.....or so it seems.   Stuff is happening in the garden, the birds are doing their thing and in the last couple of days I have detected the threatening drone of mowers mowing.

Not that I`m complaining - I have spent months longing for the days to get longer, the temperature to return to being bearable and for the gloom of my Sadness to begin to lift.  And yet..... and yet I look around the world and I seem to be invaded by stories, news reports and events, dear boy, events that all conspire to suggest that, despite the green shoots of early Spring, there are a lot of things to concern my furrowed brow.

The corona virus of course - and the worry it brings especially to us over-80s (*cough cough*) - but I have been intrigued, but not really surprised, by the amount of panic buying, aka selfish buying of things like toilet rolls.   It comes to something when the shelves in the Saffron Walden branch of Waitrose are empty, so I`m going to stockpile the daily newspaper which can be cut up into neat squares and hung on a nail in the smallest room.  I guess the best newspaper to buy for that emergency would be the Guardian?  Funny how, as soon as HM Gov. says there`s no need to panic, everybody immediately panics.

My biggest issue today, however, is the news that broke over the weekend that Southampton Football Club is once again up for sale.  It seems our current owner, one Mr. Gao all the way from China, has had enough of not investing any of his money since he took over the club and is apparently surprised that the team are nowhere near qualifying for Europe or, for that matter, nowhere clear of relegation. 

Rumours are spreading as to who might be interested in purchasing the club - mega rich billionaire Jim Ratcliffe has been mentioned as he lives in the New Forest despite the fact that he already owns Nice FC in France along with the Ineos cycling outfit and is allegedly a big Chelsea fan.  Then there is our new Chancellor of the Exchequer, Rishi Sunak, who genuinely is a massive Saints fan so maybe we will hear something in his first ever Budget speech on Wednesday.  

There is much more I could go on about but I will end for now by sharing my dismay that we might be seeing Harry and Meghan on these shores for the last time.  It`s enough to escalate the country`s mental health issues to unprecedented levels but I`m sure there are helpline numbers we can ring if it all gets too much to bear.

Off to do some mowing.  Have a nice day.

A HUGE TECHNOLOGICAL BREAKTHROUGH 

A few posts ago I wrote a postscript about the fact that I had not received any `comments` on my posts for a very long time.  I explained that this was at least partly due to Google changing the way in which comments could be made which, I have to confess, was a bit beyond me.  Also I had received some grumbles from aficionados that they could not comment and what was I doing about it.

I mentioned that I had discovered a link on the left hand side at the very bottom of each post under the heading `No comments` just above `Labels` - here it is:-

I invited my readers to chance their arm, click on that link which brought up a panel on which comments could be made and, following the instructions in that panel, write a comment and see if it worked.  Today my illustrious neighbour Mr. Slightly - the acclaimed Gillingham fan - said that he had had a go at it and had duly sent a comment.  I checked to see if his comment had arrived and it had, although it was `awaiting moderation.`  I accepted his comment for publication, of course and it now appears under the comments section of my recent post headed `Back Again.`  The `No comments` link now says `2 comments` and they can be read by clicking on that - it proves it works!

Here in the foothills of deepest Kent, struggling to come to terms with the 1970s, this represents a technological breakthrough of enormous significance not only for my neighbour (to whom I an obliged) and myself but also for anyone else who feels the urge to let me know what they think of my rants.   I look forward to hearing more in future but all in the best possible taste of course.

......than to let something as transient as football make me feel a bit bothered.  But then after having lived with the vicissitudes of being a Southampton fan since my father first took me to The Dell in 1946, maybe it is inevitable.  It`s mad; it makes no sense, but each week when Saturday comes I find myself fretting about whether the Saints are going to win, lose or draw.

And I have this theory that the football club is a victim of the same malaise as most of its loyal followers, both of whom live in a permanent state of uncertainty, not to say bewilderment - the default condition of both the club and its fans.  It`s not surprising really, given the ups, downs, ins and outs throughout the years but you would think that, by now, I might have been able to get a bit of a life, if not grow up a bit.

Take last Saturday, for example.  The Saints go to West Ham, who were lying in the relegation zone;  the Saints are comfortably placed in mid table and all sense of reason suggested that whilst it might be a tight game the Saints ought to have gained at least a point.  Didn`t happen of course - West Ham were far superior in just about every part of the game and I can have no complaints at their 3-1 win.  C`est la vie and all that.

It was, however, especially galling that Michal Antonio was largely responsible for the Saints downfall with his aggressive running at Saints` central defence which had no answer to his power and strength;  for it was Antonio who played for Southampton in our League One/Championship days and featured in the FA Trophy Final at Wembley when Carlisle United were dispatched in a comfortable 4-1 win.  We should never have sold him.

