A BIT RICH..

And so the Greek tragedy goes on.   And yesterday, European Commission President Jean-Claude Juncker said that he felt `betrayed` by the `egoism` and `games` played by Greek Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras and his colleagues over the negotiations with Greece`s creditors.   

Now, like it or not, Tsipras and his chums were democratically elected by the Greek voters on an anti-austerity ticket and they have been pursuing the policies on which they were elected.   It`s arguable that the Greek electors` choice of a party with populist ideals but little in the way of financial experience or aptitude might not have been the brightest choice ever made, but nonetheless it was a result that reflected the will of the majority of Greek voters and so, especially in the cradle of democracy itself, that choice should be respected.

So it`s a bit rich for the unelected EU Brussels bureaucrat not only to start telling the Greeks what they should be doing but also being disrespectful to their democratically elected leaders.   I know it will cause a good deal of turmoil and mayhem but in a way I hope the Greek referendum on Sunday gives backing to the country`s elected leaders and in so doing send a clear message to the likes of Juncker and the EU `elite` that whilst Greece may face a mess far greater than any of its creditors, at least it will be a mess of their own choosing.   

A FAILED ESCAPE BID..

It was indeed a very bad news weekend - Tunisia; Kuwait; France - and so in a desperate attempt to get away from the wall-to-wall coverage of those appalling events and ones which are simply annoying, like Glastonbury, I discovered that ITV3 were showing re-runs of their 2012 series about National Parks.   Last night`s final programme in the series was supposed to be all about the New Forest which I could claim as my spiritual home, having spent my boyhood at Hythe on Southampton Water, "where the forest meets the sea."

Now the New Forest has much to commend it - the woodlands, the heathlands, the lawns, the forest villages, the wildlife, the history, the culture, the coastline - and I thought that at least some of these might be captured in an hour long `documentary` about the area.   Not a bit of it.   Instead we what was dished up was a collage of Caroline Quentin gushing loudly and largely incoherently in a series of staged encounters, including joining a lady up a tree. joining another one rounding up and then selling a pony, joining some chef on a forage for stuff to eat, having a good time at the Romsey Show, which isn`t in the New Forest National Park and watching a man hang gliding with his dog over Barton on Sea, which isn`t in the New Forest either.

And all done with the kind of `look at me,` stentorian, self promoting `style` which she employed to ruin a similar series about Cornwall some while ago.   Now to some people, doubtless Caroline Quentin is something of a national treasure.  The truth, however, is that she has now become a national embarrassment to herself as well as to the National Parks.   So my escape bid failed miserably and so I rescued my evening by watching Nicholas Roeg`s masterpiece, `Walkabout,` on BBC 4 and hearing once more John Barry`s glorious music and the mellifluous tones of the young Jenny Agutter.   None of which has come close, however, to easing the images and suffering brought on by a weekend which will be unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.

DIFFICULT NEGOTIATIONS..

Tense and difficult negotiations seem to be the norm these days - nothing is simple or straightforward - but the process of negotiation is, of course, well established.   A problem occurs between a number of parties;  proposals are put forward to resolve the problem to the satisfaction of each of the parties involved.   The proposals are carefully considered but, in the end, rejected.  Counter proposals are then put on the table in an effort to meet the demands of the other parties.   These too are rejected, powers of diplomacy are fully tested and just when it seems that no agreement can be reached, one of the parties blinks first.   Result.

And so the drawn out negotiations between Southampton and Liverpool over the transfer of Saints` England right back Nathaniel Clyne have seemingly been through that process and a result looks to have been achieved.  It`s understood that Liverpool`s blink will see them pay Southampton the £12.5 million they were demanding for Clyne, who has a year to run on his current contract at St. Mary`s.  In business terms this represents a good return on Saints` original investment of £2.5 million when Clyne signed from Crystal Palace, especially as Saints have already signed a ready made replacement in Portuguese international defender Cedric Soares from Sporting Lisbon.

