A curious thing.   When I started this blog way back in 2006, my very first stumbling effort into Bloggerland was to celebrate the 100th anniversery of the birth of the late Sir John Betjeman.   I wrote that first `piece` as we had just come home from visiting that very special area of north Cornwall and had made the pilgrimage to St. Enodoc church, where Sir John was laid to rest.

One of his most celebrated poems captured the unending appeal of the place where he lived and which he loved so well.   Here it is:-

TREBETHERICK

We used to picnic where the thrift

Grew deep and tufted to the edge;

We saw the yellow foam flakes drift

In trembling sponges on the ledge

Below us, till the wind would lift

Them up the cliff and o’er the hedge.

Sand in the sandwiches, wasps in the tea,

Sun on our bathing dresses heavy with the wet,

Squelch of the bladder-wrack waiting for the sea,

Fleas around the tamarisk, an early cigarette.

From where the coastguard houses stood

One used to see below the hill,

The lichened branches of a wood

In summer silver cool and still;

And there the Shade of Evil could

Stretch out at us from Shilla Mill.

Thick with sloe and blackberry, uneven in the light,

Lonely round the hedge, the heavy meadow was remote,

The oldest part of Cornwall was the wood as black as night,

And the pheasant and the rabbit lay torn open at the throat.

But when a storm was at its height,

And feathery slate was black in rain,

And tamarisks were hung with light

And golden sand was brown again,

Spring tide and blizzard would unite

And sea come flooding up the lane.

Waves full of treasure then were roaring up the beach,

Ropes round our mackintoshes, waders warm and dry,

We waited for the wreckage to come swirling into reach,

Ralph, Vasey, Alistair, Biddy, John and I.

Then roller into roller curled

And thundered down the rocky bay,

And we were in a water world

Of rain and blizzard, sea and spray,

And one against the other hurled

We struggled round to Greenaway.

Blesséd be St Enodoc, blesséd be the wave,

Blesséd be the springy turf, we pray, pray to thee,

Ask for our children all happy days you gave

To Ralph, Vasey, Alistair, Biddy, John and me.

----oOo---

And the curious thing?   Well, on Friday we`re off to stay in Trebetherick for a week;  to see the tamarisks hung with light, the golden sand, the rocky bay, to struggle round to Greenaway and lose ourselves in the timeless wonder of just being in that very special part of this sceptred isle.

Back in a week or so, but I`ll leave you with a piece of music from Nigel Hess`s score for the film `Ladies in Lavender,` which was set in Cornwall and somehow quite magically captures what it feels like to stand on a Cornish cliff top and look out to an endless, sparkling sea.  Enjoy:-

BRICKLESS IN BURSLEM..

Our street`s local hero Scott Wagstaff travelled with his Bristol City team mates to Burslem in the Potteries on Saturday to take on Port Vale, one of their former teams shown above.   An interesting place, Burslem, perhaps best summed up by this selection of notable people originating from the town - Robbie Williams, the ex-Take That warbler; Josiah Wedgwood the famous potter; Lemmy of Motorhead and Phil ("The Power") Taylor, permanent world darts champion.

Anyway, to the match.   After 55 minutes, Waggy put Bristol City in the lead with a thumping strike which Paul Merson would surely have described as a `worldie,`  only for a suicidal back-pass late in the game to gift Port Vale an undeserved equaliser, thus stretching Bristol City`s winless streak to sixteen league games and counting.

Much as Wagstaff`s fine effort was appreciated, there was however some disappointment among his followers that he eschewed his trademark celebration - The Brick.   Instead he seemed content to stay on his feet and be embraced by his team mates in a more conventional show of mutual chuminess.   So, here`s a brick forged in Burslem to make up in some small way for Saturday`s disappointment:-

Astonishingly, Bristol City`s next scheduled game, this coming Saturday against Creepy Crawley, can`t take place as City have three players missing on international duty.   Sadly, Wagstaff isn`t one of them but perhaps his disarming honesty, demonstrated here in his post match interview, might not be quite what Roy Hodgson is looking for:-

So, let me see if I understand where we are with this European Union thing.   I have vague recollections of the referendum back in 1975 which decided by a slim majority that Britain should remain a member of the EU, which it had joined by a parliamentary vote when we all thought it was joining a `Common Market.`  That `title` had a nice, comforting ring to it and the majority thought it a good idea to have common trading relations with our continental partners, be part of a community that might provide mutually assured security and generally be nice to each other.