And that pattern came to light again in the surprise defeat of Liverpool by Watford, with Liverpool having no less than five former Southampton players in Saturday`s line-up.  Perhaps mature reflection might suggest that that was at least part of the reason why Watford galloped to such an impressive victory.  Maybe we were right after all to have sold  van Dyke, Lovren, Mane, Lallana and Oxtail-Chamberlain to Liverpool, whose first defeat since records began must surely point to a downward slide.

In other teams I follow, my neighbour is in deep mourning following Gillingham`s home defeat by low flying Wimbledon, whose captain was none other than our street`s local hero Scott Wagstaff . All this despite the Gills having two Saints players playing for them on loan.  I`m sure there will be a tense stand-off in our street for a few days.  Elsewhere Forest Green Rovers and Fort William had their games called off due to waterlogged pitches, Maidstone United were clobbered 5-1 away at Weymouth and so the only comfort for me this weekend was Truro City`s impressive 4-1 win away at Hendon to maintain top spot in the Southern League South Division.

I`m quite relaxed about the `working week,` it`s just that Saturdays keep coming round and there are times when I wish they wouldn`t.  Roll on the cricket season.

I managed to catch the news bulletins yesterday about the fact that Swedish teenage climate change activist Greta Thunberg had arrived in Bristol, meaning that the centre of the city was taken over by a reported 30,000 people, mainly schoolchildren and their adoring parents.  I imagine the event came under the heading of `peaceful protest` leaving the police to observe from a discreet distance.  A pretty chaotic day for `ordinary life` in that fair city, I imagine.

As for the sainted Greta herself, she arrived - as you do - in a Nissan Leaf to rapturous applause, took to the front of the march, took to the stage, took the microphone and addressed her assembled disciples.   In her short life she has become something of a phenomenon, ranting away at world leaders, inciting school strikes and in the process being showered with awards from organisations, including the UN, and others who felt it right to recognise what she has achieved and so climb aboard the accelerating bandwagon.

Now what I have said so far might well and understandably be taken to mean that I might not approve of Greta and all her works and there might be a grain of truth in that.  However, I accept that there might be an issue that world leaders need to address, if they are not doing so already, before the Gaia principle - that the earth will look after itself - kicks in and that the world will evolve as it should.

But what troubles me in all of this is the probability that whilst Greta may well be genuine in her beliefs and her anxieties for the future, her followers are running the risk of being more in awe and adulation of the person rather than the message she is giving out.   It`s all turning into a classic example of listening to the singer not the song, in which case I might l have some sympathy for Greta after all if she becomes the story rather than the issues that concern her.  Even so, I might be more persuaded by listening to the considered and more moderate messages from the likes of Sir David Attenborough - a real life grown-up.

I`ll begin with a note of apology for being away from these pages for a couple of weeks.  Sufficient to say, I think, that I have been occupied with a host of other `issues` which have kept me out of mischief and which cannot be named for legal reasons.  However, I have been genuinely touched by a number of approaches I have received from good friends and aficionados of this blog enquiring about my wellbeing as they have apparently missed reading my ranting on here.

Those enquiries have reminded me just how important it is to keep in touch with people and so, this being Lent, I have decided to give up not being in touch with people.  You have been warned.

Anyway, life goes on and it seems to me that the longer it goes on the more there is to be concerned with - corona virus, flooding, and whether Nathan Redmond will recover from his injury in time to line up against West Ham on Saturday are just some of the issues to contend with.   It`s interesting to observe the growing paranoia surrounding the corona virus outbreak with schools being closed, sporting events in doubt and no doubt we will soon have to contend with panic buying in the shops as supplies of face masks run low, never mind food, drink and household essentials.

How will we manage?  What`s to become of us?  Will the viruses finally take over the planet and make a better job of it than we have?  I suppose the thing that troubles me most about all this, is the effect it might have on the upcoming cricket season.  After months of cold, dark, wet, dismal winter and just as we are a mere four weeks away from putting the clocks on an hour and a matter of a few weeks more until the season begins, we get hit with these threats to our way of life.  

I can live without the six nations being concluded, without the odd grand prix droning its way round and round and even without the Olympics but I will find life without the beautiful game of summer perhaps a precaution too far.   I`m surprised Greta hasn`t had a rant about it.

THE RIGHT KIND OF MUSIC...

