Back

It is always good to be home although a rather damp Ireland proved a relaxing week and was all I expected and wanted. The scenery was spectacular, there was plenty to get up to and the black stuff went down sweetly. We spent a few days on the beach where C and I indulged in some hard-fought matches of boules. An early encounter on Vestry Sands would have displeased the purists. A strong wind was thrusting the jack a vast distance on alternate ends so skill was irrelevant; it was simply a case of who could chuck their boules the furthest. It was ugly, vulgar and brutal but nonetheless compelling. I won all the up-to-eleven-best-of-three rubbers while C was unbeatable at first-to-twenty-one. Honours even.

Professor Noel Sharkey who used to appear on Robot Wars was travelling on the same outward ferry as us although my travelling companions were hugely underwhelmed.

The pictures above show a view of the Blasket Islands and our holiday house just outside Dingle. The former involved having to walk a fair distance. It was worth it.

GL2

A quiet pint with S last night ‘down the Ted’. He has settled comfortably into his new abode but I wish that, with a GL2 postcode and an 01452 dialling code, he wouldn’t keep insisting he lived in Stroud. Ah, the ignominy of having to shop in Quedgeley’s Tescos! I look forward to receiving reports of the young gentleman’s foray to this weekend’s Green Man Festival near Hay-on-Wye as I am considering the whole festival scene for next summer. I am keen to return to Camber Sands for another ATP weekend but – and I think last month’s day at Ashton Court has whetted my appetite – I wouldn’t mind an outdoor weekender especially if the whole family would enjoy it. Green Man looks fine and the accent on the folktronic end of the market appeals.

I am trotting to Kingsholm Stadium later to watch our young guns in action. It’ll be my first chance to see Anthony Allen in action. As ever, my optimistic outlook has mentally deemed him to be better than the callow Matthew Tait and I’m already labelling him ‘the next Brian O’Driscoll’. Sadly, my favourite nipper, Ryan Lamb, is on the bench tonight as I always love his attacking zeal and crafty ways. Olly Morgan is at full back and needs a big match to contest the wearer of the 15 shirt against Worcester. I must confess that Jon Goodridge, not my favourite player, looked confident and assured when he came on against Calvisano last weekend.

The chickens have settled in beautifully and now allow themselves to be picked up which was inconceivable a couple of days ago. I have been cooking them a dozen or so strands of spaghetti every day and they adore their daily treat of ‘worms’. They also go mad for budgie food. Hetty and Bela have proved to be lovely pets and it only remains for them to start laying eggs and then they’ll really be paying their rent. The cats are less sure of them (see above).

Tomorrow we set sail for Ireland and a week on the West Coast. It’s a holiday that is eagerly anticipated and I can’t wait to be back in Dingle again, pint of G in paw, listening to some cracking music.

Summer Sun

Yo La Tengo at Koko, Camden Town 16.8.05

The bloke who yelled ‘Louder!’ had a point I suppose. Purposeful art-house lo-fi hepsters such as Yo La Tengo should really play it soft. The mumbles, the gentle backing tones and the understated riddims were certainly what I alighted at Mornington Crescent in high hopes and expectation for. The cognoscenti should have been ejaculating a polite, ‘Quieter!’ It didn’t quite work out that way. I respect the London gig scene, I really do, but there were too many art threats, too much tourist trade stalking the splendid and beautiful former Camden Palais. And they didn’t stop talking.

Heck, they chatted over some rare beauty. ‘Everyday’ trotted elegantly by, all muffled mentions of Kate Moss and crossing your heart and hoping to die. That was lovely. ‘Let’s Save Tony Orlando’s House’, all wit and knowingness stood out while ‘The Crying of Lot G’ was a melodic gemstone as was the sun-bleached and tender ‘Little Eyes’. Amid all the quaint and studied objets d’art, the occasional sleet storm of noise terrorism cascaded towards the music fans and the tourists. The fans were challenged and appreciated the need for a bit of sturm und drang to counterbalance the gentility and sophistication. The tourists just carried on chewing the fat. Shame.