Little did we know that the European organisation would turn into the burgeoning behemoth that it has become - with over 7,000 EU officials; 137 embassies around the world;  44 diplomats permanently stationed in Barbados;  with £31.7million being the cost of running the EU each and every day;  the sharing of EU Parliamentary sessions between Brussels and Strasbourg costing £150million a year and the whole thing costing each UK household £584 a year.

The EU is riddled with absurdities and it`s easy to trot out the nonsense about bananas being straight and hairdressers not being allowed to wear high heels or jewellery but the real scandals include the fact that, for 18 years now, the EU`s own auditors have refused to sign off the EU accounts and the EU has a £2.4billion annual budget for advertising simply to tell EU citizens what a jolly good thing the EU is.

So it really is time we were asked again whether we want to stay in this club and I know all the arguments about economics, jobs, freedom of movement and all the rest of the so-called advantages of membership.   But the only issue that matters to me is that old fashioned concept of sovereignty, a commodity that has been drifting away from us over the years but one which we should cherish above all others.

Governments of all political persuasions have promised a referendum about whether we should still stay in the EU and at the last General Election here, each of the main parties promised in their manifestos that we would have one.   As ever, manifesto pledges are soon forgotten when it suits the political agenda rather than the promises made to the electorate.   But what we have now is Dave Cameron promising to `renegotiate` some as yet unstated terms of Britain`s relationship with the EU and ask the people to approve them or otherwise in yet another promised referendum....but not until 2017!!

Now, for this to happen, Dave must have a good deal of success with his renegotiations, he must win the next General Election and he must overcome the objections of EU Commission President Barroso who only last week said that Cameron`s plans would never be allowed to happen - such is democracy in present-day Europe.

And then along comes one Adam Affriyie, Conservative MP for Windsor who says that the public don`t believe the promises made by politicians so let`s stop pussy footing around and have an in-out referendum next year.   Sounds like a beezer wheeze but already the political apologists are declaring that that can`t happen either.   So it seems unlikely that we will get any sort of meaningful renegotiation, any sort of early referendum and any clarification of the confusion that has reigned over this issue for far too long.

And all the while, the EU continues to cost £31.7million a day and rising, spend £265,000 on cocktail parties, dump £130million worth of fish under the daft Common Fisheries Policy and even squander £160,000 on a fitness centre for dogs in Hungary that still hasn`t opened yet.   If I ever had any doubts that I live in a world that gets more crazy each day, I only have to look at the EU and the shameless arrogance of politicians who allow it to continue unchallenged by the hand of democratic reason.   Confused?  You bet!

CORDON NOIR..

From Serge Osvaldo - our Restaurant Critic

I have to report that the family of Monsieur Snoppeur had an `interesting` visit to a local restaurant the other day and he has asked me to pass on the benefit of his experience as a warning to other potential lunchtime hosts. His son, daughter-in-law and two grandsons were spending a few days with him from their home in Hamburg and M. Snoppeur thought it would be good to take them for a nice lunch.

He decided to visit a restaurant he had not been to for over 30 years - an imposing looking building enjoying peaceful riverside surroundings a little up river from the centre of Maidstone.   The menu looked appetising - plenty of `traditional` English fayre - frequent references to chips and an enticing dessert menu including Snoppeur`s own favourite, Le Mess Etonique.   Just to be sure, he pre-booked a table for six and he and his party arrived at the appointed time.

A very bubbly waitress quickly took their drinks order, which arrived swiftly and promptly took the orders for their main meals.   And they waited....and they waited...until after 50 minutes with no sign of any sustenance, our host decided to enquire as to progress under the guise of leaving the table to `inspect the plumbing.`   There followed what can best be described as a controlled rant in the direction of the waitress, whereupon the meals miraculously appeared after about an hour`s wait.

Ah, le cuisine.   Most definitely cordon noir - black belt catering on an industrialised scale and whilst one or two of the party were reluctant to find too much to complain about, I fear our host found that his `ultimate cod - chunky Atlantic cod freshly battered to order and fried until crisp and golden` turned out to be anything but ultimate, but rather a small, limp, overdone attempt at culinary subterfuge.   After the inordinate wait and the disappointing fayre (which wasn`t cheap and failed to live up to its extravagant billing) the party were disinclined to risk desserts, coffee, etc., and departed  as quickly as they could.

