The House Husband

Following our victorious visit to Upton Park last week, the mighty Shots hosted the second round of the Carling (League) Cup tonight. Their opponents were Carlisle, a team that has beaten us before, though one a lot closer to us in club terms than West Ham had been. And fortunately the game was at the Rec as we didn’t really feel up to travelling the 300 odd miles north.

To say that Sonam was keen to attend would be an understatement. I thought he’d already returned to India but, the lucky chap, was still in the UK. He was to join us at Aldershot because, apart from his sparkling company and enthusiastic hand clapping, he has become our good luck charm. After all, every Aldershot game he’s seen has been a victory. For superstitious football fans, this is more than enough. It’s also better than having to wear lucky pants.

Also visiting the UK for a brief, flying visit is Miquel. Nicktor knew him at his old job. He is mostly notable (as far as I’m concerned) for escorting Nicktor to a Spanish bar during the World Cup, where they watched Spain v Portugal with all the enthusiasm of an empty room. I know this because Nicktor (on his world tour) updated me frequently with text messages. Nicktor had arranged to see Miquel, so it was a happy coincidence that his visit coincided with the second round match. I discovered that Miquel is a kindred spirit in that he loves spreadsheets as much as I do.

The plan was for all four of us to meet in the Crimea for a few pre-match beers and then wander over and cheer the mighty Shots to (hopefully) victory. Nicktor (in his lovely new Jag station wagon) picked up the others while I caught a bus. Like the true friends they are, I had a beer waiting for me when I arrived.

The talk was mostly about football as we enjoyed a few pints of forty niner (they have stopped serving 6X because, as reported by the owner of the pub, after three consecutive bad barrels, he stopped ordering it – to say I was devastated is putting it mildly) as we watched a small but determined group of Carlisle supporters arrive. These were obviously true fans. I have no idea whether they were in a coach party or had driven down themselves. One thing I can say is that they appear to be mostly bald.

At Upton Park, Sonam had clapped just as madly as the rest of us but he hadn’t joined in with the singing so we decided to stand on the East Bank and force him to. There was a bit of a crush but the ground wasn’t as crowded as it could have been (total attendance was just over 2,800 – about the same as the travelling fans to West Ham) and we found a nice spot just to the right of the goal.

Of course we had paused for an awful hotdog with onions on the way. While perusing the many sauces on offer, Sonam was a bit miffed that there wasn’t anything really, really hot and settled on tomato kechup. But this was a mere blip in the proceedings.

From the kick-off, we knew this wasn’t going to like Upton Park. While the Shots were dominant, Carlisle were very dangerous on the break, threatening to do something. Aldershot, on the other hand, played their usual brand of football, keeping the crowd on edge with their inconsistencies.

View from the East Bank, ATFC

Straker, as usual, managed to pass the ball to the other side with his normal lack of foresight. He did this with great frequency at West Ham as well and, last weekend managed to get red carded in the league game against Oxford (he was sent off in the 11th minute for bringing down Lewis Guy when he was through on goal – consistently, the same reason the West Ham player was sent off for last week). On the last three games, alone, he is looking like a liability.

Still, in general, the first half was pretty evenly balanced with both teams playing with a determination which sometimes bordered on desperation. A great moment was when Sonam started singing next to me. A true fan!

About ten minutes before the end of the half, I went to the loo (to avoid the crowds) and almost missed the greatest moment of the first half. Fortunately I could see from the edge of the ground as Luke Guttridge crossed to Michael Rankine who emphatically sent the Shots into the lead. The crowd went crazy, lifting the roof from the terrace in their joy and jubilant cheering. It was impossible to hear the referee blow his whistle for the break.

At halftime, the ground was abuzz with possibilities, chat mostly being about the possible next round against Rochdale. But chickens should never be counted prematurely. The second started with Aldershot hearts in Aldershot throats.

I have no idea what the Carlisle manager said during the halftime talk in the dressing room but I think he must have said something about how bad they were playing. He probably said it wasn’t possible to play any worse. From the beginning of the second half, the team was determined to prove him wrong. They played like a team intent on losing.

Aldershot dominated the second half completely, making the opposition look like school boys. We were loving it, willing the ball to go into the net. It wasn’t until near the end of the game that Straker took the ball on the right wing, close to the line and crossed it into the box. True to form, the ball went straight to, Carlisle player, Danny Livesey. Happily (for us) he turned the ball into his own net.

Aldershot was 2-0 up and we all went mad. Back slapping, high fives, just like Upton Park. The East Bank was delirious. Rochdale a real possibility. The game was there for us to lose because the way Carlisle was playing, they were never going to win.

Again, injury time was going to be five minutes and we watched as Carlisle did nothing and we played ‘keep the ball’. And then it was full time. The Shots had won…again. Another great night. We headed out among the happy hordes, heading for Nicktor’s new car – the really, really lovely Jag station wagon.