The Italian Job

Gloucester 61 – Calvisano 0

These are optimistic times at Kingsholm. Even before yesterday’s pre-season friendly I was quietly pleased with the sensible recruitment in key areas and the subtle mix of experience and raw young talent that the club was developing and entrusting with our hopes. Yesterday’s romp against an admittedly average Italian outfit confirmed my positive feelings. Gloucester bullied in the right areas, were abrasive as heck when they needed to be but, when the canvas required, painted beautiful brushstrokes.

The forward pack fought doggedly for the ball. The Balding fellow, captaining the city with assurance and maturity, led by example and contested the breakdown fiercely. The likes of Eustace and Wood were not far behind in terms of application and hunger for work. New dad Vickery concentrated mainly on the rigours of the set-piece but his day with ball in hand shall come soon. James Merriman did a few decent things and showed fine pace at times but was not as involved as I would have wanted. His time will come; experience counts for a good deal and the nipper needs more game time at this level.

Behind the pack lurked nuggets. James Simpson-Daniel was barely stoppable. His speed, both of thought and deed, had the hapless Italians chasing shadows all afternoon. He chose some peerless angles and scored a most remarkable first half try carrying the ball across the pitch and defeating defender after defender before touching down under the sticks. A second period ankle injury must cause concern; we need his class in weeks to come. The second nugget was burly, brave Jack Adams who dominated the midfield with his no-nonsense running. He forced his way through tackle after tackle, scored a couple of smashing tries and seriously looked the part. Lads of his age should be wearing braces not scoring them but this punter is not complaining. I thought young scrum half Hadyn Thomas had a satisfactory home debut too. His first half radar was slightly out and McRae had to stretch to receive a couple of efforts but, after the break, he appeared sharper, more composed and ready to take on the oppo back row with some sniping breaks and pacy runs.

Late on, a trio of substitutions proffered real heart to the supporters. Patrice Collazo relished his return to Stade Kingsholm and completely dominated the tight and was a handful and a bit of a nuisance in looser exchanges. Olivier Azam took Collazo’s lead and used his aggression and passion with no little effect. Finally, a returning hero, Ludovoc Mercier captured the crowd’s imagination with a sublime cameo and fluent running, fine vision and beautiful passing. Essentially the man kicked superbly. His first kick from hand sailed from 22 to 22, a driver’s whack when we have been used to one or two irons for the last year or two. All of his goal kicks bisected the uprights and he scored a well-taken try with his first touch. It was marvellous. I think we’ll do extremely well this season with Ludo at the helm.

On returning home it was a delight to watch our youngish team win the Middlesex Sevens – and Gloucester fans of more than fifteen or twenty years service will appreciate how bizarre that concept is. Simon Amor led the side with pure class but it was our other teenage centre, Anthony Allen, who really caught the eye with classy, powerful running and a wide range of exquisite skills. It was a thrilling final against Wasps and I felt huge pride in the city lads for a wonderful achievement.

All looks mighty fine then as the new season approaches. We have so many talented youngsters in Allen, Adams, Morgan, Narroway, Wood, Merriman and the acutely talented Lamb. The forward pack has been bolstered by new signings and players returning from injury - the arrival and potential impact of the Springbok Davids will be intriguing – and we have a player who can kick us deep into opposition territory and score point after point from almost anywhere.

I can’t wait for proceedings to commence.

Coops and Campfires

Our chickens arrived today and I’m really rather fond of them. The man from Omlet delivered them mid-afternoon and after their eglu was erected and the ladies’ wings were clipped (under supervision I sliced through one wing with a pair of scissors rather nervously), the pair of them spent some hours getting used to their new surroundings. They pecked a lot. I must confess I spent ages just watching them. As dusk fell we managed to shoo them into their coop for the night and locked them safely away. It seems we can’t expect any eggs for six weeks or so.

I received a charming email from Warp Records earlier. It consisted solely of the front cover of the new Boards of Canada album and the date of its release, the 17th of October. It appears that the recording is to be called The Campfire Headphase – it had to be really - and I simply can’t wait. There have been numerous fabulous records released during 2005 but this has to be the most eagerly anticipated. .