This all left our gallant host feeling embarrassed, cheated and determined never to darken the restaurant`s doors ever again, but he did send an e-mail of complaint to the company concerned.   He hopes that they do not offer him the ultimate insult of vouchers for a free meal but then he has received no response so far.  He may have a long wait - if it takes an hour to produce an indifferent collection of cordon noir dishes, it could be a few months before he gets a reply - if he gets one at all.

Sacre bleu bien sur!! 

Breaking news from the Vatican is that a couple of ex-Popes are going to be elevated to the sainthood.   It`s a weird thing being religious;  not something I`m really into given my own personal philosophy that if, when my clogs are finally popped, I get up there and find it`s all true, then I`ll be quick to apologise for having had any doubts.

And it`s things like turning ex-Popes into saints that confirms my belief (yes, I do have a few) that whilst I`m in no position to question the existence of an omnipotent being responsible for it all, then his, her or its representatives on earth leave me puzzled.   Religion has, of course, over the centuries been responsible for wars, the denial and suppression of education and realism, never mind the `issues` that the industry of religion has faced, or rather not faced up to, in recent times.....or maybe it was forever thus?

In some ways, religion reminds me of the Premier League - `the best league in the world`(tm) - determined to market its brand and its product to a largely captive audience, leading its disciples to a land of milk and honey whilst at the same time involved in practices that regularly bring the game into disrepute.

Now it seems that to obtain sainthood requires the candidates to go through a tortuous process involving them having had to be extremely pious, getting nominated by a live Pope and having a couple of miracles attributed to their name.   And it`s at that point that we enter the realms of the tooth fairy with `miracles` they have performed having been identified to speed their passage towards their saintly elevation.  

It seems that Pope John Paul II was responsible for the inexplicable recovery of a French nun, one Sister Marie Simon-Pierre Normand, who was apparently dying of Parkinson`s disease but was cured after she and her fellow nuns prayed for the intercession of the late John Paul II who had himself died of the same disease.  Then there was a second miracle, this time in the case of a 50-year old Costa Rican woman, Floribeth Mora, who claimed she was cured of a brain aneurysm after a photograph of John Paul apparently spoke to her with doctors later claiming that the aneurysm seemed to have disappeared for no apparent reason.

Similarly the miracle attributed to Pope John XXXIII also involved curing a woman and it seems that, in his case, that will do as no second `miracle` appears to be needed as he was such a good egg.  Seems coincidental that these miraculous events always involve healing women - never any mention of teams avoiding relegation or gaining promotion on the last day of the season.  Each of these identified papal miracles happened, of course, after the respective Popes had died so the whole business becomes even more obscure.   But then the catholic church, like other churches, has always dealt in arcane rituals and bizarre mystique, so why should the process of turning dead Popes into saints be any different?

Of course I already know all about the rebuttals that those who believe in all that stuff will trot out in response to my own disbelief and I don`t wish to offend anyone, since we all have the freedom to choose what we believe and what we don`t.   But maybe, in the end, the most astonishing miracle of all is that people actually do believe in all this earthly hokum rather than, like me, keeping their options open for when they might come in handy in the great unknown.

SOTTO VOCE..

And so another domestic cricket season comes to an end, more with a whimper than any roar of finality.   It`s always a matter of regret, of course, as the days shorten and the autumn winds and rain almost of themselves guarantee that play is abandoned.  The summer game has brought us another Ashes triumph, some limitless drama in the limited over games and an intriguing county championship.

And now it`s all gone and I sometimes wonder whether it ever really arrived as it has been impossible to get away from the incessant babble of football.  A succession of international competitions, the livestock auction of the transfer window, the maniacal speculation of comings and goings and the incessant assault on our sensitivities by the rampant commercialism of the product and its brand have all conspired almost to drown out those summer days of leather, willow, cricket whites and teacakes.

And so, looking back once more with the cricket season having ended just two days ago but which already seems a lifetime away, the things I already miss are not so much the heady days of Lord`s, Edgbaston, the Oval but the county games, the village greens, a pace to the sporting life now accelerated by the charmless onslaught from Old Trafford, Stamford Bridge, yes and now even St. Mary`s where expectation runs too high and will surely be dashed as the grip of winter and reality takes hold.

But then cricket knows its place in the hierarchy of sport and whilst it may be mid-table in terms of world-wide popularity and commercial clout, it retains values to which its more strident competitors can never hope to aspire - an almost whimsical affection from its devotees, a culture at least in its lower reaches that still relies on fairness, respect and honest endeavour and a backdrop of those bountiful summer days, those homely grounds and a love for a game that no other can inspire.

