The clues refer to the beginnings of current or recent Premiership managers/coaches’ names (first or second, e.g. ‘beer’ might tempt you to think Ale(x Ferguson), innit?
So here goes:
Bottom
Decent golf
Everybody
Hinder
Hastened
Danish boy conqueror
Clippety
French egg
Per ardua ad astra
Skin for no. 6
Now that didn’t hurt, did it? Answers please on Cadbury’s chocolate eggs asap!
Statistics don’t lie, do they? The higher the batting average the better the player. Top of the list of Test cricket’s batting averages is Andy Ganteaume. The Trinidadian played one test for the West Indies v England in 1948 and scored 112. The politics at the time prevented him playing any more tests so his average remains the best.
Andy joked he was a “one cap wonder” and kept his feelings to himself until 59 years later he complained bitterly about “the establishment” in his autobiography, My Story, TheOther Side of the Coin. He died on February 17, 2016 aged 95.
Not better than Bradman, of course, but it’s better to be a one cap wonder or a one hit wonder or a one day wonder than being no wonder at all. Well played, Andy.
The anti-colonial era is over! There is a new pride in belonging to the British worldwide club – which rejects the demands of envious foreign cultures.
There are two things that screenplay writers script that smack of laziness and just an excuse to kill time; much like having to write a 2,000 word essay and filling it up with verbiage and periphrasis. One of them is the reading of the Miranda rights to a suspect. By now you can go and make a cup of tea while the cops quote the full speech. “..If you can’t afford an attorney-” cetra, cetra. The other thing is the lie detector test.
How many times have you heard the deflating dialogue that states “a polygraph test is inadmissible in court.” Nhhhhhhhh. The lie detector test could well be the most useless thing ever invented… if we exclude rugby from the list. (upsetting the ruggeristas is a sure fire way to get a comment, even if it is a rebuke)
The pioneer of the modern polygraph was William Moulton Marston. His original research was expounded upon and “bettered” by other scientists though he is credited with being the father of the machine that felons fake their way through with a steady heartbeat.
The man of many disguises, David Bowie, has created more personas than there are characters in the Honoré de Balzac La Comédie humaine collection. Furthermore, the biblical proportions of Cecil B. DeMille’s extras are sparse in comparison with The Ziggy Aladdin Duke’s creations. He did the lot. He sang, he wrote songs, lyrics, performed live, he narrated, he mimed, he acted, he painted. He gayed, he ungayed. He married a model. He was a father, he pushed prams.
Bowie’s music spanned the whole universe of genres. While not many of us are like Midge Ure and love the complete Bowie cake, there are slices of it that taste beautiful. This little gem was released in beware the savage jaw of 1984. A song that always cheers me up.
My father went to University (Embra) in 1932. Started in New College doing Divinity but quickly strayed on to the primrose path of the Arts Faculty. For which deviation I have always been grateful. I just know that I would not have been happy being a son of the Manse like Gordon Brown or David Steel.
Anyhow, he made lots of friends at said Uni of Embra. One of said chums was a Hebridean Medical student called Donald. Jock-wise, a very common Christian name but it came with an unusual surname.
Over the past few weeks I’ve had the chance to speak to Spaniards of different origins and social classes concerning their views on Spain’s recent economic and social travails. Among the genteel middle class there’s an overwhelming ennui, a distinct jadedness. Spain has long been a poor country with higher-than-average unemploymen Continue reading “Iberia Frustrated”
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