He had said he would drive Miquel and Sonam back so I volunteered to accompany him so he didn’t have to drive back alone. While I have to say the new Jag is a wonderful car (that’s very, very comfortable) the SatNav could be a little smarter. It seems to think the quickest way between two points is not a straight line but via the M25. Good job the Jag is such a nice car and the company so entertaining.

As we said goodbye, we told Sonam he had to return for the Rochdale game on September 20. He declared he was going to the Home Office to ensure he would.

The last time Aldershot travelled to Upton Park to play West Ham they were beaten solidly 6-1. That was in 1991. While the Hammers were relegated from the Premier League last season and now play in the Championship, they are still two leagues above the mighty Shots. Even so, when Aldershot drew West Ham away in the Carling Cup, we thought we’d go and show our support.

At first the game was scheduled for a night that Nicktor would be in Crete but then the London riots intervened and the game was postponed. It was re-scheduled for tonight – you could hear Nicktor whoop with glee from Greece.

And so we met at Waterloo at 3:15 and wandered over to the King’s Arms for a few pre-game pints. We had a jolly time discussing the best places to drink in York with an American who lives in Mexico and is visiting England. When we told him about the game and how important it was, he asked whether we’d placed a bet on Aldershot to win. We laughed with derision and assured him, we’d lose.

The result was such a foregone conclusion that West Ham had already printed the tickets, ready for the next round.

The plan was to meet Sonam (who, following his first cricket match on Monday was now going to be treated to his first English football game) at Waterloo at around 6pm so we wandered over, making a point to pop our heads into the Hole in the Wall pub.

The travelling fans (who were not on one of the 11 coaches from Aldershot) were meeting at this small pub. There was quite a sizeable crowd on the footpath outside while inside it was heaving with supporter’s shirts. We couldn’t have bought a beer if we’d tried.

Under the clock at Waterloo we watched as Shots fan appeared on trains and vanished down to the Jubilee Line. Generally I watch fans in their Arsenal, Spurs, Chelsea or England shirts milling about on the way to games but this was quite stirring.

On the Shots site, it was written that 1500 tickets had already been sold for the game. Nicktor estimated there would probably be at least another 500 buying at the gate (of which we were three). It felt like most of them were at Waterloo.

When Sonam met us we joined a big mob of Aldershot fans, ploughing through the commuters, singing and smiling and giving high fives to charity workers along the way to the Tube. Singing down the escalators, making as much noise as possible, must have sounded pretty scary to the people caught in the middle but for us, it was glorious. We were on our way to a massive game, to support our team. We were joyous. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

The platform was alive with red shirts, still singing and cheering. We hopped onto the first train to arrive, crowding in with the commuters. The bulk of the fans waited for the next one. As we pulled into Canary Wharf we were told to change for the train following. We stood and waited.

The indicator board said the train would arrive in three minutes. Beneath the indicator was the time. It was an awfully long three minutes. We counted at least five while we stood there.

When the train finally arrived (packed with Shots fans) we were told it had been stopped and the fans told to keep it down. They were being very loud and thumping the roof of the train. The transport police were not amused. By the looks on the faces of the normal travellers, I’d say they weren’t particularly pleased either.

Eventually we arrived at Upton Park station, to a flowing crowd of football fans streaming down the high street like a river of claret and red and blue. It was all very good natured as fans from both sides mingled on the way to the ground.

We joined an extremely long queue for the turnstiles and gradually shuffled forwards. Upton Park is a Premiership stadium, seating over 35,000 at capacity. It felt like they were all queueing for tickets with us.

It took a while but eventually we were standing in the back row of the visitors end, already singing and cheering before the team actually took to the pitch. Here’s a few reserves, warming up.

Pre-game warm up at Upton Park

And then the game started and the noise increased to fever pitch. From the beginning, Aldershot played like a team possessed. They had the greater amount of play, making the West Ham players look like a bunch of skittles, rooted to the spot. It was glorious to watch. Our passes were completed, chances were tried. It all increased the noise coming from our end.

And then West Ham scored. Out of nowhere. It was possibly one of their first attacks on us and they went through us like a knife through butter, showing the difference in wages and skill. Cold and efficiently, it was quickly 1-0.

The scoreline at half time

That didn’t lessen the din coming from the Aldershot faithful. We couldn’t hear the West Ham fans as we continued singing and taunting them with “We can’t hear you singing” and a few less savoury suggestions involving possible uses for bubbles.

Half-time arrived and we sat down. There was no possible way of getting downstairs to visit food or beer counters given that a wall of Aldershot supporters stood between us and them. We discussed the first half in glowing terms. The Shots had played out of their skins. The biggest fear would be that they returned exhausted, allowing West Ham to dominate after the break and push home their advantage to a good solid thrashing.

Bobbies keeping us honest during the half time break

We stood up again as the players retook the field. Aldershot were now attacking the goal directly below us. The singing started in earnest once more with frequent gestures of defiance directed towards the West Ham fans.

