WELL, MAYBE JUST A FEW...

My last post showed a picture of the Premier League table as at teatime on Saturday and it conveyed as much as a thousand words ever could about the over-the-moon daze currently experienced by devotees of Southampton FC in the beautiful south.

But things just got better after that, so I hope you`ll forgive me when I add just a few words on some other footy issues from the weekend.   First, our one time arch rivals P***smouth, at present plying their trade as a mid-table tier four outfit, were beaten at home in their crumbling fortress by the might of Fleetwood Town.   And yesterday came the spectacle of Manchester City stuffing the damned United.   I always find it immensely satisfying when Manchester United suffer humiliation, as this is a club whose currency includes arrogance and assumed entitlement.

What is particularly annoying are reports that former manager  `Sir` Alex Ferguson is still chuntering in the background in his capacity as a Director, when we aficionados of reason, restraint and dignity had thought we had seen and heard the last of him and his insufferable rantings.   It`s even more worrying that new manager David Moyes is reported to have invoked Ferguson`s style of management by hair dryer against his players after yesterday`s 4-1 drubbing.   Clearly, the default style of Old Trafford remains intact - why am I not surprised?

And just to round off a thoroughly satisfactory weekend, Blunderland have finally seen sense and sacked their bonkers manager Paulo Di Canio.   Not before time, but one is left wondering how they could have been so daft as to appoint him in the first place.

Over and out.

WHO NEEDS A THOUSAND WORDS WITH A PICTURE LIKE THIS?

TWO MINUTES...

As Maxwell Anderson and Kurt Weill`s `September Song` says,....."Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few and the Autumn weather turns the leaves to flame."   As for me, I haven`t got time for the waiting game, so I`m looking forward to yet another escape to Cornwall next month. But, whilst trying still to shake off the melancholy of leaving Devon behind, I`ve been looking for something to shed some light on how the passing of summer leaves me feeling.

I think I may have found it in a brief two minutes of the most sublime evocation of a fading English summer.   It`s here.  Put it on full screen and turn the sound up:-

.....and if you`ve spent two minutes of your life listening to that then you might share my sense of how I feel about the fading of the light, the chill of evening and the inevitability of spending "these precious days" in wistful contemplation of what has been and might still be yet to come........

TWO OF A KIND ?..

It`s a curious thing but, having lived in Kent for well over 50 years, I still try to maintain some sort of contact with the places where I grew up (at least physically if not mentally.)   So I still follow the fortunes of Southampton Football Club and each day I get a news feed from the local Southampton newspaper, the Southern Daily Echo.   And it was reading an article today that brought back some poignant memories of a particular incident on my very first day at school.

In a nutshell, the story in the Echo is all about a four year old boy who on his own first day at a Winchester primary school, decided he`d had enough and so after lunch decided to walk home.   Cue parental indignation, school embarrassment, thorough going security review and big article in local paper - all very predictable these days.

My own experience - back in 1944 or 1945 I`m not sure which - was essentially the same but with some added ingredients.  Now for quite some time before I started school, I had repeatedly been told that on that particular day, I would have to go.  I took it to mean just that one day - no-one mentioned anything about going the day after that and the day after that....... 

Anyway, just before the lunch break, I was convinced the teacher mentioned something to the effect that the best behaved child in the class could go home early. Looking back on it, I`m sure that wasn`t what she actually said but I convinced myself that it was.   Moreover, I also convinced myself that as I had behaved impeccably, I had earned the right to go home early.   So I did.  Just after lunch.

I began what was for me at that age a fairly long walk from Fawley school, shown on the right, back to where my mother and I were living during wartime with my aunt and uncle in the next village of Blackfield.   And as I trudged along, a couple of things happened.   It started to rain and also some doubts began to emerge as to whether I really should be doing this.  

So I hung around a bit, killing some time until, in my mind at least, I would arrive home when I was supposed to.   When I got there, far too early and soaked to the skin, my mother gave me one of her accusative stares, in response to which I could only proffer the pathetic statement which I still recall to this day - "I thought it would rain so I walked home."

No parental indignation, no school embarrassment, no thorough going security review and no article in the local paper - things were different back then.   But I`m pretty sure the adventures of the four-year old from Winchester will stick in his memory just as long as mine have    Maybe he and I are two of a kind after all, although I`m not sure I should wish that on him.

TIME FOR A CHANGE..

