AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL..

.....there might be some light?  Well, we`ll see -literally.  I promised not to post about the corona virus and I will try to keep to that promise.  But it`s difficult to avoid it sometimes and today it is just one of a number of things that can combine to bring about a feeling of frustration.  The main problem, for me at least, is that this winter seems to be going on and on - it`s a bright sunny morning here in deepest Kent but it`s bitingly cold;  the late afternoon sundowns should be getting later; maybe they are a bit but it`s a slow process. 

In short, I can`t wait for Spring to arrive but in the meantime there has been the odd shaft of light in this seemingly interminable tunnel.  And they come, not surprisingly for me, from the world of sport. 

A brief note about football;  Southampton finally managed to beat Arsenal in the FA Cup, this time with a narrow but deserved 1-0 win at St. Mary`s.  Up next, Wolves at Molineux - always a difficult place to go to.  Forest Green Rovers finally saw the error of their ways and picked Scott Wagstaff to start their away game at Leyton Orient, where they too managed a 1-0 win to move up to second in League Two.  Gillingham secured a 2-2 draw at home to Rochdale and Maidstone United maintained their target of just missing out on promotion by losing 2-0 at home to Braintree.  (I wonder how Braintree got its name?)

But it was in the wonderland of cricket that some hope for the future has been restored, not just on the field of play but also in its ambience where the prospect of sunlight, warmth and long hot days watching the beautiful game shines a little brighter.  I`ve just been watching England win the series against Sri Lanka in Galle - a tremendous example of test cricket at its best, full of outstanding individual performances and played in good spirit, all of which raised my own spirits in this tedious winter of discontent.  Makes me long for some summer days under the Canterbury sky.  Well, here`s hoping.

I`ve been intrigued to see politicians being interviewed on television from the `privacy` of their abodes and to see the libraries they have on their bookshelves.  At the risk of a passing reference to the pandemic, I saw Health Secretary Matt Hancock`s recent interviews and as one might expect the backdrop has been a pretty wide selection of his books.  I think it tells a lot about someone when you see the books they have on their shelves.  So I was surprised but impressed to see that high up on one of his shelves was an edition of Wisden`s Cricketers Almanack.

So he may not be too bad after all and if he can have Wisden on his shelf then maybe there is hope for the rest of us as we climb our way out of the tunnel of winter towards the light of Spring? 

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.

This was a bit of my back garden a couple of days ago as we struggle our way through a week dominated by `The Beast from the East` and `Storm Emma.`  Even now as I look out of the window it`s snowing again and it has got me thinking about the experiences I have had with snow over the years.

The first really bad snow I can properly remember was in 1947 - I was seven at the time - and I remember being `sent out to play` in the deep and crisp and even and encouraged to make sure I was home in time for tea.  I still recall being very cold - `shrammed` to use a good old Hampshire description - but it was a memorable introduction to the ravages of severe weather.

My maternal grandfather was `old school` - a pattern maker in the Great Western Railway Works at Swindon and I remember my mother telling me that, when my grandfather and his chums went on a coach trip somewhere, they managed to get as far as Aldbourne on the Wiltshire Downs on their way home when the snow finally defeated them.  So, what did they do?  They got off the coach and walked the eight miles from Aldbourne back to Swindon, mainly by walking along the tops of the hedges, such was the depth of the snow they encountered.   They don`t make `em like that any more.

And on Boxing Day in 1962 in started snowing and the snow and icy conditions went on and on.  We had almost forgotten what grass looked like, as it wasn`t until the very end of March that the weather relented and Spring crept into being.   Our first son was born on 31st March 1963 having had the good sense to remain tucked up in the warm whilst the worst of that winter ran its course.

Maybe this winter hasn`t been so bad after all.  And at least my garden looks as tidy as everyone else`s.

IN THE DEEP MIDWINTER....

Well, it`s the deep midwinter - the shortest day just 12 days away - but even at this time of the year there are things worth looking out for.   Here`s a picture I took a few days ago when the late afternoon sun was lighting up the rushes alongside our local lake and even the hedgerow still had some colour to brighten the day.......

