I am not a Grumpy Old Man
I am a middle aged man who occasionally gets slightly hacked off with things.
My politics are greenish and to the left of centre.
I am married again, following being widowed. I own two bikes, one car, one campervan and half a cat.
I love cycling (hence the bikes) and cycle sport especially road racing. During the winter I enjoy watching football (soccer if you are North American). I sometimes paint and enjoy cooking and eating.
I don’t usually post anything about rugby, but as the World Cup has just finished I will make an exception. As someone brought up in the Scottish Borders, rugby is part of my DNA. Obviously any direct interest I had in its outcome ended at the group stage when Scotland lost to England.
The final was a compelling game of rugby. From the moment that the French lined up in a ‘V’ to advance on the All Black Haka to the last, very relieved, kick to touch, the game had me gripped. At no point was either team on top. I think that The All Blacks just about deserved to win. They were the best team in the tournament. The best player both in the final and in the tournament overall was Thierry Dusautoir. He was named Man of the Match in the final and today was justly named the IRB Player of the Year.
Some would argue that low scoring and only two tries makes for an uninteresting game, I would argue that a seventy point try feast may be entertaining but has more to do with basketball than rugby. Some of the best games of rugby that I have seen were low scoring forward dominated games, usually played out in the mud at Mansfield Park between Hawick and Gala.
What Else did I learn from the World Cup?
ITV are keener to cut to an advert than to stay with the event.
Israel Dagg reminds me of Andy Irvine, without the worry about what is going to happen under a high ball.
Before he was crocked Dan Carter did enough to convince me, and possibly other Borderers of my generation, that he could be a better No 10 even than ‘Rud’.
L’Eroica is a sort of Sportive/Grand Fondo type of event that takes place in the Chianti region of Italy each October. It is one of the events on my list of ‘Rides I would like to do but probably won’t’. Others on the list include Paris-Brest-Paris, The Fred Whitton and the Dunwich Dynamo. Actually I might get round to doing the Dynamo one day.
The event, you can’t really call it a race, started in 1997 as an attempt to draw attention to, and help preserve Tuscany’s ‘strada bianche’. It has been remarkably successful in that respect and has even spawned a race for the professionals, the Montepaschi Strade Bianche. The other purpose of the event is to connect to a (partly imagined) time in the past when cyclists were real men (and women) of steel. The type of people who would and could repair their broken forks using a borrowed blacksmith’s forge, like Eugene Christophe but without the aid of the boy to pump the bellows.
In keeping with this ethos you are not allowed to take part in the event on a bike made later than the mid nineteen-eighties. Many people take part on bikes that were originally built in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Most participants dress in retro cycling gear appropriate to the bike they are riding. Woollen jerseys and shorts, with a spare tubular wrapped round their shoulders in the style of the pre-war heroes like Alfredo Binda, is the look to aim for.
Additionally, while I’m sure that there is no ban on energy drinks and bars, they are not exactly encouraged. The correct food and drink for cycling is water, or better still red wine (this is Chianti country) and some good bread, cheese and a bit of prosciutto or salami. If you need a caffeine boost an espresso will do the trick.
For those of you not aware of the background to this, the Tories would like to repeal the Human Rights Act and replace it with their ‘British Bill of Rights’. The ‘British Bill of Rights’ will include nothing that The Daily Mail might disagree with. It is possible that The Daily Mail may in fact be asked to produce the first draft. The Liberal Democrats, possibly for the first time are digging their heels in and saying NO! as is Ken Clarke (I think).
Anyway back to Shami Chakrabarti taking an ignorant Tory apart.
Dominic Raab: The tabloids blame everything on the Human Rights Act (HRA) and, in my view, the NGOs think it’s perfect. I think there’s a middle ground. The HRA didn’t do a great deal to protect some of our freedoms – against ID cards, the DNA database, against some of the surveillance where children were followed home from school to check their catchment area.
Shami Chakrabarti: That was our case, and we brought it under article 8 of the HRA, so I disagree with you.
That was just the start of it.
The bottom line of all of this is that for me as a middle class, middle aged, British born, white male, with all the privilege and entitlement that brings, a change from the Human Rights Act to what ever legislation the Tories might introduce probably wouldn’t make any difference. As long as we remain a democracy my human rights will probably be protected. The mark of what we are as a society is how we protect the human rights of people less lovable than me.
I have just heard the sad news that Bert Jansch has died. He had cancer and passed away early this morning.
He is probably best known for his involvement with the acoustic group Pentangle. His solo career, before and after Pentangle was also brilliant.
Folkies of my generation knew that nobody, but nobody could play the acoustic guitar like Bert Jansch. He was a brilliant interpreter of traditional material as his version of the Irish classic Blackwaterside shows.
He was also a fine songwriter, probably his best known song was ‘Needle of Death’ partly a gentle, non-judgemental elegy to a friend who died of a heroin overdose and partly a stark anti-drugs song..
Other people will write far more eloquent obituaries than I can. All I know is that the world feels diminished by his passing. As someone said with Davy Graham gone, and now Bert, “who is left to play ‘Anji’?”
Seventy odd years ago my mother was born at a place in the middle of nowhere called Pennymuir.
The view from the middle of nowhere.
Apart from my mum being born there, its main claim to fame is that it is the site of some of the best preserved Roman Marching Camps in the United Kingdom. It is also where, what were in the past, two important drove roads met. One of them is the old Roman Road Dere Street.
