Stonehenge

Nigel, do you talk to yourself?

       Of course; doesn't everyone? I also talk to my computer, my TV, my fridge and a jigsaw puzzle which I am working on.

What do you say to your TV?

     Typically I'm standing up and yelling "stop passing backwards", "get rid of the ball" and "don't pass to Xhaka" (I'm omitting a few key words here in deference to the sensitive ears of my younger readers) when Arsenal are trying to play tippy tappy football in their own penalty area using players of extremely limited technical ability.

Do you talk to plants?

      I'm not really a fan of plants; they are mostly hard work for little - and short-lived - reward. My ideal garden is made of gravel and astroturf. Although I do at the moment have a particularly attractive pink fuschia in a pot.

Great, can we see a photo?

      No, I'm not at home. But when I get back next week, watch out for one in the blog!

So what's this about Stonehenge?

      I drove past it today.

It's still there then?

      I can't say definitively at this moment but it was a few hours ago. The stones are socially distancing - a proper 2 metres apart, except the ones on top, which presumably are exempt from the rules. Spectators rather more than 2 metres away; more like 200. They don't like having their stones touched, in case they wear away, crack and fall over in a million years time (that's the stones, not the people). They've been there for 5,000 years with people touching them every day, by the way.

But presumably if you have enough money, you could pay an exorbitant price to be allowed to touch, like Russian money launderers getting residency permits after handing over a brown paper bag filled with millions of used rubles?

      No. Everyone pays an exorbitant price not to touch. And you have probably just got me some GCHQ blog followers. And the Kremlin.

Do you know who built Stonehenge?

      It think it might have been Druids. Or Martians.

You think Martians may have built Stonehenge?

      Could be. Anyway I may get some Martian followers.

Are the Druids the ones with pointy hats?

      I think that's the Ku Klux Klan

Does the KKK still exist?

      I can't say definitively at this moment but I think they run the White House.

You do realise that the CIA will be monitoring this?

      More followers then.

And Druids - do they exist?

      I'm not sure, although I believe they appear at times in Wales. at Eisteddffoddai. And ssppout ppoettry. (That may not be entirely accurate; I decided not to do any research for this post)

No research: are you saying that entertainment is better than truth?

      People have huge followings on Twitter doing just that.

Did you see anything else interesting on your drive?

      Wincanton. Near the racecourse.

Did you go to the races?

      Not today but it brought back memories of a horse called The  Guinea Stamp. Many many years ago my sons and I had a share in the horse and we drove north one cold winter day to some racecourse (maybe Kelso?) to watch its first race.

Did it run well?

      Sadly no. It seemed to have difficulty clearing the hurdles so it had to follow all the others who had knocked down the hurdles first. It's difficult to win when you're running last.

You talk as though you're not sure whether "it" was male or female.

      He was a gelding.

Ouch! No wonder he didn't want to exert himself.

      Fair enough. Anyway it was pretty much a waste of our (well strictly my) money on training fees.

Do you regret doing that?

      Je ne regrette rien, as Norman Lamont said when raising interest rates to 15% and taking us out of the ERM. I checked that to make sure my memory was accurate.

I thought you said you wouldn't do any research?

      I'm hoping to get some French followers. And Norman Lamont.

So is that it about your journey?

      Yep, six and half hours of M this, M that and M the other.

So with all that driving, where did you write this post?

      In my head.

And do you think it has gone well?

      I'll leave that to my followers to judge.

Half birthday

I was recently informed by my son that we might not be able to watch the Cup Final on Saturday because we'll be celebrating my grandson's "half birthday". Apart from the warped sense of priorities here, I didn't know that half birthdays (or should it be half-birthdays?) are even a thing. No-one has ever mentioned my half birthday on 16th July.

Charlotte Pomeranz wrote a book "The Half-Birthday Party" in 1984, so it's not as if it's a new concept. Half-birthday can even be written into law: the US state of Idaho allows people to take out a learner driving licence at the age of 14½; that frankly seems odd. More odd, however, is Michigan which requires the youngster to be 14 years and 8 months for the licence; a two-thirds-birthday. In Maryland it's 15 years and nine months, a three-quarters birthday. I could go on. [please don't, Nigel, we get the point]

Do you want to know whose half-birthday it is today? No? Well I'm going to tell you anyway.

Oprah Winfrey

Tom Selleck

Thomas Paine

William McKinley

Anton Chekhov

Frederick Delius

Germaine Greer

Lewis Carroll wrote about "un-birthdays". Humpy Dumpty says he was given an un-birthday present by the White King and Queen in Through the Looking-Glass. Rev. Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (aka Lewis Carroll) took the idea to heart: he would surprise friends with gifts on other, random days. As many of us do, although (in my case) not knowing we are celebrating un-birthdays.

As for me, belated half-birthday wishes will be gratefully received.

Electric bikes

The UK government is planning a subsidy for purchasing ebikes. "To encourage older people to get out on the road" (my quote marks, referencing a report in today's Times). They apparently cost upwards of £1,000. More from the paper: "GPs will be encouraged to prescribe cycling and patients will be able to hire bikes through surgeries".