So cricket has left us once more and we can but look forward to its resurrection, however vicarious it may be, in those corners of foreign fields which seem forever  summer as we become lost in our own winter`s dark age.   Cricket may well have played out sotto voce for now, but play on it will and in a voice that will strike a harmonic chord, almost in rebuke and in defiance of those who fail to understand its true value.  Roll on next summer!

IT JUST GOT BETTER..

BARCLAYS PREMIER LEAGUE 2013/14

POS	TEAM	PLD	W	D	L	PTS
1	Arsenal	6	5	0	1	15
2	Tottenham	6	4	1	1	13
3	Chelsea	6	3	2	1	11
4	Southampton	6	3	2	1	11
5	Man City	6	3	1	2	10

.......not only this but also the infernal Manchester United losing again;  Manchester City losing; the self-styled battling minnows of  Por***muff getting a drubbing at York City; the not particularly special one`s Chelsea failing to win; Mr. Slightly`s Gillingham finally winning 3-0 away at Crewe but Bristol City denied their first league win of the season despite a solid performance against Colchester with our street`s footy hero Scott Wagstaff named as man-of-the-match - always preferable to will-o-the-wisp.   No wonder I`m:-

And I know it`s early doors and a marathon not a sprint but after last weekend`s results I didn`t really expect this weekend`s to be even better.... so I`m beginning to get a bit worried about what next weekend might have in store.  It`s what Saints fans do, to be fair and we really aren`t used to this unbridled euphoria going on unchecked.

NEGATIVE VETTING ?..

The other afternoon I just caught the very beginning of a BBC daytime quiz show called `Perfection,` hosted by the adenoidal and extremely irritating Nick Knowles, one-time announcer of traffic problems on BBC Radio Berkshire.   Anyway, one of the contestants was asked what she would do with the money if she won and she seriously replied that, as she sponsored an orang-utan through some rinky-dink charity, she would dearly love to use the money to fly out to Borneo and visit her sponsored orang utan.   Seriously.  There are some things you just can`t make up, hard as you might try.

Now I believe there is some sort of `vetting` procedure for contestants before they are accepted to take part in the programme and clearly one of the questions they are asked is what would they do with the money if they won any.   And in the BBC, of course, answers like the one above are obviously going to find favour.

So I`ve been wondering what answer I might give and there is, of course, one which is glaringly obvious to guarantee acceptance into the puerile world of Knowles and his Perfection. The pre-acceptance vetting exchange might go like this.

"Now, Snopper, what would you do with any money you might win on the programme?"

"Well, NIck, I`ve always wanted to live in a community which is self-sufficient through sustainable crop rotation without resorting to any chemical soil enhancement and where everything is recycled or re-used so as to minimise waste and its effects on the environment and climate change and I can see myself living in my yurt whilst tending to the needs of my alpacas and llamas.   Errr....what was that question again, please?"

Well, it obviously worked for the woman with a thing about orang-utans, so why not?

UNCONVINCING..

To Southampton, again, this time for the Capital One Cup 3rd round game between the Saints and Bristol City.   Now it`s always good to go back there and to St. Mary`s Stadium but last night`s visit had the added piquancy of also seeing our street`s local hero, Scott Wagstaff, now plying his profession as a pacy flanker for Bristol City, where he is getting regular football and settling in nicely to the club and the city itself.

As to the game, well, Saints emerged 2-0 winners in what the reports accurately describe as `unconvincing.`   OK, not one of the Saints players on view last night is likely to start Saturday`s Premier League game against Crystal Palace but that is not to detract from a spirited performance from Scott and his chums who, in truth, probably deserved more from the game.  Mercifully, we were spared extra time and penalties and as it was, it was past 1.00am before we arrived back home (my son did the driving and we also had the company of Scott`s dad.)

As you can see from the photo I took after the game ended, it was poorly attended (something like 9,000 including the visiting Robins fans in a stadium that holds 32,000) but the Saints fans trudging for the exits at least had the consolation of a passage to Round 4 of a competition that provides the winner with entry into the Europa League next season. On this showing, Saints have more chance of winning the Eurovision Song Contest.  

WELL, MAYBE JUST A FEW...

