A DECEPTIVE QUIETUDE..

I took this photo yesterday.  It`s an idyllic scene on a quiet, late September morning, the photo taken from a public footpath looking up towards the North Downs here in deepest Kent.   It`s close to the village of Birling, where we parked the car - just a few minutes drive from home.

Birling is famous for two things really.  The first was way back in 1963 when President John F Kennedy made his stirring speech which ended, "And there are some who say in Europe and elsewhere we can work with the communists.  Well, let them come to Birling.  Ich bin eine Birlinger!"  (He might have said `Berlin` - I might have misheard.)

The second is that Birling`s churchyard includes the last resting place of Rowland Hilder - surely one of the country`s most well known and well loved artists.  Here`s an example of his work and his love for this part of Kent:-

On our walk we came across a gamekeeper who told us that the pheasant shooting season was due to open on 6th October and that 3,000 pheasants were currently enjoying life in the nearby wood and fields.  I hope they have a good week as next week they will be scattered into the air to become targets for those who enjoy killing pheasants just for the fun of it.  

And so the quiet peace we enjoyed on our walk in this tranquil corner of Kent turns out to have been deceptive, especially if you`re a pheasant.

Sigh indeed.   Today marks the last day of the domestic cricket season and although the day dawned bright and clear with an unseasonably decent temperature, the curtain closing on yet another cricket season only confirms that summer has slipped away.   And as the last wicket fell I become acutely aware that what awaits us now is the onset of another winter with all of its cold, dark and gloomy prospects. 

No warm sun on my back;  no more light evenings and, yes, no more cricket.   But the domestic season ended in remarkable fashion at the Oval this afternoon - so much so that I was glued to the TV rather than lounging about in the afternoon sunshine.   This four day game went to the penultimate session on the last day which was more than surprising given that Surrey had been dismissed for just 67 in their first innings on the first morning.

In reply, Essex had piled on the runs to reach 477 for 8 only for Surrey to fight their way back like the newly crowned Champions they are and record 541 in their second innings.  That left Essex needing 132 to win and deny Surrey the honour of going through the whole of the Championship season unbeaten.   In a tense finish, Essex crawled over the line - just - reaching 134 for 9.

It was cricket at its very best and I could have been forgiven for thinking I was watching the finale of one of the great international test matches.  So the season ended on a high and in remarkable fashion, leaving cricket buffs like me to be saddened at its passing.

And what to look forward to now, I wonder?  Well, maybe the Ryder Cup will be interesting but I can`t say I`m excited by the prospect of the Premier League`s Super Sundays, Magic Mondays, Terrific Tuesdays, Wonderful Wednesdays and all the rest of the over-hyped circus masquerading as competitive top level football.  Oh, and there`s Halloween, Bonfire Night, Christmas and New Year to come.   

No wonder I will long for the return of the truly beautiful game.  See you next season.

REASONS FOR LEAVING..

OK, I confess.  I voted 27 months ago for the UK to leave the European Union.  There were many reasons why I did, some of which were perhaps bordering on the trivial - personal ones connected with my own and my late father`s military experiences  which rather made the idea of being a subject of a United States of Brussels less than appealing.

Other more substantial reasons included the chance for the UK to regain its independence following its loss of sovereignty and to regain control of our own affairs which, for an island nation, is probably more relevant than if you originate on continental Europe.  But there are bits of the EU way of doing things that are frankly utterly unacceptable.  Amongst them are things such as the fact that their accounts have not been signed off by their own auditors for over 20 years now and the sheer nonsense and vast expense of decamping from Brussels to Strasbourg each month in order to pander to Gallic hauteur.  

And another reason was rather quietly reported just today when the European Court of Justice decided that details of the way in which MEPs spend their expenses will remain secret.  Now  each Member of the European Parliament is entitled to spend £3,900 a month on `expenses,`  but the European Court has ruled that having to prove how that money is spent might breach the MEPs privacy.   In total, the annual cost of these expenses amounts to about £35million all paid for by the taxpayer, of course.

So it seems that the European Court`s decision means that I will never know how the MEPs spend the chunky amount of tax I have to pay towards their `expenses.`   Surely that is a breach of my own privacy in itself in that I think I should have a right to know where my money is going?  Not a sufficient reason of itself to vote leave, I grant you, but yet another nail in the coffin of any thoughts I might ever have to doubt the way in which  I cast my vote all those months ago.

