Freddie

I know I'm out here for a reason. Squarish of the wicket. More mid-wicket than square leg. Straussie's always waving me squarer inspite of the fact the ball never goes there.They have to hide me in the field because I'm no Jonty Rhodes and never will be. It's hot. Very hot. My feet hurt. My back's sore and I don't know how long I've got left in that knee cartilage which is a dull burning pain. We've been in the field now since mid-day yesterday. It's now mid afternoon and the Indians are batting as if they own the place. Some wag in the dressing room said "It's Birmingham! They do own the place!" ha ha. It seems like it was another game altogether when I got Ganguly with a dodgy LBW all that time ago. Surely it would have been overturned on referal. That was all the luck we were destined to have. Half the ground is in a soporific sun-drenched conversational stupor while the Mound Stand behind me is ablaze with drunken fancy-dressed tom-foolery. I try to be anonymous but they keep shouting "Freddie" at me. How I wished I had never said I wanted to be Freddie Trueman. I was immediately nick-named "Freddie" and it stuck. There's a group of girls at the front. Rare really. They are usually with their boy-friends and you don't often see girl groups at Test Matches. One really pretty one is smiling at me  like she's near a famous pop-star or something. I smile back and she giggles. She's cute. Nice hair. Sparkling eyes. Bit of lippie on. I can see she has painted finger nails and there's a gap between her cut-off  blouse and the top of her jeans. She's shoutung at me but I can't hear over the noise the idiots are making around her. But in the end I hear "What car do you drive?" I thought Christ is she interested in me or my bloody car. I pointed at the hoarding which said that Jaguar were sponsoring this Test series. Her eyes followed my pointing finger. I don't have a Jag. Gloucester CCC have given me a tin box on wheels sponsored by Mitsubishi. I had to concentrate on my fielding. My mind had been wandering since overtaking Bob Willis's 327 and I was rehearsing in my head a few pearls for the Aggers interview this evening. But the interminable afternoon made the evening a far distant prospect. Tendulkar was digging in, putting down roots. We'd never get the bugger out. The girl was shouting again and waving something at me. It looked like a business card. I thought "business?". She doesn't look like a prostitute. But then again maybe she does! I looked back at the wicket and Straussie was talking to Jamie about gully and cover point so I had time to go over the rope and take the card from her. The finger nails were false. Her stomach was as flat as the bloody wicket. There was a jewel in her belly button.The card had a phone number and her name. Megan. Not the sexiest name if I'm honest and how many cards has she had printed? But as I took the card she put her little fists up to her chin and wiggled them like Wallace when he's exasperated with Gromet only she wasn't exasperated she was giggling and turning to her friends in excitement. I put the card in my pocket and turned just in time to see Straussie looking at me and pointing to the City End. Meaning that I would be bowling the next over. How many times have I told him I want the Pavilion End. Especially in the afternoon like this. The ball old and soft. The batsmen settled. I want the dark shadowed Pavilion behind me not the dazzling white sheeted sightscreen that shows the ball up in crystal clarity for the batsman to do just what he wants with. I'd already bowled most of the morning session. I had blisters on my left foot and in spite of a shower and change of kit at lunch time I was sweaty and sticky in the afternoon heat. Straussie said "Come on Freddie, England expects" and I wanted to punch the bastard. He went tottering back to first slip with that tight arsed prissy little jog of his. The Mound Stand was by now not really interested in the cricket. Tendulkar and Dravid were being there old boring selves not overstretching themselves in the heat. Just nudging singles and waiting for a bad ball. A loud moan came from the crowd. A dayglo-clad official had just burst one of their beach-balls that had strayed onto the pitch. I set off on my run to deliver the first ball of the over. I felt quite good actually. Megan's pink card in my pocket. I felt a bit like Freddie Trueman if the truth be told. Drag of the old right toe, sideways on....and the ball nipped through nicely and I'm sure Sachin played a shot. But he missed it and there was a lovely thwack into Matts gloves that I could just hear through the din from the piss-heads to my left. I looked up at the big screen to see the speed-gun mph but they were showing the Jaguar advert. Up in the Stand about thirty idiots were doing the conga and Elvis was chasing Superman across the lower terrace as I went in again at Tendulkar. I gave it everything. I rifled one in at his feet. He couldn't get his bat down in time and it plucked out his leg stump. The cocophany was exhilerating. It was like an out-of-body experience where things go like you're suddenly under water and everything shifts into slow motion. I turned in a reverie of joy to see Megan and her friends jumping and cheering for all they were worth. But they weren't there. Just five empty seats. Two blokes both in their seperate ends of a pantomime cow outfit, fags in mouth, and carrying plastic cups of beer were walking past where they had all been sitting.