Why is an ebike better than a bike? Cheaper, with the subsidy? No. Greener? No. Better for fitness? No. Safer for pedestrians? No. It's a scheme to provide toys for rich pensioners, in fact well off people of all ages, whizzing around, clogging up the roads for us poor car drivers. If you're into toy subsidies, why not Lego kits for the kids?

And has anyone asked the overworked GPs and their surgery staff? Who will have to hire staff to run the bike rental department. And need to use their (probably non-existent) capital to buy the bikes to rent them. Given the age profile of people I see at my surgery, I imagine the take up would be very close to zero. But, good news if you were given an ebike for Christmas and don't know what to do with it; you can sell it to the NHS!

Is it April Fool's Day? On the face of it this is the most bonkers idea from a government led by a PM addicted to throwing crazy ideas around to see which ones stick. Maybe this is what Cummings' "weirdos and misfits" have come up with.

In other news today - more accurately perhaps gossip or rumour (which of course is why I read the papers, since the real news is so dire) - the Premier League is thinking of using the Women's Premier League as a pilot for allowing limited spectators (that's just a few of them, not people of limited intelligence) into football stadiums. So there, it doesn't matter if female football fans get the virus and in any case not many people go to watch women playing soccer anyway. Are you mad, Premier League? Did you furlough your PR department?

Of course the Times could just be making it all up. But hey, it's more entertaining than watching Matt Hancock. Or getting stuck in Spain.

Oh I forgot, I said I wasn't going to be political or controversial in the blog. Sometimes I can't resist a dig.

Great minds

Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.

So said Eleanor Roosevelt. Although it's not clear that she actually did. I dunno, it's a bit like Einstein being credited with saying "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.". He didn't, and if you keep on saying it, that's insane.

He also didn't say:

“Education is that which remains, if one has forgotten everything he learned in school.”

Or:

“Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

But it's a fun aphorism; great at parties.

Is misquoting famous people a modern phenomenon? Maybe twitterstorm, internatter, wikieverything? Well no. Eighteenth century French citizens were so hacked off with the French royal family that they attributed "let them eat cake" to Marie Antoinette. It had actually been said earlier by Jean-Jacques Rousseau in Confessions. But never let the truth get in the way of a good story (I wonder who said that?) - Marie said it! Execute her! So they did. Rousseau got away with it.

We know who said "Brexit means Brexit" but how many times did Theresa May do so? Maybe nowadays with 24 hour rolling news it's not likely that misquotes would be allowed to get into everyday understanding, but Twitter is a great spreader of fake news. And we definitely know who said that. Or do we? 

In the 13th century BC, Rameses the Great spread lies and propaganda portraying the Battle of Kadesh as a stunning victory for the Egyptians; the battle was actually a stalemate. FAKE NEWS!

In the American colonies, Benjamin Franklin wrote fake news about murderous "scalping" Indians working with King George III in an effort to sway public opinion in favour of the American Revolution. FAKE NEWS!

Maybe, in 100 years, students will be writing essays on Jeremy Corbyn saying "Brexit means fake news".

Flagpole sitta

Flagpole Sitta is a song by an American band Harvey Danger. In all honesty, it's not a great song. And I'm not enamoured with their sound but I came across a quote from the song:

...if you're bored then you're boring

I've definitely been bored at times over the last four months - no pub, no coffee shop, no full English breakfast, no grandkids - and that's why I started blogging. So that I would be less bored. Am I therefore boring? I worry about that now, although there is certainly a case for saying that the lyrics of rock songs are often ridiculous (rather like opera, now I come to think of it) and shouldn't be taken seriously.

But I take everything I come across seriously so I thought I'd explore literature of various kinds to see what others had to say about boredom.

Before that, I should tell you - because you are fellow explorers and will insist on knowing - that Harvey Danger were an alternative rock band. I don't know what that means; their music sounds punkish to me but there are (younger) members of my family who would know better than I. Flagpole Sitta was used as the theme tune for a British sitcom called Peep Show. Never heard of that either. But, as with everything, you can check out this song on YouTube.

OK, that's out of the way, added to my knowledge of life, the universe and everything but almost certainly never to be revisited. Although one day it might be useful in a pub quiz.

[Ed: NIgel, so far you are demonstrating exactly Harvey's point]

The American novelist Zelda Fitzgerald gives us this:

“She refused to be bored chiefly because she wasn't boring.”

Which actually is not dissimilar to Harvey's line.

The comedian Louis C. K. tells us:

“I’m bored’ is a useless thing to say. I mean, you live in a great, big, vast world that you’ve seen none percent of. Even the inside of your own mind is endless; it goes on forever, inwardly, do you understand? The fact that you’re alive is amazing, so you don’t get to say ‘I’m bored.”

OK C. K., I'm sorry I said it. Forgive.

Another American novelist Maria Semple has a rather worrying take on it:

“That's right,' she told the girls. 'You are bored. And I'm going to let you in on a little secret about life. You think it's boring now? Well, it only gets more boring."

Albert Camus is also in negative mode:

“The truth is that everyone is bored, and devotes himself to cultivating habits.”

But I'm going to finish on a positive note, from Susan Cain:

“...I also believe that introversion is my greatest strength. I have such a strong inner life that I’m never bored and only occasionally lonely. No matter what mayhem is happening around me, I know I can always turn inward.”