`Responsibility` is one of those words that are very easy to define.  Here`s Webster`s Dictionary definition:-

The Definition of Responsibility (Webster’s Dictionary):

Responsible

2 a: able to answer for one’s conduct and obligations: trustworthy b: able to choose for oneself between right and wrong

3: marked by or involving responsibility or accountability

Responsibility

1: the quality or state of being responsible: as a: moral, legal, or mental accountability b: reliability, trustworthiness

Now today we have had the report into the tragic death of four-year old Daniel Pelka in Coventry after months of torture, abuse and neglect by the two people who should have loved and cared for him - his so-called parents who have been sentenced to life imprisonment, serving a minimum of 30 years for their appalling crime.   

The serious case review seems to be comprehensive and detailed in its assessment of the events leading up to Daniel`s death but we`ve been here before and again I`m left with the feeling that none of the various `agencies` involved had the courage to actually do something about it.   As ever in these things, there was involvement by the police who visited the home on at least 27 occasions, social services, doctors, school staff and the city council.   

Now you would think that at least someone in this chain of bureaucracy would have had the gumption to have seen that something was terribly wrong here and take whatever action needed to be taken.   But no.....and you wonder why not.   Seems to me we are living in a so-called society where those in a position to act and fulfil Webster`s definition of responsibility are frightened to do so.   They have become tremulous, nervous, terrified of criticism and in the end do nothing, relying on the usual outcome that no-one will be held personally  liable and that their careers remain unsullied by the default conclusion that `lessons will be learnt to ensure that something like this can never happen again.`

Trouble is, it does keep happening.  Now I know that those responsible for Daniel`s death are behind bars but those who might be held responsible for ensuring that his mistreatment was avoidable seldom seem to actually be held responsible by anyone.  I`m not sure we should accept this any more, especially as children are so very precious and perhaps the time has come to do away with the plethora of `agencies` and simply have one national child protection agency who will be unable to blame `lack of inter-agency communication` and all the other lame duck excuses for doing nothing.   They would be solely responsible for answering for their `conduct and obligations` and `be able to choose for themselves between right and wrong.`

Perhaps then, the Daniel Pelka`s of this world might have at least some hope.

ANOTHER BALANCING ACT..

One of the nonsenses I`ve come back to in my re-entry into the `real world` is the invitation issued to footballers in England and Scotland (why not Wales too?) to support a campaign addressing homophobia in football by wearing rainbow laces in their boots this coming weekend.

These fetching laces have been sent to all 92 clubs in England and 42 in Scotland by gay rights charity Stonewall.   The Right Behind Gay Footballers campaign is focussing on changing attitudes rather than urging players to come out.   Stonewall`s Deputy Chief Executive, Laura Doughty, has declared, "It`s time for football clubs and players to step up and make a visible stand against homophobia in our national game and by wearing rainbow laces players will be sending a message of support to gay players and can begin to drag football into the 21st century."

Now I suspect that Stonewall`s focus on the apparent problem of homophobia in football may stem from the chants by fans of opposing teams of Brighton and Hove Albion and I suppose it is understandable that some Brighton fans may claim offence at such chants as `Does you boyfriend know you`re here?`   But football is a strange environment.  Football fans are passionate people, they go to stadia to support their clubs, but also to experience the tribal culture which is unique to competitive sporting occasions - `Come on, Andy` at Wimbledon;  `Swing low sweet chariot` at Twickers and the particular form of `banter` between rival football supporters.

A couple of things occur to me here.   One is that this particular rainbow laces initiative has simply had the effect of highlighting a perceived problem and therefore perhaps making the issue worse, even if there was an issue to begin with, which I seriously doubt. The second is that, as in all things it`s important to have a balance and so whenever Southampton may be likely to play Brighton again, I will not be offended in the slightest if the Brighton fans shout `Does your girlfriend know you`re here?`   

A MATTER OF TIME..

Well, Hope Cove did turn out to be as idyllic as I hoped it might.   The glories of the south Devon coast path were revealed to us once more and on our first morning there, I took the photo shown above.   No buildings, no streets, no people, just the sea and the sky and as you stand on the coast path and look out on a morning like that, you realise that there is nothing more to be desired.

We managed the section of path from Bantham along to Salcombe, taking in Thurlestone, Hope Cove itself, on to Soar Mill Cove, Bolt Head and on to Overbecks and on other days we revisited Noss Mayo and The Warren, Ayrmer Cove and Wonwell and for the first time we managed Prawle Point, Hallsands, Start Point and Slapton.   So it was a good week.