My last post showed a picture of the Premier League table as at teatime on Saturday and it conveyed as much as a thousand words ever could about the over-the-moon daze currently experienced by devotees of Southampton FC in the beautiful south.

But things just got better after that, so I hope you`ll forgive me when I add just a few words on some other footy issues from the weekend.   First, our one time arch rivals P***smouth, at present plying their trade as a mid-table tier four outfit, were beaten at home in their crumbling fortress by the might of Fleetwood Town.   And yesterday came the spectacle of Manchester City stuffing the damned United.   I always find it immensely satisfying when Manchester United suffer humiliation, as this is a club whose currency includes arrogance and assumed entitlement.

What is particularly annoying are reports that former manager  `Sir` Alex Ferguson is still chuntering in the background in his capacity as a Director, when we aficionados of reason, restraint and dignity had thought we had seen and heard the last of him and his insufferable rantings.   It`s even more worrying that new manager David Moyes is reported to have invoked Ferguson`s style of management by hair dryer against his players after yesterday`s 4-1 drubbing.   Clearly, the default style of Old Trafford remains intact - why am I not surprised?

And just to round off a thoroughly satisfactory weekend, Blunderland have finally seen sense and sacked their bonkers manager Paulo Di Canio.   Not before time, but one is left wondering how they could have been so daft as to appoint him in the first place.

Over and out.

WHO NEEDS A THOUSAND WORDS WITH A PICTURE LIKE THIS?

TWO MINUTES...

As Maxwell Anderson and Kurt Weill`s `September Song` says,....."Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few and the Autumn weather turns the leaves to flame."   As for me, I haven`t got time for the waiting game, so I`m looking forward to yet another escape to Cornwall next month. But, whilst trying still to shake off the melancholy of leaving Devon behind, I`ve been looking for something to shed some light on how the passing of summer leaves me feeling.

I think I may have found it in a brief two minutes of the most sublime evocation of a fading English summer.   It`s here.  Put it on full screen and turn the sound up:-

.....and if you`ve spent two minutes of your life listening to that then you might share my sense of how I feel about the fading of the light, the chill of evening and the inevitability of spending "these precious days" in wistful contemplation of what has been and might still be yet to come........

TWO OF A KIND ?..

It`s a curious thing but, having lived in Kent for well over 50 years, I still try to maintain some sort of contact with the places where I grew up (at least physically if not mentally.)   So I still follow the fortunes of Southampton Football Club and each day I get a news feed from the local Southampton newspaper, the Southern Daily Echo.   And it was reading an article today that brought back some poignant memories of a particular incident on my very first day at school.

In a nutshell, the story in the Echo is all about a four year old boy who on his own first day at a Winchester primary school, decided he`d had enough and so after lunch decided to walk home.   Cue parental indignation, school embarrassment, thorough going security review and big article in local paper - all very predictable these days.

My own experience - back in 1944 or 1945 I`m not sure which - was essentially the same but with some added ingredients.  Now for quite some time before I started school, I had repeatedly been told that on that particular day, I would have to go.  I took it to mean just that one day - no-one mentioned anything about going the day after that and the day after that....... 

Anyway, just before the lunch break, I was convinced the teacher mentioned something to the effect that the best behaved child in the class could go home early. Looking back on it, I`m sure that wasn`t what she actually said but I convinced myself that it was.   Moreover, I also convinced myself that as I had behaved impeccably, I had earned the right to go home early.   So I did.  Just after lunch.

I began what was for me at that age a fairly long walk from Fawley school, shown on the right, back to where my mother and I were living during wartime with my aunt and uncle in the next village of Blackfield.   And as I trudged along, a couple of things happened.   It started to rain and also some doubts began to emerge as to whether I really should be doing this.  

So I hung around a bit, killing some time until, in my mind at least, I would arrive home when I was supposed to.   When I got there, far too early and soaked to the skin, my mother gave me one of her accusative stares, in response to which I could only proffer the pathetic statement which I still recall to this day - "I thought it would rain so I walked home."

No parental indignation, no school embarrassment, no thorough going security review and no article in the local paper - things were different back then.   But I`m pretty sure the adventures of the four-year old from Winchester will stick in his memory just as long as mine have    Maybe he and I are two of a kind after all, although I`m not sure I should wish that on him.

TIME FOR A CHANGE..

