HIGHS AND LOWS...

Sometimes on a Monday morning, it`s useful to look ahead at the week in prospect. This week, like many more, will no doubt be a mixture of good news, bad news, highs and lows. The good news and the high points will include lunch on Wednesday with an old school friend whose company I have only recently renewed after a lapse of about 50 years. On Thursday, I might also be renewing my shambling golfing career, which has also lapsed recently due to circumstances beyond my control ( although to be fair I sense the onset of bad news and a definite low point!) On Saturday, I`ll be off to Southampton in the company of my Gillingham supporting next door neighbour to see Saints take on the Gills (that might turn out to be one of the bad news, low points too!) No too much good news after all, it seems.

But the really depressing events for the coming week must surely be the Labour Party Conference, which kicks off in earnest in Brighton today and also Friday, which sees the Irish having to vote again in the referendum about the Lisbon Treaty, having failed to come up with the right answer last time they voted.

In Brighton, we are already seeing our unelected Prime Minister, urged on by the equally unelected Business Secretary, desperately trying to convince the faithful that they should be allowed to continue leading the country and the party. As to the Irish Referendum (aka Neverendum) whilst I do care about the outcome, I am more concerned about the blatant effront to democracy that says that the will of the people is ignored until such time as they give the answer the politicians require. Remember the Nice Treaty which followed the same pattern?

I suppose the only consolation for the Irish is that they are at least getting a referendum, but for them and for the `leadership` of the UK, both events this week represent a failure of the democratic principles that we have taken for granted for so long. It`s no way to run a railroad and I hope for democracy`s sake that both events end in telling defeats.

921

According to my online mileage calculator, it`s 332 miles from Southampton to Carlisle United`s football ground at Brunton Park, so it`s 664 miles there and back. Yesterday, 921 Saints fans made the journey, many by car and coach, some by rail, but however they got there, it represents a heroic journey to watch a team still lying at the foot of the third division and still not yet free of the ten points penalty imposed by the League for going in to administration.

For once, the Gods that rule football smiled kindly on the Saints as, for the first time in living memory, we came back from a 1-0 deficit to snatch a draw in the 95th minute, courtesy of a header from new signing Rahdi Jaidi. So we are now unbeaten in six games and this week`s fixtures against Bristol Rovers on Tuesday and Gillingham on Saturday promise to lift us into positive territory.

The unbounded joy of the players yesterday was demostrated by the fact that, at the end of the game, they all gave their shirts away to the travelling fans, as a token of appreciation for the long and winding road they had travelled to get there. Despite the fact that we are still ten points adrift of safety, there does seem to be a togetherness between the players, the management and the fans that has been so lacking for so long. The only way is up. Possibly.

A GREEN HILL FAR AWAY...

I took this photo just over two weeks ago. The evening sun was just going down over the bay at St. Ives to bring to an end yet another almost perfect day. Since we`ve been home, the weather has continued to be glorious with clear blue skies and spectacular sunsets. The forecast is for this wonderful Indian summer to continue for another week, although I suspect two things. The first is that, as we have now gone past the equinox and therefore the days get shorter and the nights longer, Autumn has probably officially arrived. The second is that the weather will inevitably break and we will be back to the damp and the growing dark before much longer, which is probably the only thing that stops me getting on the phone and booking up another week down in Cornwall.

My problem is that I don`t `do` spontaneous; I have seldom indulged in `spur of the moment` and I`m not sure `impetuous` is really me. Pity really, for if I had any sense - even a sense of living for today and the hell with tomorrow - I would be heading west once more. I feel a compelling urge to get it out of my system, almost a need to exorcise it, so strong is the draw to go back to that land that I find irresistable, which wraps itself around me and makes me feel at peace and enchanted at the same time. I suppose I`ll get over it, pull myself together and knuckle down to the routine of life, but I wonder why at times. Deep within my septuagenarian psyche there might, just might, be the troublesome fear that I may not be able to go there much more. Maybe I should, after all, discover what a bit of spontaneous, spur of the moment impetuosity might bring....before it`s too late? Answers on a postcard please.

SEEING AND BELIEVING

Yesterday I completed the final leg of my MoT by visiting my optician for an overdue eye test. I should have gone a few months ago but it was one of those things I kept putting off for fear of needing to incur the expense of some new spectacles. I needn`t have worried, for the very thorough examination resulted in no problems at all, so I don`t need new ones after all.

I`ve mentioned before that I am fortunate enough to have an optician who bears a startling resemblence to Nicole Kidman. My optician is pictured above showing obvious signs of distress as she leaves her shop at the news that she won`t be seeing me again for a year or so. Hang on a minute - maybe I do need new ones after all.

TIME TO CELEBRATE...

Yesterday morning I went for my six-monthly check-up with Janice the Practice Nurse, who is welcome to practice on me anytime she likes. She took a blood sample to check my cholesterol and other stuff and took my blood pressure, which has been up and down over the years.

The good news is that my blood pressure is now the best it`s ever been, which is surprising really, given my frantic life style, the constant stress of being a Saints fan and my vegetarian diet which consists of eating only animals that have eaten grass. Anyway, I thought I deserved a bit of a celebration treat, so I bought a(nother) box of Tunnocks Tea Cakes, for which I have an abiding fondness. There may be more exciting ways to celebrate good news, but few that provide such a real sense of doing something so outrageously naughty. Don`t worry - I`ll be fine when I grow up.

THE WHEELS HAVE COME OFF...

Finally, it seems the wheels have come off of the so-called `sport` of Formula One motor racing. There was a time, in the Graham Hill, MIke Hawthorn, Stirling Moss days of my youth, when it was a beguiling spectator sport, with glamour, danger and the out of reach wealth that surrounded it, as the rest of us looked on with open mouthed and wide eyed envy. Not any more.

And I don`t just refer to the recent `judgment` handed down by the sport`s own governing body, which produced a mixed verdict of good news and bad news. The good news is that it has effectively banned Flavio Briatore from taking any further part in its acitvities but the less welcome part is that it only felt able to dish out a suspended sentence to the Renault team for what was a flagrant disregard not only of the rules of the game but also the safety of their own driver and that of others taking part.

