Apeman

Went to watch King Kong yesterday afternoon and arrived daunted at the prospect of a three hour epic but left in an invigorated mood. The time had flown by. I suppose it was an old-fashioned film experience – set piece following set piece with too many exciting cliffhanging moments to count. I unashamedly and thoroughly enjoyed it. The IMDB suggests that director Peter Jackson paid homage to the 1933 Faye Wray version by slipping in several knowing details into his epic. I like that sort of thing.

Hey Chick

Hetty and Bella, the two chickens that joined our family unit in August continue to go from strength to strength. Despite gloomy murmurings that they would cease laying during the winter months we are consistently presented with two large and delicious eggs each day. Being off work has enabled me to cook their favourite treat, spaghetti. I am convinced the daft things reckon they are knocking back the tastiest worms in Christendom as the strands hardly touch the sides as they force them down. They adore any form of pasta and enjoy rice – which we believe they think are really maggots – too. I am really fond of these beasts and feel tangible pride in them whenever I poach another pair of their ova.

Tomorrow I shall be at Kingsholm Stadium to cheer on the city against the league’s bottom club, Leeds Tykes. We should win this one especially after a reported fine second half against Wasps on Boxing Day. Confidence should be fairly high but it is slightly disappointing and lacking in ambition to be using a defeat as a springboard for greater things. I am yet to see the team lose this season as I rarely attend away fixtures but am yet to witness any real art from the side, especially in the back division. Hopefully the dream pairing of Tindall and Simpson-Daniel will start to click soon. Oliver Morgan has proved my player of the season thus far. I appreciate his head-up, intelligent runs and dedication to the cause. I rate him highly. The returning hero Mercier has yet to get the backs purring but I recall in our wonderful cup and league winning season three (?) years ago that we scored marvellous try after marvellous try – and that was with the rather predictable bash-through-the-middle centre partnership of Todd and Fanolua and Mercier. Perhaps it will all click soon. No matter. It will be great to meet up with folk and appreciate fine banter for an hour or three.

Yesterday afternoon I strolled around a chilly Gloucester for a few hours, wrapped up warm as toast and with the sunny sounds of Dr. Alimantado filling my ears and transporting me to warmer climes. A search for new trousers proved fruitless and I returned home with only a few library books and a pack of empty CD cases from Smiths to show for my efforts. A poor return indeed.

Records

It is difficult to pick up this weblog. Does one recap all that needs mentioning from the past three or four months or does one pretend the site is up to date and carry on as before? Hmmm…

There were plenty of fine CDs released this year and I guess it is right to celebrate this here. One of my favourite discoveries of 2005 was Sufjan Stevens. His ‘Seven Swans’ album – a year or two old now I think – has been playing on my MP3 player almost non-stop for the past few months to the extent that I put off exploring his album from this year ‘Come On Feel the Illinois’ in case it didn’t live up to the genius of the former. I needn’t have worried. Both albums are full of subtlety, delicate melody and, heck, whimsy. What else have I enjoyed this year? 'Campfire Headphase', the longingly anticipated new long player from Boards of Canada didn’t disappoint. Swirling soundscapes and bags of atmosphere were aided and abetted by, heaven forbid, a few guitars strummed by the reclusive electronic uberstars. 'Aerial', the new Kate Bush album was lovely and intelligent and unusual. The song all about pi on the first CD remains a favourite. Not many people could get away with that kind of eccentricity but the mighty Bush managed to sit songs about maths, washing machines, Elvis and Joan of Arc together with insouciant ease. I loved the new Go-Betweens pop album ‘Oceans Apart’ and really thought the Gorillaz’ ‘Demon Days’ was clever and knowing and funky but was tainted by mass appeal. I know that sounds snobby. My Morning Jacket’s album ‘Z’ - pronounced 'zee' I believe - was eminently listenable to and the latest new Joy Division, The Editors, lived up to that tag as well as any with a fantastically gloomy recording, ‘The Back Room’. S is going to arrange a copy of Vashti Bunyan’s new album soon and I look forward to that. The Observer Music Monthly printed a Top 100 albums of the year review recently which led me to investigate Camille’s album ‘Le Fil’ which is a kind of French Portisheadesque ambient thing with, joy of joys, a drone that runs throughout the whole album. It really is rather beautiful and I have been listening to it while I pen these words. The Observer also pointed me towards the blind Malian couple Amadou et Miriam and their exuberant album ‘Dimanche a Bamako’. I sometimes worry that I only play miserable, contemplative stuff but this soaring, infectious recording bucks that particular trend. It’s noisily life-affirming.

Two Score Years

It is a touch embarrassing to realise that my last posting was in August albeit at the very end of that fine month.

So, what to report? My 40th birthday was just before Christmas and the landmark was passed with fun and friendship and fine food. I feel no different and have, indeed, utterly forgotten that I am now ‘closer to sixty than twenty’. My birthday bash was at the wonderful Café Rene, an oasis of good sense in a world of brand names and theme pubs. It was splendid to be surrounded by super people. My Mark E. Smith cake went down a treat and I received more reggae CDs than you could conceivably shake a Camberwell Carrot at. My current favourite is the mighty ‘Best Dressed Chicken in Town’ by Dr. Alimantado, a seventies roots classic. S presented me with The Fall’s Complete Peel Sessions (interesting version of my favourite Fall song L.A.) which I have been dipping into with relish.

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.