Ah now, that's definitely me. Always seeking the inner truths. And you, dear reader, if you've got this far in this ramble, you are definitely not boring.

Harvey, you're wrong.

New Zealand

For Christmas 2014, I was planning a visit to my son Simon and his family in Australia. I often liked to take a short stay stopover on the way to Australia and this time thought I'd go to New Zealand. Never been there before. So I did. And these are some of the pictures illustrating the trip (and bringing back memories for me).

I chose Auckland for a week's stay, for no other reason than that was where the flight went (Air New Zealand the best Premium Economy seating I have ever had, by the way). Skipping over the awful inconveniences of transiting San Francisco.

I took a trip to a Maori village at Whakarewarewa (try saying that quickly). With geothermal springs. Who knew New Zealand had sheep? 

 

A trip to the Waitangi Treaty Ground, where New Zealand's founding document was signed in 1840.

  

On to the Bay of Islands. Some whale hunting (that's hunting in the sense of looking for them, not...you know).

Oh look, there's a whale. Really. Look carefully. 👀 

And a haka to say welcome back.

Another day, to the Waitomo Glowworms Cave.

Sorry you can't see the glowworms! You try photographing them.

Ah the good old days of steam railways

Do you like trains? I do. My preferred mode of travel from St Austell to Whitstable is by very comfortable Great Western Railway train, pretty uncomfortable underground across London and moderately comfortable South Eastern Railway Javelin train from St Pancras to Whitstable. I'm not convinced that's a safe way to travel at the moment so I'll be spewing diesel on the motorways.

I've always loved railways and I though you might like to share these pictures of a trip I made to Delhi in July 2016. I had some Virgin air miles which needed using before they expired so I had a look at their schedules; where shall I go? Delhi? That sounds different; I'll go.

It was different. Noisy, crowded, dusty, hot, humid, uncomfortable. I loved it. Just browsing the streets and observing city life, learning (with some trial and error and close shadowing of locals) how to cross the road in the face of a million threatening vehicles of all kinds. Window shopping, stall shopping. Figuring out what and where to eat. The occasional retreat to Starbucks for air con, relaxation and more familiar coffee - and pastry.

On this day, I visited the 

In case you think I spent my whole  two weeks trainspotting, keep an eye on the blog for more of Delhi, Agra, Jaipur and more.

Three remarkable days

Monday July 13th, 2020. Wembley Stadium, London.

Wycombe Wanderers, a club with no reserve team, no under 23 team, no money. A team of loanees, free transfers and journeymen. Fleetwood Town, silky purveyors of possession football. The Final of the League One play offs. Winner gets promoted to the Championship. Loser slinks away gutted.

Do Wycombe have a chance? They have a charismatic rock star manager, Gareth Ainsworth. The longest serving manager in the top four tiers of English professional football. Previously a Wycombe player. Known as Wild Thing.

 

And Adebayo Akinfenwa, a 38 year old weight lifting centre forward. Known as The Beast.

9th minute: Wycombe score from a Joe Jacobsen deadly corner. 1-0.

57th minute: Fleetwood score. 1-1.

79th minute: Wycombe score with a Joe Jacobsen penalty. It couldn't happen, could it?

11 minutes of intense pressure from Fleetwood.

Full time: Wycombe, with 24% possession, are the winners. Remarkable. Spirit counts.

Wednesday July 15th, 2020. Emirates Stadium, London.

Arsenal, languishing in 10th place in the Premier League. A team of kids and has-beens. Liverpool, newly crowned champions of the Premier League, 20 points ahead of the rest, proud purveyors of heavy metal football. Winner gets pride, loser slinks away gutted.

Do Arsenal have a chance? They have a young manager in his first managerial job, Mikel Arteta. Previously an Arsenal player.

20th minute: Liverpool score, as expected. 1-0

32nd minute: chaos in the Liverpool defence, Arsenal score. Alex Lacazette. 1-1

44th minute: more Liverpool chaos, Arsenal score. Reiss Nelson. 2-1.

46 minutes of intense pressure from Liverpool.

Full time: Arsenal, with 31% possession, are the winners. Remarkable. Spirit counts.

Saturday July 18th, 2020. Wembley Stadium, London.

Arsenal, languishing in 10th place in the Premier League. A team of kids and has-beens. Manchester City, FA Cup holders, silky purveyors of possession football. FA Cup Semi Final. Winner gets to the Final of the FA Cup, loser slinks away gutted.

Do Arsenal have a chance? They have a young manager in his first managerial job, Mikel Arteta. Previously an Arsenal player.

And a deadly striker from Gabon, Pierre Emerick Aubameyang.

19th minute: Arsenal breakaway. Aubameyang scores. 1-0

71st minute: Arsenal breakaway again. Aubameyang scores. 2-0

19 minutes of intense pressure from Manchester City.

Full time: Arsenal, with 29% possession, are the winners. Remarkable. Spirit counts.

Cornish goats cheese, poached pear and walnut salad with a balsamic glaze

Enough of "one hour of exercise a day". That's the Old Normal. The New Normal is a light lunch at the pub, followed by coffee at home and a snooze. Ready for the footy in the evening.