I`ve mentioned before that I`m no fan of motor racing. I find it a boring, noisy, repetitive, environmentally-hostile round-the-world circus that has long since ceased to be a sport and become a business. In that regard, I guess it`s little different to other sports - football, tennis and the like - but motor racing does seem to have a `track record` of bringing the game into disrepute all of its own. In recent memory, there was the £50million fine imposed on the McLaren Team for having a sneaky look at Ferrari`s technical secrets. Then there was the Blair/Ecclestone stitch up over the banning of tobacco advertising versus alleged payments to the Labour Party and who can forget the Teutonic inspired orgiastic cavorting of the man who yesterday announced the verdict over the Renault affair? It`s prettty clear that they deserve each other.

So for me and, I suspect, lots of others who have witnessed Formula One`s clutch slipping over recent years, the fact that the wheels have finally come off is greeted with more relief than regret. Trouble is, I doubt we`ve heard the last of it.

CONTRASTING FORTUNES...

This is a picture of Southampton Town Quay, where I parked yesterday for my first visit to St. Mary`s Stadium this season. It`s a pleasant place to be with views across the expanse of Southampton Water and all the maritime activity that goes on there. Yesterday was especially busy with the annual Boat Show in full swing, but also there were lots of comings and goings from the passenger terminal and the container port at Millbrook - the cruise liner Oceana left on its way to some exotic location and also the Grimaldi and Hapag Lloyd containers with more mundane destinations in mind. It all makes for a relaxing time after the long journey from home and before the walk to the Stadium.

Our Third Division encounter with the Glovers of Yeovil Town saw Saints get their first win of the season and so, after five draws and two defeats, the win means that we are now `only` minus two points rather than the minus ten we started the season with. Saints won 2-0 yesterday, courtesy of two penalties awarded by a very observant set of officials. The first was a definite, the second for a more debateable hand ball. Some you get, some you don`t, but the three points were well deserved. I sat for the first time in the posh bit - the rarified Block 8 - and was surprised to see a few well known faces not far away. Ex-manager Gordon Strachan and ex-Liverpool and England player Steve MaManaman, along with Saints` new owner, Markus Liebherr. I wondered why the first two named were there at all and then I realised that, possibly like me, they wanted to just enjoy a football match where the expectations were low, the quality undemanding but the atmosphere most convivial. If so, then again like me, they went home satisfied, for all of those ingredients were there in abundance.

And then today, there was the Manchester Derby between mega-rich Manchester City and our old friends Manchester United. As is required by the Laws of the Premiership, after 90 allegedly pulsating minutes and the score 3-3, the announced four minutes of added time were extended to six or seven so that Manchester United could score again and win the game. It defies belief but surprises no-one, such is the farce, the circus, the madhouse that the Premiership has become - at least in Manchester.

Just five short years ago, round about this time, Saints beat Manchester United 1-0 at St. Mary`s with a late header by James Beattie to propell us into fourth place in the Premiership. Now we reside at the bottom of the third tier - about 66 places lower than we were on that glorious day - while the best we can hope for this season is achieving mid-table obscurity. It doesn`t really matter, for one thing my terrible golf has taught me is that, however hard I try and however much I might improve, I`m never going to be Tiger Woods. And the Saints are never going to be Manchester United. So I`ll just continue my visits to Town Quay, enjoy the view, watch the ships come and go and enjoy the undemanding conviviality of being a Saints fan, that the absence of expectation has comfortingly produced.

ANOTHER SAD DEPARTURE

As you get older, you become increasingly aware of your own mortality and this has led me in recent years to scan the obituary column in our local paper - the Kent Messenger - each week. I work on the prinicple that if my name isn`t in there, then I know I can carry on for another week at least.

So I take a kind of morbid interest in reports of more well known people who pass away and today I see that Mary Travers has died at the age of 72 (just two years older than me) from the side effects of chemotherapy that led to leukaemia.

The younger among you will be forgiven for never having heard of her, but Mary was the Mary of Peter, Paul and Mary - one of the leading folk groups in the 60s and 70s with chart toppers like `Leaving on a Jet Plane,` `Blowin` in the Wind` and the unforgettable `Puff the Magic Dragon.`

But the real reason for me to remember Mary was that there was a story about the trio when they were on a long distance train across America. They sat down alongside a nun and thought that, as they were going to be together for a long time, they should get to know one another. Peter started the introductions:-

"Hi, my name`s Peter...but I`m no saint."

"I`m Paul," said Paul, "but I`m no prophet."

"My name`s Mary," said Mary...."and I don`t know what the hell to say."

Where, indeed, have all the flowers gone?

SEPTEMBER SONG...

Not too sure I like September that much. After our week away earlier in the month, it now seems we are heading in to the long drag that is Autumn and Winter, neither of which exactly adds to the joi de vivre. But it`s not just the turn of the seasons. It seems that September brings a deluge of bills, including house insurance, car insurance, bills from the companies that supply the water and then take it away again, all of which adds up to an expensive month with little to show for it unless I leave taps on all day and indulge in concentrated loo flushing.

But September also brings my six-monthly MoT-type health check. I`ve made an appointment to see the practice nurse next Wednesday to have my blood pressure checked and a blood test that will show how my cholestorol is doing, along with various other bodily functions too delicate to reveal in a family blog post. From now until then my diet will have to be amended to cut out all the stuff I know is bad for me but which I enjoy anyway so that I might stand a chance, however slim, of passing the test.

Yesterday I had to see my dentist for some work to my choppers which also thankfully doubled as my six-monthly dental check and I have to make an appointment to see the optician for another regular eye test, which may well lead to the purchase of new glasses. Next week too I have an appointment with my stylist, Chris of Larkfield, for yet more attention to my dwindling folical needs. September just goes on and on. The only consolation in all of this is that I get to spend some time in the company of charming ladies. The practice nurse is Janice, my dentist is Louise. my optician bears an uncanny resemblance to Nicole Kidman whilst Chris of Larkfield really needs no introduction. September comes at a price.....but it could be worse I guess.

TROUBLE AT THE TOP..

It seems that it`s not just in politics that one`s naive and trusting faith in human nature is constantly disappointed. I`m used to politicians being dishonest, deceitful, disingenuous and all the other adjectives they so richly deserve. But I never imagined that I would lose as much faith in top level sport as I am right now.

