Johnny Cash in the Attic and Ally McCoist's Absolutely Bingo

Hello again, hello, 

Thank you Neil, It’s good to say hello. 

This corner of the internet seems to have been neglected of late so herewith is a brief resume of movements completed over the past few weeks, interesting or otherwise. 

Well the river is on the rise and springs are definitely a little more moist but keep it coming please. Preparations remain underway for next summer and I've been pulling cress and introducing flowing water to areas of river where an awful lot of muck has built up during the summer. It’s the equivalent of a giving a small child a good scrub behind the ears or a grandparent moistening a handkerchief to rub vigorously at a mark on the same said small child. 

We’re currently on hiatus from precipitation and the temperature has struggled to climb above freezing for a few days, in horse racing parlance the frost is well and truly “set in the ground” 

While we’re on sport the football’s been quite good. Ok this house was highly critical when “fingers” Blatter awarded the world cup to Qatar and yes this guff has been chucked into the ether for quite a few years. But football in air conditioned halls has been a good watch with few dead rubbers. Raised on Ron Jones and Brian Butler I am quick to pick up a poor pundit and spent much of the group stage matches on ITV playing Ally McCoist’s “Absolutely” Bingo.

The rules are as follows: choose ten numbers between one and a hundred. During the game to which Ally will be providing professional insight (and from one striker to another he wasn’t a bad footballer) each time he utters the word “absolutely” mark the minute in which he made the utterance and if it matches your selected number apply the marker and a life supply of toilet rolls could soon be yours. 

I think somebody had a word during the round of last sixteen matches as Ally didn’t utter a single “absolutely” which could draw the eye of the bet fixing wallahs, but he chucked a few in during the quarter final commentary by way of balance. 

And while we’re on punditry, and apologies if I’ve gone off on one here but it’s been a while, what’s going on with Sky cricket? 

Two years ago we were instructed on the art of bat on ball by chaps in tight trousers surrounding a plinth, hand on hip squeezing out every last drop of machismo and testosterone available to their ageing glands. 

Today, for the terrific series in Pakistan (quite a result by the way) we are instructed by a louche bunch kicking back on low slung sofas and scatter cushions in an attempt to infer a Joan Bakewell cerebral feel. Stuart Broad has been dandified and affects the tone of the dishonourable member for the eighteenth century while delivering analysis. Kumar Sangakkara continues his quest to become what hw would describe as the “thinking man’s” pundit while Ian Ward has been tidied up significantly. 

Further news from TV land I was caught out by the listings the other day when clicking on “Classic Cash in the Attic” with the expectation of finding the black clad country crooner banging out Jackson in a small venue, only to take in a moth eared bunch attempting to convince Joe Public that those dusty chattels in a box in the loft could be worth a few pence. 

The frosty fields and dusting of snow betray a large number of Lepus on the fields behind our home, it’s hard work making a scrape on such hard ground. There are many muntjac and roe deer many of whom wander up to the strips of maize because food is getting a little thin on the ground. 

It was quite a surprise to learn of the passing of Nick Fisher the other week. His TV show “Screaming Reels” was ground breaking as fishing programmes go as was some of his radio work. He wrote on fishing matters in The Shooting Times for many years, ceding alternate weeks of his 850 word column to your correspondent for a number of years. 

He was no age and has gone far too soon.