END OF SUMMER....

To Canterbury for the first day of the last game of this season`s domestic cricket.  The game between Kent and Hampshire at the sanctuary of the St. Lawrence Ground drew some mixed emotions and some divided loyalties between the county of my boyhood and that of my adulthood so it was just as well that the only thing riding on this game was which team would finish the season in the highest place in Division One of the County Championship.

Yesterday we had almost a full day`s play but the weather and - despite some hugely effective floodlights - bad light brought play to an end with something like 30 overs still to be bowled.   But we saw Kent dismissed for a mere 147 and, in reply, Hampshire reached 80 for 3 and that might be it for the season really as this morning the rain is teeming down and the prospects for the next couple of days of this four day game look distinctly bleak.  

But after a truly remarkable summer of cricket I can have no complaints.  The World Cup, the Ashes, the 20-20 finals and the fact that even now the final outcome of both divisions in the county championship are still to be decided has made it a summer to remember.   So I am unashamedly sad that it is all coming to an end - not only the cricket season but also the summer itself. 

I don`t `do` winters or cold or dark and so with the passing of every summer my persona slips into a little melancholy - our old friend seasonal affective disorder, aka SAD, returns together with a longing for the return of the sun, of cricket and of those lazy, hazy days at Canterbury where the rest of the world drifts into a kind of  irrelevance and where at least an illusion of peace can be found amongst an increasingly bonkers world.

A ROSE AMONG THE THORNS....

After the Saints capitulation to Bournemouth on Friday evening I was looking to the Saturday fixtures to provide a little lift in the football firmament.   But, perhaps predictably, our street`s local hero Scott ("Buzzin` six-pack") Wagstaff and his chums contrived once more to lose a home game as Wimbledon went down 3-1 to high flying Bristol Rovers, despite being a goal up.

My neighbour`s much loved Gillingham also went down to a home defeat, this time 1-0 to league leaders Ipswich Town;  Forest Green Rovers could only manage a 0-0 draw at home to Stevenage, Maidstone lost 3-1 away at Dorking Wanderers and Tonbridge also suffered yet another home defeat.  To make things worse, Truro City crashed out of the FA Cuo  4-2 away at Hereford -just up the road really - just a round trip of 424 miles -  despite being 2-0 up early doors and so I had to look elsewhere to find some consolation from this depressing litany.

And the rose between all these thorns turned out to be our old friends Fort William, who had recently ended an 822 days of continued defeat by winning a league game 1-0 against Clachnacuddin.   Yesterday they were pitched against Vale of Leithen FC in a Scottish Cup game and won 5-0.  Yes, 5-0!!!!  There is much dancing in the streets of Fort William and an open top bus parade will proceed around the nearby highlands as this famous victory is given the attention it clearly deserves.

Up next for me - the Saints go to Portsmouth on Tuesday night to play their local rivals in a Caraboa Cup game.   It promises to be a tempestuous affair with emotions running high among the fans of both teams, so God only knows what the outcome will be as Premier League Southampton`s superstars take on the League One minnows.   The Saints will clearly not be helped by playing at Fratton Park which, of course, is Krap Nottarf when spelt backwards - it is, however, elegantly descriptive of what lies in store.

A few days on from posting my recent apology for absence, I woke up the other morning and the bleeding obvious suddenly occurred to me.   So, off to the local chemist who sells a range of `off the peg` spectacles.   I tried on about eight pairs and finally found one that will do for now until I can get some proper prescription ones.

And they work, hence my ability to scribble these few lines.  Whilst I was at it I also bought some sunglasses to help shield my post-operative sensitive peepers from the blazing sunshine we are having at the moment.   So, problem solved.

And in my short absence from these pages a couple of things on the world stage have grabbed my attention.   The first in the mass truancy by countless schoolchildren across the globe who are demonstrating against the inaction of governments to tackle climate change more robustly.  Now I don`t have a problem with their passionate convictions but I do wonder why they can`t avoid denying themselves of their precious education by having their demonstrations during the school holidays or at weekends?

Just asking, that`s all.

Secondly, the weekend got off to a dismal start with Southampton losing 3-1 at home to near neighbours Bournemouth.   I`m beginning to worry about this season for the Saints (nothing unusual, I agree) but although we play some nice football we seem to be lacking goal scoring ability whilst at the same time lacking defensive qualities.  There are clearly problems to be solved at St. Mary`s and, like me, the bleeding obvious is staring manager Ralph Hasenhuttl in the face.  Just hope that when he wakes up one morning he will see it as clearly as I saw mine.

APOLOGIES FOR ABSENCE..

Yesterday I had my second cataract operation courtesy of the excellent eye clinic at Maidstone Hospital.   Once again I am grateful to the NHS for the excellent service they have given me for what promises to be a life changing procedure.   

