“I remain just one thing, one thing only, that is a clown. It places me on a far higher plane than any politician.”
Charlie Chaplin.
A short one this Friday given your earlier midweek “treat” re-telling the tale of our victorious Stiffs’ team last Saturday. And with the first cricket free weekend since April what temptations await?
Rejoice, Rejoice
Two snippets follow from the excellent CAMRA publication Tyke Taverner which serves to protect a harmless if endangered species known as the Ale Drinker.
Firstly, some good news in that the rate of pub closures is slowing at last, falling to 21 a week during the last six months compared with 27 for the previous period. Of course this still amounts to a thousand a year and broadly 2% of the nation’s estate.
Still, maybe just maybe, we have turned a corner. With the continued growth in micro-pubs allied to the strength and quality of independent brewers, happy days are here again?
Secondly, more comfort to all of us who seek sanctuary in such establishments. Recent government advice on safe levels of alcohol consumption is thoroughly debunked in an article from Good Beer Guide editor Roger Protz.
Those who know best had suggested a reduction in “safe” drinking levels from 21 units to 14 a week for men i.e. seven pints of moderate strength beer.
“The recommended units in the United States are 24.5, 26 in France, 31.5 in Italy and 35 in Spain…with…one of the lowest instances of heart disease and cancer in the world…” counters Protz.
Perhaps it is time for Michael and Sara at The Scruffy to introduce tapas at the Sunday quiz as we seek to maintain at least some cultural links with Europe. Hola!
Bizarrely, our government now recommends the same consumption levels for men and women despite clear scientific analysis that women’s bodies break down alcohol far slower, backed up by evidence available in city centres most Saturday nights of the year.
Frankly, as with most government advice it is all bollocks.
Drink and be merry for it is a short life.
Darkness On The Edge Of Town
Flayed to within a whisker of a heart attack again during my Wednesday night spin class at Kents Fitness, I had returned home happy to still be a functioning “adult” and settled down for dinner.
The convict had been successfully extradited, albeit with enough alcohol in his bloodstream to warrant Australian customs charging duty on him.
He’d left me a touching farewell gift of thanks for five months of care in the community; I viewed the empty pizza box and half-eaten stick of rock with curiosity. Perhaps I should just get a pet next time?
Darkness had fallen seemingly in the flicker of an eye with rain falling steadily too. Summer was definitely a distant memory and it was time now to hunker down.
The autumnal television schedules are as predictable as the New Year sales and sure enough, Kevin McCloud is back again waxing lyrically for the umpteenth series of Grand Designs.
Most of us watch with a mix of wonderment at noble endeavours (Stop trying to sound like Kevin…Ed) and also relish at the occasional money-laden knob who’s arrogance we love to see come falling down.
We live in times when cash-strapped councils are in the unshakeable grip of powerful, profit-obsessed developers awash with cheap money, able to build swathes of over-priced utter crap when and where they wish. So to witness these weekly tales of daring-do is refreshing.
And not to be outdone, from the same stable back comes George Clarke and his Amazing Spaces. This is a programme about nutters who convert an outdoor toilet to a family home, promptly get divorced ending up destitute and bankrupt.
If anything, both programmes prove that the great eccentric British dreamer is still alive and well, Europe or no Europe.
Rant
I did one of those “tests” on Facebook the other day that suggested passing it would rank me as above average IQ. Fifteen grammatical questions that a monkey could have “aced” later, I received my pat on the back.
“Wow! You performed at an absolute genius level on this test – that is the highest possible score that anyone can achieve. You’re in the top 1% ranking! This test included questions which had some of the most misspelled words and phrases in the English language.”
Small wonder we have a dumb down society with even Radio 4 giving air time the other day to The Great British Bake Off. I’ve never watched this but instinctively know it will be utter shit designed for people with great vacuums of space between their ears and even less to do than me.
Driving home I searched for a radio station free from patronising, arse-licking presenters able to structure a sentence without “great…lovely…super!” and with something worthy to listen to; in my despair I hoped a tree might jump into the road and end my suffering.
Rant over and said tree was not found, most likely fallen to make way for an over-priced shit three-bedroomed “detached” box!
More Villas Calendar
Without the man behind the lens many of our continuing humiliations with bat and ball would mostly go unnoticed.
So how about this as a form of sweet retribution on behalf of all of us that have been captured lurching for a catch or with wickets splayed this and many previous seasons?
I give you our club photographer in a former “glory”.
Happy Birthday Our Kid!
Footnote
My regular banging on about the orgy of house building in the district and the absence of any strategic planning of such is again highlighted by the article in today’s local rag.
No matter how well you are funded or organised, the developers are enjoying open season. These types of development do nothing to alleviate any housing crisis merely fill the back pockets of boardroom executives and shareholders.
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