In recent weeks there have been revelations in Rugby Union about the use of blood capsules which have brought shame on the sport, on Harlequins in particular (even though it is suggested that the practice is more widespread) and has brought the hitherto distinguished career of Dean Richards to an undignified end. In horse racing - a `sport` I know virtually nothing about - champion jockey Kieron Fallon has just saddled up again after a long suspension for some dodgy riding. We have seen the shrill tirade launched on an unsuspecting line judge by one of the Williams sisters (I never know which is which and I have long suspected they might be one and the same anyway) and in top level football we witness the weekly fol-de-rols of diving forwards, whinging managers and inept administration (FIFA and Eduardo anyone?) whilst athletics has long battled against the twin thereats posed by drugs and transgenderism.

The body wracking pastime of professional snooker has also had its problems and suspicions and now we see that the rarified world of Formula One motor racing might well have been the scene for one of the most ludicrous attempts at winning at all costs that any sport has so far witnessed.

Ludicrous because if it is the case that Nelson Piquet Junior was instructed to crash his car on purpose in order to gain an advantage for a team mate, then how much more public and blatant can the alleged offence have been? Now I have to confess that I have never been in the slightest bit interested in motor racing - to me, it is a noisy, smelly, environmentally-hostile, pointless, repetitive cavalcade - but I guess some people like it. And for them, then like almost all the other sports, to have their faith in the inherent nature of fair competition destroyed is a shattering blow for their love of the game and for their commitment to it.

So I`m beginning to wonder where the true nature of sport might still reside - where the game is respected, where the competition is fair and where the players and the supporters combine to uphold the spirit of the game.

In truth, with the notable exception of golf and with respect to admirable `minor` sports like table tennis, barbed wire hurdling and synchronised basket weaving, I can find some solace in my old friend cricket. I cannot believe that there is any serious malpractice going on at the moment that would tarnish my faith in the game at the highest level in this country, otherwise, for example, Australia might not be 5-0 up in the current seven match one day series; 3-2 might be a bit suspicious though. Okay, there might have been the odd ball tampering, the occasional brush with the laws, but nothing to compare with the suspicions that have surrounded Briatore, Piquet, Fallon, the snooker boys, Harlequins, leading athletes and all the rest. It`s just not cricket, old chap.

UPDATE : Australia stuffed England again last evening, so it`s now 6-0 in the seven match series. Surely it can`t be a fix.

SIZE ISN`T EVERYTHING

In my eclectic `library,` I have an interesting volume, which is `Philips Handy Administrative Atlas of England and Wales.` It was published in 1928 and contains maps and detailed descriptions of each of the Parliamentary and Local Government areas at that time. "Fascinating!" I hear you cry. But in truth, it is a remarkable insight into how England and Wales were `organised` 80 years ago and it shows the difference between how things were then and how they are now.

One of the best examples of that change is Cornwall. Now, I did promise not to bore you with tales from last week`s holiday, but one thing in particular came to my attention whilst I was down there last week. Philips Handy Administrative Atlas shows that, all those years ago, Cornwall had its County Council but also no less than 12 Municipal Boroughs including Penzance, Falmouth and Truro of course, but also smaller ones such as Lostwithiel with a population of just 1,307.

Then there were 16 Urban Districts, the largest being Camborne along with much smaller ones such as Ludgvan (pop. 2,052.) Then came 16 Rural Districts, which included the Scilly Isles and, bizarrely, "Holsworthy (part of)" most of which is in Devon anyway. After that came countless Parish Councils and so it`s safe to say that the whole of Cornwall was more than adequately covered by this startling structure of local government. (As an aside, at the other end of the country, right slap bang in the middle of Newcastle, there was actually a Newcastle-upon-Tyne Rural District comprising an area of one acre and a population of five, so Cornwall was by no means an exceptional case.)

Since 1974, Cornwall has been divided into six identifiable districts - North Cornwall, Caradon, Restormel, Carrick, Kerrier and Penwith. The further west you went, the more `Cornish` things became and so, for example, the far west districts of Kerrier and Penwith introduced the sensible policy of having place names and street name plates in both English and Cornish. Lelant is also shown as Lannanta, St Ives as Porthia and so on, all of which helps to establish in the minds of residents and visitors alike the fact that you are in a country apart - one with a singular heritage and with its own customs, history and language.

Now, I should have known it was too good to last. In April this year, all of that structure was swept away and replaced with the one size fits all Cornwall Council. I haven`t followed the transition at all closely, but I can imagine that the proposal was met with some resistance which possibly grew stronger the farther west you went. And they would have been right to have their reservations, for it is there that Cornishness is felt at its most compelling and beguillng. On a visit to Praa Sands last week, deep into what used to be Kerrier District, I noticed what looked like fairly new street name plates sprouting up, all in English and Cornish, almost as if in their dying throes, Kerrier District had been determined to leave its mark in the way it felt most telling against their submergence into the monolithic Cornwall Council. One road didn`t even bother to tell you that `An Vownder`was `The Garden.`........

Now the new Cornwall Council might just turn out to be more efficient, more `value-for-money for council taxpayers,` more administratively convenient from all that 1928 and 1974 stuff, but I hope it encourages and promotes the Cornish identity and builds on the examples set in places like Kerrier and Penwith. I don`t know why I should worry as I`m not Cornish and I only go there to savour its magic and even when I do I feel as if I am intruding. But it is that mystery, that spirit of place, that keeps me going back for more. I`ll be keeping tabs on Cornwall Council, for it is true that size isn`t everything and in all the diversity that is Cornwall, I doubt its one size will suit everyone.

PIT STOP BLUES...

Just back from a spiffing week in Cornwall. I won`t bore you with all the places we went to or with a detailed weather report (even though while it was 18C and drizzling last Tuesday it was 29C and fine here in Kent.) The journey there and back was ok - over 300 miles each way - and Barney is turning out to be a good traveller, which helps a lot. As long as we stop every now and then for him (and us) to stretch his legs and do what he needs to do, he`s fine.

And one of the stops we made there and back was once again at Stonehenge. It`s a couple of hours travelling time into the journey and so very `convenient.` As usual, the car park was very busy but we always drive down the adjoining byway and park for free. I have to report that the facilities at this unique, irreplaceable, official World Heritage Site are nothing short of a disgrace to Stonehenge, to the Government Department responsible for its upkeep and to the nation generally. Since we were last there, nothing has changed. No improvements. In fact things have got a bit worse. When I last used the gentlemen`s `facility,` there were two hand drying machines. Now there`s only one and that one struggles manfully to keep up with the constant demand but it is clearly a losing battle for it.

