A THOUSAND WORDS..

It`s true, of course, that a picture paints a thousand words and I think this one, taken at a cash point in Nicosia, very accurately sums up the current state of EU politics and the ill fated Euro:-

My thanks to `a friend` for supplying it and my apologies for being unable to resist posting it here.

SOMETHING NOT QUITE RIGHT ?

You know how it is.  Sometimes you see things or hear things and instinctively you know there`s something not quite right about them.   A case in point is that of the MP for Maidstone and the Weald, Helen Grant.   After first joining the Labour Party in 2004, she then demonstrated the uncertainty of her political convictions by joining the Conservative Party on a free transfer two years later, citing `disillusionment` as the reason for the change.

She applied to become a parliamentary candidate and in May 2006 was adopted as the Conservative candidate to fill the boots of the departing Ann Widdecombe in the Maidstone constituency - a safe seat if ever there was one - and Mrs. Grant was elected in the General Election of 2010 albeit with a much reduced majority.

In 2012 she was embroiled in an expenses controversy when it was revealed that she was claiming the maximum allowed under the rules - almost £1700 a month - for a flat in London despite having her family home in Reigate in Surrey.  Now Reigate is within a zone around London in which MPs cannot claim expenses for a London rental but, as she represents Maidstone which is outside the exclusion zone, her expenses were allowed.

There was also a problem relating to her employment of her husband who subsequently resigned over an issue concerning an apparent disparity between the terms of his own contract and those of other employees of the MP.   Just recently it was reported that Mrs. Grant`s son  lives with his grandmother at her home near Maidstone and is thus able to attend the highly regarded Maidstone Grammar School in Kent - one of the last bastions of selective education on the country.

Now none of these issues in any way falls foul of any law and, as such, might well be perfectly legitimate.   But, like Beatrix Potter`s lamb burgers, it doesn`t feel quite right and things that don`t feel right usually aren`t.  It seems to me that these issues conspire to question whether the spirit of her position as a Member of Parliament should perhaps receive a little more attention than simply the letter of what might be permissible. 

As the Labour MP John Mann, a long standing campaigner on MPs expenses, said, "MPs do need to abide by the spirit of the rules."   Especially, I suggest, one who is a Justice Minister.   Perhaps at the next General Election the good folk of Maidstone and the Weald might look for a more deserving alternative.

ON HEARING THE NEWS..

It`s turning out to be a long, long winter - the longest and coldest since our first son was born 50 years ago come Sunday.  And so we`ve been on the lookout for anything that will raise the spirits, bring some much needed relief and revive us with some good news.   And as you can see from the celebrations shown above, it has come with the news that Posh Spice, aka Mrs. Beckham, has finally announced that she will not be singing any more.

She found fame, fortune and Mr. Beckham via the commercial vehicle of the Spice Girls some years back when they collectively assaulted our senses with the contrivance of `girl power` and a succession of hit records.   What is not so well known perhaps - and I have this on good authority from someone in the business who should know -  is that those hit records were largely the result of literally weeks of tinkering by studio sound engineers in order to bring some order and harmony to the warbled proceedings. 

So, on hearing the news that Posh`s singing career is finally at an end, I found it difficult to stop myself wondering whether it ever started.  But I must resist being curmudgeonly for I am forever grateful for small mercies.

1953..

....is 60 years ago now.   But what a year it was.   I remember it well.   It was the year of the Coronation, the year when England won the Ashes for the first time in 19 years, the year of the Matthews Cup Final and England getting a football lesson from Hungary with a 6-3 defeat at Wembley.   Crick and Watson discovered the structure of DNA, with more than a little help from Rosalind Franklin.   Some famous births in 1953 included Mike Oldfield, Victoria Wood, Nigel Mansell and Andrew Wiles, he who finally cracked the proof of Fermat`s last theorem.  Among the arguably less celebrated were Stephen Byers, Tony Blair, Michael Portillo, Peter Mandelson, Hillary Benn and Alastair Darling.  

But for me, in all the uncertainties and apprehensions of my burgeoning adolescence, the thing I recall celebrating perhaps more than anything else in that year was the conquest of Everest.   The timing was impeccable, almost like being a Coronation gift to Her Majesty the Queen by the successful party led by John (later Lord) Hunt and comprising a group of experienced climbers and Sherpas.   It was, of course, Sir Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tenzing Norgay who became the first to reach the summit.

I remember saving my pocket money and the proceeds of some dubious extra-scholastic employment so that I could buy a copy of `The Ascent of Everest` by John Hunt - the original cover of the book is shown above.   It was a volume I treasured for many years until, like my collection of vinyl albums, it became victim to one of our many `clear outs.`   And yet I still recall the members of that famous expedition - Hunt and Hillary and Tenzing of course, but also others - among them George Band,  Tom Bourdillon, Alfred Gregory, MIke Westmacott and George Lowe.