Shortly after the restart, there was a horrendous tackle just outside the box on Danny Hylton. The referee didn’t hesitate. He reached into his pocket and held his red card high. We loudly sang “Cheerio” and waved vigorously as West Ham’s Callum McNaughton left the pitch, head bowed. I thought it rather impolite that he didn’t wave back.

After this, Aldershot kept piling on the pressure while it seemed that West Ham was merely trying to slow the tempo and play defensively, holding onto the narrow one goal advantage. And then it happened.

With about 12 minutes to go, a mad scuffle around the goal below us and we scored. The players went crazy, all of them piling on top of Gutteridge (the scorer). The crowd went crazier. There was lots of jumping up and down, strangers bashing each other in joy, high fives and tens freely flowing. It was joy unconfined.

I have never felt anything like this level of elation. It was palpable. You could reach out and pull it around you like a rather noisy duvet.

West Ham suddenly realised they now had to fight back and they poured on the pressure. A draw at full-time would mean extra time and then a penalty shoot out (and no-one wants that). The singing grew and we watched the West Ham fans start to flow out of the stadium, disappointed with their team, I can only assume.

If the first goal was electric, the second was nuclear. Danny Hylton slotted home Aldershot’s second goal on 89 minutes. I’m sure the stand above us was bouncing up and down with the noise. 2,500 supporters sounded like 50,000. We were in front. It seemed so impossible. Nicktor’s face was a mixture of disbelief and sheer ecstasy.

The board for injury time went up, announcing five minutes more to be played. To our left, the few West Ham supports left possibly saw this as an opportunity to at least take it to a draw. So many times a lesser league team has come a-cropper in the final moments of injury time.

Hearts in throats but still screaming encouragement, we watched as Aldershot kept control of the ball, frustrating the opposition. And then…the unthinkable. At the other end, after some sharp one touch passing, a shot on our goal. We watched, tears starting to form as the net quivered. To have victory snatched so cruelly. We had dominated, had controlled the game. And then this.

Suddenly we realised the ball had hit the netting from the outside. The shot had been wide. Very quickly the whistles started around us (including us), urging the referee to end this wonderful display. And finally, thankfully, he did.

Aldershot had achieved the impossible. We won 2-1, playing the under dog to perfection. Never letting up, never ending the pressure. The team were ecstatic, the crowd was insane. I will never forget it. This was the greatest game of football I have ever seen. Sonam said he would never forget it. Nicktor looked delirious.

Eventually we left the stadium, surrounded by happy, singing supporters, keeping the locals awake with our joy. The noise didn’t end on the streets. The Tube, Waterloo station and, finally, the train home. people were still singing about the wonderful victory. I felt on top of the world, proudly wearing my Shot’s shirt.

A vague memory of the chap we chatted to in the King’s Arms appeared with his suggestion we should place a bet on the Shots to win. I can hear him chuckling as he read the result in the paper. I’m also not sure what West Ham is going to do with all the tickets they stupidly printed.

Today I overheard someone talking on a phone, obviously giving directions:

“If you keep walking, you’ll find me,” she said and then paused to listen.
“Near gate 22,” she said and then paused to listen.
“No! Just keep walking! You’ll reach me eventually,” she said and then listened.
“Of course you will! Because it’s round. It’s like a circle except it’s oval. Like an egg. But if you keep walking in either direction, you’ll find me!”

I’m not sure it’s actually occurred to me that an oval is called an oval because it is oval shaped, like an egg. I’m also certain that the Oval in Vauxhall is also called the oval because it’s oval shaped, which it is. And I can vouch for the shape because I walked around it today.

I found myself at the cricket this morning. This wasn’t a pleasant little accident but a carefully planned excursion. Nicktor had suggested it a while ago but then not been able to book the tickets, which I did while he was in Greece. I’m very, very glad I did.

We were six: Me, Nicktor & Matt, Stuart & Joe and Sonam. Stuart is a friend of Nicktor, and Joe is his son. Sonam is a guy who works (sort of) for Syngenta in an off-shore capacity. He is from India and has been over here for six months for training. When Nicktor suggested going to cricket, he jumped at the chance…being Indian. And we’d come to see the fifth day of the fourth (and final) cricket test – England v India.

The seats were fantastic. I should clarify, they weren’t particularly comfortable (they never are) but their position was wonderful.

The Oval

And what a difference to the cricket we go up north for. Much more civilised. You get to actually watch the cricket for a start. None of the stupid fancy dress either. More about the cricket and less about showing off for your mates. Even the beer, food and toilet queues were shorter.

To top it all off, England trounced India but not before a fine morning session of batting by Tendulkar (in his final international test match) and Mishra (an excellent night watchman). It was a bit sad because Tendulkar was aiming for his 100th 100 but was out LBW for 91. The crowd, every man Jack of them, stood and applauded a fine batsman, as he left the pitch.

