Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Clockwork! the future of domestic power!
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free,
I wish I could break all the chains holding me,
I wish I could say all the things I should say,
say ‘em loud say ‘em clear for the whole wide world to hear.
With Barry Norman unavailable,
Is he still around? Wikipedia seems to think so, but they are never the most reliable source, I saw him at a Test match a few years ago and he looked well enough so fingers crossed. He was quite good on Spitting image as well as the film show,
Audio’s beyond me, so the written lyrics for the theme tune to the BBC’s once famous film review show (there’s no plugs here) will have to serve as an introduction to this latest piece of written rubbish which opens with a three minute film of flooding in these parts, which may or may not be up for a BAFTA, who am I to say?
For those who have fished here or are due to fish here during the coming season I’d leave the suede shoes at home and perhaps pop in a few bids for some fancy waterproof boots on ebay
It feels like half time in the cup tie with Floodsville united. Some rivers will have experienced a hiatus over the past forty eight hours without significant rain or may have even fallen a little but in chalk valleys where replenishment comes via groundwater supply the level has risen insidiously over the past few days. We have a long way yet to go this winter and I confidently predict that the sequel to this BAFTA nominated film due to released next week will feature even higher levels of drama, with ducks playing in places they shouldn’t a particular highlight.
Surely “clockwork” was the way forward, proper power with no issues over water.
Following a gentle reminder of commitments made on the first day of this year, determined efforts are being made to avoid criticism of those in higher places during the laying down of this drivel.
I am not riding the crest of a wave of emotion after Bridget Jones clinched a much deserved bronze medal, but am genuinely impressed by the whole bunch. A spectacular sport that held the lady who sleeps on my left and myself rapt for much of the past weekend. A creditable crowd who are quick to laugh at themselves, they are skilled and brave with a genuine respect for their opponent and are an example that other sports would do well to follow.
In the ladies event one competitor flunked a jump landed on her head travelled fifty yards with legs flapping in all manner of unusual directions, but within a minute she was up on her feet, albeit with a smashed helmet, to scoot down the remainder of the course to receive the applause of her contemporaries.
The contrast with football or cricket (sports once close to my heart) is stark. If Chico Flores had bumped his head like the wee dot of a girl pushing for a medal he would have been out for weeks, let alone finishing the game, and if Michael Clarke had been at the bottom of the slope to welcome a brave competitor it would not have been the hugs of fellow snowboarders that welcomed him but a “next time you’ll break your F*****arm”
Tongue tied footballers could also learn a little from the snow-boarding vernacular. Baffling at times and not a little bonkers, it does set the scene and each particular competitor, like the Lusitania at either end of a transatlantic crossing is either “stoked” or “unstoked”
The BBC got itself in a bit of a muddle when one of our pioneering competitors declared himself to be “hucked” for which the BBC issued a swift apology, although no apology was forthcoming for allowing Austrian Ski jumper Andreas Wank to run twice through his repertoire well before the watershed.
The traditional ski jumping that followed seemed a little tame, and both the lady who sleeps on my left and myself were urging all who competed to chuck in a few spins or flips in order to up the style marks.
A wise old manager currently on a lengthy secondment in the North East, attempted to divert the spotlight that had shone fully on the 2012 Olympics back to football, and he sagely pointed out that football too is a beautiful and noble game, played in a terrific spirit by fair minded players with the utmost respect for each other, before being sent to the stands seventy minutes into the first game of the season for abusing the fourth official and the opposing manager.
Phew made it, without making mention of the Generalissimo, the EA, NA, WTT, RSPB, H&IOWWT or anything else in capital letters, I even refrained from compiling my top five most ridiculous people in football.
Oh, Ok then
But in the spirit of all things “Pointless” I will leave a few letters out or jumble the odd word up to avoid litigation.
1. Lana Padrew
2. S_m _ll_rdy_e
3. Joes Minorhio
4. A_l_ S_e_r_r
5. Any manager of Stoke City, it just isn’t football.
PS: I have just spent the afternoon dishing out sandbags to several houses in the village where water laps at the door, the Dever and the Upper Test are now writ red on the excellent EA live flood warning map.