They`re supposed to be going to build a new `Visitor Centre` at Airman`s Cross - a mile or so to the west of the monument - and there was talk of it being ready for Olympic Year in 2012. I can`t see it happening myself and if it`s true that countless visitors coming to these shores for the Olympics are likely to want to see Stonehenge, then unless something drastic is done to improve the facilities for them, then we are going to be severely embarrassed by what they find. I think I`m going to have to find another pit stop next time we head west.

MET OFFICE WEATHER WARNING?

This inviting big beach is just one of many we`ll be visiting next week. We set off early(ish) tomorrow morning for the 340 miles drive down to Carbis Bay in far west Cornwall. We`ll be staying in a lovely bungalow overlooking another big beach with distant views of Godrevy lighthouse.

I just hope the weather isn`t too bad. After all, the year is drifting into Autumn now and I don`t mind it being a bit chilly - bracing even - for I love nothing better than to be on a big beach with the sound of the surf, the wind in my face and a vast Cornish sky overhead. They`ve had a series of Met Office weather warnings down there of late - maybe they have blown themselves out by now and we can get some serious coast path walking in. Another holiday for Barney the Retriever - ten months old and already a seasoned traveller.

A good friend of mine, one Wurzel, has a blog which there`s a link to down the page a bit and on the right (see `Blog List`.) He and his family were down that way last weekend and he managed to post something on his blog from his mobile phone while he was down there. I do apologise, dear reader, but I`m afraid mobile phones are quite beyond me and long distance blogging is a big no-no. Anyway, I think Wurzel`s just being a bit flash. See you in a week or so.

AN UNFORTUNATE SILENCE..

It sounds like a real tangled web, the Lockerbie bomber release business. Did Gordon Brown say one thing to Libya and something else to Obama? What were the real motives behind the early release of Abdel Baset al-Megrahi ? Was it simple comapssion, even if misplaced, or was there far more to it? Someone must know and the one person who should know is saying nothing. Well, almost nothing.

Yesterday, in a coreographed announcement about phantom jobs for 85,000 unemployed young people, which smacked more of spin than reality, our Prime Minister issued a series of denials - no oil deal with Libya, no double dealing, no influence brought to bear, nothing to do with me as it was a matter for the Scottish Parliament, not Westminster. In fact, no hint at all of what Gordon Brown thought of the release which is puzzling, especially if, as he says, he had nothing to do with it.

One thing we do need is leadership, clearly stated views and opinions so we know where we stand, who we are dealing with and who speaks on our behalf. Brown has become adept at giving his opinions on everything from the Ashes victory to Jade Goody`s farewell. But of Lockerbie, Megrahi and all that, not a word, so small wonder that people are thinking the worst. We don`t know what he thinks, so we are left to form our own conclusions.

I`m afraid mine is that I find it increasingly difficult to believe anything that Brown says and it has reached the point whereby I don`t even believe the silence any more. I suspect I am not alone.

CHEERS...

It`s a curious day the first day of September. Summer seems to be on the wane, despite which we are optimistically setting off to Cornwall for a week on Saturday. At midnight last night, the duty on fuel went up by 2.3p a litre in line with the Government`s policy of sticking it up every few months under the guise of saving the planet. It doesn`t work, of course, but it does provide the Exchequer with yet more of our money for them to squander on meaningless stunts.

And one of the more meaningless ones was the introduction today of the Drinking Banning Orders - the Booze Asbos - by which local councils can apply for the Orders to be imposed on anyone over the age of 16 who is caught causing a nuisance in a public place as a result of being drunk. Or words to that effect.

Now I read the other day that there has been serious academic research carried out into the reasons why Britain seems to have more cases of drunken behaviour than most other countries. The conclusion was that people drink because they are unhappy; full of frustrations about all kinds of things and so they turn to drink as a means of escaping the reality of life. Not surprising really, as there is much to be disenchanted with in New Labour`s Britain which shows all the classic symptoms of a failed society in the aftermath of a lost empire.

There are simply too many examples of that failure to list them all here but they would include illegal wars, recession, unemployment, political sleaze, spin and deceit, dumbed down education system, the surveillance society, sneaky backdoor tax hikes (fuel, etc.,) the invasion of our traditional values and way of life, unfettered immigration, the benefits culture and more and more the imposition of rules by the remote, self-serving EU (as witnessed today by the introduction of a mad rule by which people can be prosecuted and fined for buying traditional 100 watt light bulbs.)

And so I am forced to conclude that it`s really the Government that needs the ASBO for all the damage it has done and continues to do to the country`s reputation and way of life, especially today of all days, when summer is on the wane and a gloomy winter lies ahead. I could go on, but you get my drift....and I could write more, but I`m off down the pub. Cheers.

STILL RADIO GA-GA

This evening in a fit of desperation brought about by Saints conceding a 93rd minute penalty to snatch a draw from the jaws of victory at Stockport, I bundled Barney into the boot of the car and took him for a long walk in the Kent countryside. Now I haven`t yet managed to sort out the new car`s radio, but I have managed to find two stations - the one that provides Test Match Special and the other one is BBC Radio Five Live.

There is no Test Match on at the moment, so I opted for Five Live and came across a programme called 606, as that is the frequency it broadcasts on. It`s a football phone-in programme, which I may have grumbled about before. It`s `hosted` either by someone with the unlikely name of Spoony or by the BBC`s football commentator, Alan Green. Now Mr. Green has something of a reputation for upsetting people - `Big` Sam Allardyce, Everton`s David Moyes and `Sir` Alex Ferguson, to name but a few. I would normally be on the side of someone able to upset at least two of the above (I have a little time for Mr. Moyes) but I`m afraid I find Alan Green to be even more objectionable, which is really saying something.

His problem is that not only is he never wrong but also he is insultingly intolerant of people who have opinions different to his own. This is a phone-in programme, which survives on the fact that people are encouraged to phone in with their opinions about football matters of the day. This evening, an inoffensive sounding `punter` rang in to suggest that Wayne Rooney had dived to win a penalty for Manchester United - maybe not the most accurate claim I`ve ever heard, but an honest opinion nevertheless, which the gentleman concerned was entitled to have. Green went ballistic, shouting down the microphone, lambasting the caller and very rudely cutting him off before even a semblance of measured debate could take place.

