Sure is.   Maybe it`s the time of the year or maybe, as I get older, the events of the year become less and less appealing.  Maybe it`s just me but as darkness descends in late afternoon and the first frosts of winter arrive on cold easterly winds I find myself looking at what is in store for us over the next few weeks and months.

And what a depressing prospect it is.  To get arguably the most painful issue out of the way and done with first, I have so far received no response to my appeal on the village web page for help from a local psychoanalyst to provide some much needed counselling following the Saints embarrassing drubbing at the hands of Leicester City last Friday.  It didn`t get any better last night as they went down to a 3-1  Cup defeat away at Manchester City and they now face the prospect of yet another morale crushing encounter at the Etihad in a league match this coming Saturday.   Next week I might reach crisis point.

And before us lies a series of events, some trivial, some downright ridiculous, others simply irksome -  I leave you to decide which is which..  They begin tomorrow night with the imported nonsense of Halloween when kids roam the streets, knock on doors and demand to be given treats or else.  Then comes Bonfire Night, celebrating the failed attempt to blow up Parliament about 400 years ago (it would make more sense to celebrate a successful attempt to blow up Parliament?)  Trouble is, with all the banging and crashing, out faithful Golden retriever will probably go bonkers and we will have yet another disturbed night.

Then the prospect of yet another General Election in early December.  I don`t know about you but I am heartily tired of politics and especially the politicians who have behaved quite abominably over the past three and a bit years in their dismal failure to carry out the `instruction` they were given by the majority of electors to sensibly arrange an orderly departure from the oppressive clutches of the European Union.   The General Election campaign got off the ground this morning and already I am tired of hearing yet more lies disguised as party manifestos and spending pledges.

After that you would think that Christmas would come as light relief but sadly it is nowadays little more than another excuse for a commercial bonanza which has lost all sense of the true meaning of Christmas which, as Bart Simpson recalled, is when we all come together to celebrate Santa`s birthday.  Ho ho ho !!

And then it`s New Year`s Day and yet more banging, crashing and Retriever meltdown.

You can tell I`ve not had a good time lately - a streaming cold and hacking cough (aka man `flu,) four visits to the dentist in the last couple of weeks, a visit to the optician to get a prescription for new glasses following cataract operations and the onset of my Seasonal Affective Disorder (SADness.)

But I must pull myself together, count my blessings, put on a brave face with a stiff upper lip and face the coming period with more optimism and hope.  It would help if England win the Rugby World Cup on Saturday and the Saints manage to turn their current slough of despond into the sunny uplands of Premier League survival but maybe that is asking just too much of a troublesome world.

Have a nice day!

MORE ROUGH THAN SMOOTH..

Since being taken to The Dell by my late father in 1946 to see my first ever Saints game, I have witnessed many twists and turns, many ups and downs and I seemed automatically to adopt the default condition of being a  Southampton supporter by being continually bewildered by the unpredictability of it all.   There have been some very good times indeed - promotions, trophies won, trips to Wembley, even European competitions - but there have also been some bad times too - relegations, threats of liquidation, painful results - but nothing has come close to the humiliation of losing 0-9 at home in the Premier League, as happened last night against a rampant Leicester City side.

Today, not surprisingly, the fans forums, press reports, media coverage have all been about that historic defeat (at least we made history) and there is a general feeling that something needs to happen and quickly to recover from this `disaster` (R. Hasenhuttl.)   As last night`s game unfolded my initial hope quickly turned to disappointment which, as the rain pelted down and the goals rained in, turned to anger, then despair, then a kind of benign resignation and finally the return of that default condition - our old friend bewilderment.

I`m used to taking the rough with the smooth but last night`s abject failure again confirmed that if you are a Saints fan then you have to be prepared to live with - and perhaps accept - that there is invariably much more rough than smooth.  Kipling`s twin impostors  teach us to treat triumph and disaster in the same way, but sometimes it`s easier said than done -  especially as next up are two games away at Manchester City.

Pass the sal volatile !!

ONCE MORE INTO THE BREACH...

To Sevenoaks for a bit of an emergency visit to my dentist.  Had a filling come out of one of my gnashers which needed fixing.  Some other work needed doing as well so I have to go back later today for another appointment.

It`s just as well that, many years ago now, I discovered the most skilled and understanding dentist it`s possible to know, one who specialises in the treatment of  elderly gentlemen of a nervous disposition as far as dentistry is concerned.   I`m one of them but over the years the attention I have had from her has seen my abject fear of dentistry just about disappear.   Nevertheless, whilst I hope that today will see the end of this particular problem it would not surprise me if I am invited back for another visit before long.  Especially now that I have reached the stage in life when things start dropping off and falling out and going wrong.