(Give it a click for a larger pic)

DISCONTENT ?

Yes, I know.  For some years now I have suffered from the condition known as seasonal affective disorder, aka SAD, which just about sums up my state of mind at this time of the year.  And as well as the winter blues brought on by short days, long nights and cold, wet inclement weather, it seems to me that there is an increasing number of other reasons not to be cheerful, all brought about by human activity.

Here`s a list of `events` which seem to kick off once the last vestiges of summer have gone. 

First we had Bonfire Night - 5th November - when the country seems to celebrate an unsuccessful gunpowder plot to blow up Parliament, with all its attendant crash, bangs and wallops that do little more than frighten the life out of our faithful canine companions.

Then the first of a succession of imports from across the pond in the shape of Halloween. Well, perhaps not strictly accurate.  Originally, All Hallows Eve heralded the beginning of three days of observing Allhallows tide, the time in the liturgical year devoted to remembering the dead, including saints (hallows,) martyrs and all those who have departed.  So much for history then.  Today`s reality has seen Halloween transformed into yet another transatlantic import devoted more to rampant materialism than anything else.   

Which brings us to Thanksgiving - the traditional American celebration of harvest.  It is rightly observed in the USA but I have noticed a tendency for it to sneak in to our consciousness here in the good ol` UK.  But if that incursion comes to not very much in years to come, the retail insurance has well and truly cemented itself the day after Thanksgiving in the shape of Black Friday, yet another import from our former colonials  

I`m more than a bit concerned about Black Friday. It sounds a bit `racist` - maybe it should be Beige Friday to coincide with the growing fad for fluidity and neutrality in all things - and it`s not just the Friday but this latest commercial razzmatazz  seems to go on for the best part of a week, judging by the daily e-mails and adverts I get.

And to complete the SAD picture, we now have not only the celebration of Santa`s birthday at Christmas and then the New Year to look forward to but now also the prospect of yet another royal birth and yet another royal wedding (presumably not necessarily in that order.)  Joy unconfined.

So all in all another winter of discontent even though the shortest day is only a little over three weeks away.   Bring it on.

MAKE GLORIOUS SUMMER..

How quickly the hazy days of summer fade into the gloom of autumn and winter.   Was it just two short weeks ago today that I walked the coast path at Thurlestone on a fine, sun-filled, contented afternoon?   And how quickly that contentment can slip into a winter of discontent.   Not just with the weather but also with the prospect of what is in store over the next few months.

First, the commercial nonsense of Halloween - yet another in a growing list of unnecessary and unwanted items seemingly imported from America.  And the kids banging on the door demanding a trick or a treat and disturbing the peace of elderly folk like me - I`m going to get a sign to put on my door inviting them to try their hand next door.

And hard on the heels of that we will have Bonfire Night, supposedly `celebrating` a failed  attempt to blow up Parliament over 400 years ago.   And Barney our retriever cowering in a corner, terrified by the explosive bangs and disturbing the peace of elderly folk like me - I`m thinking of starting a `community initiative` on our village F***book page to ban fireworks on the basis that I would much rather celebrate a successful attempt to blow up Parliament than the bungled fiasco we`re supposed to remember, remember, with gunpowder treason and plot.

And then there`ll be Christmas - the annual excuse for yet another commercial bandwagon.   It`s started already, of course, with aisles in the supermarkets already devoted to what is laughingly described as `seasonal goods.`   It really is time we had a reality check and reminded ourselves of the true meaning of Santa`s birthday.

And then the New Year with more bangs, crashes and wallops to disturb the peace of elderly folk like me - sometimes I wish I could either hibernate or have enough money to flee the country to some magical destination where  no-one has heard or cares about Halloween, the gunpowder plot or even Santa`s birthday.  

And then the wind, the rain, the cold, the snow, flood and tempest but I`m told to be patient and wait all those months for the return of the sun.  But a winter of discontent loometh and a long wait until the son of York makes glorious summer once more and all the clouds that low`r`d upon our house in the deep bosom of the ocean buried.