If I had been the wounded caller, I might have issued a formal complaint, withheld my licence fee, called the Samaritans even, for it is not Green`s place to behave in such a way towards those who have no choice but to pay his doubtless inflated wages. So in future, I`ll tune in to Test Match Special, even if there`s no Test Match to listen to, or even tune in to the aforementioned Mr. Spoony, because anything will be better than the shrill ranting of Green and his Radio Ga-Ga. Oh, and by the way, Saints are now only minus seven points at the bottom of Division Three. Maybe I`ll feel better in the morning.

HARD GRAFT

So far I have refrained from commenting on the England cricket team`s Ashes win over the Australians last weekend, partly because I have been `otherwise engaged` but also out of a sense of not wishing to offend the sensitivities of my antipodean correspondent, who I am sure has contracted the parrot sickness just as I have flown over the moon.

So I won`t go on about it. Instead, I just want to mention one particular aspect of the really beautiful game which applies to both teams. It is the sheer commitement that is required to play test cricket. Here we have a game that lasts for five days, each day lasting six hours or for a minimum of 90 overs and for all of that time, the requirement for physical fitness, raw talent, courage, determination and intense concentration is absolute. It`s not an easy game and it sure ain`t quick, unless you discount the split second timing needed to deal with a ball being hurled at you at 90 mph from a distance of 22 yards. Is it still 22 yards - the old `chain` - or has it gone metric yet? Shows you how long since I played the game.

Compare all that with the 90 minutes it takes for a Premiership footballer like, say, Glen Johnson now of Liverpool to `earn` £139,000 a week - allegedly. Okay, he has to be physically fit, talented at what he does, determined and has to concentrate for 90 minutes, but the commitment isn`t in the same league as that needed for test cricket. The cricketers earn their money, but I doubt that many of them earn £139,000 a year just from playing the game. Somehow it just doesn`t seem right, by which I suggest that it`s the madcap parallel universe of football that is out of step rather than the more reasoned arena of professional cricket. Nothing new there then.

But I do wonder how long before the unreal world of Premiership football self destructs, either by spontaneous combustion or by the customers simply having had enough of all the excess and the unfathomable `culture` that now and again shows itself in places like the Boleyn Ground or the New Den on a dark Tuesday evening. If they do, then there is a more beautiful game to be entranced by, where the yakka is hard, the rewards modest, the culture more benign and where it never rains, for if the heavens open, the game simply pauses until the sun shines once more.

SILENCE IS GOLDEN

A few posts ago, I mentioned the press interest in the choice of pies on offer at St. Mary`s Stadium. See "GAME PIE" below. Now I see that the Daily Mail, whilst again devoting ten whole pages to last weekend`s Premiership matches, nevertheless found space to include - buried away in a corner of page 74 of Mondays edition - the following snippet:-

Gate of the Day
"Nine points adrift at the foot of League One, two points from four games, yet still the Southampton faithful turn up in droves - 19,169 saw the 1-1 draw with Brentford, more than at five Championship grounds this weekend."

It is truly refreshing to see not one jot of interest in how the team are doing, which is just as well, for in our now five competitive games so far this season, we have drawn two and lost the other three, the last being a Carling Cup encounter on Tuesday evening, when we narrowly lost 2-1 to Premiership side Birmingham City. The press might have mentioned that our attendance for that game was close on 12,000 - second only to the attendance at the West Ham-Millwall skirmish. Never mind, we can now concentrate on the Johnstone`s Paint Trophy, which we might well exit quietly too.

For all of that, there is a feeling among the faithful that the departure of Rupert Lowe and his regime, the emergence of Markus Liebherr as our new owner, the consequent absence of debt and the establishment of financial stability, the appointment of a new management team, the signing of a few decent players and - most tellingly - the absence of any expectation except that we might just avoid relegation again, have all conspired to make the tribal gatherings at St. Mary`s a more satisfying `matchday experience` than has been the case for the past five years.

And all conducted in a blaze of indifference as far as the press are concerned, with the unlikely exception of commenting on our pies and our attendances. The sound of silence is more than welcome, especially as we have a club to support again, rather than a business to patronise. The language and the landscape have most decidedly changed for the better.

DANCING IN THE STREET...

We`re dancing in our street this morning as near neighbour Scott Wagstaff has scored his first senior goal for Charlton in their 2-0 win over Walsall yesterday. He has been with Charlton since he was about nine years old and has risen through their Academy, youth team and reserves until finally, at just 19, getting his chance in the first team.

Yesterday, he came on as a substitute in the second half and scored after just four minutes of being on the pitch. He outpaced the Walsall defence to latch on to a through ball before scoring in the left hand corner of the net with a measured finish that left the visiting custodian beaten despite a despairing dive to prevent the goal.

This morning, the Wagstaff household and most of their neighbours - even those like me who follow the fortunes of a different team - are playing re-runs of the recorded moment when Scott scored and snapping up the Sunday newspapers to see what they have had to say (the report in the Mail on Sunday is especially complimentary and includes a nice photo of Scott`s magic moment.) We are all so pleased for him and his family and hope that he will now gain confidence and go on to a long and happy career in a difficult and testing profession. Just hope he doesn`t score against the Saints or there will be trouble.

BELLS AND WHISTLES...

I took delivery of a new car about three weeks ago. It`s fine. I like it very much. It`s a Nissan Qashquai N-tec, 2.0 litre, petrol, manual - all the stuff I`ve been used to driving for about 50 years. It`s very comfortable, has a nice high seating position, a nice glass roof with a kind of blind that covers it up if it gets too hot. It`s got a good radio, cd player, aircon, no less than six gears and a nice big boot for Barney top make himself comfortable. Feel a `but` coming on?

But, it`s got a lot of bells and whistles. An MP3 thingy, bluetooth whatsit, i pod something or other and a satnav! Now I have absolutely no need for the bluetooth, the i pod thing or the MP3, whatever that may be but I thought the satnav might be `interesting,` so on recent trips, I thought I would check it out and see how it worked. I thought it might have been especially useful on our journey to and from yesterday`s family wedding in Richmond, where our middle son, Kevin, was finally and enchantingly wedded to the lovely Claudine. More on that story in a later edition, however.