The eponymous salad followed by three scoops of ice cream - strawberry, vanilla and salted caramel - and accompanied by two bottles of Heineken Zero (without a glass). Pure bliss.

By the way (not the abbreviation BTW, which should be used for text messaging rather than grown-up and serious writing), for those of you of a pedantic mind, my reasons for excluding an apostrophe in the name of the salad are twofold: (1) that's what the menu at the Britannia Inn says (2) I don't know whether the cheese comes from one Cornish goat or more than  one.

Two things arise from this menu. One is that I did not know there were goats in Cornwall; the other is the rise and rise of Salted Caramel. Who invented it? And when? I certainly don't recall being aware of salted caramel in my childhood, or even until fairly recently. I learn the answer from the wonderful world of the internet: "salted caramel was first created by a chocolatier called Henri Le Roux more than three decades ago." My sophisticated readers (i.e. all of you) probably knew that. No-one has ever called me sophisticated; I'd bite their head off.

Salted caramel is apparently highly addictive. Is it really? If that were the case, I'd have had three scoops all of that variety. It seems to me that it's the stuff that are flavoured with salted caramel that are addictive, like chocolate (got some in my fridge). And yoghurt (got some of that in my fridge too - maybe I am addicted to it). One tablespoon of salted caramel sauce contains 23 calories and 6 grams of carbohydrates, of which 5.5 is sugar. I suppose my ice cream scoop contains perhaps half of that in sauce, so not so bad. As opposed to my salted caramel chocolate which weights in at 532 calories and 41g carbs per 100g (one bar is 125g so a couple of squares are perhaps 1/4 of that). So I think I can have a bit now...hang on, I'll be back...

OK I'm back. On to Cornish goats.

Polmarkyn Dairy has its own goat herd. Their website doesn't say what breed of goat they are; maybe there is either goat or...goat, no sub species (I do know that species isn't the same as breed; don't quibble). They sell milk, cheese, yoghurt and...soap! I'm intrigued by the soap so I started to order some for myself, family and friends. £3.50 per bar, which seems reasonable. But they wanted to charge me £9.99 for Fedex. Fedex? Can't you just put them in the post? OK I guess they really only want to sell to wholesale. So no pressies for you guys. This time.

I found another supplier selling "Cornish Grey Goats Cheese ash coated" (see? still no apostrophe). I don't know which Cornish volcano they have exposed the cheese to but their picture looks remarkably like what I ate at lunch. I'd like to share a photo but their site disables right click on images. Instead, for all you picture lovers, here are some pictures of Cornish goats:

Serious Goat, Family of Goats, Hairy Goat and Welly Goat.

Twinning

I live in St Austell, Cornwall in the far south west of the UK. I have conducted extensive research and cannot find any town or city with which St Austell is twinned.

St Austell is famous for its china clay so you might imagine the town councillors would have made overtures to Shanghai or Beijing. Perhaps they did and were rebuffed. You could understand that: Beijing has a population of around 21.5 million (and Nine Million Bicycles according to Katie Melua); we are small beer at 20,000.

Nevertheless we feel left out. There are 35 Cornish towns that are twinned with towns in Brittany, but not us. Oh no, we stand alone and defiant. And isolationist. No wonder we voted .... (no, I'm not going there)

Xian, the ancient capital of Chinese dynasties, is twinned with more than 30 towns including Edinburgh and Pau. But surely they have room for one more? I volunteer as ambassador! Give me a plane ticket and a china pot and I'll go and seal the  deal.

Did you know that the town of Dull in Scotland is twinned with Boring, Oregon and Bland, New South Wales? 

Dresden and Coventry are twinned; I get that. But Luton and Spandau?

In 2012 the UK's Wikipedia twin, aka the BBC, reported that some UK (actually English) towns were embarking on "un-twinning". Apparently Bishop's Stortford no longer felt close to Friedberg or Villiers-sur-Marne. Take that, Eurotrash! Wallingford in Oxfordshire complained that Luxeiul-les-Bains was not pulling its weight. Who did they complain to? Obviously, the European Municipalities and Regions - who else? Maybe St Austell could twin with the EMAR.

You'd imagine there is plenty of scope for political virtue signalling - in 1980 Dundee twinned with the West Bank town of Nablus and flew the PLO flag in City Hall

- and arrangements which are simply weird - Swindon and Walt Disney World.

In an effort to be positive, I researched places in the world that, like us, mine china clay, otherwise known as kaolin. And here's a truly weird thing: the aforementioned Wikipedia has a section entitled "is kaolin safe to eat?" What? You want to eat china clay? According to the text, it is "possibly safe when taken by mouth" but they note that it "can cause constipation and lung problems, particularly for children and the elderly". So exactly how safe is that? Any kids reading this, don't eat china clay! (or Grannies)

Whatever, what's going on with St Austell? Get out there and make friends, people!

Reader demands for pictures

You want pictures, MiceElf and Unknown (get your act together, Dan)? Well never let it be said that this blog doesn't listen to its readers' wishes.

Seahorses:

Football:

Drinks break:

Now for today's quiz

Question 1:

Question 2:

Question 3:

And that's probably a good way to end this madness.

Marcus Aurelius - Meditations

“The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.”

That's a philosophy I have always felt attracted to. Thanks for that, Marcus; got any more tips?