My problem is leaving it all behind and coming back to the absurdity of life in the south east of England, the politics, the celebrity culture, the unforgiving traffic and the frenetic pace of life.   I suspect it may just be a matter of time before I finally have enough of the faux `prosperity` of it all and head back to my west country roots.   And when an evening gives you this:-

......from the same coast path vantage point, who could argue against it?  (Click on photos for larger image.)

MORE BITE SIZES CHUNKS..

Looks idyllic, doesn`t it?   And tomorrow we`ll find out if it really is, as we make the long journey to Hope Cove in south Devon for another week of taking bite sized chunks out of the national treasure that is the South West Coast Path.

Now we have been enjoying the best summer since 2006 with weeks of sunshine and warm, even hot, temperatures.   We just need summer to hang on for another week but it seems not;  the forecast is for Autumn to come gate crashing through with heavy rain and plunging temperatures and bring this boundless summer to a soggy end.   Just our luck.  Thank you, God!!

But we`ll just have to get on with it and if nothing else it should bring a welcome escape from the madness going on in the rest of the world right now.   I`m not sure what sort of world we`ll come back to at the end of our week away but I can pretty much guarantee that it won`t come even close to the timeless beauty and peaceful tranquillity of being `on the path.` 

Back in a week or so.

JOHN CLEESE HAS IT ABOUT RIGHT?

"The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent events in Syria and have therefore raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved."   Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross."  The English have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran out.   Terrorists have been recategorized from "Tiresome" to "A Bloody Nuisance."  The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.

The Scots have raised their threat level from "Pissed Off" to "Let`s get the Bastards."   They don`t have any other levels.   This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British Army for the last 300 years.

The French Government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide."   The only two higher levels in France are "Collaborate" and "Surrender."   The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France`s white flag factory, effectively paralysing the country`s military capability.

Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing."   Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides." 

The Germans have increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs."   They have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbour" and "Lose."

Belgians on the other hand are all on holiday as usual;  the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.

The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy.   These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.

Australia, meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to "She`ll be alright, Mate."   Two more escalation levels remain: "Strewth we might need to cancel the barbie this weekend" and "The barbie is cancelled."   So far no situation has ever warranted use of the last escalation level."

......John Cleese - British actor, writer and tall person.

(I wonder if he might feel inclined to change his opinion following events in Parliament, Washington, Paris........?)  

TAKE A STAND..

Like most people, today`s announcement of the death of Sir David Frost came as a complete shock....and to me as another 74-year old, as Sir David was, it came as yet another stark reminder of the frailty of life.   Now there have already been heartfelt tributes to him and many more will follow and so it isn`t necessary for me to write a long obituary here.   However, there are local connections with Sir David here in deepest Kent, so I may be forgiven for mentioning one in particular.

David Frost was born in Tenterden when Kent was still the Garden of England and moved to Gillingham for much of his school days.   It was then that his love of football and consequently his lifelong support for Gillingham Football Club took hold and already the Gillingham chairman, Paul Scally, has paid tribute to him, recalling his visits to Priestfield Stadium as an `ordinary supporter,` but one who was always welcome.

And so the picture above shows the stadium in all its traditional glory, surrounded on all sides by the urban charms of the Medway town which the club represents.   It`s a proper, old fashioned stadium with its four `stands` - the Gordon Road Stand, the Medway Stand, the Rainham End and at the bottom of the picture the Brian Moore Stand named in memory of another lifelong Gillingham fan and renowned TV commentator who also died too young some years ago.

Now I`ve had the `experience` of sitting on the Brian Moore Stand to which supporters of visiting teams are consigned;  the occasion being when Southampton lost to the Gills in a League One game a few years ago before the Saints` clawed their way out of the darkness.   It teemed with rain all afternoon and we teetered on the rickety seating, exposed to the elements and the incessant deluge and it occurred to me at the time that the `facilities` hardly did justice to the memory of a truly influential `football man` and I suggested that perhaps the club might rename one of their more `fashionable` stands after Brian Moore.  Nothing came of it, however.

So now with Sir David having passed away and with Gillingham`s chairman already expecting a minute`s applause in his memory at the next home game, surely this is the time for the club to rename both the Gordon Road and the Medway Stands, one in honour of Sir David and the other in honour of Brian Moore.  I`m not sure even the most traditional of Gillingham fans will see it as anything other than a fitting tribute to two of the club`s most distinguished supporters.

Well, maybe.  And I sincerely hope so.  And being of a forgiving nature, I find myself wanting to believe that the lessons of the run-up to the invasion of Iraq may have finally been learned - at least here in the UK.   There`s little doubt that we were press ganged into that fiasco by the disingenuous assurances given by Blair, his rotweiller Campbell and their duplicitous chums as a result of quite pitifully seeking the approbation of Bush, Rumsfeld and company.