The effect has been that whilst I can now clearly see long distances, I cannot make out small print on things like letters, e-mails, newspapers or even the letters on my keyboard.   So it`s going to be a problem to post regularly on this blog, for which I apologise.   It might be some time before the eyes settle down from the two operations and posting this note of apology is a bit of a long winded and hit or miss affair so I`m sure you understand.

That said, I know I will miss posting on here but I hope to resume as soon as I get some reading glasses which could well be a few weeks away to give time for my eyes to settle before the prescription for the glasses can be sensibly performed.

Apologies again but hope to resume `normal` service as soon as I can.  Many thanks for your understanding.

A TURN OF THE PAGE....

I`m a lucky man.  Well some people might describe me as more sad than lucky but they will be the ones who do not share my lifelong passion for cricket  I suppose it all began in 1949 when my parents took me to see the New Zealand touring team play Hampshire at the old Northlands Road ground in Southampton.   It was a case of love at first sight and one which, if anything, has grown stronger as the years have gone by.

In the latter stages of my schooldays I found myself appointed as captain of the school cricket eleven - with mixed results - and it was about that time that I started to play for two local village teams - one on Saturdays and the other on Sundays.  And to my astonishment and bewilderment the Sunday team asked me to be their captain for a couple of magical seasons before I was swept up into the Army to do my National Service.

Apart from the odd guest appearance, that was the end of my playing career - the vagaries of military life, followed by husbandhood and parenthood, along with the time cricket matches take, meant that I was lost to the game.   But the game was never lost to me and I started to acquire books about cricket - the odd Wisden Almanac and Benny Green`s Anthologies - since when my collection has continued to fill my bookshelves.

Over the years I have bought and treasured books about cricketing heroes such as Harold Gimblett, Harold Larwood and Sir Jack Hobbs, books about Hampshire Cricket Club, Glamorgan, Somerset and I have revelled in the writing of those such as John Arlott, Neville Cardus, David Frith, David Foot, Duncan Hamilton and the incomparable Patrick Collins for whom a day at Canterbury to witness the ladies hat competition at tea time whilst cossetted within the sanctuary that is the St. Lawrence Ground was an abiding memory.

You see, for me at least, the thing that makes cricket writing so admirable is that it is proper writing.   Football may have the occasional worthy scribe, such as Hugh McIlvanney, but cricket somehow produces a host of writers who have managed to capture the romance and the soul of what is more a way of life than simply a game - and they have done so with literary skill, perception and something approaching reverence which cannot be found in the delusional ramblings of, say, Sam Allardyce or Harry Redknapp.   The cricket writers can write - that`s the difference.

Now, for my 80th birthday a few weeks ago I was give book tokens by generous friends and neighbours and for which I am seriously grateful for it has allowed me to add yet more to my cricket library into which I will dip as the world outside the hallowed game grows less and less appealing and the need to get away from it all becomes more  and more compelling.

And thanks to that generosity I have now acquired `The Judge` -  the autobiography of Robin Smith,  one of Hampshire and England`s finest batsmen and former resident of Nomansland in the upper reaches of the New Forest;  `The Great Romantic`by Duncan Hamilton which will I am sure capture  cricket in the golden age of Neville Cardus;  `A Cricketing Miscellany` by Marcus Berkmann and, for good measure, Duncan Hamilton`s `Going to the Match,` which could well bring to football the same insight and intelligence that he has brought to cricket writing over the years.

Told you I was a lucky man.

It has now been well over three years since the EU Referendum, since when we seem to have been stuck in a time warp as the UK Parliament has failed time and again to implement the decision - and it was a decision given to the British people to make - to leave the institution that is the European Union.   The vote was pretty close but clear with a majority well over a million votes.

Now I confess to have voted to leave - mainly for reasons that might be partly selfish,  based partly on family history but principally because I thought it best for the country to regain its independence, to be able to conduct its own affairs and to confirm its place as a leading nation in world affairs, trade and international relations.  I quite accept that those who voted to remain in the EU are more than entitled to their view but in the end a democratic decision was made by the people and needed to be respected and acted upon.

But the way that Parliament has behaved in all that time has been a national disgrace and continues to be so.   MPs have shown themselves to be incapable of applying reason to carrying out the will of the majority but instead we have had a litany of argument, manoeuvre and evasion all attempting to disguise the reality that the majority of MPs did not agree with the referendum result and so have used the three years to indulge in blatant political opportunism all leading to the farcical situation in which the nation now finds itself.  They shout, they argue, they rant, they bring the game into disrepute and wonder why most people outside of Westminster or even London are thoroughly tired of them and all their works.