Seems to me that dentists are like plumbers or electricians - once you find a good one then hang on to them. 

WELL WORTH A VISIT...

To Maidstone - a rare occurrence these days - to see the exhibition in Maidstone Museum which tells the story, the ups and downs, the good times and not so good of being a supporter of Maidstone United Football Club.  I had not been in the museum for over half a century and I have to say that today`s visit left me very impressed with the museum itself and the quite excellent exhibition about `The Stones.`

When my sons were young, I used to take them regularly to the old football ground in London Road and so seeing the exhibits from the history of the club brought back many happy memories of being amongst friends on the half-way line in the Charrington shed cheering the team to many a victory.   The exhibition is well worth a visit and to describe it better than I can here is a bit I have nicked from the museum website:-

Maidstone: United in Football

Sat 14th Sep 2019 to Sat 18th Jan 2020 - All Day

Exhibitions

Maidstone: United in Football

Maidstone: United in Football not only tells the remarkable history of football in the town. It also paints a vivid picture of how the game has been bringing people of diverse backgrounds together for well over a century.

The story of Maidstone football is special. The town has had a pioneering role in a number of different aspects of the game. And its representative club famously plummeted further than any in history after being ejected from the Football League, yet has since embarked on an extraordinary renaissance.

The exhibition has exclusive access to a collection of memorabilia compiled by Maidstone United’s former chairman Jim Thompson: a collection that, including its many trophies, mementoes, photographs, and cuttings, runs to several thousand items.

Maidstone: United in Football is open from 10am to 5pm on Tuesdays to Sundays from September 14 to October 27, and then on Tuesdays to Saturdays until 18 January 2020,

SOMETHING MISSING ?

Funny how long lost lyrics come back to you and current affairs brought to mind  Sheldon Harnick`s `The Merry Minuet,` which begins

"They`re rioting in Africa

They`re starving in Spain.

There`s hurricanes in Florida

And Texas needs rain.

The whole world is festering

With unhappy souls.

The French hate the Germans

The Germans hate the Poles.

Italians hate the Yugoslavs

South Africans hate the Dutch......

...and I don`t like anybody very much.....¬

And the way the world is right now confirms that not much has changed since those words were written over half a century ago. Nowadays we have riots in Catalonia, Hong Kong, Chile and Lebanon to name but a few.  Not to mention the events in Syria, the Turkish border, Yemen and goodness knows where else in the fractured world of humankind.  Then there are marches and unrest about things like climate change and the way things are in the good ol` U of K  the conflicting persuasions of Brexit will no doubt add to the list of places where disenchantment is showing its ugly side.

But there are some things that we don`t hear that much about - something`s missing.  The BBC, as selective as ever in its disjointed sense of priority, seems to be ignoring the ongoing incidents in France where the yellow brigade are still rampaging through the streets on pretty much a daily basis and yet we don`t hear much about it - same with Barcelona to a degree where brief BBC comment passes as in depth reporting.

And I wonder why that is.  Could it be, for instance, that the BBC is reluctant to draw too much attention to events within the EU for fear of upsetting our European friends and neighbours and more especially those, like the BBC itself, who are clinging on to the undemocratic view that the UK should remain a member of that discredited institution?   Just asking, that`s all, but it would not surprise me.

Back to climate change for a minute and back to the concluding lines of The Merry Minuet.......

"Thy`re rioting in Africa
There`s strife in Iran.
What nature doesn`t do to us
Will be done by our fellow man."

It`s difficult to describe the excitement I feel for tomorrow.   So much riding on the results of what promises to be a series of encounters of epic proportions as embattled minorities take on the favourites.  But maybe, just maybe, it`s going to be one of those days when the plucky minnows overcome the forces against them.   By the end of the day, we will all know the outcome and, whatever that outcome may be, we will just have to live with it, I guess, and go on to fight another day.

Yes, it`s a long season, so let`s have a look at the way in which the protagonists line up.  

First up, the Saints are a way at Wolverhampton - always a difficult place to go to - and will be looking to bring an unwelcome series of Premier League defeats to an end.  Our street`s local hero Scott ("Buzzin`") Wagstaff and his Wimbledon chums take on Portsmouth at home.  Last time I saw Pompey on the television they were comprehensively stuffed 4-0 at Fratton Park ("Krap Nottarf") by the rampaging Saints in some rinky-dink cup game.  Let`s hope Scotty and his mates can do likewise.