That is when cricket transcends all other sports; that is why it is so special and why test cricket must never disappear. It doesn’t matter who you support, the game is the thing and when a player from either side, does something special, the praise is universal.

Mishra batted very well but he went soon after the lunch break, followed by Tendulkar and then it all fell apart for India. Wickets fell as the batsmen tried to at least equal the England first innings score. They didn’t manage it and England won by an innings and 8 runs.

England fielding, the Oval

It was a very successful series for England. They beat India 4-0! I seriously think this is one of the best English test teams I’ve ever seen. They play very, very well together. I do think it’s a pity that two of the players are not actually English, however, ignoring them, the team is very solid.

Anyway, apart from that, this was Sonam’s very first test cricket match…EVER! He was like a kid in a sweet shop. He loved it (ok, he wasn’t that keen on the result but even so) and took about a thousand photographs.

All round a fabulous day, thoroughly enjoyed by all of us…well, to be completely accurate, the two boys did get a bit restless around 3:30 but it was very hot and they are very young. And they did perk up when we left.

The view from Nicktor's sunnies

Waking at a ridiculous 7am (having gone to bed at about 1:30am) the puppies and I moved from the bed to the lounge to watch the news. Nicktor slept on. He is one of those lucky people who can just sleep. Even though he wakes early for work every day, he can still sleep for England when work doesn’t grab him out of bed (with the help of an alarm).

He eventually woke at 8:30 and, having showered and changed, we set off for the station at 9. He never has breakfast. Weird.

Along the park path a group of kids had chalked a mural. A variety of images from butterflies to hopscotch, from mountains to snakes had been added to the path. Some of the images were very good. I particularly liked the peacock, though something tells me an adult possibly had a hand in it.

Chalk peacock on park path

We admired the artistry while calmly walking over it, eventually arriving at the station.

Nicktor hates trains and when he realised he’d have to catch three to get to me, he moaned. He no longer has a car, work having picked up his company car on Friday, and is at the mercy of public transport until he buys one. He’s still trying to sort out what to buy; wanting a convertible but having to settle for a family car.

Hearing his transport complaints, Dawn smiled and said “Welcome to Gary’s world!” This did nothing to console him but made me laugh because I was going to say the same thing.

I waited for the train with him but, unlike with Mirinda, I didn’t stand and wave as the train pulled out, preferring to head to Starbucks.

Gostrey Meadow in the Sunday sun

The rest of the day was mostly spent in the garden, weeding. I’m pretty sure that the word ‘weeds’ comes from the Latin for “grows better than anything else”. It never ends! I’m pretty sure I saw some of them growing while I was pulling others out.

It was a very pleasant and restful day, weeding and listening to the cricket, a gentle sun overhead, a slight breeze taking the heat away. The poodles were stretched out underneath various bits of garden furniture (Carmen spent some of her sleeping under an obelisk) with occasional visits to ensure I hadn’t forgotten about them. It was sometime in the afternoon that I noticed it.

We’d planted some gladiolus bulbs earlier in the year and they had pushed forth green stalks, rising high and glorious but little else. But now, before my eyes, one stalk had appeared, the flowers still tightly bunched inside.

This had seemingly appeared out of nowhere but, while very exciting, it didn’t occupy a lot of examination time. Later, having read a bit about Dame Edna’s favourite flowers, I found out that the word gladiolus comes from the Roman word for sword – gladius. It strikes me as amusing that gladius means sword but ‘glad’ means happy. And, of course, that’s what Dame Edna calls them…well, ‘gladdys’ to be more accurate.

So, not so much sword-like as happy plants. And, to be honest, I think they make better smile inducers than they would be lethal weapons.

Even though I don’t work – well, in the traditional way, whereby I interact with other people while getting paid for doing something deemed worth paying for – my weeks are filled with ‘stuff’. Weekends, on the other hand, are a time when Mirinda and I can chill, enjoy the garden and/or visit other people’s, basically just enjoying each other’s company more than anything else. When she’s away, I tend to feel a bit lost.

Dawn obviously felt a bit sorry for me; with a vision of me sitting at home moping (not mopping, which is difficult when seated) and so invited me to join all four Cansfields at Millfest.

Millfest is an annual event held in the beer garden of a lovely, very English country pub in Milland, not far from them. Fortunately it’s quite a sizeable beer garden.

They have a number of (unknown) bands performing on the smallest stage I think I’ve ever seen, a fantastic beer tent as well as the bar, a food delivery service that is run with military precision and a massive crowd of, mostly, family groups.

I was very lucky. Nicktor offered to come and pick me up. This was lucky for a couple of reasons. Mainly because the trains were replaced by buses between Farnham and Aldershot, which would have been a pain. Also because I haven’t seen Nicktor for a few weeks so it was nice to have a catch up in the drive back.