The details will be finalised once Clyne gets back from America but the clubs have agreed the fee and so Clyne will join former Saints Rickie Lambert, Adam Lallana and Dejan Lovren at Anfield, which Liverpool seem determined to make as the destination of choice for Saints players.  I think this will bring Liverpool`s signings so far this summer to something like eight new players - they clearly believe in buying teams rather than building them and seem to have a bottomless pit of cash to squander.   

In other news, difficult negotiations continue over the Greek debt mountain, which has now reached laughable proportions and the only solution seems to be for Liverpool to buy Greece.  Dave Cameron`s negotiations about reforming the European Union have taken a bit of a knock with Her Maj. chirping up at a banquet last night that it would be a shame if the UK were to leave the bloated, power crazed, remote, bureaucratic, corrupt, self-serving EU project. I paraphrase, of course, but it`s hard to understand why she would infer such a thing as you might expect the Sovereign of all people to be especially bothered by the prospect of losing yet more, if not all, of her country`s sovereignty.

I`m not surprised that negotiations seem to get more and more difficult these days.  

GOING FOR A GONG..

Well, it didn`t take long for the true colours of the Westminster Bubble to emerge from the ashes of Labour`s election defeat.   Now there apparently exists a curious convention known as the `dissolution honours,` which allows a defeated leader to reward loyal cronies.   I imagine that these shenanigans are normally conducted rather quietly, away from the public gaze and thus avoiding the kind of criticism  that might be attracted.

This time, however, there`s a snag, which has given rise to a big falling out between former Leader Ed Milliband and Acting Leader Harriet Harman, who protested when discovering that Milliband intended to dish out a peerage to his election co-ordinator, one Spencer Livermore.   She retaliated by demanding a similar `honour` for her press chief, someone named Ayesha Hazarika.   The situation is complicated by the fact that, as things stand, Harriet - as Acting Leader of the party - outranks the crestfallen Milliband and so she is determined to stand up to him.

Labour MPs aren`t happy with this public spat and are said to be `outraged` by the prospect of peerages being give to ` a wonk and a spin doctor,` whilst overlooking two senior Labour parliamentarians, Paul Murphy and Dave Watts, who `have devoted their lives to serving their party and country with distinction and deserve the awards far more` than the two being squabbled over.

And when you look at the comparative qualifications of the four prospective peers in question, I can only agree with the back-bench MPs who are `outraged.`   It seems Mr. Livermore, who naturally lives with his partner, the Labour MEP Sebastian Dance,  is reported to have been promised a peerage when he was recruited by Ed Milliband two years ago and therefore his claim to a seat in the House of Lords seems to hinge on a misguided promise and losing the election which he was paid to co-ordinate.   Ms. Hazarika is a former actress, stand-up comedian and hit the headlines when being sworn at by Hugh Grant in a bar at the 2012 Labour Conference.  Previous to her work for Ms. Harman, she spent time in the Home Office, Downing Street and as chief press officer to Labour Cabinet Minister Patricia Hewitt. It is believed that this almighty fuss has forced Ms. Harmon to abandon her bid to ennoble her press chief. 

The whole thing smack of farce, of course, because it`s one thing to have a discredited honours system anyway, another to have  murky `dissolution honours` and quite another to even suggest that people who live off patronage and favouritism should be suitable candidates to join the ermine-clad ranks of the £300 a day Santa lookalikes that make up the second chamber of the mother of parliaments.   Or maybe they might just fit the bill after all?

Dreckley / Dreckly - at some point in the future; soon, but not immediately; like "mañana", but less urgent (derives from English "directly" but differs in meaning) 

One of the many charms of Cornwall is its quirkiness.   Of course, the county is rightly and staunchly proud of its cultural, if not political, independence from those `up country.`  A couple of examples from our most recent visit....