I guess when you reach a certain age topics of conversation drift in to things you never really thought about too much when you were younger.   Having crossed the threshold of octogenerianism I find that conversations with others seem often to revolve largely around  things medical, which is a subject I don`t really do.  More worryingly I`m finding that funerals are coming round a bit more frequently than either I or the deceased might have wished.  And, sadly, I attended yet another one just the other day, this time for a good friend and neighbour who I had known ever since we moved here well over thirty years ago.

It was beautifully done - quite simple and yet conducted in a spirit of heartfelt sympathy for the bereaved, coupled with a genuine appreciation of the life and times of our departed friend.   Now, I`m pretty sure that years ago it was the tradition that any music played at such an event was likely to be mournful, religious in nature and clearly not designed to lift the spirits of  those present.  How things have changed over the years and much the better for it.

I`ve thought back to funeral services I`ve been to over recent years and each time the proceedings have included music chosen by the family which seemed to them to be right for the occasion.   For example, I chose `Time to Say Goodbye` sung by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman for my own mother`s service;  last year an old school friend went out to the sound of Frank Sinatra belting out `New York, New York;` and another occasion heard Matt Monro singing `Softly as I Leave You.`  I guess that in their own way they were `appropriate` as a memory for the departed and seemed just the right music for the day.

My most recent experience was the one I went to just a few days ago and the music chosen for that seemed also seemed to be just right.  It was `Memories`, sung by the velvet voice of Perry Como and it`s hard to imagine anything more appropriate for the occasion, the family and friends of our late neighbour.  An inspired choice from days when songs were songs and singers could sing.   Here it is:-

Trouble is, it all made me start to wonder what might be appropriate for my own departure.  I`ll get back to you about that.

One of the joys of following football teams that aren`t too good is that it makes you realise that the club that means so much to you may not be so bad after all.   Yesterday Southampton didn`t have a game, rather they were wallowing in the relief of the so called `mid winter break` following their narrow defeat on Tuesday evening in the FA Cup replay at Tottenham.   That`s two games now when the Saints have performed very well but come away with nothing to show for their efforts.

So, yesterday my football mind was fixed on other things - Gillingham managing yet another goalless, if not soulless draw away at Burton Albion;  Maidstone hung on to secure a narrow 1-0 win over Braintree (I`ve always wondered why Braintree is called Braintree - is there a magic tree there somewhere?);  Wimbledon contrived to lose at home to Fleetwood but were denied the inspiration of our street`s local hero Scott ("Six pack") Wagstaff due to an injury picked up in training;  Truro City also lost, meaning that the scramble for promotion at the top of Southern League South is becoming a bit serious.

But what is even more serious are the goings on at Fort William in the Scottish Highland League.  For some years now, The Fort have been pretty hopeless in terms of results on the pitch but in the process have garnered a large world-wide following of those like me who revel in and identify with the world of the underdog.  But something strange is happening up there in the lee of Ben Nevis.   After a win and a draw already this season, yesterday they went to Turriff in Aberdeenshire and won again, this time 2-1 against Turriff United.  That, combined with Lossiemouth losing at Deveronvale meant that Fort William now have seven points and have risen to third from bottom of the Highland League with seven games in hand (due to postponed matches) on the teams above them.

At this rate they might well end the season with a double figure points tally and for the first time in living memory finish above the bottom of the table.   For romantics like me, it is hoped that they might soon remember their place and get back losing ways......

Today is the 4th of February.  It comes round each and every year, of course and each time it does it takes me back 60 years when things happened to change my life forever.  

I woke up that morning in the pub that my parents owned in the rustic serenity of the Hampshire border country but I would spend that night in quite another world.   Early that morning I was given a lift by a neighbour to Reading train station; caught the train to Paddington station in London, crossed the capital and boarded another train at Euston station.   The long journey was in some respects `interesting` as I had never been anywhere north of London before but after what seemed a day long journey the train eventually arrived at Darlington in north Yorkshire, where I got on another train for the short journey to Richmond.

It was at Richmond station that I along with a random collection of other wide-eyed innocents was introduced to the army`s version of passenger transport as we were bundled with our meager belongings into the back of a 3-ton Bedford truck which deposited us at Catterick Camp to begin my two years of National Service.

Now I promise I won`t go on about National Service per se as I`ve recounted some of my experiences elsewhere in these pages (click on National Service in the list of labels to the right and down a bit) but rather to reflect on just how significant that experience was in terms of my personal `development` - such as it has been.