Back to the satnav. We had to make the journey from here in Kent up to Richmond. Now, normally I would have a look at a map, jot down the roads to follow and more often than not, get there without too much problem. But we punched the route into the satnav and tried to rely on the lilting tones of `Jane` to see us safely there. To be fair, we were held up by the closure of the M26 due to a bad accident, giving rise to a longish detour and some more delays on the M25 which seemed to throw Jane off course. She constantly urged me to make u-turns, come off at Motorway exits only to go back on again and suggest that I should go down routes I didn`t want to go down.

I`m sure she was trying to be helpful and efficient, but so far at least I haven`t grown enough in confidence with her and I`m pretty sure she feels the same way about me. I sense the early stages of an interesting relationship developing here, a power battle emerging and a grim determination to be proved right. But today I found my way home alright without any help from her, thank you very much. Fifteen all in the opening set at the moment.

BARBECUE ANYONE ?

The tension is rising in chez Snopper as the BIG DAY is now only 48 hours away. Middle son`s marriage on Friday promises to be a glamourous occasion with plenty of his show-biz friends expected to turn up for the evening reception. Yesterday I had my hair styled by the indomitable Chris of Larkfield, who said I should just have it `sharpened up a bit,` so it has been. I`m not quite sure what the coreography for Friday might be, so I`ll just go with the flow and hope that`s ok. What troubles me slightly, however, are the `catering` arrangements.

Now, as you may recall, I enjoy plain food - nothing fancy, nothing `messed about with` and most definitely nothing foreign. So it`s with some trepidation that I notice the introduction of a barbecue after the wedding ceremony. The hotel have produced a barbecue menu, which might turn out to be a bit fancy, a bit `messed about with` and possibly a bit foreign. They are quoting £56 a head for said barbecue - I might leave a note in the `comments book` to invite them to rearrange the words `off` and `rip,` but I suppose I had better wait and see how it turns out.

Also, it seems that no breakfast is provided for those, like us, who are staying at the hotel overnight. Breakfast is extra - anything up to about £20 a head - so I may be forced into an alternative strategy, which could consist of taking some barbecue avoiding sandwiches in my Oxo tin, along with one of those small packets of cereals you can get, a small flask of milk, some sugar, a bowl and spoon and a can of coke.

Of course, for middle son and his betrothed, I`m sure it will be a day to remember, with everything going as they would wish. So in all the mayhem and merriment I doubt for one moment that an elderly gentleman with a sharpened up haircut sneaking off for the occasional nibble will even be noticed.

IF ONLY I COULD...

As the death toll among our brave forces in Afghanistan now reaches 204 and the number of injured and wounded doubles in a month, questions are naturally being asked about our continued presence there and, indeed, what we are doing there anyway.

I suppose there was a time when people accepted that armed conflict was unavoidable against a clearly identifiable threat, most tellingly the threat of invasion. I could have believed the threat posed by Hitler and so I would have believed the words of the politicians at the time. I`m not at all sure about the present situation we face in Afghanistan though. Maybe my caution is encouraged by the outrageous war in Iraq, which we should never have been involved with but were condemned to as a result of duplicitous politicians.

And now we are told by our Prime Minister that it is essential for us to be waging the war in Afghanistan to keep terrorism off the streets of Britain. This from someone who was unelected by his own party, unelected by the people of this country, refused to have a General Election because he was sure he would win it, refused to honour the manifesto pledge to hold a referendum on the EU Constitution and brought the equally unelected Peter Mandelson back from the dead to lord it over us. You see, I`m not at all sure I can believe anything Gordon Brown ever says.

And the retiring head of the armed services, General Sir Richard Dannatt, also repeats the mantra about the need for us to be involved in Afghanistan. Now, I`ve a lot of time for him. He seems like a pretty straight sort of guy, but I can`t escape the feeling that what he is saying is the result of `pressure` brought to bear on him by Downing Street. It won`t be the first tiem. Lord West anyone? And how can anyone possibly be convinced by Bob Ainsworth playing the leading role in the Ministry of Defence?

I think it was Kenneth Clark in his `Civilisation` book who said, "If I had to say which was telling the truth about society, a speech by a Minister of Housing or the actual houses put up in his time, I should believe the houses." I know what he means now. However much I admire the heroics of our armed services - and I do so unreservedly - there is still something which fails to convince me that we should be there at all. And I suspect that we are there because the Americans are there - Iraq all over again - and that of itself is not a good enough reason either for the sacrifices already made or for the mantra which seeks to keep us there. If only I could believe what the politicians are telling me, but as I remain unconvinced, I will carry on believing in the lions fighting in the real world rather than the donkeys in a make believe world of their very own.

GAME PIE...

Just to prove my point about the comfort zone provided by the press ignoring the fortunes of Southampton FC, today`s Daily Mail has no less than ten full pages devoted to the Premiership. However, buried away in the bottom right hand corner of page 69 comes the news that "there are three types of pie at St. Mary`s, always a good start. Both the chicken balti and steak and kidney pies manage to hold their own, though they`re not Premier League. But if you`re faced with a choice, take the chicken."

Very comforting indeed to see the complete absence of any mention of our 3-1 drubbing away at Huddersfield. And these days, we can also find comfort in our cordon noir pies as we suffer silently in a blaze of media indifference.

OH, DEAR

Saints` new manager, Alan Pardew, looked distinctly grumpy as he prowled the sidelines at Huddersfield`s Galpharm Stadium yesterday. The home team were simply too good, too strong, too powerful for a Saints team yet to come to terms with so many things, not least learning quickly from the 3-1 hammering which saw us remain firmly rooted at the bottom of League One (really Division 3) and still anchored on minus nine points.

I had hoped for a more encouraging result in the depths of Yorkshire, where I wrongly assumed that the locals would be more concerned with whippet racing and pigeon fancying than growling encouragement to their football team. Wrong again, for Saints` shortcomings were cruelly exposed. Pardew`s response has been to call them in for extra training today in the build up to Tuesday evening`s encounter with the Robins of Swindon Town.