Sure, Nigel, Try these.

"A cucumber is bitter. Throw it away. There are briars in the road. Turn aside from them. This is enough. Do not add, 'And why were such things made in the world'?"

You are so right about cucumbers. Tasteless and devoid of any nutritional value. Beloved of the upper classes in crustless sandwiches. 

"Whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time. The twining strands of fate wove both of them together: your own existence and the things that happen to you."

Oh, so there is no point agonising about Arsenal's defence against Liverpool tomorrow?

"In your actions, don't procrastinate. In your conversations, don't confuse. In your thoughts, don't wander. In your soul, don't be passive or aggressive. In your life, don't be all about business."

Could you please mention this to Boris? His government's guidance on the virus has left me confused and bemused. It's OK to go to crowded pubs but I have to wear a face mask when I'm in an almost empty Lidl? Where's the consistency?

"A person who doesn't know what the universe is, doesn't know who they are. A person who doesn't know their purpose in life doesn't know who they are or what the universe is. A person who doesn't know any of these things doesn't know why they are here. So what to make of people who seek or avoid the praise of those who have no knowledge of where or who they are?"

Mm. Could you stick to some practical advice?

"When you wake up in the morning, tell yourself: The people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous, and surly. They are like this because they can't tell good from evil. But I have seen the beauty of good, and the ugliness of evil, and have recognized that the wrongdoer has a nature related to my own—not of the same blood or birth, but the same mind, and possessing a share of the divine."

Hey Marcus, you sure meet with some awful people.

"Keep this thought handy when you feel a bit of rage coming on--it isn't manly to be enraged. Rather, gentleness and civility are more human, and therefore manlier. A real person doesn't give way to anger and discontent, and such a person has strength, courage, and endurance--unlike the angry and complaining. The nearer a man comes to a calm mind, the closer he is to strength."

OK, I'll definitely do this when I'm driving. Thanks a bunch for all these thoughts; you've made my day more meaningful.

You're welcome. I hope this helps.

Yours,

Marcus

Seahorses

Did you know that there are seahorses in British coastal waters? I didn't. But I read recently that conservationists are worried that the recent influx of visitors to the Dorset coast has placed its protected seahorses at risk.

There are apparently seahorses in The Shetland Isles and the west and south coasts of the UK. Well I'll be blowed.

Of course we Cornishmen (I'm interpreting that as living in the county) are used to regular sightings of sharks, dolphins and fin whales. I've never seen the basking sharks that are around our coasts, nor the fin whales. I did once see a pod of humpback whales on a memorable whale watching cruise from Brisbane, Australia.

There are in fact 43 species of seahorse. The big-bellied seahorse can reach up to 35 cm in length, while pygmy species are 2 cms or less. Which is remarkable; I'd love to see one of those. You can see pictures of them all at iseahorse.org. Dorset's seahorses are spiny seahorses, which are in the middle of the size range.

Like chameleons, seahorses have eyes which move independently of each other; useful I guess for spotting their live prey. And making sure no bigger predators can creep on them from behind.

I'm not really sure what Dorset visitors are doing to threaten the seahorses but...

please STOP!

Not a lot of people know that

So said Michael Caine. But apparently it was Peter Sellers who first used it, mimicking Michael Caine on the Micheal Parkinson show. Because he said Caine was always quoting the Guinness Book of Records.  But everyone can hear Caine's voice saying it, as he did in Educating Rita.

That led me to investigate other wrongly attributed sayings. mashable.com tells me that Sherlock Holmes never said "elementary, my dear Watson". George Washington didn't say "I cannot tell a lie". Niccolo Machiavelli was not the first to voice "the ends justify the means". And Albert Einstein is wrongly attributed with saying "insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results".

All the things I've ever learned have been trashed. Is nothing sacred?

What's your plan for tomorrow...

...is the first line of a song Take Back The Power by a band called The Interrupters. One of the great joys of blogging, at least my style of it, is expanding your own knowledge and, hopefully, that of your readers. I came across this song as the theme music for a Sky Documentaries' show "Hillary", about Hillary Rodham Clinton, as she calls herself. The first lines of the song are an apt introduction to the subject of the documentary:

What's your plan for tomorrow

Are you a leader or will you follow

Are you a fighter or will you cower

It's our time take back the power

I have never heard of The Interrupters. It turns out they a ska punk band. I have absolutely no idea what that means but it bears investigation, even sounds fun. I certainly enjoy the song and add it to a Spotify playlist. It has drive, energy, noise and raises the heart beat. 

I learn that ska punk is a "fusion genre that mixes ska music and punk rock. So says Wikipedia but I reckon even I could have figured that out. I still have to find out what ska music is and it turns to be of Jamaican origin, pre reggae. It has a walking bass line (I know what that is from listening to Oscar Peterson in my youth) with accents on the off beats (as you get with reggae). And lots more that I won't burden you with - check it out if you want to know more or, better, listen to the song.

