At Home,The Dentist And Work With Vasily And George

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

So it's Monday morning. Still dark out there. We are in that calm moment between daughter having her breakfast and brushing her teeth and the last demands of the old man for her to move to the car and get her stuff so that she can be driven to the school bus stop.

Ten minutes then. Time to light up that Kindle.

So I'm reading Vasily Grossman's An Armenian Sketchbook or if truth be told the introduction. Reading introductions to any book is a risky thing because there is the risk of spoilers. My normal rule is that they're read after I've read everything else unless the writer as in this case is new to me only because it might help me understand what I'm about to read.

Well there is a spoiler in this introduction but an odd one. It's nothing about what's in the main book itself but it reveals a fact about the author that might affect your perception about what you're about to read. I can't explain further without revealing the spoiler myself but you have been warned.

We move the clock forward to a little after nine. The sky is miserable and the air is damp. I know I've used this phrase in the last post but have no problem in repeating it as this time it's literally the dawn of a new grey on a Monday morning.

Perfect time then to go to the dentist.

I am unusually the only patient there but I still have to wait. Don't mind. Could read the magazines or watch the large screen TV (not really an option as it has the sort of daytime programme I'd have switched off if I had control of the remote) but I have come prepared.

To make a quick digression our family has belatedly become fans of the American TV series The Gilmore Girls. We stumbled on this going through Netflix and it's become unique in that it's the only show that myself, the wife and our daughter are prepared to watch together.

Now whilst there are some things I'm not in agreement of. Such as the notion that private schools are automatically better than their state counterparts (something again that I've changed my view of as I've gotten older. What this show has is the ability to remind you that though we might have some irritating quirks most people in the world, whatever their beliefs, are actually nice.

Anyway the reason why I'm mentioning it here is that the youngest "Gilmore Girl" Rory carries a book with her almost everywhere she goes. I am, as regular readers of this blog will know, exactly the same. Today's book is The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot. Despite all the distractions around me I can immerse myself in this novel.

That's what books can do.

I said before that you know you're old when football match officials are older than you. Now add dentists to that list. They also if you're not careful have the power of lecturing you as if you're the younger one. Still I walk out of there with my teeth still attached to the rest of me so I'm happy enough.

Afternoon/evening shift at work. The heating has failed. Good thing this wasn't the last couple of weeks so it is bearable. And in the breaks I continue to read George Eliot's book and forget the cold.

That's what books can do.

Until the next time.

The State Of The Bookshop

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Well have read the short essay The Bookshop Strikes Back by Ann Patchett , bought as I explained yesterday in a bookshop near West Ham's old ground in Upton Park in which she explained how she set up a bookshop in Nashville.

Let me say from the outset that I have absolutely no idea about the state of the bookshop in America. But in terms of Britain I can't really say I was convinced by her optimistic tone.

Now bare in mind that I'm chatting about new books. If you're talking about preowned then the situation is slightly different.

The point is this. You don't judge the state of bookshops in Britain from the vantage point of places like London or Cardiff but in small towns like Bridgend or Porthcawl. So far, I can only see decline.

If you exclude supermarkets then in the Bridgend area there is, with the specialised exceptions of the Welsh language and Christian shops just two places that sell books to any significant degree. The first is W H Smith. It's branch in Ilford (now part of a shopping centre but then just a tiny store) was one of the first providers of my reading education. It was a British shop in the sense that it provided a refined service that you would automatically rely upon. Now though, it will sell anything it can in a manner of a desperate used car salesman .

Slowly but surely the number of books it sells has declined. Part of this is understandable given the advances of such things as DVDs but, as I've explained in an earlier post. Soon the basement floor of the Bridgend branch is going to be turned into the town post office. Consequently what was there will be moved to the ground floor with an obvious consequence that the number and range of books sold will be cut.

The other place is The Works in the Macarthur Glen outlet store. That was a place that used to sell discounted books only. No more. Now books jostles with stationary, sweets, gifts, calendars and games for your attention (As an aside all these non city versions of Monopoly, from The Simpsons through to Doctor Who. Apart from rabid fans are there people who actually think this is more preferable than the classic version?)

Porthcawl did have an independent bookshop but it closed down a few years ago to be replaced by a chemist. In a relatively small area it has three chemists but no bookshops.