So the fall-out from Cameron`s defeat in the Commons last evening could be interesting, not only for the `special relationship` and for Cameron himself but also for other reasons. For instance, we have been reminded repeatedly over the last few days that our elected leaders have understood, perhaps for the first time with such vivid clarity, just how sceptical, cynical even, the great British public has become given the experience of Iraq. And I just wonder whether that reality might now embolden Sir John Chilcot and his long running Iraq Inquiry at last to publish their report in the knowledge that the public might actually welcome any condemnation it may contain of those responsible.

But maybe the most encouraging lesson from last night`s Commons vote was the reminder to both politicians and voters that Parliament is there to represent the electorate and to provide a check on the activities of the executive.   For too long in recent times, those in power have assumed that they can more or less do as they wish and get away with it and if that arrogance has been hauled back into line then so much the better for all concerned. After all, we have seen that absolute power can indeed corrupt absolutely and if nothing else, a sharp reminder has been issued that in our modern day democracy absolute power has a very limited shelf life.

I find it disappointing but predictable that, in all the sound and fury of the last 24 hours or so, we have heard nothing from Blair who, just a couple of days ago, was once more pressing the case for Britain to dangle under the apron strings of America and join in yet another doomed misadventure.   Neither have we heard from the EU and its `High Representative of the Union for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy,` one Cathy Ashton.   Come to think of it, maybe it`s just as well.

I guess, in the end, what we have witnessed is yet more proof, if any more were needed, that like all `empires` before it, Great Britain has had its day as a world power and it should perhaps finally accept that as the sun goes down on its horizon, maybe in the calm of its fading twilight, Britain will find that there is much to be desired from playing the world game in pianissimo rather than the strident fortissimo it used to assume as of right. And maybe that will be the most profound lesson of all to be learned.

To Sevenoaks, twice today, for appointments with my dentist (nothing too serious but needed two visits and turned out to be less expensive than the original quote.)   Anyway, it`s a good half-hour journey each way so I had plenty of time to tune in to the radio and catch up with world events.

Problem is that, like television, there are so many radio channels booming out so much noise that it`s difficult to find anything remotely appealing.   Now in my finely tuned naivete I somehow imagined that the main topic being aired at least on most of them would be the looming madness concerning Syria and to be fair the news bulletins did give it the attention it demands.   (And madness it seems to be as, despite Dave Cameron`s assertion that what`s going on in Syria is `morally indefensible,` we still run the same old risk of barging our way into a sovereign country which seems to be having its very own private civil war.   Parliament has been recalled but the die is plainly cast and my earnest hope that they know what they`re doing is likely, not for the first time and certainly not the last, to be confounded.

So, in a quest to seek some refuge from that particular madness, I tried TalkSport, where the main topics of concern veered from the low jinks of the England cricket team to the morally indefensible shenanigans surrounding multi-millionaire footballers such as the unfathomable Wayne Rooney and former Saint Gareth Bale for whom I am beginning to feel some sympathy, as he is pushed from pillar to post as a pawn in the transfer cattle market and looking despairingly glum as a result.  It seems more and more like a Greek bailout than a football transfer and I fear it might turn out to be a Greek tragedy for him. If not a Spanish one.

Not a lot to soothe the savage breast there then.  So I turned once again to the refuge of music and spent a tranquil drive home, orthodontically revived, basking in the rustic serenity of George Butterworth`s Banks of Green Willow, the quiet peacefulness of Gerald Finzi`s Romance in E and the rural Gallic simplicity of Canteloube`s Songs of the Auvergne - all from my eclectic CD collection.  Music, as Shakespeare` suggested, may be the food of love but it is also one of life`s refuges from the madness and the warped sense of priority that surrounds modern day Britain.    So, Keep Calm and Play On.

Well, the above sums up the results for Snopper Street`s football interests today with each of the games we followed ending in draws.   My own team, the Saints, came from behind to secure a 1-1 draw against Sunderland;   Bristol City, which we now follow since our street`s footy hero Scott Wagstaff joined them, secured a creditable 2-2 result away at MK Dons;   my neighbour`s recently promoted Gillingham managed an equally useful 2-2 draw away at Swindon (always a difficult place to go);   my neighbour the other side is an ardent West Ham fan and I`m sure he will be content with the 0-0 result picked up away at Newcastle;   and even Mike (just up the road`s) Ebbsfleet went away and forced a battling draw at Eastbourne Borough in the Conference South.  