After only two league games, it is already perfectly clear that if, in 44 games time, we find ourselves buried in mid table obscurity, then that will represent a job well done. Another `nice thing` about being in the lower leagues is the almost total absence of any media interest in our progress or lack of it. So, we can accept defeat these days knowing that it truly is not the end of the world and that, mercifully, hardly anyone else knows about it or cares. I`ve always known there`s something to be said for mediocrity....and I should know!

SEEING THE WORLD

My picture shows local hero Scott Wagstaff being unceremoniously `tackled` by Southampton`s Jack Saville in a recent encounter between the Saints and Charlton, for whom Scott plays. Scott lives just a few doors down the road from us so it`s natural that not only his family but also the entire street are following his progress as he seeks to make his way in the uncompromising world of professional football.

And this week has been a difficult one for him....and it ain`t going to get a whole lot better. On Tuesday evening, Charlton made the long trip to Hereford to play in a Carling Cup First Round tie. Sadly for them, Charlton lost 1-0 in extra time, which I imagine gave rise to a long time in the Edgar Street dressing room after the game as Charlton manager Phil Parkinson carried out his post mortem. I`m told Scott eventually made it back home here at 4.20am on Wednesday morning. Wednesday was a day off, but he was back training yesterday and this morning boarded the coach with his team mates for the even longer journey to Hartlepool, who they play in a League One fixture tomorrow. I shudder to think what time they will get back from there but I`m sure we will be well into Sunday.

So it`s not easy being a young man in a fiercely competitive profession, especially in the `lower leagues,` where the excesses of wealth, fame and fortune of the Premiership must seem like a distant dream. The Premiership starts again tomorrow and I am going to make a determined effort to avoid it. There is so much of it which is distasteful. Not just the greed, the exceesses and the arrogance, but also the fact that there are far too many foreign mercenaries turning out for teams and that there are still `personalities` like Ferguson, Alladyce and `Arry Redknapp behaving as if they were at all important. Sky`s coverage continues to be graced by the awful Andy Gray, whose main contribution appears to be "I have to say," when all the time he doesn`t have to at all.

I`m more convinced than ever that `proper` football is played in the lower leagues, where ambition, effort and determination are tempered by moderate rewards. Maybe Scott is better off plying his trade at Hereford, Hartlepool and other provincial outposts. At least he`ll enjoy his football and see something of the world......even if it is Hartlepool.

FINGER AT THE READY

This time next week we will be on our way to Richmond for the wedding of our middle son, Kevin, (43!) and the lovely Claudine. Of course, there is much to think about and much to do but already I have made some excellent progress with my advance preparations.

I have bought a smart new shirt and a fetching tie, which of itself presents something of a challenge, for ever since I have been retired, I have stopped wearing ties and I just hope I remember how to do them up. On Tuesday (I think) I have an appointment with my stylist, Chris of Larkfield, for my wedding `coiffure.` I have left it for Chris to decide what to do in her quest to equip me with a fitting style for the occasion for, like fashion, hairstyles are something that have passed me by, leaving me with just the gratitude that I have any hair left to style. After that, I should be ready for the big day - chuck a few bits in a bag, head for the hotel and let the event unfold.

For others, however, it is becoming a tad more `challenging.` So many details to be attended to. Not just hairstyles, shirts and ties but whole wardrobes, worries about every detail, concern what others may think and all that. I frankly don`t care what others think any more - there will be people there I have never met before and am very unlikely ever to meet again, so for most it will be little more than a fleeting encounter. Now, all around me I detect a rising tension in the air - a distinct feeling of apprehension - and whilst I`m more than happy to play the part on my son`s big day, I am able to face it as yet another event, special though it is, in life`s rich pageant. These days, I`m happy for others to have their finger on the panic button whilst I sit in my corner and watch it all go by. I think it`s called `comfortably numb.`.

TWILIGHT DAYS

I`ve been retired a few years now and I`m the first to admit to being among the fortunate. I`ll just get the cliches out of the way. I worked my socks off for years, did as well as I think I could for my family and for those who employed me, had many highs, lows and bits in between, enjoyed a lot of what I did, got a lot of satisfaction out of much of it, met some good people who are still friends, but.....when the chance came to retire, I took it with hardly a backward glance.

The initial adjustment from work, pressure, daily challenges, was difficult at first, but time made me realise that there is a life beyond and I`ve found some of it. Nothing too spectacular, just a gradual settling in to a different routine but one which I can dictate rather than having it dictated to for me. Big difference. And it brings a sense of freedom - liberation almost - to go places and do things that suit us. By and large, life is gentle, undemanding, but surprisingly full. Voluntary work, playing golf, following sport, seeing friends, having holidays, blogging, keeping fit and all the things that need doing, ensure that each and every day is different. It`s odd to use the word `holidays` in the context of someone who is retired anyway, so I suppose I mean time away from home in places we enjoy being. Off to Cornwall again next month....but why not? I`ve worked out, I think, that to enjoy retirement, you have to keep the body moving, the mind active and have things to look forward to.

As I say, I am among the fortunate ones and I know it only too well. My body still works, my mind is as inquiring as ever and I have much to look forward to. I suppose my only real regret is that time is passing much too quickly - a good sign of a full and active life, I imagine. The twilight days may at last have arrived, but the sunset can wait a while yet.

There are days when I just despair and today is one of them. Late last night the news broke that the three perpetrators of the brutish treatment leading to the death of baby Peter Connelly can at last be named. After a two year wait, we now know the identities of the pond life (with apologies to amphibians) and the full horrors they inflicted not just on Peter but on others too, including the two brothers` own grandmother, who was violently assaulted so that she would change her will in their favour.

All three are now behind bars, of course, with at least two of them having `indeterminate sentences.` There is the possibility, however remote, that they could be out of jail in a few years, which is leading to the speculation that, if they are, then they will have to be given new identities and given police protection costing taxpayers anything up to £1million a year, and all for their own benefit. There`s a simple solution - don`t ever let them out of jail!

Last night also, there was a Panorama programme about drunken behaviour in Oldham, Lancashire. It seems that in Oldham and countless other towns across the country, each weekend sees a grim determination on the part of hordes of young people to get paralytic on cheap booze and then cause untold mayhem. To be fair to Oldham, they have introduced some (half) measures to try to limit the damage - orderly post office type queues in pubs and bars to order drinks and having a go at supermarkets who sell the stuff on the cheap - but still the mayhem goes on with all the disruption, police and cleaning costs involved.