While waiting at home, I managed to watch the first half of a rugby league match between Warrington and Wigan (a quarter final of the Challenge Cup) which, I can only describe as amazing. After the first 25 minutes, Wigan had played like a bunch of crazy people, building up an impressive 22-0 lead. Then everything turned on it’s head and Warrington scored some fantastic tries to go in at half time at 22-16.

I’m not the biggest league fan in the world but the game was incredibly exciting. It was like Warrington had been dazed and confused while Wigan ran all over them and then, shaking themselves, full clarity returned and they fought back. It was a pity the half ended because I reckon they would have ran away with the game at that point.

Nicktor arrived as half time drew to a close so I didn’t get to see the rest of the game. On Breakfast this morning, I heard that Wigan took the game 24-44. Without having seen the second half, I figure that Warrington just ran out of steam. The ‘pundits’, the sort of guys that dad hates, were saying at half time that if Wigan wanted to win, they had to not only defeat Warrington in points but also in stamina. They didn’t think they would, particularly after Warrington staged the sort of comeback that Spartans would be proud of. Well, Wigan showed them!

Anyway, we arrived at the Cansfield house in time to see the last few Indian wickets fall in the first test at Lords, before heading out to Millfest.

It’s not often that I get to see the entire family in one go, so it was a bit of a treat for me. As Dawn was driving, she wasn’t drinking, so it wasn’t as much a treat for her.

Interestingly, the acts we saw were very good with 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s and 00s covers but failed miserably when it came to trying Pink Floyd. One memorable performance for all the wrong reasons, was by a girl in black and white horizontal stripes wearing acid blue bedroom slippers, trying to emulate Clare Torry‘s wordless performance on The Great Gig in the Sky. She wasn’t very good…that’s me being generous.

A stage clearly not made for Big Bands

Still, apart from the Pink Floyd blunders, the bands were quite good. They performed some great medleys of songs that were strung together very well. I should add that we didn’t see the earlier bands which, even I, cannot comment on. I particularly liked the Led Zeppelin numbers they performed although the woman drummer, while in all other ways excellent, was no John Bonham.

While we were there, Nicktor seemed to attract an inordinate amount of female attention. As he greeted, what seemed to be his harem, I asked Dawn who these women were and she just shrugged, as mystified as me. After she asked him for the umpteenth time who they all were, he made sure to go and chat to a few males he claimed to know.

I managed to snap him with a couple of his floozies. Apparently, after I took this photograph, the woman with him was a bit concerned. I’m not sure if this was because she didn’t want to be seen with him or she just didn’t want to be seen. Regardless, I’m not big on showing mercy without foundation.

Nicktor notices my high powered zoom lens

Millfest ended for kids at 10pm so we packed the car with the boys and took them home. Dawn drove me to Haslemere station where I realised I was drunker than I thought I was.

With a great amount of effort, I managed to read the indicator board to find that the next train to Guildford wasn’t for three quarters of an hour. Adding this to the journey time and the fact that I would have to change trains then get a railway bus meant I wouldn’t be home until September. I went and grabbed a taxi.

And what an knowledgeable taxi driver I had! At one point, while classical music filled the cab, we were discussing the Russian novel One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Actually, I was talking about growing up in Australia and happened to mention the fact that in the Russian labour camps, if the temperature sunk as low as -42, they didn’t have to go to work, quoting Solzhenitsyn and he came back with “A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich?“. We had a jolly good chat about how Russian literature developed as a result of a repressive rule.

At home I collapsed beneath the weight of over excited puppies and gradually drifted off to sleep with the television entertaining itself. At 3am I decided I should go to bed.

And so, another yearly cricket jaunt has been completed. This year, at Headingley. A lot of beer was consumed, a day of cricket was watched and we even went to a gig! But first, the cricket.

England won the toss and elected to field

Sri Lanka started off pretty badly, although we missed the beginning because our taxi was late, the beer queue was too long and security to get into the ground was pretty full on. In fact, Neil, the nicest kindest chap you could ever hope to meet, had his umbrella confiscated at the gate. He collected it afterwards without too much hassle but, you have to wonder how this can happen in Yorkshire where it rains nearly every day, especially during cricket matches. It also makes you wonder why they took his umbrella but allowed the guys sitting behind us to get in with bottles of vodka.

So, as I said, Sri Lanka started off pretty badly, losing two early wickets to silly run outs. Actually, I’m assuming they were silly because we didn’t see them for the simple reason that…well, read the above paragraph again.

They steadily put on runs eventually making 309 for the loss of only 5 wickets. Not a bad innings and good steady run making throughout. Here’s a shot of Jayawardene just after he reached his 50 – he eventually scored 144:

During the earlier stages of the game, Sri Lanka looks confident

After the change over, England started off well but soon it fell apart with wickets falling and the bowling keeping them stuck to the crease for too long with the result that the run rate required kept mounting and the runs remained static. It started becoming obvious they wouldn’t win and the batsmen started hitting anything for runs which, of course, meant they were out a lot quicker. They could only manage a piddling 240 in reply and were all out in the 45th over (out of 50).