Now, in the fledgling Premier League table, the Saints find themselves in fourth spot - a Champions League place, no less - but of course it`s early doors so not to be taken too seriously, especially as by tomorrow afternoon that situation will doubtless have changed. Still, I`m tempted to do what Gordon Strachan declared he would be doing all those years ago when Saints were in fourth place after a late James Beattie header had beaten the damned United of Manchester and instead of going out to celebrate, stay at home and watch the league table on teletext.

But surely pride of place today must go to the brave minnows of Portsmouth who left their Fratton Park/ kraP nottarF fortress and made the trip to mighty Mansfield Town, just finding their way back in the Football League after a few years in their own particular wilderness.   The fact that even that game ended 2-2 has sparked riotous celebrations back in Portsmuff, where a hastily arranged open top bus celebration was organised to satisfy the delirium of their faithful following:-

  

This is what it meant to Saints` one-time rivals as they claw their way back from total obscurity to, well, just obscurity, to be fair.  It brings a warm glow, doesn`t it?

To my boyhood village of Hythe on the western shore of Southampton Water yesterday to pay my respects to my late mother`s resting place and reconnect with the place and days of my happy youth and childhood.   There were a couple of things to lift the spirit on what might otherwise have been a solitary melancholy journey as well as a sentimental one.   

One was the pleasure of having my recently retired eldest son for company - we are now able to do things that elderly retired gentlefolk do; another was the enjoyment of a good lunch at the excellent Boathouse restaurant at Hythe Marina; then there was the excitement of seeing not only Saints captain Adam Lallana being interviewed by a media crew on the Boathouse balcony, but also seeing his car - a very smart white Porsche with a distinctive registration number (I won`t disclose it here for security reasons) and inside a Saints shirt with LALLANA written on the back which gave us a bit of a clue as to the car`s owner.  Nice one ADZ!

We then continued our journey home to Kent via the Hampshire/Berkshire border country, to the peace, solitude and Norman splendour of Padworth`s thousand year old church where, in the churchyard, is the grave of my paternal grandparents, along with my father`s ashes and those of two maiden aunts.   It needed a little attention, which we were happy to provide and again we paid our respects to our forebears.  

Of course, visits like this can bring all kinds of emotions to the fore but perhaps my feelings yesterday are best summed up by Felice Mancini`s poem, which is here with a little minor poetic adjustment:-

"Sometimes, not often enough, we reflect upon the good things
And those thoughts always centre around those we love
And I think about those people who meant so much to me
And for so many years had made me so very happy
And I count the times I had forgotten to say "thank you"
And just how much I loved them."

Somehow it seems it`s never too late to say `sorry,` but it can be too late to say `thank you?`

A FINE LINE...

He seems to have it all - long hair, Alice band, designer specs, bling, tattoos and at first glance you might take him for Cap`n Jack Sparrow taking time off from the set of Johhny Depp`s latest blockbuster.   But no.   This is Pablo Daniel Osvaldo, just signed by Southampton Football Club from AS Roma on a four year contract for a reported fee of £15million.

He becomes the latest expensive foreign import to St. Mary`s, following the arrival of Victor Wanyama from Celtic and Dejan Lovren from Lyon, bringing the Saints` spending so far in the cattle market of the transfer window to £36million, with only Manchester City and Tottenham Hotspur spending more.

At his welcoming press conference today, Osvaldo confirmed that he agreed to join the Saints because they had shown most interest in him;  he had worked with head coach Mauricio Pochettino previously at Espanyol and knew just what a super manager he was; it was always his dream to play in the Premier League; (and he really didn`t mind moving to Southampton from the eternal city and playing at the 32,000 seater St. Mary`s Stadium instead of the 82,000 Stadio Olympico - honest.)

What`s intriguing is that all this investment is happening at the same time as another group of talented young players emerge from the Saints` Academy which has already produced the likes of Gareth Bale, Theo Walcott and Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain.   Now we are seeing the emergence of Luke Shaw, Callum Chambers and James Ward-Prowse, all aged 18 and all in the starting line-up for Saturday`s win away at West Brom.   And as there are yet more on the launchpad of the Academy ready to lift off into the Premier League, it will be instructive to see how this blend of home grown young English players and expensive foreign imports gel as a team. 