George, like his fellow New Zealander Hillary, was an outstanding climber and explorer and after Hillary and Tenzing had achieved their unforgettable feat, the two men were met on their descent to the South Col by George Lowe.  It was then that Hillary delivered his immortal summary of their achievement, "Well, George, we knocked the bastard off." 

George Lowe died yesterday at the age of 89 and he was the last climbing member of that famous expedition to leave us.    It almost seemed to close the book on that era when heroes came as modest, unassuming, dedicated and utterly genuine.   I wonder how many of those born in that remarkable year will be remembered with such admiration and affection as George Lowe.

A TEN YEAR WAIT..

It`s a big day here in deepest Kent with the inauguration (if that`s the right word) of Justin Welby as the 105th Archbishop of Canterbury.   There will be much pomp, circumstance, ceremony and symbolism in the proceedings  this afternoon in Canterbury Cathedral.   But perhaps not quite as much as at the Vatican just a few days ago when Pope Francis accepted the job.

There are a couple of ironies here though.   The first is that you wait ten years for this kind of pageant and then two come along at pretty much the same time. The other more important one is that Justin Welby`s ceremony of `enthronement` will be performed by a Venerable lady Archdeacon of Canterbury Cathedral, Sheila Watson, but still the Archbishop will not be the head of the Church of England, which role is, of course, for Her Majesty the Queen.  Fid def and all that.

So we end up with an Archbishop enthroned by a woman to a Church headed by another woman but yet women are still not permitted to become bishops of the same church.  For a cynic like me, the antics of these religious organisations grow ever curiouser and curiouser.  Maybe Justin will bring a change and an end to at least this inequality but I suspect he may be in for a bumpy ride.   Hold very tight, please.  Ding, ding.

`WHEN SOME SAD OLD DREAM REMINDS YOU`..

The other day I came across a box in a cupboard in a spare bedroom which hadn`t been opened for years - the box, that is, not the bedroom. Or the cupboard.  The box contained quite a collection of old 12" vinyl LPs, all the property of one of our long gone sons.   They must take after me, as the collection can only be described as eclectic.   Among them were albums by Level 42, ELO, Steve Winwood and others of that genre and those times, maybe 30 years ago?

The discovery made me think of my own collection which disappeared some years ago as a result of one of our occasional `clear-outs.`   And in turn it brought back memories of my days (or rather my nights) as a projectionist in the AKC Cinema in Barker Barracks, Paderborn, Germany, where I spent most of my 731 days of National Service.   My pay as a National Serviceman was about 26 shillings a week - about £1.30 in new money - so my cinema job, for which I was totally unqualified, brought in a useful additional income.

Now I haven`t been to the cinema in years so I suspect that things are much changed from my own experiences over 50 years ago.   In those days, as the audience were taking their seats and settling in, it was customary to seduce them with soft lights and mellow music selected by the management.   I thought this needed ramping up a bit so I used to serenade them with proper music of my own - the Kingston Trio, the Modern Jazz Quartet and their Golden Striker and especially Ray Conniff letting the audience know that s`wonderful.   And it was, especially as I indulged myself by treating them to lighting colour changes in time with the music.....until the dead hand of management intervened.

One of Steve Winwood`s unforgettable songs contain the lines, "When some sad old dream 

reminds you.......`   Well, opening the box certainly reminded me that I might now be sad 

and old but I can still dream wistfully of those times, that place and that music.  

A SMILE, A SONG AND AN `SSSI`..

We don`t have a housing problem here in deepest Kent.   It`s just a rumour put about by people with nowhere to live.  But help seemed to be on the way with the proposal to develop a former Army base just outside Chatham.   The 640 acre site has been earmarked for 18 years as being ideal for the construction of something like 5,000 houses, giving employment, helping the housing problem and giving a much needed boost to the local economy.

Trouble is, it has been discovered - after all that time - that the area is a breeding site for 88 nightingales and this has caused the area to be designated as a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) - quite possibly the highest order of protection going.  So it`s entirely possible that our warbling feathered friends will prevent the development going ahead although, to be fair, Medway Council are lodging an objection to the designation.

Now I quite like nightingales and I wish them no harm and, after all, they probably have a right to a peaceful family life and to remain undisturbed in their family home.   But you do begin to wonder whether it is right for them to be able to put a stop to the much needed and long awaited housing development.   I would have thought they were perfectly capable of flying off and finding a few trees somewhere else where they can warble away to their hearts` content.   Somewhere like Berkeley Square for instance?

A WEEK OF TWO HALVES..

It`s been a week of two halves for Argentina.   First they got stuffed in the referendum on the Falkland Islands, when only three of the resident population voted not to remain British.   (No wonder successive British Prime Ministers, despite solemn promises, shy away from giving us a referendum of whether we in the UK want to stay British or be subsumed into the farcical parallel universe of Brussels.)