On the way back from Yorkshire yesterday we overtook, on the M5, the Grimsby Town FC team coach. I guess that this was at about three o’ clock and we were somewhere in Worcestershire. I noted that a few of the players were fast asleep. On our return I checked the BBC website and discovered that they were to be playing Bristol Rovers that evening and a further visit ascertained that they had beaten The Pirates by two goals to one. I derive a sad pleasure from any glimpse into the lives of professional sportsmen and felt vaguely contented that the lads whom I had spotted enduring the grind of a longish bus journey had ‘done the business’ against The Rovers.

Harmy Army

Yorkshire proved an enjoyable few days for all of us. I introduced my dear old friend M (pictured above, with yours truly) to Su Doku, Laura Cantrell and late-period Prefab Sprout while he introduced me to Terry Riley and I play the orchestral minimalist’s Shri Camel album as I write this. Both our MP3 players are fuller as a result of the past few days. Pickering is a fine place to live, gentle and unassuming and peaceful. Some time spent in York was worthwhile on Sunday although we arrived too late to take advantage of the array of eclectic shops. For the second year running Theo and I went on the Ghost Trail, this time accompanied by older sister and M and the boys. It was almost exactly the same ‘script’ as last time and the actress lacked the warmth and good humour of last year’s guide. I was disappointed but unsurprised.

A sudden migraine headache on the Saturday meant I missed the trip to Filey and instead stayed ‘home, alone’ and rested. The opportunity to stop in and watch the Ashes Test was not wasted though and I was glued to every ball. Steve Harmison’s slower ball to dismiss Clarke was true art and rivalled Warne’s deadly spinner to get rid of the elegant Strauss as delivery of the match. The drama was immense on the Sunday and I was certainly resigned to England losing as the Australian lower order ate further and further into England’s lead. Any jubilation I felt at Kasprowicz gloving a beauty to Jones was certainly overshadowed by huge, huge relief. I was trying to explain to Theo why I enjoyed supporting Gloucester RFC the other day and I said that, after time, one starts to know the players really well and appreciate their quirks and personalities in the sporting arena so that one wills them to succeed for rather simple human reasons. The English cricket boys receive my support for similar reasons now and after watching them progress so encouragingly over the past couple of years* I feel I know them pretty well. I find it hard to express how desperate I am for them to reclaim the Ashes for the first time since I was a youth.

I am reading a really beautiful book at the moment, ‘The Shadow of the Wind’ by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. It is set in post-Civil War Barcelona and is a ghostly mystery tinged with elements of romance and tenderness. It is an unusual read and struggles to fit into any genre. Its elegant, almost poetic style renders it a delightful piece of art though. I recommend it.

The chickens arrive tomorrow. Perhaps it is not the done thing to name pets before they are truly yours but we have decided firmly to name the birds after Gloucestershire’s prehistoric burial sites so they will be known as Hetty and Bella after Hetty Pegler’s Tump in Uley and Belas Knap near Winchcome. These are definitely more imaginative names than those our cats have: Ginger and Marmalade.

* S telephoned while I was typing this nonsense up and maintains strongly that my allegiance to the England cricket team is less tangible and much more recent than this. In fact he states firmly that, 'You hate the English cricket team.' I beg to disagree with the young man. I feel a bit hurt actually.

Plastic Sniffed

The plastic was sniffed before I had left the Kingsholm ticket office and, as ever, it reminded me of something from my childhood which, for the life of me, I can’t quite recall. Walkinshaw’s address to the masses was understated and fairly dull while the badge is larger than in previous years but still ghastly. I am a season ticket holder once more and approach the new term with plenty of optimism and zest. Close seasons are incredible for helping one forget atrocious performances and horrendous losses. Also, I am, it seems, gratefully in receipt of the hottest ticket in the west, and shall be attending the Worcester vs. Gloucester match at the beginning of September.

The Coles are heading to Pickering for a few days - gosh, I hope no burglars read these pages! - so a dormant period should be expected.