The first is that, however much the Cornish economy relies on tourism, now and again you come across little things that make you wonder just how welcome you really are.  During a recent visit, we parked in the almost secret car park above Pendower beach and so I had a look at where the rest of the few cars that were parked there came from.  Lo and behold, they were all `local` but one had a sticker on the rear bumper showing the Cornish cross with `NON EMMETT` emblazoned across the middle.   Now the Cornish word for visitors and those who have made the Duchy their retirement or second home is....Emmetts.  And this car sticker was a clear signal that  the owner was Cornish through and through.  I felt I should buy one that just said `EMMETT.`

More intriguingly, on the drive back to Rosevine from St. Anthony`s Head, I noticed a signpost in the village of Gerrans that puzzled me.   Nowadays it`s impossible to see the join between Gerrans and Portscatho but the signpost pointed the way to Portscatho just down the hill.  What took my eye was that Portscatho was spelt `PORTSCATHA.`  

Further research has shown that the same signpost points the way to St. Austell, Tregony , Percuil and St. Anthony.  All very helpful.  Only St. Austell was spelt `ST. AUSTEL,` Tregony was spelt `TREGONEY,` Percuil was spelt `PORTHCUIL` and St. Anthony was spelt `ST. ANTONY.`   All of which makes that particular signpost possibly the most intriguing in all of Cornwall.  I`m reluctant to draw its idiosyncrasies to the attention of the authorities because I`m sure, given the passage of time, it will all be put right dreckly.

Proper job !!

A TOUCH OF CLASS..

There`s something about New Zealand that I have long admired.  A visit there has been on my bucket list for some years now, perhaps for the most bizarre reason in the history of bucket lists. Many years ago one of my sons spent some time working there and confirmed that the charm of the country lies not only in its scenery, climate and social `attitude,` but also because New Zealand is alleged to be like England was 50 or 60 years ago.   And that appeals to me;  so I can see no reason not to travel half way around the world to experience an environment and recapture an age that I remember well but which has long since disappeared in the helter-skelter of modern day Britain.

Moreover, I have always admired New Zealand sport;  the All Blacks have long been the example for others to aspire to in the world of Rugby and down the years their cricket teams have been nothing short of admirable in their attitude and aptitude for the summer game.   None more so than the current New Zealand tourists who have enthralled cricket lovers like me this season with their compelling performances in the Tests and the current 50-over one-dayers.

And they are led by an inspiring captain in Brendon McCullum (pictured) who has not only been a joy to watch with his batting but also his enthusiasm, tactical acumen and sheer enjoyment in his role as captain leading a team which follows his example.   Now post match interviews can be disheartening affairs but not so with McCullum.  After losing heavily to England yesterday at Trent Bridge, he admitted where his team need to improve and was fulsome in his praise for the way England had played.   And just when the interviewer - former England captain Nasser Hussain who should have known better - wanted to bring proceedings to an end, McCullum insisted on taking time to thank and pay tribute to retiring umpire Steve Davis, whose last game in the middle this was.

In short, New Zealand and McCullum are a class act.  In direct contrast, yesterday also saw the publication of the football fixtures for next season, which placed McCullum`s honesty, integrity and largesse in a fitting context.   Somehow, I can`t imagine John Terry applauding an opponent, as New Zealand did yesterday when Eoin Morgan was finally dismissed after his splendid hundred, and even less can I see the likes of Terry taking time in a post match interview to sing the praises of a referee.

I`m enjoying these days of roses but not looking forward to the whine, which will be upon us all too soon.

RETURN OF THE ANTI HERO...

Our Golf Correspondent reports..

It is some years now since Snopper graced the fairways, bunkers, woods and assorted rough of Poult Wood Golf Complex at nearby Tonbridge.   His absence has been due to factors such as dodgy knees, erratic hips, burgeoning bunions and a marked disenchantment with the Royal and Ancient game which seemed over the years to show itself in what can only be described as a battle of wills between his limited abilities and the Rules of the game.