Time to reset the privacy button, I think.

JUST ONE OF THOSE DAYS ?

There`s a local colloquialism for heavy and persistent rain - it`s called `wazzing.`   And boy is it wazzing today.  It`s also cold and gloomy and it all comes as a bit of a shock after the long, scorchio summer that has now passed us by.

And my mood has not been helped by the events of yesterday.  Firstly and predictably the Saints went to Liverpool and were 3-0 down at half time, thanks to an early own goal of heroic ineptness, a towering header from a Liverpool player who managed to out-jump Saints central defender, 6`6" Jannik Vestergaard and a tap-in by Salah during first half added time.   Saints manager Mark Hughes reckoned that we drew the second half 0-0 to take `a positive` from a disappointing afternoon on Merseyside.   I`m surprised there isn`t an open top bus parade around Southampton this morning to celebrate.

My neighbour must be sick as a parrot, having been over the moon when his beloved Gillingham came from behind to go into a  2-1 lead only to finish up losing 2-4 to table topping Peterborough.  And despite a deficit reducing solo effort from our street`s footy hero Scott ("Buzzin` six-pack") Wagstaff, Wimbledon went down 2-1 away at Accrington, which these days is never an easy place to go to.   And Truro City made the 500-mile round trip to Hereford in an early round of the FA Cup only to draw 0-0 and have to play it all again in an unwanted replay.

In less important issues, the media is full of the Labour Party conference which this week will bore the pants of some of the populace, whilst others will be repelled by some of the `policies` they are about to announce, leaving only the die-hard Corbynistas to enthuse at the prospect of yet another General Election - a classic example of politicians pursuing blind ambition and a lust for power.  Just what we need. 

No wonder I have a feeling of despair this morning, but I hope it`s just one of those days.

To Maidstone Hospital yesterday for a long awaited `procedure` involving some surgery around one of my eyes - nothing too troublesome, just some local anaesthetic and 45 minutes in `theatre.`

All went well - I`m on the mend and already sensing that it was a job worth doing and that it was done very well.

And that really is the point of this post and Matt`s cartoon pretty much sums up yesterday`s experience for me.  Four of us patients for similar `procedures` were required to report at the hospital at 12.30pm.  We then had the preliminary administrative things which took but a few minutes and then we were invited to take our seats in the waiting area and wait our turn for the actual `procedure` to be carried out.

As we sat waiting, I wondered in what order we would be called.  It crossed my mind that it might be alphabetical but I realised it was too late to change my name by deed poll to Mr. Aardvark, so along with the others we just waited....and waited.   Eventually the first patient was called....then the next.....and the next....and I finally got called in for surgery about four and a half hours after I first arrived.   

That time made me suspect, as the pre-surgery anxiety levels continued to rise, that there must surely be a more efficient way of organising things like this - for example, calling two patients in at a time rather than all four - two could be called at 12.30. the other two at, say, 3.00pm?   I also noticed that there were several NHS staff who seemed to be hanging around the waiting area and I began to wonder whether they were all really necessary and what they were all supposed to be doing - I suspected that some of them had the same had the same feelings.

But I refuse to grumble about the NHS because the quality of surgery, care and attitude towards patients (now I know why patients have to be patient) was exemplary and I remain grateful for the attention I received.  I hesitate to enter a note of criticism but I was left with the feeling that a bit more organisation and perhaps a few less but perhaps more structured support staff might be called for?    Not for the first time it seems Matt`s cartoon has wider relevance than first imagined.

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER AGE..

Among my eclectic collection of cricket books, this one perhaps more than any other illustrates my penchant for the underdog.  Why else would I be interested in the fortunes of Glamorgan county cricket club; or the ups and downs of Forest Green Rovers or Truro City football clubs?

About four years ago I posted a `piece` about the death of a Glamorgan cricketing hero - Bernard Hedges. What made that post particularly poignant for me was not just the reminiscences of those bygone cricketing days when Bernard and his chums were in their pomp but also the fact that Bernard Hedges` son got in touch with me to let me know about the heroic walk around the boundary of Wales that he was undertaking in his father`s memory and to raise funds for grass roots cricket in Wales.   