Anyway, the documentary is fascinating. I have one episode of the four to go but I get the gist. Does it tell me more about Hillary Clinton than I already know? Yes, it does. As far as I can judge, it is a fair assessment of her life and work. Like all of us, and particularly people in positions of power, there are good things and bad. Successes and failures.  I didn't have any preconceptions (well not too many) about her going into the programme and I think I have a sense of when I am being "had", of a biased product placement. I don't think that was the case. It is true that the majority of those interviewed were well disposed towards her but that's because these were the people who knew her well, so I accept that. It's definitely not hagiography.

There is a great deal of face to face interviews with her. The questions are more like prompts, because she seems like she relishes getting everything out there, feels the need to explain herself, and you only need to prompt her about an episode in her life and she's off, streams of consciousness. Can I tell whether she is telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? No, but could I with most politicians?

The song's chorus is:

We don't need to run and hide

We won't be pushed off to the side

I think that sums Hillary Clinton up. If you can find it, it's worth watching. 

Sandy or stony?

Summer is back in St Austell, after days of grey skies and intermittent, unpredictable showers.

That's probably double tautology.

I decided a little walk to Charlestown was in order, to check out the beach, which (like the rest of the world) is now open. It's not much of a beach. Tiny.

And no sand.

A pebble beach. Not the Pebble Beach, of course.

There are hundreds of revellers, some  of whom are enjoying a swim.

And the sun.

Not much social distancing but the virus had all gone, hasn't it? Er, not totally.

Well we can mingle, yes? Without face masks? Er, not sure.

But that nice Mr Sunak says I can get a Big Mac for 50p can't I? Not yet.

But I'm not here to talk about confused government messaging, this is about beaches.

Why is the word beach used to describe markedly different things? Charlestown beach is small pebbles. Unlike Whitstable, which is great big boulders. Beaches IMO should have sand. Like Bondi. Even Margate.

On a sandy beach you can do things: dig, make castles with moats. What can you do on a stony beach? Throw stones, that's it. Stony beaches hurt your feet when you are approaching the water for a paddle; sandy beaches are beautiful on the feet. Although the sand gets in your sarnies; get pizza and beer instead!

The biggest problem though is not knowing what you're going to get. Checking out a four bedroom villa in Greece: "50 metres from the beach". Great; kids, pack your buckets and spades. Dad, I can't make a sand castle here; it's stones!

I suggest better wording: Whitbeach for pebbles/stones, Marbeach for sand. But the thing about all these beaches now is: they're open! Once the Cornish visitors have gone home, in September, I'll be there again.

Three word problem

The Britannia Inn. Open for lunch. Many outdoor tables. Some with roofs. Ideal for sun. And persistent drizzle. Met with Tony. Alcohol free beer. Heineken Zero Zero. San Miguel better. But not here. Cornish Brie ciabatta. With crispy bacon. And tasty chutney. Mixed berry Pavlova. More Heineken Zero. Tony needs haircut. Won't show photo. Much witty conversation. Back to normal. At least nearly.

Who needs tech?

My bathroom scales are on the blink. Or they were. Electronic ones. I step on them and a message appears on the mini screen: "O-Ld". What? Overload? Come on, I may have been snacking too much during lockdown but that's ludicrous. Maybe it's a zero, not O. So maybe it means "zero liked". It's possible     it doesn't speak English so perhaps it's "me no like...". Me no like what? Or whom?

Have my scales been hacked? GCHQ checking I've been getting exercise?

Wait, maybe it's "Oiled". It needs oil? Off I go my local garage, which has finally opened after lockdown. I met the owner recently in Lidl; he was bemoaning having to pay rent throughout the closure, even though no income. Puts my bathroom scales problem in perspective.

Anyway I did what you always do if your computer goes weird - switch it off then back on. Only there isn't a switch, or a reset button, so I take out the batteries and re-insert them. No different. Obviously therefore it's the batteries. So I buy new ones and insert them. No different. Money wasted.

Off to Asda. Face mask on. Mechanical bathroom scales £4. Bargain. No problem. Check out lady advises me to keep the  receipt in case they are faulty. Don't bother, I'll buy another one. Although not a £4 one if that doesn't last.

Anyone need four 3 volt batteries, shaped as circular discs?

The Cold Blooded Hearts

How many football managers are rock stars? Or even look like rock stars? There are plenty who fancy themselves as style icons but not so many with rugged rock star hair, hairy chest and smoldering looks (think Rod Stewart). So all hail Gareth Ainsworth, long-serving manager of the mighty Wycombe Wanderers, aka the Chairboys. He is the longest serving manager, at 7½ years, in the top four divisions of English football (the average tenure is about 20 minutes).

Ainsworth is lead singer and songwriter of The Cold Blooded Hearts. Their latest effort The Wanderer is available on Spotify. It's cheesy country and western stuff. Great for a night out in High Wycombe (ask my sons about that).

Everyone has a nickname in football. His is Wild Thing.

Adebayo Akinfenwa is another wild thing. Also, like Ainsworth, a cult figure. He is Wycombe's centre forward (the modern usage "striker" might be a bit of a misnomer for him) and the word "figure" is apt; he weighs in at 16 stone (101 Kg), so says the purveyor of truth known as Wikipedia, and can bench press (whatever that means) 200 Kg. He roams around the football field like King Kong. Sprinting is not his thing but frightening opposing defenders (and sometimes his own teammates) definitely is. You have to play the ball to his feet. Do not expect him to jump. Do not expect him to run in behind defenders. Get the ball onto his chest and he will hold it up until teammates arrive to help him out i.e. take the ball from him and plonk it in the net. Don't expect him to run to the corner flag to join in the celebrations. But when his team scored the decisive goal tonight, even he was part of a huge scrum of flailing Wycombe bodies. I pitied whoever was underneath him; they may not be ready for next Monday's final.