Now Argentina have their very own Pope at last.   A wait of over 1,000 years finally sees the Pope hailing from outside Europe so there`s much dancing in the streets of Buenos Aires right now.   But of course, events in the Vatican have exposed yet another parallel universe, one seemingly governed by hocus pocus, mumbo jumbo and smoke and mirrors.

My own religious views are well documented in these pages so I won`t go on about it out of respect for those who do believe in the fairy tales, the pagan myths and the arcane process by which His Popeness has been selected.   But it has always puzzled me as to how God`s representatives on earth can bring the game into disrepute to the extent they have and yet still elect someone who changes his name, acquires the ability to never be wrong about anything ever and gets worshipped as though he was the real thing.  Goodness knows what Her Upstairs thinks about it.  Now, if the new Pope had chosen the name, say, Eric, renounced his infallibility and made Lionel Messi a Saint, then he might have got off to a good start.

Which brings me on to football and the plight of Southampton`s Argentinian manager, one Mauricio Pochettino, who took over the reins from the inestimable Nigel Adkins a few short weeks ago.   Pochettino`s record so far has been `mixed` with just one win in seven games although he has achieved something I don`t recall ever happening before.   The fracas at the end of last week`s game at Norwich saw a gang of Saints players along with Pochettino and presumably his interpreter haranguing referee Mark Clattenburg for awarding Norwich a dodgy penalty.

The fact that the penalty was saved didn`t deter Pochettino & Co. from their harangue which has resulted in the Saints being charged by the Football Association for `failing to control their players.`   This is the first time in over 60 years of following the Saints that I can ever recall such a charge being levied against my club and it might say much about the new attitude prevailing at St. Mary`s.

I suspect, however, that the Football Association may have picked the wrong target as Executive Chairman Nicola Cortese has built up a reputation for odd decisions, with the sacking of Nigel Adkins not only the oddest but also one which could yet see the Saints drop out of yet another parallel universe - that of the Premier League.   Maybe the Saints should be charged with `failing to control their Chairman?`   Football - the one true religion - could yet point the way to redemption;   but I`ve long since given up believing that dreams come true.

WHAT LIES BENEATH..

This is a photo I took last October, when we were having another of our frequent stays in Cornwall.   It was taken from the coast path and shows Gwithian beach on the north coast as we dodged the occasional shower.

I make no secret of my affection for Cornwall.   Yes, it`s got places like this, beaches to die for and if you go just as a `tourist` then you will never run out of places to visit.   But for me there is so much more to explore, to experience, to learn from.   The history, the culture, the language, the heritage of industries such as fishing and mining, much of which has been misrepresented by misty eyed romantics and commercial travellers.

And I`ve just finished enduring Caroline Quentin`s latest television series about Cornwall which over the past few weeks has revealed her to be just that - a commercial traveller flitting across the county and getting involved with people and events whether they liked it or not.   Now, throughout the series, she gave the impression that she was something of a native with her references to `my Cornwall` but having been born in Reigate in Surrey, educated in Hertfordshire and living in Tiverton in Devon, she is as much Cornish as, well, I am.

I`ve mentioned before that there is a growing tendency for `travel documentaries` to drift into the danger of the presenters becoming more important than the people and places they are supposed to be presenting - `Coast` and `Countryfile` are prime culprits.   But Caroline Quentin has raised `presenter power` to a new level.   She not only found it impossible to resist imposing her strident personality on unsuspecting local people and events but she did so with such an assault on the senses that I breathed a genuine sigh of relief when the series ended last night and I didn`t have to contend with her gushing insincerity any more .

Now I imagine that from the point of view of the Cornwall tourism industry, the series was a welcome advertisement and if it adds to the economic well being of the county then all to the good.   But Cornwall deserves better.   I live in hope that one day perhaps the enlightened and constantly inventive BBC Four will produce a programme or a series that shows Cornwall as it really is - with all its economic struggles, its social deprivation, the harsh reality of what lies beneath the tourist hotspots where, for example, Redruth and Camborne are among the poorest places in Europe - and in the process widen the horizons of those for whom Cornwall is nothing more than a holiday retreat and those who are seduced by superficialities such as Caroline Quentin.  

TAKE IT AWAY PLEASE..

This photo shows a 94-year old member of the Salvation Army who, along with others, form a group which has just been selected to represent Switzerland in the 2013 Eurovision Song Contest to be held in Malmo, Sweden.   And good luck to them, but I wonder if I detect a growing trend by countries who are not that keen on winning it.   After all, the initial glory of victory in this most unlikely of competitions quickly fades when the winning country realises that it has got to host the next one, with all the grief, expense and technical challenges involved.