As a day out for a bunch of blokes, it was great. There was 12 of us in all arranged in two rows of six. This always works out well because you can float around into different seats, chatting with different people throughout the day. Unless you happen to be called Colin and do not understand the social niceties inherent in this sort of arrangement.

Nicktor gets his head in shot at Headingley

It was while we were in Holmfirth the night before that someone noticed that Paul Carrick was performing at the Picturedrome after the cricket, that we decided it would be a good idea to get tickets and go. Generally the night is just spent listlessly sitting outside Hervey’s drinking, then going to a restaurant for some food we don’t really taste because we’ve been drinking all day. Going to a gig was a welcome departure from this. It was particularly welcome because Colin didn’t manage to get tickets.

Paul Carrick has played with such bands as Mike and The Mechanics, Squeeze (or, as we called them on Australia, UK Squeeze) and Roxy Music, and has also performed solo a lot. Here he is performing for us:

Paul Carrack at the Holmfirth Picturedrome

I would estimate the average age in the audience was about 45 so you can pretty much guess the type of music he plays. Afterwards, it was agreed that this was a lovely way of spending ‘cricket night’ and we should make sure that someone is one at the Picturedrome next year when we come up. Well, someone good, anyway.

As usual we were the weekend guests of Big Al and Heidi who were wonderfully generous hosts, as usual, in their newly renovated home. The renovations are gorgeous, giving the entire house the feel of a design magazine layout. I’m not sure how much input Heidi had (I’m guessing a lot) but they now have a house they both love.

I find it amazing how friendly everyone is (if you ignore Colin, of course) when they only see me once a year. but each time they all say hi and shake my hand and remember my name. Obviously they all know each other because they work for the same company, but I’m just Nicktor’s mate. In fact, when I expressed my wonder at them all being so nice, Nicktor pointed out that they were all friends of his (excepting Colin) and therefore would be the kind of people he liked and, logically, the kind of people I liked. And vice versa. He makes an excellent point. Evidentially, I dislike Colin as much as he does as well.

A great weekend, thoroughly enjoyed by everyone. Now, here’s looking forward to 2012.

‘Twas a very busy day. So busy, it felt like more than one. Without a sleep in between.

First up, we had decided to go and look at a cottage we’d found (and which I’d shown mum and she’d shown Audrey and Mirinda showed Susanne…and so it goes) and thought looked perfect for us. Actually it was pretty good from the details online and we thought it maybe just the solution we were looking for rather than put up with extensions and such like, here.

And so I went to guitar with Mirinda and sat outside in the table area enjoying a coffee and caramel slice. That’s two separate things and not a caramel slice with the addition of coffee granules. While I sat and read (or raced cars on my smart phone) I listened to someone torture the Flintstones theme on a trumpet. Actually, when Mirinda finished she asked me if I’d heard her. It was impossible over the trumpet, I assured her.

Mirinda bought a new guitar today. It’s a silent one. Just the right thing to play on business class flights. It’s quite an odd looking thing. You can even plug it in, add headphones and listen to yourself play while still not bothering anyone else…although the singing may be a bit disturbing.

Directly after her class, we went over to a small place called Rake. It’s just down the road from Liphook, where Dawn and Nick live. It is also where the cottage is. We went to the garden centre which is nearly all the shops in Rake, had a coffee and then on to the cottage.

The road between Liphook and Petersfield dissects Rake. Every room of the cottage was filled with the reverberations of the traffic travelling almost constantly along this road because the cottage is mere inches from the side of it. Honestly, I couldn’t hear half of what the realo said, it was so loud. Sad, really, because we could have seen ourselves living there. Perhaps if we grow profoundly deaf, it may be an option.

Yesterday I’d asked Nicktor is he was going to be in around lunchtime so we could pop in and congratulate him on his new job. And we did (Dawn was out gallivanting around museums in London), having a great old chinwag. Mirinda, while talking on the phone, hadn’t seen Nicktor for ages. They chatted about work while I feigned interest.

Back in Farnham I went shopping while Mirinda went home only to answer the telephone to Uncle Ronnie who was on his way from Devon to Horsham to attend a party. We were on the way so he was dropping in. I needed to hurry home. Which I did.

A goodly while later, Uncle Ronnie and Ivan turned up and we spent a lovely hour or so sitting out the back, eating cake and chatting about various things. It was all very jolly, although sadly short, and they soon took off for the party, two hours late.

I managed to get Mirinda to take our photo just before they left. Here I am with Uncle Ronnie.

Uncle Ronnie getting attacked by the wisteria

And here’s Ivan, successfully managing to get the campervan out of our street after a 15 point turn.

Ivan manages to turn his campervan around

It was a lovely day but a wee bit busy for us home bodies!