Wycombe Wanderers are in League One and tonight  they fought their way through to the Play Off Final at Wembley Stadium. In normal times I'd definitely be up for the trip there. Unfortunately fans are not allowed at the moment. Boris, could you make an exception?

Somehow The Chairboys (High Wycombe is a furniture town) seems a rather feeble moniker for this burly group of lads. We really need something more gritty. Suggestions?

Brunel's bridge

I had to drive to Plymouth today. Over the Tamar bridge. £2 toll. Who gets that? Devon and Cornwall councils? Lanes closed for maintenance, so I guess that answers the question.

On the way back I love the sight of Brunel's magnificent bridge, over which the trains between London and Penzance trundle gently. Clearly there is a speed limit but why? If it's dangerous, I'd have thought the quicker you get over it the better. I've often wondered this on the train, rather like worrying on a plane about how it stays up.

The bridge was built in 1859 but actually looks modern. It reminds me of the Pompidou Centre with its tubes. Brunel of course was the Chief Engineer of the Great Western Railway. Which is a pretty good legacy. Well done, bro. (I'm not the kind of person who ever uses "bro" but I'm practising for my streaming)

Isambard Kingdom Brunel. Now there's a name for you. Were these common 19th century forenames? Actually his father had Isambard as a second name; his mother's maiden name was Kingdom. Apparently Isambard is a word of Norman origin but the all-knowing Mr Google couldn't offer me more than four Isambards, all of whom were connected to the Brunels. So just a bit quirky.

I have memories of Plymouth. The only time I have ever had a speeding fine was a few years ago, coming back from a poker tournament in Plymouth at 3am. The road is littered with 50mph stretches, many of which are cunningly positioned at the bottom of hills in order to catch out motorists and maximise the council's income. I don't recall whether I was elated after a good win or furious over a bad beat but my concentration slipped for a moment. A few days later the dreaded letter arrived - pay £60 or attend a Mickey Mouse course. Protection racket. Given that I had never previously been accused of speeding and knew perfectly well how to avoid exceeding speed limits (drive slower), I paid up. And remembered it ever since.

Canadian Cornwall

I was Googling something and noticed that there is a place in Canada called Cornwall. Did you know that? I didn't.

Cornwall is a town in Ontario, famous for, er, call centres. Seriously? Nothing better? "Do they eat pasties and cream teas?" I hear you ask. Always thinking of your stomach. But a fair question. Perhaps my Canadian readers can enlighten us. There is an annual Pastyfest in Calumel, Michigan, so maybe the answer is yes. (I do know Michigan isn't in Canada, BTW)

Famous son of Cornwall, Ontario? Ryan Gosling. On up for all you La La Land fans. [Ed: Ryan tells me he has made 30 other movies so don't pigeonhole him]

geotargit.com tells me there are 14 places in the world called Cornwall. One is in Tasmania. I've been to Tassie but didn't notice that (it only has 65 residents so easy to miss). Another is in Jamaica. The rest are towns in the US. Cornwall County, Jamaica (Kaanwal Kounti in Patois or Creole) includes the city of Montego Bay.

In contrast there are 1,716 San Joses in the world. But that feels like cheating.

Cornish miners, farmers and preachers spread Cornish placenames throughout the world. For instance there is a Looe in the Philippines (cut the cheap jokes, boys!)

I once attempted to complete a competition to visit every pub owned by St Austell Brewery. There are currently 170 of them so it's not surprising I failed. Also not surprising that I put on weight. 14 Cornwalls seems like a doddle in comparison, especially as I'm one up already.

Off I go.See you in Jamaica!

Drinks breaks

The latest footballing innovation (fad) is the drinks break. Since football restarted, it seems our fainthearted heroes are unable to run about for the usual 45 minutes in the summer heat so, come 22 and a half minutes, they stop the game and have a guzzle. Did no-one tell them about British summers? Pouring rain, 13 degrees, gasping for a drink. Of what? Is it something performance enhancing? Stimulants? Gin  and tonic?

Obviously the managers take the opportunity for a quick coaching session. Occasionally the drink or the coaching seems to make a difference.

Other sports have drinks breaks. Tennis players are unable to go more than about 5 minutes without a sit down, towelling and glugging. I have known croquet players to have a pint sitting on the grass beside their chair whilst waiting for their turn. No names, no pack drill. It gives the player a sense of freedom. I imagine.

Professional golfers are always under pressure to walk quickly between holes and shots, so they drink on the go. Why can't footballers do that? They have sanitised balls around the edge of the pitch ready for throw-ins so why not drinks bottles too? Then no breaks. Who'd want to be a central midfielder though? You get thirsty and drift towards the side line and your manager bellows "where are you going? Get back in place".