Now I think it`s the case that the local councils or magistrates have the powers to issue and withdraw licences for the sale of alcohol. The licensed victuallers and the supermarkets won`t like it, of course, but there is a simple solution - stop issuing licences and withdraw the ones that give rise to the problem. All it needs is a bit of courage.

CONSOLATION...

I`ve got quite a collection of books about cricket. I won`t list them all here but they include the collected works of John Arlott; Ronald Mason`s `Ashes in the Mouth,` which chronicles the 1932-33 Bodyline series; David Foot`s excellent biography of Harold Gimblett; histories of Hampshire, Somerset and Glamorgan; numerous Wisdens including Benny Green`s Wisden Anthologies and David Frith`s `Silence of the Heart,` which details the alarming number of cricketers who have died by their own hand. You get the picture - I love the game, always have , always will, but not just for the game itself. For it also provides a rich heritage of literature which in its depth and quality is unsurpassed by any other sport.

Last week, I spent a lost couple of hours in Waterstones bookshop in Bluewater. Amongst the kind gifts I received for my 70th birthday was a generous Waterstones voucher and I searched the shop for something I would really enjoy. I tried all the sections - fiction, travel, history, humour and then sport. The shelves were pretty much stacked with books about football, mainly it seemed the `autobiographies` of assorted poseurs whose lives have little to commend them unless one is impressed by shallow excess. Golf was well represented and also rugby, but it was the stock of cricket books that held my attention. And there were a lot to choose from. I boiled it down to two - Duncan Hamilton`s authorised biography of Harold Larwood and Stephen Chalke`s `The Way it Was` - `glimpses of English cricket`s past.` I couldn`t decide between the two, so I used my voucher for one and put my hand in my own pocket for the other.

Now earlier this afternoon, England were comprehensively stuffed by Australia in the fourth Ashes Test of the current series. Never mind, for the series is nicely poised at 1-1. There is still one final Test to be played and anything can happen at the Oval. (That`s the spirit.) But whatever happens, there will always be the consolation of the richness of cricket literature, where one can look back on triumphs and disasters, characters and personalites, genius and mediocrity all in equal proportion. And all written with a love and feeling for a game which is not just a game, but more a way of life. Especially if you`re English and you`ve just been stuffed. Again.

SMALL EXPECTATIONS

Unlikely though it may seem, the football season kicks off on Saturday. I feel I should be going to see Southampton`s first game at home to Millwall, but a couple of things put me off. It`s still the height of summer and today is one of the hottest days we`ve had for weeks and on Saturday the traffic going down to the south coast will be awful. It has taken me anything up to four hours to get to Southampton during August and so I`m not sure I will make the early 12.45pm start. In any case, the game is being televised by Sky, which is not always a good thing. It seems each time we are live on Sky we underperform. In fact, the last time I can recall a win on Sky was when we beat Spurs 4-0 in the early rounds of the FA Cup in the year we went on to the final at Cardiff.

Having staved off receivership, thanks to the club being bought by Swiss billionaire Markus Liebherr, Alan Pardew (pictured) has been appointed to manage the team, which might account for his worried expression. He has a good track record as a player and manager and he should have enough experience to haul us up to mid table obscurity as we have to start the season minus ten points, thanks to going into administration a few months ago.

Now normally, at the start of any season, there are expectations of success, promotion, winning the league and any other fantasy you care to mention. This season, however, things are different. We have reached the low point - bottom of the third tier of English football for the first time in 60 years - but there are no expectations of a rapid climb back to the higher echelons we enjoyed for three decades. Instead, there is a realisation that our recovery needs to be surefooted, step by step, so as to consolidate our position in this league as the first priority. Careful planning, shrewd investment and patient progress is what the fans expect, nothing more, as we rejoice in the fact that we still have a club to support.

I have pencilled in 19th September for my first visit to St. Mary`s this season (we have a hectic schedule of weddings, holidays and the like in the next few weeks) when the visitors will be Yeovil Town and I`m looking forward to being able to simply enjoy the experience once more, rather than being stressed about the outcome. After all, if The Times prediction is that we finish 15th, then there`s nothing to worry about. Is there?

I SOMETIMES WONDER...

It was reported recently that two policemen from Southampton have become the country's first gay couple to father a child.

PC Ivan Sigston and special constable Steven Ponder have had a son named William thanks to Steven's sister Lorna Bradley, who acted as surrogate mother for the pair. It is believed the birth makes them the first gay couple in Britain to father a baby.

Mr Sigston, 48, provided the sperm but did not put himself down as the father, meaning he and Mr Ponder, 28, must formally and legally adopt William.

A spokesman for Surrogacy UK commented: "We wish this couple all the best, but under the law it is not a proper surrogacy arrangement. That involves the couple applying for a parental order within six months of the child's birth. At present, same-sex couples cannot apply for a parental order but have to go through the adoption process. As only Lorna's name is on the birth certificate, she is William's legal guardian."

It also emerged that the happy couple were, in fact, in `civil partnerships` with two other men and as I am not au fait with the law relating to getting out of - never mind getting into - civil partnerships, I can only assume that yet another legal complication has yet to be overcome in William`s fledgling life.

At the risk of compromising `human rights` in our modern day me-me society and being ever in fear of yet another knock on my door, I will simply say that I do sometimes wonder whether I am in the wrong world at the wrong time. So I will leave any comment to the Simpsons who, in the picture above, have probably asked the most important question in all of this.

A LITTLE KNOWN FACT...

Like everyone else with any knowledge of or interest in the world of football, I was saddened by the loss of Sir Bobby Robson yesterday, following his long battle with cancer.

It might seem churlish of me not to embark on a heartfelt tribute to a good man, but so much has already been written and said about his qualities as a player, a manager and, most importantly, as a man, that there is nothing more I can add.

Except, perhaps, to mention a little known fact about the great man. From 1946 to 1949, my club Southampton FC was managed by Bill Dodgin, like Robson a native of the north-east. In 1949, Bobby Robson signed for Southampton as a 16-year old amateur and when Dodgin left to manage Fulham, Robson went with him to embark on a hugely successful career in the professional game.

I`m truly sorry that football has lost one of the few remaining real gentlemen left in the game but proud to know that, even for a fleeting while, he was associated with at least the earthly Saints.