The nearest independent bookshop is a small place in the nearby town of Cowbridge . Trouble is it's fifteen minutes roughly from where I live and am not travelling there on the off chance there's a book I might like to buy. (It also incidentally has competition from - when it's opened,another story- a second hand bookshop that sells vintage Penguin paperbacks which of course I collect).

The nearest after that are in the big cities of Cardiff and Swansea about forty minutes away. But again you're not going to travel those distances when there's the comfort of the internet to fall back on.

The situation is exactly like the issue of bank branches. People might do e banking or use a cashpoint but they would want the branch to be there as well and miss it when the bank closes it down. Similarly people might order books online and via the e reader (guilty) but a bookshop would be appreciated as well. Whether it would be economically viable is of course the million dollar question.

So I wish I could be as optimistic as Ms Patchett about the state of the bookshop. But for the moment all I see is the dawning of a new grey.

The new book to read (bought online) is:

Alan Coren - The Cricklewood Tapestry

This is the third part of his humorous essays. Am looking forward to reading it and having my mood lightened by a master of his craft.

Until the next time.

In Which I Realise I Know More About Chess Than Criminology and Other Book Stuff

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

A bit of housekeeping (or is that housestillkeeping?) first. The sale of the house I mentioned a few posts ago has fallen through, The potential buyers could not raise the required amount. So we're now back on the square of one.

Though neutral to the idea of a move I must admit to a certain irritation, if only because I'd spent a large portion of the week looking around Penarth properly for the first time since we'd put the house up for sale, getting details of all relevant houses and arranging viewings for this forthcoming week. All now cancelled.

And in case you're wondering yes I am going to borrow books from Porthcawl (and other libraries in the Bridgend borough) again. No reason why not at this present time.

Have finished the ebook of the three lectures Enrico Ferri gave to the University of Naples on Criminolgy. They were for me a mixture of my ignorance about the subject and the moments that he seemed to be chatting along about the bleeding obvious. Still I've never been afraid to broadcast my ignorance to the universe and so I think it's best to give Enrico the benefit of the doubt.

Amougst the great e unread the book that replaces it is An Armenian Sketchbook by Vasily Grossman. To go off at a tangent here I had discovered through Twitter a podcast about books which had somehow been forgotten called Backlisted. Going through the episodes it has quickly become my favourite book podcast. Their latest podcast concerns Georgette Heyer, a writer who I wasn't interested in until last year when I'd read False Colours (which was a Penguin paperback). I'd avoided her since I was a teenager in the seventies/eighties as was put off by the Mills and Boon like covers.

(Another writer who I reacted to in exactly the same way but who I have a vintage Penguin paperback in the great unread is Norah Lofts)

Now before they discuss the specific book/author that fortnight, The presenters tell an expectant world what they had been reading during this period. In the very first podcast Andy Miller (whose book on crazy golf I chatted about sometime back) mentioned he'd read (and recommended Grossman's epic novel Life and Fate. Come Christmas, armed with an Amazon £15 gift voucher , I decided to buy the ebook. But knowing I'd some money to spare decided to buy An Armenian Sketchbook as well.

So through the random way of picking the next book it's that one I'm going to read next.

I know how to play chess. Not well you understand. Normally play on a chess app on my tablet for fear of my fragile male ego being torn to shreds by a hothoused seven year old. Still I know the rules. And as long as you do that's enough to fully appreciate Bobby Fischer Goes To War by David Edmunds and John Eidinow. Their account of the legendary chess battle in Iceland to be world champion between the aforementioned Fischer and Boris Spassky.

This book works on so many levels. From the personalities involved in this struggle to the geopolitical cold war backdrop to an analysis of the games involved there is no part of this work that the authors haven't explained to the reader with infinite skill. If you consider chess a sport (and I do) then it's one of the best sports books I've ever read.

And apart from the analysis of the games if you don't play chess I still think you'd enjoy it.

The next book I'm going to read is the twenty page pocket sized book The Bookshop Fights Back By Anne Patchett which I bought at a nearby bookshop after saying a belated goodbye to West Ham's old Boelyn Ground in September.

The book on the right

It's the story of how she set up a bookshop as a reaction to the closure of one in her town. It'll be an interesting read.

Until the next time.