I think what it did do was make up for the absence, due to prolonged childhood illness,  of the chance of a University education or even higher level schooling and to use the hackneyed phrase which refers to the University of Life, I`m pretty sure that my army days forged within me a kind of resilience, a self confidence and most assuredly a self-awareness.   It also meant that I forged the ability to deal with situations, emotions even, that today would probably lead to anxiety, depression and all the other accouterments of `mental health issues.`   But in the green hell of BFPO 16 in  an armoured fighting tank regiment none of those `issues` ever crossed our minds - we simply got on with what we were supposed to be doing, worked hard and played even harder.

Now the last thing I will do is claim that National Service should be reintroduced as it really isn`t to be recommended and I`m not sure that people would accept it these days anyway but as a learning curve to developing qualities that were needed for a fulfilling later life,  I`m pretty sure it helped.   I wonder where today`s learning curves for life are to be found?

......and some you draw.   A mixed bag of sporting results this weekend which, in many ways, reflect life itself.  Ups and downs, a few surprises, some disappointment but always its unpredictability.  Sometimes it`s the hope that kills, other times, it`s the expectation.  Like England were supposed to beat France at rugby yesterday.  It didn`t happen, of course, but no complaints as the French deserved their win and England have a bit to learn following that defeat

The other side of that coin was the expected defeat of Southampton away at Liverpool in a game which might have gone the way of the Saints but for some missed chances and some exceptional play by Liverpool.  It was like a meeting of old friends with Liverpool having among their ranks former Saints van Dyke, Oxlaide-Chamberlain, Mane, Lallana, Lovren and Cline.  The final score of 4-0 to Liverpool was perhaps a bit flattering but it reminded me of the old saying, "Show me a gallant loser and I`ll show you a loser."

In other news, Truro City maintained their place at the top of the table but Wimbledon, featuring our local hero Scott ("Buzzin`) Wagstaff now fully restored after a recent suspension and calf injury, went down to a narrow 2-1 defeat at Accrington Stanley - always a difficult place to go to.   My neighbour`s Gillingham heroes didn`t have a game but have now gone ten home games without defeat, so there is still dancing in the street at the moment.

But pride of place this weekend went to Fort William who gained a creditable point away at Deveronvale - The Fort are still propping up the Highland League table but they have now amassed seven points so far this season, thanks to two wins and Saturday`s draw but with five games in hand on the teams above them there is still hope.

And spare a thought for Torquay United, who endured a 700-mile round trip to Barrow in Furness, current leaders in the National League and despite Torquay leading 1-0 until deep into the second half, Barrow eventually came back to win 2-1 and secure their league top spot.  

Oh, and we left the European Union too at the weekend..... after extra time.

It`s quite a week.  A lot going on.  And a lot of it is `annoying.`  Things like the Television Awards thingy the other evening when `awards` were dished out to mediocrities such as David Walliams, Ant and Dec and, astonishingly, Mrs, Brown`s Boys getting the comedy of the year award.  It really comes to something when an Irishman dressed up as an Irish granny has to rely on foul and abusive language in a desperate attempt to disguise the reality that he (or she) ain`t really funny.

And I guess there`s some mixed feelings about things political, which I will leave alone what with the Brexit thing and all that, and also other annoyances such as Greta Thunberg having the commercial nous to register her name and all her works as a trademark and being faced with Naga Munchetty when I turn on the TV in the morning.  

So it`s been quite difficult to find any grains of wheat in this great big pile of chaff but I think I have found a couple.  The first is the extraordinary and most welcome revolution being introduced by the new Speaker of the House of Commons, Sir Lindsay Hoyle. 

Following the way in which his predecessor brought the game into disrepute it is refreshing to see that the new Speaker has announced that he is introducing a new procedure which will allow the Clerk of the House to notify MPs if he disagrees with any decision made by the Speaker.  Friend Bercow generated controversy by reportedly overruling advice from the Clerk and allowing a vote on an amendment which was opposed by Brexiteers.  It is equally refreshing that the new Speaker has announced that under his watch any form of bullying within the House will not be tolerated and that he wants the House to be a village where everyone is treated with respect.

Now back in November I had (yet another) rant at the BBC about their plan to withdraw the red button text service in order to cut costs and to annoy the elderly and disabled - here`s what I said then - https://snoppersays.blogspot.com/2019/11/blog-post.html.  Now following the predictable outrage and petitions to Downing Street the BBC has apparently had second thoughts and the BBC director general Tony Hall has said he would examine the concerns that the withdrawal of the service would `leave many people, who are already vulnerable, further isolated from society` and make a fresh decision in the spring.

Signs that the sunny uplands are in sight after all?