And so, given that background, it was not surprising that along with my own eldest son, I made the journey to Canterbury yesterday to see the first day`s play of Kent`s last home game of the season against ...... Glamorgan.

And it was another of those quiet, balmy late summer/early autumn days when once again the joy of cricket provided the perfect counter to the rest of the world we seem to have to contend with.  It got me thinking back to those other Glamorgan stalwarts of the past who I recalled from my early days of underdog watching.  

But of course, in those far off days, those players were anything but underdogs, more heroes of my boyhood dreams - their names came back so easily after all those years -  those such as Wilfred Wooller, Gilbert Parkhouse, Alan Watkins and, of course, the departed Bernard Hedges.  I spared a thought for his son as well yesterday when, with yet another cricket season drawing to a close,  another day in the sheltered enclave of the St. Lawrence ground at Canterbury rekindled memories of another age now long gone but never forgotten.

EXPLORING THE WORLD...

Our new puppy, Dudley, seems to travel well and he enjoys being in the car.  When we brought him home from the breeder in the New Forest, he settled in to travelling very well and now gets a bit excited when he thinks we`re going anywhere in the  car.  Mind you, so far he has really only been on very short journeys to places like supermarkets, vets and dog food shops.

So this morning we took him for a scamper around some footpaths a little further afield in  this part of Kent so that he could enjoy new sniffs and new surroundings to make a change from walking round our parish.   The photo I took on our walk this morning shows the view from one of the paths which leads down from the Pilgrims Way to the village of Trottiscliffe (known locally as `Trosley.`)  It was part of Dudley`s need to explore the world around us and he seemed to enjoy it - he`s conked out fast asleep now after a hearty lunch.   

I might join him.

A RETURN VISIT...

I took this photo a week or so ago on a rare outing to the St. Lawrence Ground at Canterbury, where Kent were playing against Northants.  It was all of eleven years ago that I paid my last visit to Canterbury, on that occasion to see Shane Warne captaining Hampshire for the last time, so a return visit was long overdue.

My eldest son drove us there and acted as my carer for the day and we settled down in the Frank Wolley Stand and watched as the Northants bowlers dismissed Kent for not much over 100.  When it was their turn to bat, however, the Kent bowlers took centre stage and had the visitors in some trouble before bad light ended play just before 5.00pm.  I found that a curious decision, since it had been pretty gloomy all day but the floodlights had come on to illuminate the scene, so I can only imagine it was yet another obscure cricketing law that applied to red ball cricket.  No matter, we had enjoyed a good, entertaining day.

One thing that occurred to me was that, despite the terrific improvements to the ground and the facilities since I was last there, the sense of being `somewhere else` came back to me again.   Once you are in the ground and concentrating on the cricket, it is as if the only thing that really matters is what is going on inside the ground;  and that anything beyond the boundary - the noise, the mayhem, the anger of the world - means absolutely nothing, at least for those precious hours when one feels immune to anything other than the one truly beautiful game and the protected species that the cricket ground has become.

Anyway, we enjoyed it so much that we are hoping to go back next week to see Kent`s last home game of the season against Glamorgan and once more to be immersed in that rarefied atmosphere before the madness of winter, football and the rest of the world takes over.   Some people would call that the real world - they clearly cannot be cricket buffs.

A CAUTIOUS RE-ENTRY...

My apologies for absence from these pages for a few weeks.  The culprit is pictured above - Dudley is now 18 weeks old and, as is expected with golden retriever puppies, has been the focus of our attention and continues to be so.   I guess we had forgotten just how demanding puppies can be -it`s over 10 years now since we went through the puppy stage with our dearly departed Barney - and in a way it`s a bit like having kids all over again.

Anyway, Duds has started training classes and has settled into something of a routine which of itself seems to dictate the routine by which we live our own lives.  He`s already growing up bit by bit and it has been quite uncanny to see how he has picked up some of Barney`s old habits - it`s as if Duds has inherited them from his predecessor.  Things like licking out yogurt pots, standing on the top of horse mounting steps, springing into life when he hears the biscuit barrel being opened, waiting at the gate for me to close it when we come home from a walkies - and if he inherits Barney`s character and personality we`ll be well happy.

So, this is a cautious re-entry into the world of blogging and I agree it might lack a little interest but, dear reader, I will try to get back to something a little more interesting in the coming days and weeks.   At least I`ve remembered how to do it.