We in the UK woke up to it years ago - ever since 1997 when we won it with Katrina and the Waves our entries have been entirely forgettable and our places in the league table of results have mercifully declined at a steady rate.   Last year we came next to bottom thanks to Englebert Humperdink`s sterling determination and this year we will be represented by Bonnie Tyler, who has been holding out for a hero for getting on half a century.

Now I quite like Bonnie, aka Gaynor Hopkins - she of the big hair, big shoulder pads, big voice, big everything really - but I`m fairly sure her selection is pretty much to guarantee that we won`t win it again and thus be spared the glittering prize.  It`s not really a heartache though, or even anything approaching a total eclipse of the heart.  To be fair.

....WELL, MAYBE NOT AFTER ALL ?

Even the pre-match predictions of the sainted Matthew Le Tissier and his Sky pundit chums were confounded on Saturday when Southampton went down to an unlikely home defeat to bottom club Queens Park Rangers, managed by `Arry Redknapp who has apparently airbrushed his dismal tenure at St. Mary`s from his memory banks.   That defeat was hard to take, especially as the Saints managed 70% possession and had 19 shots on target.   Just the problem of sticking it in the back of the net.

But football is a game of two halves and just when I needed a pick-me-up, along came Manchester United against Real Madrid in the Champions League last night.  Now, such is my aversion to the contrasting antics of Ferguson and Mourinho that I make a point of never watching a Manchester United game live on television.   However, having heard that the game ended, amid the usual controversy, in defeat for United, I felt I must watch the `highlights` later on in the evening.

A game which the self-publicising Mourinho laughingly predicted would `stop the world` seemed to hinge on a decision by the Turkish referee to send off United`s Nani for a flying drop-kick on Real`s Arbeloa and was decided by a goal from Christiano Ronaldo returning to Old Trafford to haunt his former employers.

Cue outrage from Ferguson who `was not in a fit state` to face the media according to his assistant stooge Mike Phelan in a post match interview.   Cue endless and pointless analysis from the media as to whether Nani`s dismissal was correct.   Cue the fact that United are out of Europe and that no other English club side remains in the Champions League competition this season.

And cue relief for those of us who really don`t care or, if we do, rejoice not only in Manchester United`s displeasure but also in the fact that God, wherever She may be, is smiling on us once more.  How could I ever doubt Her?

NEWS FROM THE OTHER WORLD..

Interesting to see that the EU`s £420million a year foreign ministry has been condemned as wasteful and clueless in a damning report from `legal experts,` including Belgian law professor Greet Da Maere.   Baroness Cathy Ashton (she of parish council and NHS Trust fame) and her European External Action Service has been accused of `confusion, poor management, lacking even elementary knowledge of diplomacy and squandering money by duplicating functions.`

After five months of research into the organisation, the report has warned that morale is falling because of `lack of trust, internal quarrels, clashes with other European institutions and an opaque chain of command.`   In response, a spokesman for Baroness Cathy said, "The service has broken new ground and it is unrealistic to expect it to be perfect from the outset."

Now the `service` has been going since 2009 - four years ago - so it`s hardly at the outset stage and at £420million a year, so far the cost has amounted to almost £1.7billion.  Why, you could buy Arsenal Football Club for that money, but then you might just pick up another organisation full of `confusion, poor management, lacking elementary knowledge of diplomacy and squandering money.` 

Tough choice.

SOMETHING MORE ?

Yesterday`s results in the Eastleigh by-election are producing the predictable responses from the candidates that we always get on these occasions.  But then we`re dealing with politicians and their tenuous hold on reality.   I suppose it was also predictable that the only responses we`ve heard, at least so far, have come from the main contenders out of the 17 candidates who were on offer.  Pity that, as I would like to have heard what the Wessex Nationalists had to say.

Some are sick as parrots, of course - chiefly the Conservatives who came a poor third to the UK Independence Party who, having come second in the election, have every reason to be over the moon.  The winning candidate for the LibDems seems almost to have won the seat by default, but perhaps the good folk of Eastleigh, in returning a LibDem candidate with a greatly reduced majority, have taken a fancy to controversy and scandal and are now eagerly awaiting what, if anything, can be raked up about the latest LibDem MP.

Now If you listen to the reactions of those who were unsuccessful, especially from Labour and the Conservatives, the usual trite clichés are being trotted out - "it`a a mid-term by-election," there will be a different result in the general election," "people are registering their dissatisfaction with the way things are at the moment," we will redouble our efforts to ensure we take the seat next time," and most worrying of all - "this was a mid-term protest vote but UKIP have no chance of winning at the general election."

Well, maybe it`s just me, but I live in hope that it`s none of the above;  instead that it might just be something more - even perhaps something of a true reflection of the hellplessness felt by more and more people about the black hole of the European Union.  

But I`m old enough to know that, whilst hope is one thing that may spring eternal, expectation is quite another.   After all, it was the bard himself who proclaimed that `expectation is the root of all heartache.` 

A SAD LEAVING..