So, in a couple of weeks the UK will be leaving the political project that is the European Union and it will be interesting to see what the practical effects might be, both for us here in the good ol` U of K and for our friends and partners across the channel.  Some of those changes might give the opportunity to recapture some of the magic of our past, those long ago times before we were seduced into the EU in the first place.

I`ll be interested to see if we can find the courage to go back to how some things were - the reintroduction of our former currencies such as the half crown, the florin, the farthing etc., all of which made perfect sense, of course - four farthings in a penny, twelve pennies in a shilling, two shillings in a florin, twenty shillings in a pound and so on. 

We might even reintroduce the old gallon rather than having litres of petrol and, who knows, there might be improvements to our sporting life as we go back to penalties being awarded for deliberate handball;  and where being anywhere on a football pitch in an offside position meant you were interfering with play.  (I think cricket pitches still stick to the original 22 yards of a chain but I might be wrong about that, not having played the game for over half a century.)

There is some seductive charm about going back to days gone by - when things were so much more simple, where life was lived at a different, less stressful pace than today, when priorities were established around friends and family instead of being imposed via `social media.`   It`s funny how music almost always sums up a mood and all those years ago the divine Carole King along with Gerry Goffin wrote stuff then that is perhaps even more relevant today.   One of my favourite tracks of theirs, which seems so appropriate as we head out of the EU`s clutches, has long been `Goin` back` and the last few lines seem to capture what I mean in this jumbled rant:-

"Let everyone debate the true reality.

I`d rather see the world the way it used to be.

A little bit of freedom`s all we lack.

So catch me if you can

I`m going back."

And here it is sung by the equally divine and much missed Dusty Springfield:-

FOR THE FALLEN...

This is the Pilgrims Way, the long distance and very ancient footpath that leads from Winchester to Canterbury.   It passes through my bit of Kent and I took the photo above where the path hugs the lea of the North Downs in this part of Kent.  A little further in to our walk, the Pilgrims Way is crossed by another footpath and so we turned left and started to make our way up the slope of the North Downs.....

We came to a field and followed the path until it came to a gateway which led to the higher ground......

And just beyond the gateway something caught my eye......

And I wondered what it could possibly be in this remote spot a long way off the beaten track.   So we investigated by tramping through part of the hillside that is covered with wild thyme and brambles and it became apparent that what we were seeing was some kind of memorial.   It turned out to be something rather special and so I took this close up photo which revealed the story.......

And a little research when we got home showed that Tommy Pinkham was the Squadron Leader of the Royal Air Force No. 19 Fighter Squadron and the youngest Squadron Leader in the RAF at the age of just 25.   According to the Fighter Command Combat Report dated 5th September 1940, eleven members of the No. 19 Fighter Squadron, lead by Squadron Leader Pinkham, took off from RAF Duxford at 09.47 hours to patrol Hornchurch, an area east of London near the Thames Estuary.   Forty Luftwaffe Dornier 215 bombers escorted by 40 Messerschmitt 109 fighters were spotted approaching from the west.   At 10.15 hours Tommy and five others attacked the bombers with the other five aircraft in the squadron attacking the Luftwaffe fighters.  Squadron Leader Pinkham was last seen engaging three Dornier bombers but became a casualty, crashing on this spot on this Kentish hillside, where the memorial is maintained to remember his selfless heroism.

It seemed especially poignant to come across this memorial during this year which marks the 75th anniversary of VE Day.  And so we left this now very special place which now has the peace and serenity befitting its surroundings, thanks to men like Tommy Pinkham and his colleagues, to whom we owe so very much.

No. 19 Fighter Squadron at RAF Duxford - Squadron Leader Tommy Pinkham in the centre.

Just a quick one.   Three months ago the Saints were comprehensively stuffed 9-0 at home by Leicester City.  In hindsight that may have been the best thing that has happened to the club for some time, as it concentrated minds and brought a hitherto unrecognized determination that, as things couldn`t get any worse, the only way was up.

And so it has proved.  Since that fateful evening at St. Mar y`s Stadium the team and the manager have gone back to basics, sorted themselves out and performed a turnaround in the club`s fortunes that almost defies belief.  If you look now at the `form table` for the last ten matches you will see that the Saints lie second only to Liverpool, having had a superb run of results, beating Aston Villa and Chelsea away from home, Spurs at home and yesterday their redemption was completed by going to Leicester and beating them 2-1 in their own ground.

So along with my fellow Southampton supporting chums we are now officially over the moon, having banished parrot sickness from our minds.  As things stand, the Saints have 28 points, needing another 12 from the remaining 16 games to guarantee Premier League survival.  Surely that should happen to confirm a quite astounding revival although  I really am struggling to believe what`s happened.