`Responsibility` is one of those words that are very easy to define.  Here`s Webster`s Dictionary definition:-

The Definition of Responsibility (Webster’s Dictionary):

Responsible

2 a: able to answer for one’s conduct and obligations: trustworthy b: able to choose for oneself between right and wrong

3: marked by or involving responsibility or accountability

Responsibility

1: the quality or state of being responsible: as a: moral, legal, or mental accountability b: reliability, trustworthiness

Now today we have had the report into the tragic death of four-year old Daniel Pelka in Coventry after months of torture, abuse and neglect by the two people who should have loved and cared for him - his so-called parents who have been sentenced to life imprisonment, serving a minimum of 30 years for their appalling crime.   

The serious case review seems to be comprehensive and detailed in its assessment of the events leading up to Daniel`s death but we`ve been here before and again I`m left with the feeling that none of the various `agencies` involved had the courage to actually do something about it.   As ever in these things, there was involvement by the police who visited the home on at least 27 occasions, social services, doctors, school staff and the city council.   

Now you would think that at least someone in this chain of bureaucracy would have had the gumption to have seen that something was terribly wrong here and take whatever action needed to be taken.   But no.....and you wonder why not.   Seems to me we are living in a so-called society where those in a position to act and fulfil Webster`s definition of responsibility are frightened to do so.   They have become tremulous, nervous, terrified of criticism and in the end do nothing, relying on the usual outcome that no-one will be held personally  liable and that their careers remain unsullied by the default conclusion that `lessons will be learnt to ensure that something like this can never happen again.`

Trouble is, it does keep happening.  Now I know that those responsible for Daniel`s death are behind bars but those who might be held responsible for ensuring that his mistreatment was avoidable seldom seem to actually be held responsible by anyone.  I`m not sure we should accept this any more, especially as children are so very precious and perhaps the time has come to do away with the plethora of `agencies` and simply have one national child protection agency who will be unable to blame `lack of inter-agency communication` and all the other lame duck excuses for doing nothing.   They would be solely responsible for answering for their `conduct and obligations` and `be able to choose for themselves between right and wrong.`

Perhaps then, the Daniel Pelka`s of this world might have at least some hope.

ANOTHER BALANCING ACT..

One of the nonsenses I`ve come back to in my re-entry into the `real world` is the invitation issued to footballers in England and Scotland (why not Wales too?) to support a campaign addressing homophobia in football by wearing rainbow laces in their boots this coming weekend.

These fetching laces have been sent to all 92 clubs in England and 42 in Scotland by gay rights charity Stonewall.   The Right Behind Gay Footballers campaign is focussing on changing attitudes rather than urging players to come out.   Stonewall`s Deputy Chief Executive, Laura Doughty, has declared, "It`s time for football clubs and players to step up and make a visible stand against homophobia in our national game and by wearing rainbow laces players will be sending a message of support to gay players and can begin to drag football into the 21st century."

Now I suspect that Stonewall`s focus on the apparent problem of homophobia in football may stem from the chants by fans of opposing teams of Brighton and Hove Albion and I suppose it is understandable that some Brighton fans may claim offence at such chants as `Does you boyfriend know you`re here?`   But football is a strange environment.  Football fans are passionate people, they go to stadia to support their clubs, but also to experience the tribal culture which is unique to competitive sporting occasions - `Come on, Andy` at Wimbledon;  `Swing low sweet chariot` at Twickers and the particular form of `banter` between rival football supporters.

A couple of things occur to me here.   One is that this particular rainbow laces initiative has simply had the effect of highlighting a perceived problem and therefore perhaps making the issue worse, even if there was an issue to begin with, which I seriously doubt. The second is that, as in all things it`s important to have a balance and so whenever Southampton may be likely to play Brighton again, I will not be offended in the slightest if the Brighton fans shout `Does your girlfriend know you`re here?`   

A MATTER OF TIME..

Well, Hope Cove did turn out to be as idyllic as I hoped it might.   The glories of the south Devon coast path were revealed to us once more and on our first morning there, I took the photo shown above.   No buildings, no streets, no people, just the sea and the sky and as you stand on the coast path and look out on a morning like that, you realise that there is nothing more to be desired.

We managed the section of path from Bantham along to Salcombe, taking in Thurlestone, Hope Cove itself, on to Soar Mill Cove, Bolt Head and on to Overbecks and on other days we revisited Noss Mayo and The Warren, Ayrmer Cove and Wonwell and for the first time we managed Prawle Point, Hallsands, Start Point and Slapton.   So it was a good week.