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I’ve included two of the tracks from this week’s Talking Newspaper. Firstly it’s
whats on quickly followed by sport.

I learned an awful lot about Humber bicycles today. The most surprising thing was that the big metal sprocket which the chain goes around and the pedals are attached to, had a pattern which was made to resemble people. Like paper dolls, they are all attached at the upraised hands and spread feet. There are five of them. I wasn’t able to find out why but it was something they were known for.

The company doesn’t exist any more because they were bought by Raleigh Cycles a while back but the innovations they brought to the world of cycling remain. What also remains are a number of fantastic posters from the early 20th century depicting some seriously rough looking bikes with Edwardian ladies and top hated gentlemen riding or holding them. Though, I’m quite taken with this one I found on the Net.

French girl on a bicycle and not at all shy

Purely coincidentally, a couple of records after the Humber, was a poster featuring a Continental tyre. Continental were (and still are to some extent) very big in bicycle tyre development and invention. They are a massive company and the record I’ve started will take quite a lot more work to complete. Needless to say, their car tyre business is somewhat larger and more what they’re known for. Though they are quite proud of the fact that in 1900 they made the seals for the gas bag of the world’s first airship.

These two companies started at about the same time (albeit one in England and the other in Germany) but I have no idea whether their paths crossed. Rubber being a rapidly changing industry as well as bicycling, they very well may have.

I also researched three Scottish artists…I only mention this because I might get one each week but multiple Scottish artists is a rarity for me.

At lunchtime I took a wander around the first floor among the clocks and compasses, picking out possible blips. There were a lot of kids there today. I think teachers decide Friday is a good day to take the little ones to the Science Museum. I wish they’d asked me.

I quite like the fact that they suspend huge things from the ceiling. Here’s an example. I’m not sure what type of plane it is but it sure looks like it’s about to hit that security guard. On the other hand, he doesn’t look the least bit fazed.

Plane about to land in the Science Museum

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And as I left work I received a phone call from Nicktor – this is quite rare as we generally text or email. He was offered and has taken the new job! I shall now refer to him as the HR King. All hail Nicktor, the HR King.

We ate Chez Gaz gourmet lamb burgers al fresco with Nicktor continually telling the girls they weren’t getting fed from the table. He did this once a long time ago and was given a severe reprimand. As a reward he left them a bit which was immediately devoured, almost before hitting their bowls.

Nicktor dropped off at the Hogs Back Brewery on the way over so we had the pleasure of drinking fresh beer in a big plastic bottle. The sort of lovely beer that has a short life use by date ensuring it is consumed as quickly as possible. In olden times, this would have been called ‘small beer’. It is brewed to go – fast beer, if you will.

We actually had an interesting discussion about Macdonalds and why people like eating tasteless food. Setting the health issues aside, it always amazes me that people eat for the sake of eating rather than for the joy of the taste. I mean, we all have to eat so why make it joyless?

I’m not having a go at Macdonalds. After all, they are one of the most successful companies ever to open its doors to the world, but I wonder why people keep eating there. Nicktor says it’s a treat for his boys when they go and they love it. I still wonder what’s to love. I asked why they don’t prefer KFC because, while clearly just as bad for you, it at least has a lot of taste. He just shrugged.

This led quite naturally to a discussion about why, so called beer drinkers were content with tasteless lagers. Not all lagers, of course. I’m quite partial to Peroni and there’s some marvellous German, Belgian and French beers I try as often as possible. It’s the likes of Fosters and Carling and Heiniken that has me bemused. It seems people only drink it to get drunk without anything as mundane as taste to get in the way. And these breweries are very successful.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for getting drunk but I like to employ my sense of taste while doing so. I’m not being a real ale snob; I really wish someone who willingly drinks tasteless beer would explain it to me.

After an enjoyable chat, we were no closer to the truth but it appears to be that the less taste, the more successful a product will be. Humans are very odd sometimes.

Our two films this week were The Firm (not to be confused with the Tom Cruise film of the same name but very different premise) and the original I Spit on Your Grave. The former about football hooligans wrapped in a coming of age story about a young lad from London and the latter a tale of very sweet revenge.

We were a bit disappointed with The Firm. It promised much but delivered little. The humour, however, was fantastic and ran through it like a soft centre of caramel surrounded by excessively dark chocolate.

The one thing it did do was to give me a glimpse into the strange world of 1980s fashion in London. I now know where the chavs inherited their love of tracksuits and appalling haircuts.

While it showed the grim reality of football violence and how these things escalate out of control when you allay yourself to a demented leader, there was no football – I’m disregarding the brief spell of 5-a-side that the hooligans play at one stage. Not having the backdrop of football tends to dilute the message because it just becomes a film about a bunch of violent guys who go out and beat each other up in mass riots. Essentially there is no reason, albeit a slim one, when the impetus is removed.