So, a good weekend all round. ( But I wonder, being a Saints fan, how long this feelgood factor might last.)

STILL ABSENT...

First things first.  As this is my first post of 2020 I really do wish you all a very happy, peaceful and fulfilling new year.   

Next, an apology.  I know I have been absent from these pages for a short while - I said I would be back once the festivities of the festive season had died down a bit but, as ever, events have caught up with me.   I won`t go in to them for legal reasons but suffice to say that I have been very busy, fully engaged in a mammoth adventure which is painting the hall, the staircase and the landing - well the walls, doors, skirting boards etc.

It`s going OK so far - but it`s a long and fiddly job.  Maybe I`m getting fussy in my dotage but I do like things to be `right` and so there`s a bit of attention to detail going on.   So much so that I am tempted to put one of those `traders` signs outside to let the world know what`s going on.   It will probably say....

M. ANGELO

PAINTER AND DECORATOR

CEILINGS A SPECIALITY.

So forgive me if my project means that I may not be posting here as much as I would like but I will do so as and when I get the chance.  Hope that`s OK with you.

Before this gentleman goes into hibernation until next year`s festive period, I thought I would ask him to stick around to wish you...

.....with all good wishes to you, your friends and family for what I hope will be a happy, peaceful and enjoyable year....

A DESERVED HONOUR...

I have long been a bit cynical as far as the normally discredited honours system is concerned but today an MBE has been awarded to Southampton legend Francis Benali, not for his prowess as a destructive full back in days gone by but for his achievement in raising over £1 million for Cancer Research in performing a quite outstanding series of daunting physical and mental challenges by running to all 20 Premier League grounds in a matter of three weeks - the equivalent of running two marathons a day. 

So, congratulations to Frannie on a well deserved honour. 

As for me, I have a couple of routines that I like to follow.  The first is to buy the local newspaper each week and I turn to the obituary column;  if my name doesn`t appear, then I just carry on for another week.  The second is that each time the `honours` are announced I look to see if my name appears there as well;  so far it hasn`t, much to my relief as I would hate to have to dress up and go to the Palace to receive a gong - far too much pretension and trouble for me.  Although years ago, to be fair, Mrs. Snopper and I were invited to a Queen`s Garden Party at the Palace but we declined as gracefully as we could we simply because we really didn`t want to go - too much pretension and trouble for us.

So I look back on my life in a desperate search to see if I can claim any `honourable mentions` and the best I can come up with goes back to my National Service days, all of sixty years ago now.   Us enforced conscripts were not supposed to like or conform to the ways of the regular army and so we spent a lot of time complaining, much of the time soto voce amongst ourselves, adopting the art of `ticking` - as such complaining was known as.  

We became so practised at the art that we formed our own association - the  Tenth Hussars National Service Ticking Association (THNSTA,) which required a certain amount of ticking to be recorded in order to gain entry to that exclusive club and then be able to add NSTA to any military documents requiring our signature.  A similar `honour` went to those who were admitted to the PA Club, entry to which required the consumption of eight pints (or German equivalent) of the local Paderborner export bier in a fixed amount of time down at Fritz`s nearby hostelry. (I`m sure you don`t need me to explain what PA stands for.)

And so I was able to attach NSTA and PA (and bar) to my signature during the latter stages of my illustrious defence of Queen and Country.   I still consider that to be more of an honour than any gong I am never going to receive from officialdom although I readily accept that Frannie Benali has thoroughly deserved everything that comes his way.

ONE MORE SLEEP...

.....and Father Christmas lands on my roof with a sack full of goodies.   I can`t begin to describe the excitement I feel but, as I have been told for the past eighty years, "You`ll be fine when you grow up."

Now I`ve been doing this blog, on and off, for some years now and at the last count it has been read by well over 400,000 people.  There`s a gizmo that tells me where these visitors have come from and even in more recent times I see that, among others, there have been over 50,000 `views` from here in the UK;  over 31,000 from the USA;  18,000 from Russia;  5,000 from Germany; and over 3,000 from each of France, Canada and Ukraine.

And as this is the 1954th `post` I have published on this blog, I would like to take this opportunity to thank all those who have viewed my ramblings and rantings which I hope have been of interest but most importantly at this `most wonderful time of the year` I would simply like to say........

.....and all good wishes to you, your neighbours, friends and family in the hope that the world is as kind to you as it is for me.  Back after the festivities have subsided a bit.

