenient place to stay when visiting a friend who lives in a town 15-20 miles away
4 It's a nice place to meet up with another friend and his wife for Sunday lunch tomorrow

It's hardly the social whirl of the century. But it is good to remind myself that the place I want to live is somewhere I always want to go back to.
Other excuses could have included
1 The torch lit procession through town for Guy Fawkes day
2 Because I want to
3 It's a really nice place to go
4 I feel at home there. In fact, I almost feel as though I own it although I know that I will probably never have the money to own so much as a bath and a sandwich toaster there

Tomorrow's trip is pretty important in that it will give Diana the chance to meet the final piece of my friend jigsaw. It's the man I inappropriately call Fildew. It's also the man I should accurately call Paul. He's married to Sarah whom I've never met. Should all the invited people turn up to our wedding next year, there will be three Sarahs and three Pauls. So, Fildew he remains.

And Fildew is an enigma wrapped up in cling film. If he felt comfortable with communicating with the outside world he'd be the most popular person around. But he's not so he has to make do with those who are dogged. In this case, that's me.

Anyway, if I thought he'd be able to stand the pressure of being sociable and organised for an entire day, I'd consider asking him to be my best man. But, like me, he's not.

Of bricks and mortar
After much gentle persuasion and idiotic determination, Nationwide finally deigned to lend us the money to buy the house in Ascot. Even after the decided to tell us that we had to stump up an extra £12,500 or go to hell, it took them three days to make a decision.

And within 24 hours of finally having the mortgage approved? The phone call. The estate agent. The news. The vendors have been knocked back by the owner of the house they wanted to buy. So, we're back in limbo. They want to sell us the house. We want to buy it. Where we go from here is anyone's guess.

Bonus!

For anyone who may be upset by the result of the US election, here's a potentially unexpected bonus:
Sarah Palin's daughter no longer has to enter into a politically expedient marriage

By the way, if you are upset by the US election, why?

Isn't it frightening that a democratically elected politician in the great democracy on the planet has to give his first speech as president elect behind bullet proof glass?

Isn't it more frightening that the glass is there because of the fear that a fellow American is likely to be the one pulling the trigger?