So it was with some surprise that we found him yesterday on Poult Wood`s nine-hole course, cutting an uninspiring figure as he dragged his trolley up and down the hilly course.   Now you would have imagined that his `comeback` - if such a term can be used in this context - might have encouraged him to invest in some new equipment.  We discovered that this was, in fact, the second visit he has made recently and he explained that he had experienced problems in his earlier round by leaving his trolley at home and staggering around with his bag over his shoulder which became rather tiresome given his age and physical limitations.

"Trouble is," he explained, "I`ve had this trolley for years but as it`s been in the shed for so long, the wheels start coming off when I drag it around.   So I`ve restricted my equipment to just a few clubs and only 12 balls so as to make it lighter for the trolley to cope with."   Decisions he came to regret, however, as a number of his supply of balls were ceremoniously consigned to the aforementioned bunkers, woods and assorted rough never to be seen again; but he put this down to his limited range of clubs - a 4-wood, a 7-iron (which actually belongs to his neighbour, Mr. Slightly,) a pitching wedge and putter - perhaps not the best assortment to tackle this daunting challenge.

There was one bright spot, however, when he allegedly parred the par-3 seventh but neither this nor the rest of his round can be verified as he forgot to pick up a scorecard from the clubhouse.   He seemed quite satisfied with his afternoon efforts, however, and comforted himself with Glenn Gould`s well-worn homily which says all you need to know about Snopper and the Royal and Ancient game:-

THE HAPPY HIGHWAYS..

Well, I may not quite be up and running - more up and staggering - but I have missed these pages over the last few weeks and so I thought I would give it one more go and see whether, like me, my antediluvian computer is still up to the task.  So here goes.

We`ve been away again;  yet another visit to Cornwall and this time a return to the tranquillity of the captivating Roseland Peninsula on the south coast.   We`ve been there countless times now and yet there`s something about the area that brings a wistfulness, a longing to return time and again.   And so we have done just that.

I enjoy the peace of Gerrans Bay, the Llaregub-esque quirkiness of Portscatho, the grandeur of St. Anthony`s Head, the seduction of Molunan beach and the pines of Carricknath Point looking out at the wide expanse of Carrick Roads - just the sort of place where we can enjoy a fortnight there in just one week.   And yet there is a feeling that, for all kinds of reason, our visit last week may not come again - we may simply have exhausted what the Roseland has to offer;  we may have other places to experience;  and at nearly 76 I might just be getting a little weary of the drive, especially as last Friday it took us over nine hours to get home to deepest Kent.

The photo above, which I took last week - click on it for a larger image - shows the lane leading from Rosevine down to Porthcurnick beach, where the lane comes to an abrupt end with a panoramic view of Portscatho beyond.   We walked down that lane each day and each time I began to feel more and more like Houseman`s Shropshire Lad:-

Into my heart on air that kills

From yon far country blows.

What are those blue remembered hills

What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content

I see it shining plain.

The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again.

THE END OF THE LINE ?..

It comes to us all, I guess, and it certainly seems to be coming to my computer.   It has had `issues` for a long time now and I have learned much about how to repair it, keep it going, understanding its problems and its quirks and so far I have managed to extend its useful life beyond what I could reasonably have expected.

But now I fear the end is nigh.  Yesterday, for example, it was `unable to start` on at least three occasions and today it`s the same - I am able to write this after a good hour of patience until it finally crawled into sufficient life for me to use it - but we just can`t go on like this.  I`ve tried, my God I`ve tried.  I`ve used threats, cajoling, inducements, promises of a better life, all to no avail.   After all these years and having been through so much together I just feel that its time has come.

It will be with a heavy heart that I say goodbye to what has been a staunch friend for more years than I care to remember but the time has come for me to invest in a new, more modern up to date replacement, which will not be easy for an elderly pensioner struggling to survive on a fixed income in these harsh economic times, but I`ll see what I can do.   It might take a while though, so forgive me if I am absent from these pages for a while. 

UPWARDS AND ONWARDS..