Today`s the day.  The day that sad old people like me who suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) have looked forward to for weeks if not months.  Now it`s finally here, I feel a sense of relief and the ability at last to look forward to the days lengthening and things looking up.   OK, the weather today here in deepest Kent hasn`t been great - there are warnings of heavy rain and probable flooding and I know that there is some time to go before the return of more daylight and warming sunshine - but the corner is being turned and I`m grateful for that.

The day has been blessed with visits from family, by the Saints winning a must win six pointer away at Aston Villa to climb out of the relegation zone and my neighbour`s heroes, the Gills of Gillingham, also claiming a 3-1 victory.   Maybe it just needed the right date to bring about these minor miracles? 

One of the more intriguing things to emerge from last week`s General Election was the way in which the Labour Party is responding to the drumming it received at the hands of countless disenchanted former Labour voters especially in the Midlands and the north of the country.  And predictably their most pressing concern is who to succeed Oh Jeremy Corbyn as party leader and, more importantly, Leader of Her Majesty`s Loyal Opposition.

And already candidates waiting in the wings are beginning to emerge from beneath assorted stones and various woodwork and it will be interesting to see what qualities will be looked for in the impending competition.  Now, not being a member of the Labour Party or any other political organisation, I`m hardly in a position to comment but there seem to be three choices open to the National Executive and the wider party membership.

The first - and perhaps the least likely - is that they might choose a candidate steeped in the Corbynista tradition, to pursue those policies, hopes and dreams of the now discredited Jezza - not to be recommended I would have thought;  the second might therefore be someone who has got the message from the election, in that for the party to carry on as usual simply will not do and that a root and branch revision of the whole point of the Labour party is what is necessary. Not sure that seems very likely either.

But lastly there is the up to date, modern, politically correct option.  This might already be off the ground as there seems to be an imperative to appoint a woman as leader just because she is a woman. But in order to be attractive to the majority of urban based, middle class, educated party members, she should ideally be either lesbian, bi-sexual or transgender, come from an ethnic minority background, come from somewhere oop north, be state educated, be a devotee of Greta Thunberg, not be in possession of even a scrap of plastic, not be prepared to go to war with anyone for whatever reason, be determined to scrap the country`s nuclear deterrent, be committed to a vegan diet and cycle to work and back each day.

Shouldn`t be too difficult.

Well, that`s how it feels right now.  Last evening I watched Southampton lose to West Ham 1-0 in what for both teams might well have been a must win six pointer.  Sadly for me, the three points on offer went to the visitors to St. Mary`s and left the Saints still (just) in the relegation zone of the Premier League.   So next week`s away fixture against Aston Villa is even more crucial, as the Villa are one place above the Saints thanks to a superior goal difference.

Now, some of my very good friends are West Ham supporters and they have been conspicuous by their silence following last night`s events.  They may be keeping quiet out of respect for the feelings of an octogenarian Saints fan but they need not be concerned - Southampton were awful and West Ham deserved to win.

But that is the sixth time in the last nine games that the Saints have lost at home and despite a recent mini revival, it really does seem that there are severe problems surrounding the club, its Oriental owner, its eclectic collection of coaching staff and the distinct lack of quality and character amongst the playing squad.  So it may be just a matter of time before the walls come tumbling down.

So I need to look elsewhere for some solace after this disappointment and I see that Truro City continue to top the league in the Vanarama National League South Division following yet another away win at Hayes and Yeading;  Gillingham cemented their place in mid table of League One with a creditable 1-1 draw away at Fleetwood and Wimbledon managed a 2-1 win against Doncaster, despite the enforced absence through injury of Captain Scott Wagstaff;   Maidstone United conjured up a late defeat against Concord Rangers (neither have I) in the FA Trophy and Forest Green Rovers slipped again in a 1-0 defeat away at Northampton.   Mercifully Fort William`s game was called off due to bad weather.

Forest Green`s decline over the last couple of weeks has seen them slip from the top of the League Two table but their current problems are as nothing compared to those down at St. Mary`s.   The eternal lot of the dedicated Saints fan shows no sign of changing any time soon but the faith will be kept, the loyalty will remain and life in the Championship might not be so bad after all?

ALL ABOARD.....

You know what it`s like.   You wake up one morning and face an increasingly weird and unreal world and you wonder whether you have woken up in Alice`s wonderland.  Well, I woke up this morning (thank goodness - at my age I`m truly grateful for that) and I look out and it`s cold, frosty, dark and pretty miserable.  I turn on the television and I am immediately assaulted by a kind of trial by media which shouts at me, argues all the time and seems a million miles away from Lord Reith and his three commandments about informing, educating and entertaining.