The Man Who Knew Too Much Was by G K Chesterton. The Reader Who Lost The Plot Was Me

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

There are moments (thankfully few) as a reader when I'm reading a novel and then find myself stopping. Metaphorically looking around the fictional place that I'm in only to realise....that I've lost the plot.

When that happens you have as a reader three options. Option one is to put the book down and go for another one. That I'd never do.

Option Two is to start again. But personally unless I have some idea as to where I need to reread (assuming it's my fault) it's not for me.

And so it leaves option three. Plough on and hope that there comes a moment that you grab onto something tenuous and think to yourself. "Yes I'm back. I know what this is about". Trouble is it rarely works.

The other thing is that you, the reader, do not know whether the fault lies with you or the writer. Though if the writer doesn't allow you any possibility of catching up with the plot you'd like to think it's the scribe to blame....if only to sooth your ego.

Must admit I did not expect this to happen to me reading The Man Who Knew Too Much by G K Chesterton but there you are. Was reading it on my Kindle when it dawned on me that I'd no idea what was going on.

Certainly things seem to move at speed. There are chases, deaths but also characters that receive a prominence in a chapter only to be left from then on. A schoolboy, an Italian prince, the only female that seemed to warrant a mention of more than a page. All appeared, then tossed away. The same with locale. All moving at a pace but no idea as to why.

There is at the end an explanation of sorts that made no sense to me whatsoever. Politically it seemed to have something to do with "the Irish question" though exactly why I just do not know.

Think I should have renamed this post "Spoiler alert.....If Only".

So the next book out of the pile of the great ebook unread is. The Positive School of Criminology. Three Lectures Given at the University of Naples Italy by Enrico Ferri. An unusual choice you might think. Until I explain that this was at the time when I was first given the Kindle as a present and with the frenzy of a child given carte blanche at a sweet shop downloaded loads of books with the key connection that they cost nothing at all.

That included The Man Who Knew Too Much.

Until the next time.

Goodbye To Porthcawl Library

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

I know this is premature. I know that the move might fall through. But today (Monday) I went to Porthcawl library for what is probably the last time.

Why? Well three reasons. Firstly once the process of moving house goes into full swing giving back library books would be put in the back burner, and then forgotten.

Secondly, and conversely, dealing with the library is simple. Return the books. That's it.

Thirdly though, and most importantly, unlike some things I was going to do but will put off until the move is complete (going through an Elizabeth David book and volunteering for a food bank will have to wait) this was to be the first thing I was stopping that I was doing. It was also the first thing that would affect me. As the libraries in Bridgend (bar one) I consider a friend.

Porthcawl library is not the best library in the Bridgend area (in my opinion that's Pyle) as it is slightly small. In all other respects I have always enjoyed and looked forward to my visits there. It has a staff that knows what they're doing and, as I've explained previously, tolerate my bad jokes (On having to pay a fine "I thought you were going to throw the book at me").

As in all good bookshops what made this library (like the others in Bridgend..bar one) good was it's ability to surprise you by borrowing a book that you had not expected to want. I'm not saying that they would all be good (ie a biography of Aneurin Bevan) but you'd be prepared to give it a go.

I walked in. Gave the books and walked out. What I was not going to do was linger.

Goodbye

To Marion Keyes and Mark Chapman my apologies. Once the situation is sorted will make a beeline for your books. I promise.

Purchasing Penguin paperbacks though hasn't stopped. As I was in Porthcawl I went to the PAWS charity shop where for £2 I got this.

H E Bates - Country and Other Matters

This is a collection of five of his books, Fair Stood the Wind for France,The Wild Cherry Tree,Dulcima,The Four Beauties and Seven by Five (there were actually six but The Triple Echo is missing).

Regular readers of this blog will know that I'm not currently an H E Bates fan. My view of A Little Bit Of What You Fancy, the last of the Larkin books was that it was a UKIP wet dream of an England (not you would note Britain) that probably never really existed.

However as I hope Michael Palin showed my views on one book does not necessarily mean that they will be my views on another so we live in hope.

So goodbye Porthcawl,Pyle,Aberkenfig, Maesteg and the old Bridgend Town Centre library. It was fun.

As for the new Bridgend Town Centre not in the town centre abomination library which the Labour Council got EU money to action. I hope you (but not the books inside) rot.

Until the next time.

Ibsen Is Rubbish.....Or Is He?