As yet another footy season nears the end of its useful life, there are still a few things unresolved to grab the attention - Premier League relegation issues, places in European competitions, play-off finals and the FA Cup final.   But it is in the `lower` leagues of English football that romance can still be found as a refreshing antidote to the rampant commercialism of the Premier League `product.`   

And this afternoon, the season finale for one of the teams I follow drew to a triumphant conclusion, as Truro City gained promotion back to the Conference South (to be renamed National League South, I believe) following their 1-0 win over St. Neots Town in front of a 1450 crowd at Trelew Road.   It`s a welcome return to the higher level for Truro and richly deserved not only for their outstanding season but also for the sheer logistical effort involved in sustaining the west Cornwall club over a long campaign. 

Their return to the Conference South will inevitably involve yet more heroic travels to such places as Hemel Hampstead, Chelmsford in Essex, St. Albans and Eastbourne in East Sussex - the latter involving a mere 560 miles round trip from Cornwall.   But they will have a couple of local derbies - Bath City will only involve a 380 miles round trip whilst their visit to Weston-super-Mare involves a paltry 300.   Perhaps their longest journey will be when they visit newly promoted Maidstone United, just down the road here in Kent which will put the thick end of 600 miles on the clock.   To be fair, the 100 travelling St. Neots fans today had a round journey of 650 miles and long journeys are the same for all the teams who have to visit Cornwall`s capital city.

I`m full of admiration for Truro City Football Club, their players, staff and especially their supporters, not just because it`s Cornwall but also for the effort and commitment required to be as successful as they are.   Not for them the luxury travel of the Premier League but instead a hard slog each and every time they have to play away from Trelew Road.   Their upward progression will also bring yet more hours of onward travel all in pursuit of a heroic sporting cause.   I wish them well.

A DAY TO REMEMBER..

Joy unconfined as another memorable day in the annals of the country is marked by wild celebrations, fanfares and grateful thanks.   Dancing in the streets, street parties, banners unfurled, flags and buntings decorate the streets as the importance of this very, very special event begins to seep into the consciousness of the joyous crowds.

Yes, folks, today marks the 39th anniversary of Southampton beating the northern scourge of Manchester United by a single goal at Wembley to claim the FA Cup.   I was fortunate enough to be there on that day, watching the sadly departed Bobby Stokes bury his long range shot into the net beyond the despairing clutches of United keeper, Alex Stepney. The only thing that dampens the memories of that glorious day is the fact that, from that winning team, goalscorer Stokes and the legend that is Peter Osgood are no longer with us.

In other news, I understand that Kate Middleton, aka Duchess of Cambridge, has given birth to a baby girl in the most comfortable of circumstances, so congratulations to her, especially for timing the delivery to coincide with a day to remember for Saints fans everywhere and for choosing St. Mary`s as the hospital in which to be confined.   So special was that day at Wembley back in 1976 that the Queen, having presented the FA Cup to Saints captain, Peter Rodrigues, realised that it could never be any better than that and so she has not attended an FA Cup Final since.  The royal prerogative exercised at its most perceptive.   

THE VIEW FROM THE PLAYROOM..

Well, as the actress said to the poet, "Things are going from bed to verse."  And after last night`s election specials it`s pretty clear that the campaign is descending into outright dislike between the party leaders.   It all reminds me of Sheldon Harnick`s lyrics for `The Merry Minuet,` which I first heard in my youthful admiration for the Kingston Trio.   The first part goes like this:-

They're rioting in Africa

They're starving in Spain

There's hurricanes in Florida and Texas needs rain

The whole world is festering with unhappy souls

The French hate the Germans

The Germans hate the Poles

Italians hate Yugoslavs

South Africans hate the Dutch

And I don't like anybody very much.

Now a week today the General Election will be in full swing but it`s also becoming clear that we`re heading for a cobbled together hung parliament.   Unless, that is, the party leaders are so intent on hanging on to their jobs, perks, expenses and titles that they will do anything to save themselves and blame it on `the wishes of the electorate.`   Last night, they gave clear promises to the contrary so we`ll just have to assume that they will deem it `in the national interest` to stitch up some back-room deals to keep them going.