If you have to have drinks breaks, this seems like an ideal opportunity for sponsorship. Everything else is sponsored - shirt fronts, shirt sleeves, boots, sports drinks, courtesy cars. Golfers have sponsored caps, cricketers have sponsored protective equipment (of all kinds). Croquet, not so much. Why not sponsored drinks breaks? "Take a break, have a Proper Job". Better than  Kit Kat.

Co-parenting

I wanted to talk about football (groan) but got stuck not knowing how to describe my daughter-in-law's father. Trevor is definitely a dear friend but am I actually related to him?

The thing is, he is one of two people I know and like that try - with some success - to wind me up by describing the Premier League as the First Division and the league that Ipswich Town are in - League One - as the Third Division. This nomenclature went out in 1992, guys! Are you old or just annoying?

Anyhow, barracking aside, what relation, if any, is Trevor to me?

Applying a degree of logic: first of all we are the same generation so normally that would mean some kind of brother or cousin. Maybe brother-in-law-in-law? I've never understood the concepts of first/second cousins or once/twice removed, but perhaps that could be part of the title? How about "grand-something"?

The thing about "in-law" is that there is a clear implication of a legal status. So that's out. Narrowing down.

Definitely not cousins; a legally defined term I think. No consanguinity.

Which leaves me with something like brother twice removed - one removal for down a generation, from me to my daughter-in-law - and once for up a generation from her to her father. 

"This is my brother twice removed" is therefore how I might introduce Tony - the other friend who refuses to acknowledge any football in the last 28 years - when we meet someone in the Britannia Inn (very soon hopefully). That is either a conversation piece or a conversation-stopper. Depending on how many drinks the various parties have had.

I therefore consulted Mr Jimmy Wales, aka Wikipedia. Which we know always tells the truth. This tells me that Trevor and I are co-fathers-in-law. Not sure I think much of that; it makes us sound like a couple, with responsibility for our offspring.

My solution for this problem is: brothers-in-arms. It implies shared values and a willingness to stand up for each other. I like it. I could refer you to the Dire Straits song but it really doesn't help - no hyphens. So just my word for it.

How about it, Trevor, are we brothers-in-arms?

Who knew football could be so profound?

They think it's all over

1966. A date forever etched in the memory of football fans of a certain age. Like me.

England won the World Cup. In England, at Wembley. The Final against (who else?) Germany.

There is less than a minute to go in extra time (i.e. 119 minutes have passed) and England are leading 3-2. BBC TV commentator Kenneth Wolstenholme:

"Some people are on the pitch! They think it's all over!"

(Geoff Hurst scores to put England two goals ahead)

"It is now!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lg2CXkJVCHk

 Of course, the Germans remember the match mostly for Hurst's second goal of the game, in extra time, to put England 3-2 up. Today, with goal line technology, it wouldn't have been given, because it actually didn't fully cross the goal line.

But, dear German Freunde, allow us our one moment of glory in 900 years. You've won the World Cup 4 times and we don't complain. Too much.

Fast forward to the final day of the 2011-12 Premier League season. Manchester City, leading going into that final match as league leaders, as a result of a huge cash injection from Abu Dhabi, have an easy home match against nearly relegated Queens Park Rangers but ahead of bitter rivals Manchester United (managed by Alex Ferguson, who called the newly rich City "noisy neighbours") only on goal difference. As the final minute of the season approached, United completed a victory over Sunderland and their players were on the pitch about to celebrate the league title; City's match hadn't finished and they were losing. Then Edin Dzeko equalised in the second minute of injury time - still not good enough. United's players now readying the champers. In the final minute, with the final kick of the game, up pops City's centre forward Sergio Aguero to score the winner.

And Sky's commentator Martin Tyler screams "Agueroooo". Not quite so iconic as Wolstenholme's but not forgotten by football fans, either.

Gary Neville devastated. Ha.

I've always been a sports fanatic. I remember Roger Bannister breaking the four minute "barrier" for the mile in 1954 (I was only 10; only now, in my cynical old age, do I sneer at artificially paced "races"). In 1964, I recall staying up at night to listen to the radio commentary of Ali v Sonny Liston. Cassius Clay had all the charisma of a sporting icon, had converted to Islam and assumed the name Muhammed Ali. He was an underdog but he won. I actually never liked boxing but Ali made me want to follow his fights.

Nowadays of course, track athletes breaking long-standing world records are assumed (by many cynics including me) to be using performance-enhancing drugs. But Bannister was idolised because he was a genuine amateur who had the talent to do the impossible. And no-one had heard of performance-enhancing drugs back then. Or at least ten year olds hadn't.

It's a shame that drug-taking athletes and their coaches have ruined any enjoyment I ever had of exciting races. Unlike professional cycling, which has always been rife with drugs but in which I have never had any interest; a bunch of cyclists riding along a road, what's that about? And track cycling, going round and round very very slowly then, in the final ten seconds, going helter skelter for the finishing line; why not race from the start?

But the sublime sight of an Olympic 100 metres final - ruined by successive confirmations of drug cheating. I have never watched track and field since 1987 (Ben Johnson) and still can neither watch or abide the  hype of Olympic Games.

I am comforted in my love of football by the knowledge that there is next to no taking of performance enhancing drugs.

If the Ipswich Town players are doing so, they are definitely on the wrong ones.