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

It has to be admitted that it would have taken a lot for me to have liked Brand by Henrik Ibsen. For a start as I've explained previously the idea of reading a play for pleasure is beyond my understanding and something I only do if it's a Penguin paperback. A position which, as I've admitted before, makes me a slight hypocrite.

But there's more. It's also a poetic drama. As I've also explained before. With a few exceptions poetry and me have not really got on.

And I wish Brand could have been different for me...really....but it wasn't. Basically this is about a priest and the effect he has on those around him. It is basically a shouty misery, layered with gloom, depression, despair with sprinklings of pessimism. After finishing it you feel yourself resisting the urge to throw yourself from the nearest fjord

Still I'm going to give Ibsen a pass.

Why? Well the version I was reading was from a stage version by the poet Geoffrey Hill. But he wasn't the translator. His introduction showed he took a literal translation and then proceeded to invest it with a more poetical slant.

However he also stated that lines and whole passages were "omitted, amplified or transposed".

Even if this is not a translation, but a diluted version of the original it's still unacceptable. After all we, the non Norwegian speakers have no idea what was omitted. Transposed suggests that passages in the original were moved and worst of all is amplified. For whatever Ibsen actually wrote there were moments where he made it "louder".

A translator, or whatever Mr Hill called himself here, is the nursery school teacher of literature. Leading the reader to the promised land of books in a language other than his/her own. Because of the way Mr Hill acted here you feel blind and worse, betrayed.

I'm no expert on languages but I know that any difference in a translation, however relatively minor, can lead you into a way that the original writer did not intend. I'll give you an example. Many years ago I was watching a subtitled episode of the Welsh language soap opera Pobol Y Cwm. Two female characters were discussing a male one and the subtitled line was:

"He thinks a woman's place is in the home".

But I'd caught the words cegin (kitchen) and gwely (bedroom). What it meant was that there was a difference between what the woman actually said and the subtitled line on screen. A slight,nuanced difference I'd accept, but still different.

In the case of this version of Brand you are unsure at any moment whether you're reading Henrik or Hill. You are however definitely sure  you're not reading Ibsen as close to what he would have intended had he been born Henry Ibsen in Norfolk and not Norway.

As to why Penguin decided to put this into classic book status? No idea. Don't care either.

This of course means that there is a new Penguin paperback to read and it's this:

George Eliot - The Mill On The Floss

I remember reading another George Eliot novel, Silas Marner, many years ago. Remember feeling that I'd liked,but not loved it. Let's see how I feel about this considerably bigger novel.

Until the next time.

In Which Wife/Daughter Have Their Wish (Subject To Contract)

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

This is a short note about big news

Well it's happened I get in the morning from my wife at work. That's unusual in itself. But I knew what it was about. There was a final offer on the house and she asked whether I would have objections to accepting it. I didn't. That was it. Subject to contract the house is sold.

Of course the implications of all of this is not easy to explain because I'm not sure of it myself. But Cardiff it appears here we come.

As explained previously wife being a Cardiff girl was homesick for the homeland and as I felt I owed her (even though she doesn't know it) for being there at my lowest ebb as long as it was financially OK was not going to stand in her way.

Bridgend will not be left forgotten in my thoughts. I still will work near there (journey time is about thirty-forty minutes away- really nothing - hardly a trek across the Himalayas).

Still a new stage in our lives will possibly dawn. Exactly how things will turn out only time will tell.

Until the next time.

From Bluebirds To Ravens

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Yesterday did something I haven't done for about eight months....I went to a rugby union game.

In fact that statement would actually sound even more weird when I mention that in terms of the home team, Bridgend Ravens, a ten minute drive from where we live it's not been eight months but about four years.

A combination of factors work against me and going to the local team regularly. It was originally unemployment but when I got a job I regularly work weekends. And when I don't work weekends there is...... well....a football match somewhere.

As I've explained before my view of rugby is exactly the same as my view of coffee. I don't dislike coffee but for the most part given the choice I would pick tea. Similarly though I've nothing against rugby given the choice football would always win.

However on this particular night the universe and the stars combined again that I was able to the game for the Fosters Challenge Cup between Bridgend (nicknamed the Ravens) and Neath RFC. And this alignment don't forget meant that I was able to see two sporting events in a week. I'll wait for the comet later.