Either that or mayhem will ensue and call me irresponsible if you will, but as I view it all from the playroom of my second childhood, I quite fancy a bit of mayhem.  It`s good for the soul - keeps `em honest - and provides the prospect of another election in October at the latest.   Somehow I just wish they would all relax and not take it all so seriously or so personally.   It`s not Wolf Hall - just democracy in action.

THE VIEW FROM OVER THE BORDER..

Things seem to be getting more and more desperate as the General Election approaches.  Or rather childish, what with the Milliband/Russell Brand travesty, the wee Scots lassie, chuntering Nige, Cameron and his faux `passion`, the bonkers Aussie Sheila and the irrelevant Clegg.   Fols-de-Rols have never been such fun.  Trouble is, it`s supposed to be serious but however hard I try I can`t bring myself to have any trust or faith in any of them.

Here in my Kentish enclave, there`s a tradition on Polling Day to hire a JCB and cart the votes down to the nearest weighbridge rather than bother with the traditional count - the Tories have been in control so long and I can`t see it changing, especially as we have before us a list of Parliamentary candidates of whom only one actually lives in the constituency and I can`t see myself voting for him.

So I tend to look across the border at the neighbouring constituency of Maidstone and the Weald for any entertainment that might be going on around this time.   Now this has also been a traditional Tory stronghold, held before the last election by the self-appointed national treasure that is Ann Widdecombe.   She had a majority of something like 12,000 when she was re-elected for the last time and before she retired to Devon and a series of cringe-worthy appearances on television and in pantomime.


Her successor was one Helen Grant, bussed in by the Tories, despite having stood as a Labour candidate previously, with the required and politically correct qualifications of being of ethnic background and being a woman.   Her majority last time was, however or maybe therefore, reduced to about 6,000 - half that of the sainted Widdy - and I hear reports that she might struggle to retain the seat this time against determined opposition from the LibDems and in the wake of her pitiful Ministerial performances in the last Parliament and her `difficulties` over expenses claims and staffing issues.   And as a mark of the Tories` desperation, the other day she visited the sleepy Wealden town of Cranbrook and brought Widdy along for support.   

Of all the images of this woeful campaign, I think the one I will remember most vividly is the truly terrifying sight and sound of Grant smiling her way around the town with Widdecombe using a megafone to harangue the good folk of Cranbrook  whilst leaning out of the car window.   Now my side of the border might be dull, boring and utterly predictable but at least I don`t have to endure the kind of embarrassment inflicted on the unfortunate electors of Maidstone and the Weald.

A WELCOME RETURN..

These were the scenes last evening as Bournemouth virtually secured their promotion to football`s Premier League for the first time in their 125 year history.  For much of that time, the local rivalry for Southampton fans has been with our neighbours, Portsmouth, along the other end of the M27 but it now seems possible that we have new rivals in Bournemouth, 30 miles or so along the A31.

Now whereas the resurgence of Portsmouth would most certainly not be something to celebrate, somehow the elevation of Bournemouth to the peerage of English football provides almost a warm glow and I for one am pleased for them, the club, the players, staff and most of all the supporters who must be pinching themselves at the club`s meteoric rise from near extinction just six short years ago.

It was back in the late noughties that Southampton were in dire straits with the real prospect of going out of business.   At that time, we were more or less forced to sell one of our better players so that the transfer fee could keep the Saints afloat for a little longer.   That player was Andrew Surman, raised in Southampton from eight months old, a product of the Saints Academy along with the likes of Theo Walcott and Gareth Bale, and someone who almost burst with pride playing for his home town club.

When Wolverhampton Wanderers came along with a £1.2million bid for Surman, the Saints were in no position to turn it down and so he left for Wolves, who were then in the Premier League.   It was a serious wrench for Surman who was on record at the time of saying he left Southampton `with a heavy heart` and describing the Saints` situation as `unbelievable.`

From Wolves, he moved on to Norwich and from there he went on loan to Bournemouth, where his signing was made permanent last year and he has formed an important part of their promotion winning team.   So whilst there is joy unbounded among the Cherries fans, I am especially pleased to see Andy Surman making a welcome return to the Premier League and it will be good to see him back at St. Mary`s next season, even if he is playing for our new-found local rivals.