It was particularly sad to see that Paul Elliott had voluntarily resigned from all his positions with the Football Association following his text message to former business partner and black footballer Richard Rufus.   Elliott`s text included language that was clearly bad tempered and racist in the extreme and he was really left with no alternative but to resign from positions that he had filled with distinction for a number of years.

As a player, Elliott was a cultured defender for clubs including Charlton Athletic, Chelsea, Celtic and Pisa in the Italian League.  On retiring from playing, he devoted much of his time to working with young players and with ant-racism initiatives in football and, having already been appointed a Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE) in 2003 he was appointed a Commander of the Order (CBE) in the 2012 Birthday Honours list for his services to equality and diversity in football.

Now his resignation has left the Football Association looking for a credible ant-racist leader.   Elliott was in line to replace Lord Ouseley as head of a new inclusion advisory body being set up to replace the Race Equality Advisory Group overseeing new anti-discrimination regulations.  Lord Ouseley himself resigned from the FA Council in protest at the Football Association`s "mealy-mouthed approach" to the John Terry and Luis Suarez cases.

I`ve no problem with any of that - it all sounds reasonable and sensible stuff in keeping with the modern day approach to these sensitive and important areas of concern, but just one thing puzzles me.   It always seems to be the case that the leaders of these anti-discrimination bodies all come from a minority background and whilst that may be accepted wisdom, it could be claimed to be leaning in just one direction, whereas I`m sure the FA can find the credible leader they`re seeking, from any background?

HEART-WARMING...

Maybe it`s my new found image as born again Mr. Nice Guy that is encouraging me to see things from a different perspective, but I found little to complain about and much to warm the heart in this weekend`s sporting events.

It started with England winning the limited over series against New Zealand in fine style and it might have been the glorious sunny weather down there that made watching it that much more enjoyable, as we here seem to be stuck in a very determined spell of cold, gloomy weather.   But well done to Alastair Cook and his troops and especially the upcoming group of young players coming through and boding well for future days in the sun.   (I still have regrets about not becoming an international cricketer, but that`s another story.)

I followed the heroics - yet again - of our cyclists in the World Championships in Minsk and was astonished to see that they had lost none of the momentum they had from their triumphant Olympics.   What an inspirational group of young talent we have there.

On the football front, it`s good to see my neighbour`s beloved Gillingham regaining top spot in their division but things were not so good for our street`s fleet-footed wideman Scott Wagstaff and his Charlton chums, who lost at home to Nottingham Forest.   As for the Saints, well, I`m consoling myself with the notion that I would have taken two points from the games against Manchester City and Newcastle, whereas in fact we managed three.   Silver lining time.

But the most heart-warming events were probably the Capital One Cup Final yesterday and England` Rugby Union win over France.   Not so much for the results or even the performances, but more for two aspects which the rest of professional sport would do well to emulate.   Yesterday`s Wembley Final was memorable for so many reasons - Swansea`s first ever major trophy and Bradford becoming the first club ever to reach a Wembley final from the fourth tier of English football - but it was the sheer enthusiasm and enjoyment displayed by the supporters of both teams that was so refreshing.   No hint of trouble, no malicious chanting, nothing other than raucous, genuine encouragement and mutual respect.   

And once again the attitude and behaviour of the English and French rugby teams was quite remarkable in a game of considerable intensity, non-stop endeavour and not a little brutality.   But not once was there the slightest hint of dissent towards the referee, who was, as always in rugby, respected and appreciated for the difficult job he had.   If only football`s Premier League would show even half the restraint and respect shown by yesterday`s football crowd and Saturday`s rugby players, how much more heart-warming might the `matchday experience` in the `best league in the world (tm)` become.

THE PRIVILEGE OF BEING..

Forgive me if you`ve seen this before.  I may have e-mailed it to you and you may already have seen it on the internet where, I`m told, it has gone `viral,` which I take to mean that it`s been viewed rather a lot.  But just in case you`ve missed it, please have a look at http://vimeo.com/58385453. 

It doesn`t need any explanation from me, as it`s all there on the video but I wonder if seeing it has the same effect on you as it did on me.   Wonderful, beautiful and words like that don`t come close to adequately describing what you see.   It`s more than that.  It`s one of the closest things I`ve come to that approaches something spiritual and it made me stop and pause for a minute.

Most of the time, I come on here and grumble about things, rant about others and generally display my penchant for being a malcontent, dissatisfied with the way the world is.   But this short video has provided me with a feeling of privilege - the privilege of just being and being able to appreciate the majesty of the heavens and the world in which we live.   See if it does the same for you.

(I might be in danger of turning into Born Again Mr. Nice Guy?)

..."an alternative location..."