Sniffing the Plastic

I’m heartened and encouraged by the news that the city club defeated the might of Leeds yesterday and by a handy enough margin too. I’m glad that Collazo is back to shore up the scrum and I confess to feeling relief that Monsieur Mercier is back in the colours. We need to play uncompromising ten man rugby as often as we can this term and eke out territory before unleashing our remarkable backs. Frankly, I’m not sure where Henry Paul is going to fit into Gloucester’s plans next season. Tindall (Tinds?) and Simpson-Daniel would be my first choice centres with the loyal servant Fanolua and the young bucks Allen and Adams waiting in the wings. I didn’t rate Paul’s attitude last season and consider him an expensive makeweight. I’m looking forward to the rugby a lot more now. I’ll be purchasing my season ticket for ‘The Shed’ (I somewhat dislike that term) on Thursday. It shall be a cash transaction and, as ever, I shall vigorously sniff the ticket’s plastic wallet within seconds of purchase, read Tom Walkinshaw’s accompanying letter and fall for its charm before examining the pin-on badge safe in the knowledge that I’ll never be seen dead wearing it in public. I shall then flick through the pages of my ticket and consider what disasters and triumphs those unprepossessing pages will bring over the next few months. Then I’ll go home for a nice cup of tea.

We have changed our mind about the chicken house. Today we ordered the coolest coop on the market, the Eglu, made by the uber-hip Omlet company that has helped make chicken-keeping the hottest hobby around. Our Eglu and two chickens arrive a week tomorrow and I am beside myself with excitement.

Hot Chicks

A busy day or two. Today the Coles headed out to Honeybourne near Broadway and checked out a variety of chicken houses as we are to start keeping a couple of hens in our back garden soon. We’ll probably plump for a ‘Half Pint Penthouse’ which should provide a decent place for a pair of Black Rocks (see picture) to live in. Excitingly, these hens are prolific layers and could produce, as a pair, well over 500 eggs a year. I can think of few things more pleasing than tucking into a couple of boiled eggs, freshly laid in the back garden by two contented pets.

Gloucester, it appears, may have narrowly lost to Castres this evening in a tournament in France. I must confess that rugby football matters have passed me by recently. Murmurs on internet guestbooks continue to depress me somewhat. The latest causes for mass despair seem to be the changing of the badge on the team shirts and, this week, the unveiling of new unhooped kit. I can cope with both changes. Those up in arms over the new crest have shortish memories as I don’t think the team used to wear a crest until recently. In my early days at Kingsholm the lads used to wear a simple shirt with no embellishment whatsoever. I also feel folk fail to realise that we have absolutely no say what the players wear on the pitch as the club is owned lock and stock by Tom Walkinshaw after supporters overwhelmingly voted that the bloke should be able to do so. I’d rather the players wore cherry and white hoops but I’ll cope with a new modern look if the abject performances of last term are banished and results improve. Frankly, in these difficult times, there are more important things to worry about.

Watts Per

In a moment of consumer lust I bought a fabulous speaker system for my MP3 player yesterday. The manager of Dixons (sadly I couldn’t wait patiently and buy online) furnished me with item after item to plug my Creative into and test for loudness and greatness and eventually I plumped for the doughnut shaped beauty, a JBL OnStage, that is pictured above. It is only a tiny thing really but, by heck, it makes a wonderful noise. I love it very much.

This summer I have started working part-time (and on a voluntary basis) for Oxfam in Gloucester mainly because it keeps me busy but also because they posted an advert in their window asking for people to help redo their book department. They have a large warehouse of books ‘out the back’ and today I ruthlessly set about ‘culling’ (Oxfam’s word) the shelves of older stock and replacing it with higher quality and more sellable stuff. It was marvellous fun and the time flew by. At the end of my stint, the shelves were packed with lots of my favourite writers (Ian McEwan, John O’Farrell, Malcolm Bradbury) where earlier the likes of Maeve Binchy and Catherine Cookson had nestled dully. The staff were friendly and quite a mix. This afternoon a fallow seventeen year old lad in the warehouse tried to get me into Motley Crue and Green Day by playing me their hits loudly. Rather condescendingly I explained that ‘I was there’ for the original punk rock but must admit to surreptitiously tapping my toe to ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’ by Tommy Lee and company as I priced up my next batch of modern literature.

The Sun!

These pages have been a tad neglected recently but I have nothing really exciting to report.