I know I always feel and say the same every time I get home from a time away in the south west and this time is arguably worse than others.   After a week of being a long way away from it all in the sanctuary of Cornwall, I come home only for my senses to be assaulted where they left off by the cacophony that is the General Election campaign.

That`s depressing enough but I`m sure that the events in Nepal, Lampedusa, Sicily, Syria, Yemen and elsewhere in this troubled world perhaps put the General Election campaign into the realms of irrelevance in the great scheme of things, so perhaps I shouldn`t complain quite so much.

But I think I have a genuine case for grievance when I learned last week that `it is unlikely that the Chilcot Inquiry report will be published until 2016 at the earliest.`   Maybe again I shouldn`t be surprised at yet another Establishment stitch-up, following on from countless others over the years - whichever government may have been in charge at any time.   They look after themselves, it seems, rather than looking after those they are supposed to represent and respect.

The General Election looks to be heading for a bit of a mess, leaving political parties scrabbling for position and the electorate in a state of confusion.  Maybe that almighty muddle might bring a change in attitude, but I seriously doubt it, and so there is likely to be no escape from the oppressive self interest of the Establishment.  So you can hardly blame me for wanting out again - and in a couple of weeks I`ll be off to my spiritual home of the New Forest.   Not much changes there either, thank goodness.

IN THE STEPS OF POLDARK..

Once more the call of Kernow becomes irresistible and it is perhaps yet more so following a long, cold, dark winter and with the arrival of longer days, warmer temperatures and a healthy dose of Poldark on the television.   Of course it helps to have relatives living down there along with a host of locations to choose from for a break away from it all.

And there seems to be a lot to break away from just now, especially the fol-de-rols of the General Election campaigns, the Party Political Broadcasts and the interminable analysis of manifestos, opinion polls and the shallow promises being banded about as the battle between the parties hots up.  I`m more than happy to leave them to it.

My earnest hope is that, if I ever manage to get there next week, the little beach and hamlet of Porthgwarra (pictured) is a little less crowded than when Ross Poldark took his kit off there and went for a dip in the azure waters.   Any onlookers might have to make do with me although, to be fair, I`m quite adept at bodice ripping.

Back at the end of next week.

WHERE ARE THEY NOW ?..

From our Golf Correspondent

As the Golf Correspondent for these pages over many years, I`m often asked after the whereabouts of past heroes of the Royal and Ancient game.  One of those is Snopper himself, who has been absent from the fairways (and bunkers) of the world for perhaps too long.

In his case, the answer is depressingly simple.  For some time now, he has been suffering from the kind of injury or affliction which affects highly tuned sporting idles (sorry, that should be idols.)  Snopper has seen the onset of conditions such as acute bunions, a wonky knee and a hip that decides for itself whether to restrict his mobility.  

It`s all very unfortunate, especially since the US Masters over the last weekend showed an increased interest as to Snopper`s whereabouts and whether he was likely ever to resume his lifelong losing battle with the game.   Well, I can report that he has no immediate plans to scrape the vestiges of time from his shed-bound eclectic set of clubs, although just in case he has retained the collection of balls - currently standing at about 1100 - which were retrieved from nearby golf courses by a much missed and highly efficient Golden Retriever.

As Snopper himself once opined - there`s no point in taking golf seriously unless you`re Tiger Woods, as there`s always going to be someone better than you.   That someone now seems to be Jordan Spieth, one to whose talents it is now far too late for Snopper to aspire.  I doubt Mr. Spieth would return the same sentiment.

IT WORKED !!