I see that the Enabling Services Directorate of Warwickshire Police have produced a mission statement for HR, IT and communications.   With me so far?  Splendid.   Included within this document is the comforting assertion that "Warwickshire Police aims to protect people from harm with a range of outcome focused functions that are professionally competent and understand the operational policing context of their services, ensuring that they are quality assured, effective and efficient.`

The force has also advised its officers not to use the word `black` in a negative context, such as `black day` and also to avoid `terms of endearment that may cause offence, such as `my love` and `my dear.`

So that`s alright then, all good stuff and no doubt the good folk of Warwickshire can sleep safely in their beds knowing that their boys in blue are on the ball and up to speed with contemporary phraseology and sensitive inclusiveness.   Just a pity that in the whole of the `mission statement` the word crime doesn`t feature at all.

If it was me, I suspect my mission statement for the police would be something along the lines of "Nick criminals."   But next time I happen to be loitering with intent in Rugby, Leamington Spa or even Stratford-on-Avon, I might expect an awfully nice police officer to respectfully request that I `move along, please Sir, perhaps you would be so kind as to remove your personage to an alternative location as you will have observed that there is nothing of significance to be seen at this one.`

NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS..

So, BBC journalists are on a 24-hour strike today and the BBC  news output is in bits.   It seems to be all about the proposal to make 2,000 compulsory redundancies over the next five years and immediately you begin to wonder why on earth they`ve got 2,000 journalistic posts to begin with.

I imagine the union protagonists believe that their strike will find sympathy with the licence payers who have no choice but to cough up the licence fee whether they watch the BBC or not.   In reality, however, I for one am breathing a hefty sigh of relief as, for once, no news really is good news.

It means we will be spared the outpourings of the overstaffed, over-managed, left-leaning, Europhile, global warming advocating, London and Salford-centric, metropolitan blinkered output from what is supposed to be an unbiased, balanced, neutral organisation.   

Could be a good day.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY ..

This rather fetching image shows a determined supporter of the Blue Few en route to Fratton Park, Portsmouth.  Now it`s not clear whether her journey (it is a `her` isn`t it?) is to get to a football match, whether she`s (surely it must be) just toddling back from picking up her benefits from Fratton Post Office or, indeed, whether this is Portsmouth`s idea of getting some exercise.

More likely the journey is being made to join in today`s celebrations as Portsmuff FC mark the milestone of being in their latest administration for precisely one year to the day.  In a way, the demise of the Skates from being FA Cup winners and plucky battlers in the Premier League to their current situation propping up the third tier of English football, is lamentable for their faithful and decent supporters, of which there actually are some.  

On the other hand, a succession of doubtfully fit and proper `owners` including at least one middle eastern gentleman who probably didn`t exist, a history of unpaid creditors, including local charities and the like and a seemingly unstoppable descent into inadequacy and self delusion all, along with other factors, conspire to arrive at the conclusion that just desserts have been served up.

A year on from being placed in the hands of yet another firm of administrators, the hapless team have now notched up 20 league games without a win, have a 10 points deduction hanging over them for whenever, or if ever, they stagger out of administration and relegation to the basement division of English football seems assured.

The Pompey Supporters Trust are seeking to become `community owners` of the club and I wish them no ill will in that endeavour, but one is left to enquire about the attitude of the football authorities for allowing this state of affairs to run on for so long.   And the only logical conclusion is that the authorities are hoping that, somehow, the club can finish the season, thus avoiding the nightmare of having to deduct points from the other clubs who have had the dubious pleasure of playing Skatesville FC this season.

The football authorities should then pull the plug, the Supporters Trust might then become owners  of a reconstituted club playing in the lower reaches of the game, from whence the only way  for them might be up.   It will be a satisfactory finale to a farce that has trodden the boards for far too long but it will perhaps be treated with some regret by those Southampton fans who have so far contributed over 84,000 comments to an internet thread concerning the Skates` fate that has been viewed almost six million times.   Clearly, the mutual concern between the rival south coast football clubs  is alive and well.

LEAP OF FAITH..

Now that the Pope has jacked it in, the Catholic Church has a rare opportunity to get up to date, move with the times and reflect modern day living here on Planet Earth.  It will involve something of a risk, of course, but no pain, no gain.  All that`s needed is a leap of faith.

The jostling for position is doubtless going on behind the splendiferous façade of the Vatican, but the leading contenders for the Popeship will mostly be getting-on-a-bit, male, possibly Italian and already high up in the hierarchy - Cardinals of whom there are 200 or so, along with a packed bench of substitutes, eager to come on for a game changing cameo.   All the usual suspects, in other words - jobs for the boys once more.

So, how about a more up to date approach, perhaps more becoming of the twitter, f***book, i-pad, Costa coffee age in which we live?   Stand out candidates might then include Tony Blair, Jose Mourinho and even Ann Widdecombe, all of whom have already convinced themselves, after much practice, that they have the right aptitude for the job.