The show
Every year on the first Saturday in September the Upper Kale Water Agricultural Society holds its Annual Show and Sports Day. A day for the people who live at the top end of the Kale Water to get together and celebrate who they are. I’m not sure how long they have held it, My Aunty Bet has some photos that seem to have been taken at the show in 1906.
Aunty Bet with a cup (for baking) in 1959. Back in the day she would probably have won Great British Bake off. Even in her eighties she could still give them a run for their money. The building is the drovers inn/ house where mum grew up
In the past (17th 18th & 19 centuries probably even earlier) Pennymuir Fair took place on the field beside the inn. The drovers bought and sold their sheep and cattle. They drank whisky and they made their deals. My grandmother had a theory that some of the drovers probably hid their money in the rushes, or buried it, to keep it safe and then, due to the whisky, forgot where they had hidden it.. She thought that there could be a small fortune buried in the field. As far as I know, she never found anything. It might be worth going back with a modern metal detector though.
Pennymuir Show is a sort of second cousin twice removed of the fair. While the buying and selling may have disappeared (although if you offered the right price to the owner of one of the exhibits, I’m sure a deal could be done), a fair amount of whisky is still consumed.
When we were kids growing up on a farm in the Scottish Borders, we went along to Pennymuir most years. The night before this years show all four of us and my mother got together for a meal. It was the first time in a quite a few years that we had all been together in the same place. We decided that it would be a good idea to go along.
By the time we arrived the show was well under way. The judging of the sheep, the Industrial classes (cakes, crafts, fruit, vegetables and flowers) was over and the prizes awarded. They were in the middle of judging the dog classes. (Border Collies, Terriers and Foxhounds).
Sheep
Not being that interested in dogs, I had a look round the sheep. Forty years ago I had a bit of an idea about what a good specimen of a particular breed should look like, but I don’t have a clue these days. My brother couldn’t make it so I have no idea if the right sheep won or not, but there were some quite impressive animals on show.
Some of them had some quite unusual coloured fleeces as well.
For young Black-faced females Yellow Ochre is the trend-setting colour this year
The Hall
The Industrial, Vegetable, Flowers, Shepherds Crooks, Photography and children’s classes were on display in the hall. Pennymuir Hall is a village hall without a village. It is a functional wood and corrugated iron structure that does not seem to have changed much since we held my grandparent’s Golden Wedding party there nearly fifty years ago.
The cakes, scones and the like were suitably mouth-watering.The shepherds crooks are works of art.
The flower and vegetable classes are more limited than those you would find in a southern horticultural society show. This is hardly surprising. Exotic vegetables like butter-nut squash and sweet corn just don’t work in the Upper Kale Water. What they do show is that quality produce can be grown in a fairly harsh environment.
Also on display in the hall were the trophies. The collection has built up over the years and there is now a cup for almost everything
The show is a day out for everyone. There was a beer tent and a better than average food van. There were races for the kids. My niece was quite enthusiastic about taking part, especially when she discovered that every competitor got a sweet at the finishing line. There were also races for terriers. If you have never seen terrier racing before, think of it as freestyle greyhound racing. A bunch of unruly Jack Russells chasing after a stuffed bunny rabbit, over a fifty yard course, with the occasional punch-up along the way. The terrier racing unfortunately, seems to have replaced the Hound Trail.
Slight digression: Hound Trailing is really a sport from the other side of the border, Cumberland and Westmorland to be precise. The dogs look like foxhounds, but are in fact bred specifically for racing. They follow an aniseed trail laid over the hills around the show ground. The trail is usually around ten miles long and the first dog back and under the control of its owner is the winner.
We didn’t stay for it, but after the show there is a hog and lamb roast and to end the night a dance in the hall which goes on until the early hours of the morning
The local newspaper’s (The Southern Reporter) report on the show gives you some of the winners and a picture of a boy with his collie pup.
I can’t really end without a picture of the men’s toilet facilities.
Portaloos and the hall facilities are available for the women.
Mark Cavendish did what he promised to do and won the UCI Road World Championships: Elite Men Road Race. otherwise known as the World Championships. His is the United Kingdom’s first world champion for 46 Years, in fact he is only the United Kingdom’s second ever World Champion. He went there to win, the British team had no plan “B” either Cavendish delivered or they failed. The British team rode brilliantly, controlling the race from the start. If I had one minor criticism of the tactics it would be forget that ‘Cav’ won, the tactics must have been just right.
If I was a fully professional blogger I would have had a range of posts lined up ready for release to the blogosphere on a regular basis while I was on holiday. But as most of you have probably worked, out my blog posts usually consist of what ever random thought is rumbling through my brain at any given moment in time.
I am now back from holiday and once I get my life back into its normal groove I should get back to producing something worth ignoring on a reasonably regular basis
This is the tale of a courgette that grew too big.
In my garden there is a courgette patch that resembles a small jungle. Venturing down to the bottom of the garden scares small children – “because there might be tigers in there.” This courgette (or zucchini if you are Italian or North American) started growing in the jungle quite while ago. It was a very clever little courgette and managed to hide itself very effectively. There’s more including the recipe
I don’t usually post anything about rugby, but as the World Cup has just finished I will make an exception. As someone brought up in the Scottish Borders, rugby is part of my DNA. Obviously any direct interest I had in its outcome ended at the group stage when Scotland lost to England.
A Scotsman in Suburbia 