Maybe they will learn from each other - from your pupils you`ll be taught and all that.   Now I think it was Aristotle who said that there was a fine line between genius and madness and so it will be equally instructive to see just how Saints Executive Chairman Don Nicola Cortese`s strategy for the development of the club evolves.   It can equally be a disaster or a triumph and with Cap`n Jack on board it could go either way.   For us Saints fans, life has never been easy, nothing has ever been settled, uncertainty has always ruled and anxiety has been our default condition.....but at least it`s never dull.  

ANOTHER QUESTION OF BALANCE ?

The demonstrations about the oil and gas exploration in the sleepy Sussex village of Balcombe are getting out of hand. It`s not just the cost of policing - now £750,000 and rising - it`s what they are doing to the quiet, dreamtime of a quintessentially leafy Sussex retreat.  Here`s a taste of what it looks like (or did until the last month or so):-

Of course, Balcombe is in the news because of the exploratory drilling going on and the resultant demonstrations against the disturbance of the peace and the prospect of fracking for new energy reserves.   Intriguingly, the name `Balcombe` may mean `Mining Place Camp.`   Bal is a Cornish word meaning a mining place and the word may go back to Ancient British Celtic.   And although Combe  can mean a valley, it can also come from the Roman `camp,` so the name of Balcombe could once have described a Romano-British mining settlement.  So maybe we shouldn`t be surprised that the area is being explored for its underground reserves.

I`m not sure I`m qualified to enter into the debate about oil, gas and fracking but I am interested in the gaggle of protesters who continue to descend on this quiet backwater.   I think it was the local villagers (pop:1765) who first raised eyebrows about the drilling proposals even though a licence had been granted after the usual consultations and bureaucratic hoops had been gone through, but their concerns have now been transformed into a bandwagon, onto which all the usual suspects are gleefully jumping.

They`re all there, of course, like Lenny Henry`s advert for Premier Inns - the well meaning ones, the scruffy ones, the professional agitators, the misguided ones, now even the rich and famous - Chrissie Hynde`s daughter, the absurd Dame Vivienne Westwood and any minute now I expect to see guest celebrity appearances from the likes of Stephen Fry, Madonna and Gwyneth Paltrow, all hell bent on being seen to be on the side of the righteous, always assuming they know which side that might be.  

Now, being ever in search of equality and balance in all things, as witnessed by my call for a Straight Pride Parade to even up the gay one, I think it`s time for the mild-mannered silent majority of little middle-Englanders to set up their own alternative camp around Balcombe, as an evening-up protest against the protesters.   It would all be very genteel, of course, be quietly unassuming and would require no policing, but simply make the point that the great unwashed should not be allowed to run roughshod over private property, legal processes, rural tranquillity and police budgets.  There might just be another voice, an alternative view, to be heard. 

Tea and cake anyone?

THERE ARE TIMES...

.....rare though they are, when England footballers can lift the spirit.   Here`s one of them:-

No wonder they`re dancing in the streets of Southampton.

What was pleasing about Rickie Lambert`s introduction to the international scene was not just his footballing ability but also the story of how he got there  Here is someone who has done it the hard way (well, playing for the Saints it would be) but I imagine that his journey from putting lids on beetroot jars to national hero cult status has seen little change in his personality and his manner.   He is Roy of the Rovers writ large - no WAGs but a wife and three children at home;  no bling;  no tantrums; no daft goal celebration - just a celebration; and just getting on with being the best he can be, as his engaging post-match interviews confirmed.   

I don`t know why, but it all reminded me of two things;  first the sporting one, when David Steele came in to bat against the rampaging Aussies in 1975, with his spectacles and grey hair, with Jeff Thompson wondering whether it was Groucho Marx coming in to bat and with the commentator remarking that Steele looked more `like a bank clerk going to war.`   Of course, like Rickie Lambert, David Steele succeeded where others had failed and in his eight Tests achieved an average of over 47.  

The other thought I had was that Rickie Lambert avoided as many footballing clichés as possible with just the odd token one popping up, in marked contrast to others who seem unable to resist the latest cliché on offer, which I suspect might be, "Well, it`s up there." 


The origin of that particular example is interesting.    Back in the early 16th century, an Italian painter and decorator  by the name of Michaelangelo ("Ceilings a Speciality") finally completed a job that had taken him four years to finish.  The Italian equivalent of modern day touchline interviewers asked, "Tell me, Mike, how does this Sistine Chapel job compare with other ceiling jobs you`ve done?"

"Well, it`s up there," came the reply.

At least Rickie Lambert Southampton`s Goal Machine (RLSGM) didn`t resort to such mindless platitudes and we Saints fans could not be happier for him now that he`s `made up` and his `dreams have come true.`   Nice one, Rick.

