It’s hard to look on the bright side during these dark, wet days; even if Kim the Jong-Un is on the hotline to the South again; and Don the Old ‘un seems to be in a downward spiral of self-destruction. There’s an unhealthy glut of Bliar stories in the meeja, suggesting he is still scheming to return to Labour politics. Please! Let Corbyn continue!
Down under – where 2018 arrived sooner (and more trouble has had a chance to appear), it’s hip hip but not hooray; at least if you are Our Andy or Almost-our Johanna. And in the Ashes series, the England hierarchy seems to have delegated decisions to the players – ‘No, I don’t need a nightwatchman,’ said Jonny; and promptly got out.
Back home, real people struggle to budget for train fares, petrol prices rise and cold spells make everyone feel low.
But hey! Ambrose at the DT says Britain will soon be great again, Europe will slide and the sun will shine on us all. So that’s alright innit.
Well, generally speaking, not very much, in my opinion, except when it comes to Ashes cricket in Australia, at which we s*ck, as the Yanks say. Continue reading “What’s wrong with England?”
As every British cricket lover will confirm, watching the match is indeed a serious business, calling for a suitably sourced blazer and tie, a faded panama hat and preferably a proper deck-chair close to the action. Certain compromises are acceptable – but only if the match happens to attract thousands of fellow devotees – and there must be limits.
Now, however, in some corner of a foreign outfield, an upstart authority has sanctioned mixed bathing just a few feet from long-on! I mean, a gentleman’s sauna at Headingley for April fixtures would be bad enough, but really! Blowers would have found le mot juste, I’m sure.
If you can bear to learn more, the shocked meeja can help.
What is it, this month?
Well, it’s sex scandals of course, mainly tales of starlets from many constellations being abused and exploited. The hypocritical tut-tutting echoes around the lots (of everything) in Hollywood and the corridors of power in Westminster; fuelling the flames of feminism and sending whiffs of grapeshot among the moguls and mandarins. Continue reading “Flavour of the month”
It must be the proliferation of wannabe journalists that’s responsible for the ridiculous attention given to the American festival of Halloween – in shops and in the meeja. Because if nobody wrote about such rubbish, nobody else would find it interesting to participate in such childish games.
Continue reading “Don’t be silly”
John Motson OBE, of the sheepskin jacket and Midlands twang, is retiring after 50 years on the mic. The Evening Standard celebrates appropriately:
”The 72-year-old has covered 10 World Cups, 29 FA Cup finals and more than 200 England matches.
He is renowned for an encyclopaedic knowledge of the game – and the occasional on-air gaffe.
Here, we recall some of his most memorable moments behind the microphone. Continue reading “A favourite voice”
The Women’s 50 km Walk around iconic London landmarks. Two Chinese athletes vie together for medals. Their names? Yin and Yang. Big Smiley Thingy.
Like Sheona, I need help with vocabulary.
Tennis fans yesterday witnessed our hybrid Brit hero(ine), Johanna Konta, beaten comprehensively by the elegant Murican Venus Williams. I wanted to say she gave Jo a ‘master-class’, but our other hero, Andy, would have disapproved on feminist grounds. So what is the right word?
Entertainment in the ’50s and ’60s was all about sound, not so much about images. The wireless played a leading rõle in family life, with the morning pips reminding us we were already late, the evening news gathering us together at 6 o’clock and favourite programmes on weekdays and at weekends. And in our house the cricket coverage was eagerly awaited, especially the voice of John Arlott.
So it was probably my generation of listeners who first welcomed what is now known as TMS; a sporting institution. Down the years Brian Johnston (sans the ‘e’) and his younger pupils have bemused and amused us every year.
But Henry Blofeld has been a star in the firmament, with erudition and wit we should hardly expect from a mere sport programme. And now he too is going to retire.
Thank you, Bloers!
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