Last night I watched the first ten minutes or so of the BBC Question Time programme which quickly descended into yet more shouting, arguing and ranting leaving the audience once again perplexed that these politicians can behave the way they do rather than concentrate on the mandate they should have honoured months, if not years, ago.  I switched the TV off as I could stand it no longer.

And all the sound and fury both within Parliament and outside reminded me of Joe South`s `Games People Play.`   His song goes back decades but is somehow still relevant to modern day British politicians.   The first few lines are:-

`Oh the games people play now

Every night and every day now

Never meaning what they say now

Never saying what they mean

And they wile away the hours

In their ivory towers

Till they're covered up with flowers

In the back of a black limousine.`

Once again it takes music to tell the truth but I wonder what lyrics will be able to describe the mayhem on the streets if the referendum result is ultimately denied and the majority are silent no more..............

.......and you can tell that is is by the number of cars parked all over the place, including on the double yellow lines.   And it all reminds me of my own very first day at school all those years ago.  Well, 75 years ago to be precise.

At the time, my mother and I were living with an aunt and uncle in the village of Blackfield near Southampton but the school I had to go to was at Fawley, a mile or so away.   I suppose it was September 1944 - I had turned five in July - and wartime, of course, but my childhood friends and I were almost blissfully unaware of it all, as wartime was the only thing we had ever known and so that was how life was and we just got on with being children as best we could.

Now for some time before my first day at school, people had been saying things like, "So you`ll be off to school on Monday then" and having heard this a number of times I was convinced that I would be going to school on that Monday.......but perhaps only for that day.  It never occurred to me that it was a long term commitment.

Come the day and my mother walked me to Fawley school that day - all the other days I walked there and back on my own.  But having been left there and with no idea what it was all about or what was going on, come lunchtime I decided I had had enough and started to walk home.   On the way I realise that perhaps I shouldn`t be doing this, so I slowed the pace, took my time and got home at what I imagined to be a sensible time.

Not so, of course.  I was met by my astonished mother and I recall her being her usual understanding and sympathetic self, so I wasn`t in too much trouble.  Next day, much to my surprise I was sent on my way to school again but this time I took a note from my mother to explain my misdeeds of the day before and - maybe because it was wartime? - I didn`t seem to get into too much bother from the teacher (I think we might have had two of them.)

But I think that formative episode along with my reluctant attendance at all the other schools I ever went to might have been responsible for my natural inclination to buck trends, to question authority and to react instinctively against any form of repression.  Maybe, like Forest Gump, I should have just kept on walking.

Well, it was one of those weeks really.  A number of `issues` which disturbed my peace before I could look to Saturday to provide some much needed relief.  My car was at the menders for a couple of days having some dent s removed after my cataract operation resulted in me driving into the garage door rather than the garage.   Then the washing machine conked out so its replacement meant a priority hive of activity and then the car wouldn`t start  yesterday morning, thanks to the battery dying on me.

So, was there any comfort to be found in this weekend`s football?  Some and some,   The Saints pulled off a very creditable 1-1 draw against ManUre at St. Mary`s, despite being a goal down at half time and then going down to 10 men thanks to Kevin Danso`s debut dismissal.  I cannot tell you how much I dislike Manchester United, but I`ll keep that for another day although once again the press and other media (including the boy Lineker and his chums) were all over how dreadful ManUre were and gave little or no acknowledgement of how manfully the Saints had performed.  It is as ever was, it seems.

Elsewhere in my eclectic footy world, the game between Fort William and Wick Academy was called off due to a waterlogged pitch.  I just hope that the Wick contingent didn`t have to make the 334 mile round trip from the northern tip of Scotland to the foothills of Ben Nevis for nothing.   At the other end of the country Truro City went to Farnborough in Hampshire and came away with a hard fought 2-0 win to maintain their early season promotion push.   In the annals of their heroic journeys the mere 470 mile trip there and back has now become pretty normal.

My good friend and neighbour, the well known Gillingham season ticket holder, had carried out a particularly irksome task of helping the aged next door despite suffering from a bad back but he clearly passed the fitness test to enable him to take his seat at the Priestfield to witness the now customary 5-0 hammering of much troubled Bolton Wanderers. So he`s over the moon and our street`s local hero Scott (`good engine and an eye for a pass`) Wagstaff captained Wimbledon in their 0-0 draw against the Chairboys of Wycombe.  He`s now known locally as Captain Scott (not of the Antarctic.)

Not such good news for Forest Green Rovers who lost at home to Newport County or for Maidstone United who suffered a 2-0 reverse away at Wealdstone.

Having just returned from the Bluewater Shopping Thingy and found a little time to scribble these garbled lines, it is my earnest hope that nothing else will go wrong to disturb the peace and serenity of the next couple of weeks as the International break descends on us once more.   Just the cricket to worry about I suppose - oh, and Brexit (possibly.)