A PAUSE AMONG THE EUPHORIA..

Like most cricket loving Englishmen I was captivated by yesterday`s dramatic Ashes win at Chester-le-Street but during a lull in proceedings, either rain or tea I can`t remember, an interesting conversation took place between three England captains turned pundit about the respective times early in their careers.   They were mentioning the value of learning the trade through playing in club or league cricket - Gower, for instance, spent some time playing for a club in Perth, Western Australia;  Atherton recalled his time in the Lancashire and Cheshire leagues and Botham happened to mention the formative time he spent playing club cricket at Yeovil in Somerset.

Ah, Somerset.   That quite breathtakingly beautiful county, shown above, is the south- western outpost for county cricket in England and the county club has a history that is both chequered and unique.   As soon as Botham mentioned it, however, my mind went back to the days when Somerset cricket seemed to mirror the character of the county itself - beguilingly full of charm, a certain pace of life and a pastoral promise around every corner.

Botham`s reference to Yeovil cricket club sent me to an internet search, whereupon I came across a quite unexpected obituary.   It was for Brian Langford, who had passed away a few short months ago at the age of 77.   He was raised in Bridgwater, made his  county début as an off spin bowler when only 17 and went on to captain the side, score over 7,000 runs and take more than 1400 wickets, as well as being the only player to have bowled a full complement of eight overs in a 40-over match without conceding a single run.   He was, in short, a genuine legend of Somerset cricket.

But more than that, he seemed to represent an era, a time when Somerset cricket tended to consist of a mixture of landed gentlemen and hardened professionals, playing the game with a unique blend of serious intent and rustic panache and what characters it produced - Harold Gimblett, Horace Hazell, Bertie Buse, Dasher Denning, Colin Dredge the Demon of Frome, Maurice Tremlett, Mervyn Kitchen and a whole host more.   Through the mists of time their memories conjure up visions of sun kissed days in the lea of the Quantocks where the game was played as an entertainment rather than a business, a pleasure rather than a nerve-shredding trial.  Que sera, sera coming to cider land.

And so, as the euphoria of yet another Ashes victory is hailed and recognised for the triumph it is, yesterday`s brief conversation between the three former captains made me pause as it reminded me of another time, another age when heroes came with quiet restraint, decency and modesty and none more so than Brian Langford, who personified the charm and lasting appeal of cricket in that most captivating of counties.

It`s strange how cricket, like no other sport, can encourage wistfulness, even romanticism, which might mask the realities of how life might have been for those faraway heroes, but I was genuinely sorry to learn of Brian Langford`s passing and even more sorry that it has not been more widely acknowledged.  

DRIFTING AWAY?

To Southampton yesterday for the pilgrimage to St. Mary`s Stadium to see the Saints overcome a talented Real Sociadad side 4-3 in an entertaining encounter.   OK, it was the last pre-season `friendly` before the Premier League begins in earnest next Saturday but it was a chance to see how the team is shaping up under the tutelage of Mauricio Pochettino.

In some ways it was deja vu all over again - Saints were fine going forward but gave away daft goals at the other end, hence the scoreline.   If they can sort that out then a decent season beckons although the portents for next week`s Premier League opener away at West Brom look uncertain as so many Saints players are away on international duty in the coming week.

Amongst those missing will be Rickie Lambert Southampton`s Goal Machine (RLSGM) in the England squad, Artur Boric away playing for Poland, Dejan Lovren for Croatia, Stephen Davis captaining Northern Ireland, Emmanuel Mayuka off to play for Zambia, Victor Wanyama for Kenya and - most extraordinary of all - Maya Yoshida will be playing for Japan in Tokyo against Gaston Ramirez in the Uruguayan team.   There could well be others I`ve missed but it all adds up to a non-existent week`s training which might have ironed out the defensive bugs and finally settled on a starting line-up before taking on the Throstles at the Hawthorns next Saturday.  The price of progress?

At the end of the game, my carer and I walked back to Town Quay where we had left the car, just in time to see the Queen Elizabeth drifting away on the evening tide.  I hope it wasn`t an allegory for the Saints` chances of an encouraging start to the new campaign which may have been diminished by the ludicrous timing of international fixtures. 

ABOUT TIME TOO..

There is much dancing in the streets of Southampton today with the news that Rickie Lambert, Southampton`s Goal Machine, (RLSGM) has finally been selected for the England squad to play Scotland at Wembley Stadium next Tuesday.   About time too.  