My Sister

My granddad has posted this picture on his Blog-site. Bless him. It's fine with me. I have no problems with snaps of us caught unawares like this. Elodie, a little over the top. Getting a tad hysterical. As she does. Camping it up. Showing off.... dare I say! But that's older sisters for you. As you can see from my expression....I am more measured....and contemplative. Elodie is a performer...she is maybe a little willfull. She has attitude.....she can insist on three skirts to wear......while I think I will be an observer. I am here not to judge. but to watch and to see what unfolds................

Secluded garden

I'm gradually making a secluded garden. Obviously financial constraints inhibit progress. But the idea is to have a tranquil area for quietness and contemplation. The area will be accessed through various brick arched entrances like this one pictured top. The interior will be paved and uncomplicated. I have made drawings for a kind of observation tower next to the tall evergreens. I can sit up there in the summer evenings and look out over the Severn Estuary. It will be accessed by a secret rear archway round the back next to the greenhouses. I imagine the grand-daughters discovering the entrance and being thrilled and delighted at what they find.

Mum and Dad

My Mum and Dad are a little bit crazy
They don't do normal stuff
Most folks would have a house
a garage
a garden
a shed
a fence
a lawn
but not my Mom and Dad
No
They are a lttle bit crazy
I'm with them in this
We're all crazy together
and we love it!!
We might aspire one day
to have
a lawn
a fence
a shed
a garden
a garage
but in the mean time
we just live life
love life
and live the life we love!!

Granddad

At last I have managed to make my mum and dad see sense.
the polution here is not good for me
or for little Margot
I have been coughing lately
a bit over the top
you know
enough to get the message through
They are lovely
my mum and dad
They want the best for me
and little Margot
They love it here
Hong-Kong is amazing
24 hour Rock City
More restaurants than you can
shake a stick at
Bhuddist temples
Geology
History
Culture
People
Life
Energy
Name it!
But we're moving on
I feel like a kid in a chuck wagon
OK we've survived an Atlantic crossing
now we're heading inland
up rivers
across mountains
hostile terrain
not really sure what they are looking for
but I think it's adventure
I think it's adventure
they're looking for
They are old time pioneers
My granddad tried to interest my dad
in a journal of Lewis and Clark!!
He laughed and said that when he's tired
he needs fiction!!!

Rare and unusual plants

You can buy seeds of the most rare and wonderful plants from around the world for very little money. This latest addition to my garden came from Secret Seeds. A rare and unique geranium from high in the Mexican mountains. It sets itself here in Leechpool perfectly happily. It's cool here and windy. Breezy and buffety! Poor little thing .....cast away....from the Yuccatan Mountains...yet really perfectly happy to flaunt it's vulgar pink plumage here....among the estuarine buffeting and pounding Westerlies in off the Bristol Channel!

£10 Poms

In the 1950's there was a chance that my family were going to be £10 Poms. The possible escape from London Post-War tenement slums to Australian sunshine was irresistable to many. .....and for £10 for heavens sake!! My uncle Albert and auntie Sally (not real aunts or uncles) bit the bullet and went for it. My Mum and Dad were lined up, they even had a plot ready in French's Forrest waiting for them. I visited Sally and Albert out there in 1970 and they seemed sad that my Mum and Dad didn't go out. I saw the plot where our house might have been built. North Shore Sydney with nearby beaches of Dee Why and Curl Curl. Amazing countryside. Jumble of granite and limestone, eucalypts, kookaburrahs goannas and tumbling rivers.........playground for kids and adults. I may be wrong here.. but I rather imagine that my father couldn't cope with risk. He favoured the safe. Later in life he was happy with his bungalow and his TV screen. Where would I be now and what would I be doing if I had been dropped into this exquisite North Shore, Sydney, surf strewn, sun-bleached paradise???????