I vowed not to touch the blessed things but I have been sucked in and now am ever-so-slightly hooked and am developing a bit of a habit. I am talking about Su Doku puzzles. I have been a bit sniffy about these things mainly because, as an admirer of chess and crosswords, I have felt they lack a certain depth in comparison. I think that does hold true still but they represent a fine mental challenge and I enjoy tackling them. I have two Su Doku books and took one to a child’s party at the weekend so I could sit in the corner and cogitate. One mum spotting this, asked me if I, like her, had a go at the Su Doku puzzles in The Sun every day. I don’t think she realised that they also appear in most of the broadsheets too. I politely replied in the negative and made a mental note: Sun reader.

I am listening to the new Brian Eno album, Another Day on Earth a good deal. In fact, I’m playing it to death. It is a subtle item and it needs a few plays to fully appreciate its layers and profundities. Eno is certainly an artist I have to seek out and learn more about. The tag of ‘ambient pioneer’ is often given to the fellow and I am sure much of his back catalogue would be right up my street.

Capital

Yesterday was fun and certainly unusual. My dear son and I travelled to London Town by charabanc and were treated to a wonderful personal tour of both chambers of the Houses of Parliament by Stuart and Chris who work for our M.P.. I’m really interested in history and politics and all that malarkey and it was rather exciting to stand at the dispatch box where countless Prime Ministers have addressed the House. Later on we met Gloucester’s member, Parmjit and had a drink on the terrace of the Commons overlooking the Thames before watching half an hour of Jack Straw answering Foreign Office questions in the main chamber. It was certainly a day to remember.

The rest of the day was spent shopping. I ventured into the London Bridge and Chess Centre and bought some chess pens and postcards, a quaint and somewhat charming Russian chess puzzle book and a demonstration board that I’ve wanted for school for ages. We then strolled purposefully to Hamleys where T bought a magic set and helped…ahem…Mr Magic, Hamleys’ magic department fellow do a couple of tricks. There were lots of onlookers. Outside I spotted my only celebrity of the day if you discount Parliament: Ade Adepitan who plays wheelchair basketball for Great Britain wheeled past. I had to look up his name on the net but he was instantly recognisable.

It was somewhat eerie travelling on the London Underground after the awful events of the 7th but I’m glad we did it. I certainly felt a touch nervous when the doors slid shut for the first time of the day at Victoria but that feeling soon disappeared and it swiftly became second nature again.

A Pleasant Shock

I’m enjoying the process of unwinding and relaxing that comes from a period of holiday. On Saturday the Coles and the L family spent a smashing day at Bristol’s Ashton Court Festival. I confess that we didn’t get to see many bands but we certainly tapped into a fine vibe, ate well and exotically and, in the case of S3 and I, visited the beer tent regularly. The shopping experience was fun: one could buy anything, anything. I certainly would fancy 'doing' Ashton Court again next year.

One band that S3 and I did catch was Minotaur Shock (above) which is really another name for the young and affable Bristolian multi-instrumentalist David Edwards who was jauntily chucking energetic and angular gee-tar shapes over electronic samples and rhythms with another multi-instrumentalist, cheerful Emily Wakefield, adding soothing clarinet and flute textures to the whole mix. They made a joyful sound. They are on 4AD records. I’m playing the second album Maritime as I write this but Chiff-Chaffs and Willow Warblers, the debut, is also worth a close listen. I first mentioned Minotaur Shock on these pages back in April.

Longings

Hot and bothered.

I must confess that I long for the weekend. On Saturday the Coles are heading to the Ashton Court Festival in Bristol for the day, certainly a first for me. The Super Furry Animals - to a certain extent, a band who have regrettably passed me by - will be headlining but there should be plenty of other treats too. I note that both local drum and bass hero Roni Size (New Forms is a stunning album) and dub reggae stalwarts Zion Train will be in action at some point this weekend and I hope it is Saturday. There'll be plenty for the kids to do too. I simply look forward to chilling, preferably with the coolest of beers in my hand. There should be plenty of superb food on sale too. At midnight on Friday night I will collect the copy of the new Harry Potter book that I ordered from Ottakars last week. I plumped for the adult cover. I have my pride.