And then I realise that it`s election day and I face the prospect (some might call it a civic duty) to toddle up the road to the village hall and cast my vote one way or another.   Now here in our deepest Kent enclave, they don`t bother to count the votes, they just weigh them, as it has been a conservative stronghold ever since elections first began, so whichever way I might vote it won`t make the slightest difference to the outcome here.

But as I gaze through the looking glass at the broader picture, the national scene, it confirms that I might be in that fabled wonderland after all.  There seems to be a choice nationally between the fat controller or a mischievous imp with Alice herself bringing up the rear, waiting in the wings to see if she can, after all, pull the strings and fashion the country`s future in her image.   There are, of course, other minor characters to flesh out the cast list - there`s a mad hatter, a queen bee, a monster raving loony and so on.   But whatever the outcome of this election, it is likely to perpetuate the notion that we are living in  some kind of parallel universe where nothing is what it seems, where nothing is true anymore and where despair - or at least resignation - are near neighbours.

So I`ll toddle up the road, cast my vote and sit back and wait to see what happens, although I suspect that once again my senses will be assaulted by the baying media and by politicians who will either be over the moon or sick as parrots.  It`s not a happy prospect.

And all that comes after some truly sad news in recent days - the passing of Bob Willis, Marie Fredriksson and David Bellamy.  Those untimely losses coupled with the beatification of Greta Thunberg as `Person of the Year` just add to the sense of unreality

Beam me up Scotty..............................

COUNTING THE DAYS...

Around sixty years ago I was doing my National Service, having been yanked away from `normal` life to surrender myself to 731 days in the army for Queen and country.  There was no choice but to do it and get on with it, which makes me wonder how the snowflakes of today would cope with something as traumatic as that.  (I suspect the age of `social media` would see mass refusal to have anything to do with it?)

Anyway, one thing that kept me on the right side of sanity was to do a demob chart which consisted on 731 numbers written out on assorted sheets of paper so that each day I could cross one off.  The last sheet had about 100 numbers left and they were arranged in ever decreasing circles, eventually to disappear in the centre as my freedom was restored.

These days no such issues, of course, but instead I find that there are events to which I look forward with doubtful enthusiasm and whilst I have no desire to wish my life away there are certain things at this time of the year that I really hope might pass quickly.

In the next few weeks firstly we have the General Election, of which I am already bored witless and I cannot wait for next Thursday to come and go so that all the  sound and fury, the lies, the shouting, the ranting and all  the false dawns and promises are finally done with and life, whoever wins, can attempt at least to recapture a semblance of normality.

Then it`s Christmas and the New Year,  supposedly the `most wonderful time of the year` but as is now so common with other `events` it becomes little more than an excuse for excess.  As Bart Simpson reminded us, Christmas is the time when we remember the true meaning of Santa`s birthday.   It doesn`t help having it at the dog end of the year when the weather is miserable, the days are short and I`m a bit annoyed with God as to why He or She chose 25th December for the virgin birth.  Ah well, at least the kiddies will enjoy the fairy tales at Christmas time.

I guess the good news in all of this is that there are only another fifteen days before the shortest day of the year.  It can`t come soon enough for me and I can then stop counting the days  and consign another countdown to the refuse bin.

So, as it is the season of goodwill, I hope you have a nice day.  

YOU MAY NOT LIKE THIS...

Well, maybe you will.  It depends.  

I see that Greta Thunberg has been named as Waterstones Author of the Year for her book  "No One is Too Small to make a Difference," which the bookselling chain has described as an "urgent message" as her book consists of the collection of the 16-year old activist`s speeches.  Now normally Waterstones choose a Book of the Year but this year has added the accolade of Author of the Year.

Which says a lot really and sums up the basis for my comments here.  Firstly, it is quite an astonishing decision to grant this award ahead of towering pinnacles of authorship such as John le Carre who this year produced another masterpiece with his latest work, "Agent Running in the Field."   But the Waterstones decision looks very much like another example of bandwagon jumping in order to be associated with Ms. Thunberg and all her works.  

It`s not just Waterstones who have fallen into this beguiling trap, of course;  so-called celebrities, assorted politicians and even the royal family, represented by Prince Harry`s approval, have joined those who may simply feel it fashionable to be associated with this young Swedish `activist,` for whom life will never be the same and certainly not `normal.`

As for me, I don`t know why I should but I feel rather sorry for this young lady.  I`m sure she means well but I fear she has missed out on those things that 16 - year - olds are supposed to be doing at that age.  She doesn`t look happy - too intense, too angry about things - as if she is taking all the troubles of the world on her young shoulders.  She really ought to be allowed to get a life before it`s too late and let those who worship at her feet grow up a bit.