Roman Army Barracks

I have heard that the Roman remains at Caerleon are worth a visit. The Second Augustan Legion were posted there from very early in the "Invasion". The Basilica and Bath Buildings built here in the second and third Centuries AD represent a pinnacle of Roman architectural brilliance. See Cluminy Baths in Paris for comparison. Let alone Bath, Avon. So Nuch and I went there the other day and what an amazing day out!!. You could see re-constructed the foundations of the army barracks in the North-East corner of the fortress.....and yes it took me back.......to 1970... when I was supervising an archaeological dig under the auspices of John Collis, University of Sheffield. A whole summer of grovelling in medieval cess-pit after medieval cess-pit recovering 14th and 15th Century pottery and artefacts all of which was dug into the underlying Roman stratigraphy. Towards the end of the summer 1970 John Collis had the Eurika moment when he suddenly realised that the underlying Roman structure was in fact a Roman Army Barracks Building!!!!!   This was the Second Augustan Legion Barracks before they were deployed North to Caerleon.  It's all there....in the history....the museum there, I picked, I shovelled, I wheel-barrowed,I broke my back on those digs , back in those days

Brunel meets Bruneleschi

Isn't it the most amazing alitteration of Brunel and Bruneleschi? Both total geniuses in different eras yet carrying the prefix Brunel. Anyway....for all those who doubt me...check this picture out.!!! Some people these days want to go for the Benidorm, Malaga Hotel front "look" for their gardens; but not me.
I'm going for a bit of Brunel a bit of Bruneleschi a bit of Capability Brown in a curious eclectic mix of the Romantic, the Gothic, the Classic and the Fairy-Tale. If you have grand-daughters you might understand. But I doubt that you will.

Secluded Garden

This is the South-Western corner of my secluded garden. The window is just
grand-daughter eccentricity. But the pillar poses a problem. You see the terra-cotta
pillar-head, cap-stone!!...It weighs more than me!!..But I need to put it atop the right hand pillar
I got it at a salvage place in Newport. If I ever get it on top of the pillar....I'll let you know.

Rural Life

I was in the car listening to a radio programme today. A survey had been done asking people if they loved where they lived or accepted where they lived or indeed maybe hated where they lived.
The survey had to conclude that people living in rural areas (within survey plus or minus kind of stuff etc) loved where they lived. Whereas there was much more ambivalence and even downright hatred of where they lived from the urban thrall. So I drove back from a slightly depressing meeting with my accountant, into a sunlit Indian Summer evening of Leechpuddlian beauty and tranquility. Drove into my drive. Parked my car in the spot next to the sign marked CEO. Closed the gate. Fed my chickens. Watered the tomato plants. Mowed the front lawn. Checked the rat-traps. Brewed a pot of tea and generally thought myself pretty much King of Leechpool!!  
Not good that daughter and grandkids so far away. But you can't have everything. Every morning at the gym I hear about people's grandkids.....dropping them off to school....doing stuff with them etc etc..but hey!! That's Life. That's What all the People Say!!!

Let the Tool do the Work

Towards the end of my fathers life I came to disrespect him. Which is very sad for a son to say about his Dad. He had qualities. Everyone does. I would hope. But for me the bad qualities out-weighed the good; and it troubles me to say that. I have problems when analising his faults. Because the minute I criticise him....for whatever fault.....I flinch a bit...because I can see the fault in me. I have tried hard most of my adult life to be NOT like my father. But he was my father!!! Whether I wanted them or not I was a recipient of his genes. So if I want to describe him as a bully, a self-opinionated,  stuffed up pseudo-intellectual.........and I cringe and cringe when I do.......yet what am I?????? Have I ever bullied someone to convince them that I am right..............I spend loads of time being a self-opinionated, pseudo intellectual. Playing out the role that my father cast me in.
Let's move on
One thing my Dad did for me, in a huge way, was to give me an immense trust and understanding in tools. He had a tool shed with all the different sized chisels and awls set out in rows etc. and he showed me how to use and appreciate each tool and maximise what it was capable of doing. He said again and again "Let the tool do the work"
In other words don't push it beyond it's capabilities. OR YOU WILL BREAK IT
I have a couple of local buddies here who like to come and help me with my garden. I arrived back here from the gym the other morning and they were trying to dig out a frost battered Yucca stump and they were using my Deal-handled spade. and I thought Aaaagghhh not wise!!!  Sure enough. It got reported to me later that morning, that there had been a casualty. The spade broke!!
What did I feel?
Like my father.
Intellectually superior!!
No
Sad
Yes
Opinionated?
I knew it would happen!!
The minute I saw them using it.
I knew what they would do.
Bless you Dad!!
Bless You