Terry Hall

I played the Terry Hall album this afternoon and it - no real surprise here - proved a delight, full of pop gems and intelligent lyrics. It was fun trying to guess who wrote what with Hall (see yesterday) and I still haven’t checked the cover to ascertain the information. Hall’s voice is a national treasure, as laconic, plaintive and mildly sarcastic on ‘Home’ and last year’s fabulous ‘The Hour of Two Lights’ as it was when he bleated out, ‘Ain't you heard of contraception?’ back in 1979.

This is the first time I have published a photograph on these pages. The new bass strap is seen in action. Paul Simonon eat your heart out.

Buy Buy Buy! Sell Sell Sell!

This was the first Saturday in a while that I’ve been able to fully relax and it’s been a pleasant day. I popped into Gloucester this morning for a few bits and pieces and dwelt on how old one feels when buying a bass guitar strap for one’s son. By chance I encountered S in town who was furtively attending to some financial transactions. We chatted amiably for five minutes outside The Body Shop.

This afternoon was spent profitably at the Sir Thomas Rich’s School car boot sale where I picked up four CDs, Maxinquaye by Tricky, Dummy by Portishead to continue the trip-hop theme, Home by Terry Hall and Debut by Bjork. Alas the Bjork CD case was empty of disc on our return home but I enjoyed the Tricky album this afternoon and look forward to further listens. I already have the wonderfully atmospheric Portishead album on tape but I really wanted it for my MP3 player and I always enjoy anything by Terry Hall. His album, which I haven’t yet played, contains songs co-written by Ian Broudie, Nick ‘Haircut 100’ Heyward, Andy ‘XTC’ Partridge and Craig ‘Briefly in The Smiths’ Gannon. I reckon it’ll be a fine listen.

I also bought a 1968 Roy of the Rovers annual to add to my collection and seven Charlie Buchan Soccer Gift Books from the sixties and seventies (including a few of these) for 50 pence each. This is somewhat out of character but I’m tempted to flog the blighters on eBay – something I’ve never done before – and make a few quid for the holidays. They are in incredibly good condition.

The Lions have been extremely disappointing in New Zealand and only a few players have emerged with any significant credit. For me, Joshua Lewsey has been the pick of the tourists’ backs and he has shown grit, skill, pace, power and intelligence in the tests. The best forward was Gethin Jenkins who held his own in the tight and rampaged manfully in the loose. Eventually I gave up hoping for any spark from our team and concentrated on appreciating the art served up by the All Blacks. They are a remarkable team and will surely prove worthy winners of the next World Cup. Unbelievably it will be 20 years since their last and only success.

David Essex

It is nice to return to these pages after a week or two’s break. My muses were needed elsewhere for a bit.

The South African Quinton Davids has signed for Gloucester. By all accounts this fellow is a bit of an underachiever and has perceived fitness – and possibly attitude – problems. Dean Ryan is building him up to be a key signing though and, as ever, I’ll give any new signing the benefit of the doubt. He is certainly a big chap and is being billed as the perfect foil for the more lightweight and effete Alexander Brown. We need a burly bruiser and I hope it works out. A South African colleague of D rates the guy. Fingers crossed, eh?

It seems that Alan Tait may be on the way to Kingsholm to replace surly David Ellis as the club’s defensive coach. I welcome this news. The new Scottish contingent on the management team shall certainly bring a professional outlook and a pleasing ambition to the Cherry and Whites. The Davids/Tait news has cheered me and I merely long for a new full back to complete the squad. My current opinion is that we must include Olly Morgan somewhere in the fifteen next season, possibly on the wing. I’d quite like a speedy, hard-as-nails guy to don the 15 shirt as well.

I got the new Saint Etienne album today, Tales From Turnpike House. It has received generally fine reviews apart from Q Magazine who panned it. The Guardian gave it five stars – a rare accolade – and on the first couple of listens I have grown to appreciate its wit and sunny textures. It is dubbed a ‘concept album’ because it features songs about a fictitious block of flats in London. I can cope with this. I detect a Free Design influence on the first track. David Essex is a guest vocalist on one song. I can cope with this too. I quite like the bloke. Rock On was a cracking number although I never fully appreciated the darker soundscapes of Winter’s Tale.