I realise it’s actually a film about Dom growing up and away from his childhood, wanting to be accepted by the tribal members of an older fraternity but it still lacks the football and I think that is essential.

I Spit on Your Grave was interesting when we had seen the remake a few Nicktor Nights ago. The original is very dated (it was made in 1978) and was obviously made on an extremely tiny budget – even the leading lady looks like she hadn’t had a meal for years. Afterwards, Nicktor said he preferred the remake but I disagreed. My thinking was that for all its gloss, the remake added more gore than was entirely necessary as well as an extra character who was a bit surplus in my view.

Nicktor did rather like the way in which the chief protagonist met his end however. Sitting in a bath tub with the leading lady apparently going to give him a lot of pleasure. Instead, she cuts off his privatest of parts with a big knife. He has his eyes closed, lost in the moment and mumbles: “It feels good. So good, it hurts.” Suddenly blood gushes up as a main artery is severed and he stares down into the tub in disbelief. Classic revenge moment.

Of course it has problems but not quite as many as the remake – the girl’s survival for one – which, for me, makes the original better.

The evening’s entertainment, however, was not over yet. We sat and watched two episodes of the British sitcom I wasn’t allowed to mention in a previous posting. Nicktor decided I could reveal the name as he feels his shame should be spread across the entire Internet. It was Sorry!, starring little Ronnie Corbett, from a time of gentler comedy. We laughed all the way through both episodes. I have just discovered, there are 7 series…

I love Nicktor Nights. Nicktor is getting a new job. I hope we can still have them.

Or so Mirinda said. She had a couple of meetings miles apart and barely time to register my presence. But before that…

She has decided to take her netbook away with us rather than the portable DVD player. This way she can load films/TV programmes onto the netbook and watch them through iTunes. All well and good and a lot less to carry when you consider the player AND the DVDs AND the fact that she’d probably bring the netbook anyway.

Trouble is, when we loaded something onto the netbook it didn’t render very well. It was all jerky and impossible to watch more than two seconds of content. It looked like it was going to be the extra suitcase full of technology unless I could do something miraculous.

So, stepping into a handy telephone booth I quickly changed into my secret disguise as Mr Fixitup and hightailed it up to Canary Wharf to secretly fix the netbook. Actually it wasn’t so quick. I spent a few hours last night working out what the problem was with the help of a few forums and techies that know stuff that I can only imagine. To be fair, I can’t even imagine most of it.

Arriving at the flat I immediately set to work (with the IPL cricket on in the background). It was a long, drawn out process (quite the opposite to the cricket) but I managed to fix it. And I take it back. As much as I hate all things Apple, it wasn’t their fault. It was the high spec of the netbook which needed taking down a peg or two in order to play the antique Apple generated files.

Meanwhile, Mirinda was starting a meeting which consisted of a ridiculous amount of individual five minute presentations with nary a breath for pausing. It was late starting and, eventually, late in ending. We had already planned an elaborate meeting which took ages to work out. The change in time merely meant I had longer to watch the cricket…I mean, fix the netbook. Which I did and then wandered across to South Quays station, where I hopped the DLR to meet her near the young ballerina sitting on her chair.

The view of the DLR tracks from South Quays station

This is the view from where I sat in the sun, reading and waiting.

A row of red telephone boxes

It was very pleasant, particularly as I was sitting beneath a rather scrawny but effective for all that, tree.

Eventually Mirinda met me with the rather irritated remark that our lunchtime would now consist of walking to her next meeting which was to be held in Portcullis House which is opposite the Houses of Parliament. She was meeting a man from the government to discuss something important (again, I am sworn to secrecy and all I can say is that it wasn’t David Cameron she was meeting).

The area around the Houses of Parliament is renowned for two main things: Firstly the crowds are always horrendous made worse by the ever present roadworks and, secondly, there’s very few places to eat. For starters, the Nero’s is so small it can only fit one bar stool in it and a barista. I guess they (the politicians) don’t want to encourage people to eat too much. What with the obesity levels the way they are.

For whatever reason, we ended up buying sandwiches from a girl in Boots who didn’t understand Mirinda when she asked if the building we were in was Portcullis House (it wasn’t). After Mirinda had left, the girl asked me what she’d said. After I repeated it, she was still no clearer.

We found Portcullis House and ate our sandwiches beneath one of it’s arches before I left Mirinda to enter the heavy security through which she had to pass to reach her top secret meeting. She tells me that during the meeting a loud horn went off and all the ministers jumped up and ran out, yelling over their shoulders that they had to get to the House and vote. Given the crowds out on the street, I can only assume they have a secret passage.

And then I went home (after picking up a certain fridge magnet that a certain person asked me pick up). And that was it. Mirinda has since apologised for being irritated. I told her she was a lot better than she was in her last job. It think that made her feel a whole lot better. And, by the way, she thought the person she met with wasn’t up to much.

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And just a glimpse of what Nicktor’s week in Germany was like. He tells me he drank the beer first.