My problem is leaving it all behind and coming back to the absurdity of life in the south east of England, the politics, the celebrity culture, the unforgiving traffic and the frenetic pace of life.   I suspect it may just be a matter of time before I finally have enough of the faux `prosperity` of it all and head back to my west country roots.   And when an evening gives you this:-

......from the same coast path vantage point, who could argue against it?  (Click on photos for larger image.)

MORE BITE SIZES CHUNKS..

Looks idyllic, doesn`t it?   And tomorrow we`ll find out if it really is, as we make the long journey to Hope Cove in south Devon for another week of taking bite sized chunks out of the national treasure that is the South West Coast Path.

Now we have been enjoying the best summer since 2006 with weeks of sunshine and warm, even hot, temperatures.   We just need summer to hang on for another week but it seems not;  the forecast is for Autumn to come gate crashing through with heavy rain and plunging temperatures and bring this boundless summer to a soggy end.   Just our luck.  Thank you, God!!

But we`ll just have to get on with it and if nothing else it should bring a welcome escape from the madness going on in the rest of the world right now.   I`m not sure what sort of world we`ll come back to at the end of our week away but I can pretty much guarantee that it won`t come even close to the timeless beauty and peaceful tranquillity of being `on the path.` 

Back in a week or so.

JOHN CLEESE HAS IT ABOUT RIGHT?

"The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent events in Syria and have therefore raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved."   Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross."  The English have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran out.   Terrorists have been recategorized from "Tiresome" to "A Bloody Nuisance."  The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.

The Scots have raised their threat level from "Pissed Off" to "Let`s get the Bastards."   They don`t have any other levels.   This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British Army for the last 300 years.

The French Government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide."   The only two higher levels in France are "Collaborate" and "Surrender."   The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France`s white flag factory, effectively paralysing the country`s military capability.

Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing."   Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides." 

The Germans have increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs."   They have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbour" and "Lose."

Belgians on the other hand are all on holiday as usual;  the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.

The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy.   These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.

Australia, meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to "She`ll be alright, Mate."   Two more escalation levels remain: "Strewth we might need to cancel the barbie this weekend" and "The barbie is cancelled."   So far no situation has ever warranted use of the last escalation level."

......John Cleese - British actor, writer and tall person.

(I wonder if he might feel inclined to change his opinion following events in Parliament, Washington, Paris........?)  

TAKE A STAND..

Like most people, today`s announcement of the death of Sir David Frost came as a complete shock....and to me as another 74-year old, as Sir David was, it came as yet another stark reminder of the frailty of life.   Now there have already been heartfelt tributes to him and many more will follow and so it isn`t necessary for me to write a long obituary here.   However, there are local connections with Sir David here in deepest Kent, so I may be forgiven for mentioning one in particular.

David Frost was born in Tenterden when Kent was still the Garden of England and moved to Gillingham for much of his school days.   It was then that his love of football and consequently his lifelong support for Gillingham Football Club took hold and already the Gillingham chairman, Paul Scally, has paid tribute to him, recalling his visits to Priestfield Stadium as an `ordinary supporter,` but one who was always welcome.

And so the picture above shows the stadium in all its traditional glory, surrounded on all sides by the urban charms of the Medway town which the club represents.   It`s a proper, old fashioned stadium with its four `stands` - the Gordon Road Stand, the Medway Stand, the Rainham End and at the bottom of the picture the Brian Moore Stand named in memory of another lifelong Gillingham fan and renowned TV commentator who also died too young some years ago.

Now I`ve had the `experience` of sitting on the Brian Moore Stand to which supporters of visiting teams are consigned;  the occasion being when Southampton lost to the Gills in a League One game a few years ago before the Saints` clawed their way out of the darkness.   It teemed with rain all afternoon and we teetered on the rickety seating, exposed to the elements and the incessant deluge and it occurred to me at the time that the `facilities` hardly did justice to the memory of a truly influential `football man` and I suggested that perhaps the club might rename one of their more `fashionable` stands after Brian Moore.  Nothing came of it, however.

So now with Sir David having passed away and with Gillingham`s chairman already expecting a minute`s applause in his memory at the next home game, surely this is the time for the club to rename both the Gordon Road and the Medway Stands, one in honour of Sir David and the other in honour of Brian Moore.  I`m not sure even the most traditional of Gillingham fans will see it as anything other than a fitting tribute to two of the club`s most distinguished supporters.