My neighbour`s beloved Gillingham are at home to Peterborough (aka Posh for some reason) and I wish the Gills well.   They have a couple of Saints academy players on loan and one at least (Alfie Jones) has made a big impression as he gains match experience under the benign tutelage of Steve - who really did eat all the pies - Evans.

My attention will inevitably be drawn to the progress of those other teams I am following.  Forest Green Rovers are at home to Mansfield, Maidstone United have a home FA Cup qualifier against Kings Langley, Truro City are at home to lowly Hendon and Fort William make the journey to Albion Rovers` Cliftonhill ground in Coatbridge for the next round of the Scottish Cup.

So it`s all to play for but I have a suspicion that none of these games will appear on Match of the Day, which could well be cancelled anyway as the nation`s attention might be focused on events in Westminster which, if nothing else, might rival Michael McIntyre for lame duck comedy.

WHAT`S TO LIKE ?...

.....about Monday mornings?  Well, not a lot by the look of it.  The rain is teeming down, it`s dark and gloomy and already Summer seems so very far away.   And as my mood descends in keeping with the day I start to reflect on a few things that annoy me.  Here are a few to be going on with:-

- those reporters or `journalists` or TV inquisitors who shout out ridiculous questions at Government Ministers as they stomp up Downing Street to enter Number 10.  Surely these media chumps don`t expect any answers to their daft questions and I just wish they would stop shouting them out.  It`s very annoying.

- and  it`s about time there was a ban on those other cretins who seem to have taken up residence outside Parliament with their flags, banners and  megaphones - again under the illusion that their antics have any effect on their intended targets.  Very annoying.

- and I turn on the TV in the morning and there is BBC Breakfast (which I turn on so I can press the red button and check up on football gossip - it`s quite startling how many players are reported to be signing for Manchester United) and most mornings I can live with presenters such as Louise Minchin and Dan Walker.  But too often we are subjected to the appalling Naga Munchetty who seems rather full of herself, patronising, a bit shouty, especially at the same Government Ministers who have just been shouted at in Downing Street and who seems to think that her asinine jibes at her working colleagues are in any way amusing.   They might be to her but I`m pretty sure they are not to anyone else.  She is just simply annoying.

- last night I watched `Countryfile` which I was looking forward to as it featured Wembury - a bit of south Devon near Plymouth which we have enjoyed visiting a number of times.   But it was all very `BBC` - rather than just letting viewers enjoy the scenery, the landscape and the peace and quiet of Wembury, we were treated to yet another lecture about plastic in the sea and on the shoreline.  I`m getting fed up being lectured about plastic - it has become very annoying.

- and I wonder whether Greta Thunberg has made it back to Stockholm yet, presumaby on another solar powered, vegan, plastic-free boat.  I assume she will go back to school, get a hundred lines and stop being so annoying.

But maybe as the week goes by the mood will lighten and things might happen that lift the spirit rather than perpetuate the gloom.  Or maybe, just maybe, now I am enjoying my octogenarian status, I`m simply being a grumpy old git.

IT`S ALL THE RAGE....

Apparently it`s mental health awareness week and yesterday was apparently anxiety day.   And whilst ever anxious myself to keep abreast of modern day trends and priorities, I cannot escape the feeling that I am somehow missing out on what seems the fashionable claim to have mental health issues.

Now, OK we all get anxious about things now and then.  Myself, I get anxious most Saturday afternoons around 3.00pm when the Saints are kicking off in yet another forlorn encounter with yet another difficult opponent.   To me, that might represent the sum total of my anxieties and I agree that, if that`s the case, then I must have fortune on my side.

But all this publicity, TV programmes, green ribbons and the succession of alleged `celebrities` declaring their support for mental health awareness makes me wonder why it is that I really, really don`t feel anxious about very much these days. 

 Maybe it`s being 80, which puts a different perspective on things but I suspect the roots of my nonchalance probably go back to my younger days.   Being born just before the outbreak of WW2 made me spend the first six years of my life in a wartime environment - I guess that`s how I thought life was, as I never knew anything different so maybe I was not as anxious as I might have been.  

And in my late teens rather than me leaving home, home left me.  My parents wanted to move away so they did but I didn`t, as I was content living in a village, playing my football and cricket and enjoying the company of the young lady to whom I have now been married for 58 years.   Who would move away from all of that?  So I wasn`t too anxious about being left to fend for myself.

But perhaps the biggest test of my acceptance of life`s twists and turns, its ups and downs, its triumphs and disasters came when I was called up for National Service.  The 300-mile train journey from the idyll of my Kentish village to the bleak midwinter of a North Yorkshire military training camp was itself a bit of a wrench.   I quickly learned to take things in their stride - to shrug my shoulders, accept that there was nothing I could do about it and metaphorically lie back and think of England.