I`m not claiming a victory for reverse psychology but my `piece` yesterday predicting a home defeat for the Saints as a result of being `bigged-up` by Brucie seemed to have done the trick.  After a lacklustre first half, Southampton went on to secure a 2-0 win to see them climb back to 5th in the Premier League and leaving Brucie`s Hull City worrying about relegation.

It was a good day all round for Snopper Street`s footy fans.  As well as the Saints win, my neighbour`s beloved Gillingham also secured a home victory against high flying Bradford City.  There`s a bit of a connection here, as the Bantams manager, Phil Parkinson, was at one time very keen on recruiting the services of local hero Scott ("Buzzin` six pack") Wagstaff, having been impressed with Waggy`s performances as a pacy flanker whilst the two of them were together at Charlton.   At the time, my neighbour and I offered to be Waggy`s joint agents, an offer which he inexplicably declined and moved instead to Bristol City, who seem destined for promotion from League One back to the Championship, where Waggy`s experience should prove invaluable.

In other news, Truro City now seem to have assured themselves of a play-off place in the Evostik Southern Section where they will come up against either Corby Town, Poole Town, Hungerford Town, Weymouth or St. Neot`s Town for promotion to the Evostik Premier League - could be a sticky time ahead for my Cornish heroes.   Forest Green Rovers continued their good run with a 3-1 win over close rivals Macclesfield Town and so retain their own play-off place for a tilt at the Football League.  

And to round off a day of splendidly encouraging results, Saints`arch-rivals Portsmuff continue to languish in the lower reaches of League Two and went all the way to Morecambe yesterday to suffer yet another defeat, this time 3-1.  The fans of Southampton do, of course, closely follow the fortunes of their south coast neighbours, as witnessed by a thread on the Saints fans forum which currently stands at 2047 pages long, with 102,306 posts and 8,491,599 views, on which it is reported that there is currently a truism doing the rounds at Fratton Park - kraP nottarF which suggests that the Portsmuff player who can trap a bag of cement is king.   Maybe they could do with Steve Bruce giving them a `big-up.`  Well, it worked for me and the Saints.  

.......so, that will be Saints 0 - Hull City 1 this afternoon at St. Mary`s then.   Think I`ll take the dog for a walk.......

It`s getting depressing.  The other day I mentioned the passing of Bill Ellerington and today comes the news that yet another hero has left us.   Richie Benaud will rightly have a million obituaries to his impeccable career as a cricketer, a journalist, a broadcaster, commentator and as a man and so it will not be my place to add too much to the sadness we cricket lovers feel at his loss at the age of 84.

Except perhaps to say that, in so many way, Richie personified the sharp contrast, the divide, between cricket then and cricket now.   He played his cricket at the very highest level - the first Australian to score over 2,000 runs and take over 200 wickets in Test matches - but he did so with dignity, with grace, elegance and a deep regard for the spirit of the game.   Now these are qualities that are difficult to find in the modern game, which has become more concerned with results, personality and razzmatazz, perhaps encapsulated by the persona of players such as Kevin Pietersen, late of South Africa, Nottinghamshire, Hampshire, Surrey (twice), Royal Challengers Bangalore, Deccan Chargers, Delhi Daredevils, St. Lucia Zouks and Melbourne Stars.

Pietersen is an undoubted talent, don`t get me wrong, but he has built a large part of his reputation on being a `character,` beginning, I suppose, with his bleach blonde streaks when England beat Australia in that memorable series in 2005 (was it really ten years ago?) and developing into the disruptive, self-obsessed, avaricious chancer we see today. Such clamour as there is for him to be returned to the England team is based purely on his batting ability whilst his contribution to team morale and togetherness are set aside in the headlong quest to win matches.

Despite the undoubted talent of players such as Pietersen, I doubt Richie Benaud would have given him a second thought in choosing a team to represent his country.  Benaud was concerned, of course, with success on the field of play but not at any price.  Maybe it`s another generational thing, quite probably my own, but with Richie Benaud leaving us, so too do many of those things that cricket once represented.  Times change, of course....but not always for the better.   Told you it was getting depressing.