Then again, if the Church wants to be really assertive and show the kind of leadership demanded in this modern era, maybe they should grasp the nettle, take the leap of faith and go ahead and appoint a disabled, black lesbian to the job.   That`ll show `em and, after all, as they already believe in fairy tales, why shouldn`t this one come true?

AND I THOUGHT I NEEDED HELP..

It`s been an interesting couple of days for (`Sir`) Alex Ferguson, the Manchester United manager.  First he was fined £12,000 by the Football Association for the comments he made concerning an assistant referee at a recent game when the hapless official failed to give Manchester United a penalty that never was.   Now this is not the first time that Ferguson has been up before the beak and in receipt of a hefty fine and I doubt it will be the last.

Next he had a right go at England Under-21 Manager, Stuart ("Psycho") Pearce for disclosing to the world that Manchester United defender Phil Jones had been suffering from a bout of shingles which kept him out of the recent Under-21 game.   Ferguson was claiming `medical confidentiality` but I haven`t heard him make a similar complaint when things like groin strains, hamstrings and dead legs have seen players on the treatment table and become public knowledge.   Maybe he doesn`t class these things as `medical` and therefore shingles is a real affliction or some kind of disease that needs to be kept quiet.

Then there is his current complaint that Manchester United should not have been expected to play Everton yesterday (Sunday) as they have to go to Madrid to play Real in a Champions League game on Wednesday.   Real, on the other hand, played on Saturday and thus have one extra day to prepare.

Now Ferguson is, like me, in his 70s but unlike me he has yet to embrace the qualities of restraint and modesty which, after all his achievements as a football manager, he would  be entitled to assume.  After all, he`s got his statue, a stand at Old Trafford named after him, a dynasty of patronage for his sons and his brother and you would think it was time for a little humility, a more dignified acceptance that his place in the history of the parallel universe of football is secure.   His problem, of course, is that he finds it impossible to change his `management style` - I use the term loosely - which has always been based on intimidation, rant and disregard for authority.

Ferguson is no stranger to these pages, for I have had cause to criticise his character and his behaviour more often than has been good for me.   It has become something of an obsession, I grant you, and one which has made me pause and reflect on whether I might need some counselling, some professional help to exorcise this tempestuous Caledonian oaf from my consciousness.   

But now I`m not so sure.   His ravings in just the last few days have convinced me that it`s not me that needs the help, although I could perhaps do with a little care and attention since my beloved Saints tonked United`s main rivals on Saturday and virtually handed the Premier League title to the infernal Ferguson.   It seems that even in one of Southampton`s more agreeable moments, the dark, oppressive shadow of Manchester United is inescapable.   Maybe it just serves me right?

NEVER MIND HORSE MEAT...

Following the recent saga here in Dibley concerning the fact that a gang of great crested newts are preventing the opening of a bit of open space we`ve been hoping to get access to, there`s news today of yet another example of newt power.

It seems that work on Durham Constabulary`s brand spanking new, hi-tech, state-of-the-art £12million headquarters has had to be put on hold.  Why?  You`ve guessed it.   A great crested newt has been discovered on the site and, as he and his crested chums are all protected under the Protection of Newts Act, 2005, (or something) he has to be left in peace until he decides to come out of hibernation sometime around May.

The spokesman for Durham`s boys in blue couldn`t really say anything other than, as the law of the land makes these critters a no-go area, the police have to uphold the law and just wait it out.   All very reminiscent of our experience here in Dibley, although there was the marked difference that, whilst the Durham Police Force are resigned to their situation, the Parish Council here couldn`t really be bothered to do anything about it other than to shrug their shoulders and declare that, at the end of the day, the newts seem to have won the battle.

It`s all very well, but I really begin to wonder whether this species protection obsession isn`t going just a tad too far.   After all, I`m pretty sure the newts won`t even think of thanking us for our concern on their behalf.   Newt burgers anyone?  Could be a tasty alternative.   Should slide down well with a nice chianti.  

MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS ?..

As a member of the generation brought up at a time when homosexual practices were illegal, I confess to struggling with the many changes in the world.   Some of those changes seem eminently sensible, others less so, especially those which have more than a hint of political chicanery about them.

Anyway, I`ve been observing - merely as a casual observer, of course - all the fuss there has been about the gay marriage business.    (My dictionary does indeed record that `gay` means homosexual but it also suggests  that the word equally means `merry and carefree.`   Is it really the same thing?)

Now, let`s see if I`ve understood this.   Gay couples have had the right to civil partnerships but not content with that there has been rooftop shouting for gay couples to have the same rights to be married as heterosexual couples.   It`s interesting that those who  shout the loudest are those who keep their counsel when there are other, arguably more important, matters to be championed.   So, the great British Parliament has now agreed that gay couples can now be married in church.   Except the Church of England, the church in Wales, the Catholic church and any other religious outfit that doesn`t want to do it anyway.   Smoke and mirrors.  Now you see it, now you don`t.