I popped into Gloucester’s best – well, actually I mean coolest – record shop, Pulp the other weekend to see of they had the Saint Etienne album. It hadn’t arrived in but the manager, a bit of a dude, was blasting out The Friends of Rachel Worth by the wonderful Go-Betweens. I know that S will hate me for this but I engaged the bloke in conversation about the acclaimed Antipodeans and probably sounded a bit of a pompous know-all to onlookers. However, I managed to drop into the chat that I had seen the band recently as well as proffering advice on Grant McLennan’s solo output. Frankly I feel I emerged from this encounter with great credit. I shall certainly stroll into the Pulp emporium next time with head held high.

Apologies

Sorry, but a combination of problematic computer (taking it to the ‘doctor’ tonight) and a mass of other pressing work means I’ve ignored these pages for a bit too long. Normal service will soon be restored.

Please could you stop the noise, I'm trying to get some rest

I guess the combination of body clock and hot weather have ganged up on me yet again to wake me at six this morning and prevent me from returning to any semblance of slumber. Instead I reached for my Zen, folded a t-shirt and lay it over my eyes and reclined, listening to OK Computer, picking up, on my stereo headphones, previously unfathomed lyrics and unheard twiddly music bits. It was a decent start to the day really.

Yesterday I awoke at a similarly early hour but this, of course, meant that I was able to partake the Lions match against Otago in the House of Pain. Woodward, naturally, will prove conservative and pick meat and potato back rowers like Back and Hill for next weekend’s test opener but I would love to see Ryan Jones given a start after yesterday’s sublime ball carrying performance. Michael Owen too has been impressive and I also appreciate the thoughtful footballer that is Martyn Williams (despite having a deep-seated and rather prejudiced thing about the name Martin being spelt with a ‘y’). In fact, I have come over all Welsh and believe the make-up of the Test team should reflect our Celtic friends’ free spirited, confident and winning rugby football. I would chuck Shame Williams and his dancing feet on one wing, add Dwayne Peel and Stephen Jones at half back (SCW will surely pick Wilkinson though), use Gethin Jenkins’ belligerence at prop, partner O’Driscoll with Andrew Ridgeley, I mean Gavin Henson and strongly consider a berth in at least the 22 for Tom Shanklin or Gareth Thomas. I can’t see it happening though.

Relief

I must sorrowfully confess that I have been debating whether or not to purchase a season ticket for the rugby this season and considering that I have loyally bought one for the past 17 or 18 years (including a half price student one in 1989 that cost me the princely sum of £22.50) my reticence and disillusionment is not to be sneezed at. Last season certainly took its toll. I can cope with poor play – just! – as I’ve encountered enough of it at Kingsholm in the gruesome early 1990s but I saw too many players over the past few months not trying hard enough. Tom Walkinshaw’s comments before the last home match along the lines of ‘Have a good look at that stand behind me because it’s the last time you’ll ever be seeing it’ surely rival, ‘Go back to your constituencies and PREPARE FOR GOVERNMENT!’ for unfortunate timing and rotten prescience. It all got a bit too much for me. D’you know what I mean?

Today’s news that Dean Ryan has been named head coach with the intelligent Brian Redpath as assistant and Duncan McRae as skills coach has cheered me and I can confirm – hold the front page! – that I’ll be getting a season ticket now. I’m relieved it has been sorted and I’m ready to trust Ryan and Redpath for now and hope the youthful coaching staff’s ambition and ebullience will right the ship. Somehow names like Kirwan and Williams didn’t seem Glaws enough for me. I sense a bit more credibility and, dare I say it, intellect and quiet sensitivity with the new team.

We do need new players still. Rob Thirlby signed today and, with the embarrassing Seti Kiole leaving at the same time, we have swapped a joke for a class performer with plenty to prove and time on his side to do so. Rumours that the Bob Casey deal may be back on encourage this supporter and I emphatically hope we can attract a top full back that Oliver Morgan can play second fiddle to and develop his remarkable skills. Another winger would be fine too as well another prop to complement Vickery and Collazo. But for now, I’m glad we are back on track.