And being hassled, shouted at, verbally abused - "You lad, what`s your `orrible spewy name?" - was just one of the jibes that still revolve in the memory and I suppose we conscripts had the choice of either toughing it out or crumbling under the strain of it all.   I suspect that choosing the former gave me the resilience and fortitude I needed to survive it all  and which doubtless stood me in good stead for later life.   

But if I had taken the latter option I might today perhaps be less critical, more understanding of the fashionable penchant for snowflakery and the raising of anxiety itself to the status of an accepted mental health issue.  We are what we are and no doubt the sum of our collected experiences, I guess.  But there is a difference between being depressed, for which I have every sympathy, and being, well, just anxious.

(If any of my comments have caused you any anxiety there are lists of agencies you can contact on the websites of the BBC (of course) and other media outlets.)

LEAPING OFF THE PAGE....

One of the books I acquired recently was `The Judge,` the autobiography of Robin Smith one of the very best batsmen for Hampshire and England especially against hostile fast bowling.   I read most of it during quiet times on holiday in Padstow last week but it was only today that I finished reading it.

It is perhaps one of the most `challenging` of autobiographies in that, while it recounts his distinguished cricketing career, it is also a very candid and at times distressing account of the challenges he faced with himself once his cricket career came to an end.   Sufficient to say that he went from the fame and adulation of being a sporting super star to becoming a deeply troubled, almost suicidal shadow of his former self.   Thankfully with the help and support of family and friends both inside and outside the game he managed to reinvent himself into a happy, contented and much loved man.

As a piece of literature it has its flaws - too many unnecessary expletives for my liking - and perhaps it drifts a little too much into sentimentality but for all that it is an honest reflection of the man himself and unsurprising that it is a contender for the Sports Book of the Year award.   In many ways it is reminiscent of the books by Graeme Fowler and Marcus Trescothick who also found cricketing life so difficult and it reminded me too of a book I have in my eclectic collection which recounts the extraordinary number of cricketers who have taken their own lives - it`s called `Silence of the Heart`by David Frith and explains, as Robin Smith discovered, that the life and world of a professional cricketer is so all consuming that the adjustment to life beyond the boundary can be so difficult.

Now on a personal note, something leapt out of page 298 at me.  Last year the chairman of Hampshire County Cricket Club, Rod Bransgrove, organised a Captains` Dinner for the eve of the India Test Match to be played at Hampshire`s Ageas Bowl ground and along with the county`s other eleven living captains Robin and his partner were of course invited.   By then Robin had long been settled in Perth in Western Australia and after a little persuasion he accepted the invitation.

On landing at Heathrow the book says, "When we arrived Patrick`s chauffeur Ian, who I had met years ago, was waiting to drive us to Hampshire........."  One of Hampshire cricket`s very generous supporters was Patrick Trant, who owned a thriving engineering company and Ian was his chauffeur among other roles.

Some years ago now, I had a season ticket at Southampton`s St. Mary`s Stadium and I sat next to Ian, so it was the albeit fleeting reference to Ian that leapt out of the page at me.   Now as a claim to fame it might not amount to much and of itself is hardly a recommendation for a book which deserves to be read with sympathy and understanding that life for the famous and talented is often more challenging than for the likes of Ian and me.   

Had a week in Padstow in Cornwall, which was nice.  Great location, nice cottage and excellent company.   Only downside, apart from the weather that could be described as `inclement`, was the tedious journey to get there and back, but once you`r e there none of that  matters.   Here are a couple of photos I took of the Camel Estuary, where we were staying:-

(Please click on photos for better images)

And after that, back to the realities and the coquettish nature of following assorted football teams.   And didn`t they do well yesterday?   My neighbour`s Gillingham had a convincing win (despite missing two penalties) against the Shrimpers of Southend;  our street`s local hero Scott (`pacy flanker`) Wagstaff lived up to his billing by turning in a pacy performance on the Wimbledon flank as he produced two assists in his team`s 3-2 win over Rochdale.   Both Forest Green Rovers and Truro City lie top of their respective leagues after victories yesterday and although putting in a strong performance, Fort William went down 5-3 at home to Turriff.

So far, so pretty good.   But it was left to the Saints to become the spoilsports of my week by losing yet again, this time at home to Chelsea 4-1.  Same old, same old it seems - powder puff attack plus sieve leaking defence equals unwelcome but predictable stuffing.   Think I`ll go back to Padstow.......