RLSGM has done it the hard way, spending his journeyman years in the lower divisions of the Football League and joining the Saints four years ago in a £1million swoop from Bristol Rovers.  Since then he has been the club`s leading scorer each season and a talisman figure as the club has risen from the obscurity of the bottom of League One, through the Championship and in to the Premier League last season, when he became the joint leading English scorer with 15 goals.  

So, many congratulations, Rickie and I hope next Tuesday provides you with a more satisfying experience than that which befell James Beattie, the last Saints striker to be called into the England squad.  Like Rickie, James was the leading English scorer in the Premier League 10 years ago, which earned him a call up for the England team. Problem was that the `established` England players at the time simply refused to pass the ball to James and you can`t score goals if you don`t have the ball.  

I`m not altogether convinced that the current bunch of `established` internationals - mainly from the damned United, Chelsea and Arsenal - will be any more inclined to accommodate one who they might see as an upstart from a `small town provincial club` although the England team will also include the likes of Alex Oxtail-Chamberlain and Theo Walcott, former graduates of the Saints academy, so there might be some hope for Rickie getting a fairer crack of the whip than did James all those years ago.

And Wayne Rooney, for one, most certainly won`t dare mess with him, as he has already been intimidated by Rickie`s presence and his assertive propensity for planting the ball beyond the reaches of opposing custodians, as defensive walls shrink from his power and accuracy.   Here`s a good example:-  

Whatever happens, Rickie, the reward is richly deserved and we in our `small town provincial club` could not be more happy for you.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

A puzzling mystery has recently been solved here in the sylvan glades of Dibley.   We are lucky to have a network of footpaths, fields and woodland where the parish dogs have their daily walkies, but some time ago a gate leading from a field into the wood was inexplicably padlocked.   It wasn`t much of a deterrent, as it proved very easy to just walk around it but the puzzle was to find out who had padlocked the gate and why.

The answer has been revealed following in-depth enquiries and the culprits have turned out to be none other than our local boys in blue.   Apparently they were acting on `intelligence` received from unknown sources that poaching might possibly happen in the vicinity.   Now whilst I admire their diligence, I have yet to hear of any self respecting poacher who might be put off by a padlock on an easily negotiated gate.  Maybe the police`s next move will be to put a sign up. Something like this? -
  

All of which got me thinking about the security of my own house and I`m thinking of putting up a sign saying `NO BURGLARS` which should be enough to persuade any nocturnal malcontent to look elsewhere for his swag.   They, like the mythical poachers, have been warned and we here in Dibley can now rest easily in our beds knowing that any scallywags in our midst will take their criminal intentions elsewhere.   Well, they will, won`t they?

WHO ARE YOU ?

Pope Francis has apparently said that gay people should not be marginalised but should be integrated into society.   Flying home from his visit to Brazil, he reaffirmed to reporters that the Roman Catholic Church continues to consider homosexual acts as sinful, but that homosexual orientation was not.   He responded to questions as to whether there was a `gay lobby` in the Vatican by declaring that "If a person is gay and seeks God and has good will, who am I to judge?"

Well, Frank, you are the Almighty`s head honcho in Rome, so I guess you`re in a better position than anyone else to make that judgement.......or is that a glazed expression I detect in your photograph?

HERE WE GO AGAIN..

It`s really quite extraordinary.  Here we are in the very first week of August and a full programme of Football League matches kicked off yesterday;  well, Friday evening to be precise, with more games today, tomorrow and Tuesday and quite probably each and every day until next May.   

Anyway, we here in Snopper Street have had our involvement already with my next door neighbour`s newly promoted Gillingham going down at home to a late goal by visitors Colchester - a portent of things to come now that my neighbour has invested in a season ticket?   For his sake, I hope not.

The highlight for us here in Snopper Towers, now we`re Robins fans, was our street`s pacy flanker Scott Wagstaff, making his home league début for his new club, Bristol City, and scoring the opener in a 2-2 draw against Bradford City.   He is shown above just after scoring his deftly taken goal, which was followed up by a return of his trademark celebration - The Brick.   Here it is:-

As can be seen from the above clip, this remarkable contortion involves running to the touchline and falling down flat on his back whilst his joyous team mates then fall down on top of him.   The Brick, as featured on TV and with an in depth analysis on Talksport, clearly has marketing potential so let`s hope that yesterday`s season opener is just the start of a happy and productive stay at Ashton Gate for our street`s local hero, whose post match interview can be seen at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9grh3pvxmA.  Fame at last?