But if they are really, really serious about equality, it seems only fair for heterosexual couples to be allowed to enter into civil partnerships?   And whilst we`re at it, I am inclined to petition Dibley Parish Council to organise a Straight Pride Parade through the village streets so we can enjoy a merry, carefree day of our very own.   

I might just volunteer to help with that.  After all, you may have guessed from my intriguing photo above, just where my allegiances lie.  Ah, those were the days!

IT`S THAT DAY AGAIN..

The picture above conjurs up memories of 53 years ago today when I was dragged from my provincial innocence and pitchforked into two years of National Service.   Very much like in the picture, I had arrived, along with a number of other callow youths, at Richmond station in north Yorkshire after an all day journey from my southern comfort into the frozen wastes of a north Yorkshire February.  We had been greeted at the station by some malevolent corporals, invited to take our places in the courtesy three-ton truck and driven to Catterick Garrison.  

I can almost see myself in the line-up of querulous conscripts and can almost hear the first question barked at me by a rigidly metronomic sergeant, "You, lad, what`s your `orrible spewy name?"   From that moment, things got progressively worse as I doggedly endured six weeks of stern discipline, endless square-bashing, kit-bulling and physical and mental exertion, all the while being shouted at and being fearful of the dire consequences involved for transgressing even the most minuscule demand.                                  

It was all a bit weird, bordering on the bizarre, sometimes descending into such farce that I began to develop my now long held view that the most accurate contradiction in terms must surely be `military intelligence.`   But what can you do?   There you are, called up at Her Majesty`s pleasure, knowing the 731 days have to be done, so you shrug your shoulders and get on with it.  After all, acceptance of sufferance is a useful experience....or so I was told, not altogether convincingly.

And of course, it came and it went, as all things do, and as I now recall the events of 4th February 1960, I also recall the same day two years later when my time was done, my duty  to Queen and country at an end and I left the green hell of BFPO 16, back in my civilian clothes, clutching my completed demob chart and being called Mr. once more.

Those times are imprinted on my memory and every year when today comes around, I look back on those days with a mixture of resentment at the compulsion of it all, amusement at the futility of most of it, wistfulness at the good times, gratitude for the  things I learnt about myself and fond memories of good friends with whom I still have the pleasure of being in touch.

In writing what has now become almost an annual ritual for me, I begin to feel a bit like Wallander`s father, forever painting the same landscape.   But it has become something of a pilgrimage to look back on two years which had such a profound effect on the rest of my life.   I hope you will forgive the self-indulgence.

ANCIENT 0 - MODERN 1

For over 150 years, the Britannia Coco-nut Morris Dancers of Bacup in Lancashire have been performing their traditional 12-hour Easter Saturday ritual of dancing through seven miles of the town.   It`s an extraordinary event - at once bizarre, quirky, colourful, unique and wonderful.   The all male troup was formed as the Tunstead Mill Nutters in 1857 and they passed the tradition on to workers at the Britannia Mill in the 1920s. So it`s a long standing feature of English folklore, although probably originating from the Moors who settled in Cornwall in the 17th century, became tin miners and then moved to the quarries and mines of Lancashire.   This lineage may be confirmed by the fact that similar dances are performed in Provence - le Danse des Coco.

The name Coco-nuts refers to the wooden nuts worn on their knees, waists and wrists, made from the tops of bobbins, and are used as as a percussion accompaniment by the dancers who wear white turbans, red and white skirts, white hose and black clogs and the whole event, including the dance and the dress, tells a story and forms an important role in maintaining the traditions of English folk dance and custom.  But perhaps the most striking feature to modern eyes is that the faces of the dancers are blackened, either to reflect the origin of the dance or to ward off evil spirits.

In recent months, however, the Britannia Coco-nutters have encountered problems.  First there was the issue of road closure orders and traffic management which could cost the group £1,000 and now we have our old friends Health and Safety, apparently requiring voluteers to go on a traffic safety course.   It seems that Lancashire County Council cannot or will not fund the £600 cost of the course which they say must be met by the Nutters.   "They will have to apply for the road to be closed under the Road Traffic Regulation Act and to provide appropriately trained stewards," a Council spokesman said.

A couple of things are interesting here.   First, the event raises funds for local charities - last year it raised £600, coincidentally the same amount as the Council wants for its  `safety course.`   And then, whilst it naturally goes unsaid, one is left to wonder whether this sudden upsurge of bureaucratic interest is as much to do with the political correctness of our times as a slavish adherence to health and safety and obscure regulation.   It all sounds like another example of ancient tradition being overwhelmed by the absurdities of the modern day and it is at best regrettable and at worst outrageous.

Here`s what we might be missing:-