The ground, Brewery field was much fuller than I'd expected. So much so couldn't park at the spaces by the place and instead the Picanto was placed in one relatively nearby. As I've explained before about a decade ago Welsh rugby was reorganised so that an elite four teams that play in the Guiness Pro12 league (along with teams from Ireland, Italy and Scotland). All these teams are spared the trauma of relegation which means that those clubs outside the Pro12 become feeder clubs. Whatever history they had previously was of no importance to the Welsh Rugby Union.If you're outside the big four your position now was to serve them. In Bridgend's case the great god Ospreys.

Now of course this is a pen picture. The history is a bit more complex than that particularly when it equates to Bridgend and Pontypridd. Still if you're a white male and want to experience the glass ceiling that women and people of colour feel then support a rugby team in Wales, Ireland, Italy or Scotland that's outside the Pro12.

Of course there is the tradition now when going to a sporting match that I claim person to read a particular type of book during the breaks in a game. So let me now claim the first person to read Ibsen in Brewery Field.

For Posterity

Posted this on Twitter and someone came back at half time asking what was happening in the book. Responded that at the moment the priest was refusing to visit his dying mother.....it's a comedy.

I arrived just a few minutes before the match begin just in time for the teams to be announced. When the Bridgend team was being gone through I was surprised that almost every name was followed by "sponsored by.....". The one that really got my attention was the guy that was partly sponsored by a funeral care firm. Must admit I had these visions of decades to come he would be buried with the company's logo on the coffin.

The game begins

Do you remember I mentioned glass ceilings earlier?

Look at the area where the coaches/subs sit

The coaches/subs are modelled in a manner because of their sponsor when they were built. They are modelled on...wait for it...conservatories...yes I know.

Neath started well. They appeared to have decided that charging head on into their opponents without fear for their personal safety was the best tactic in dealing with their opponents given that a lot of their players seemed suitable to approach. Appeared to be working as well. First a penalty then another they were six nil ahead. Then came an impressive try and conversion. Thirteen nil to the visitors.

Throughout the game there was mixed with the action  long periods of nothing happening. Partly because of injuries but also because the ref was Mr Picky. There were moments when I'd wondered whether I was watching the mannequin challenge.

Towards the end of the half though Bridgend scored two tries and conversions in quick succession. The scorer of the second try is apparently sponsored by Engineering Services, who must have been happy.

Second half begins

Early in the second half Bridgend scored another try. By a man who scored twice but for whatever reason is bereft of a sponsor. The kicker of conversions however by the local Ford dealership and an aircraft company. This leads to a question. If the player has a journey which he could take by car or by a plane provided by the firm what does he do? It's a moral dilemma for our times.

Anyway 19-13 was the score. Incidentally I missed a large portion of that try....because my view was blocked by those damned conservatories.

For reasons I couldn't fathom (where is a TV replay when you want one?) two Bridgend players (on separate occasions) were sinbinned. And the sin bin was....yes you guessed it..... sponsored. Apparently by a sandwich company. I've tweeted the Ravens suggested they should be more imaginative in the sponsor. I've suggested Ann Summers.

Despite all Neath's efforts though they couldn't put their superiority into points barring a penalty. There was a movement which started from a lineout which almost got a try but was thwarted by all hands on deck Ravenite defending.

This was the start of the move

19-16 then. However despite the disadvantages Bridgend scored an impressive try on the non conservatory wing by Mr Dan "Engineering Services" Howells. The final score was 24 -16. The Ravens were in the semi final of this competition and they performed well after a bad,bad start.

I enjoyed the game. I won't lie and say it converted me to rugby over football. But as previously said don't dislike coffee and should the opportunity ring the doorbell I'd go again.

Until the next time.

Library humour. Books Borrowed And Bought, And I Become A Bluebird Fan For Ninety Two Minutes

Hello there hope you're feeling well today.

Yesterday I went to the Porthcawl library for the first time this year. I was, I must admit a little late so needed to pay a small fine. So put the books down on the counter as the librarian approached me. Behind her were two other ladies looking at a computer.

"Just need to pay my debt to society".

"Well" she responded "We'll need to get the dungeon ready".

To which I said: "I thought you were going to throw the book at me"

Alright it's hardly a "Woody Allen when he was funny" remark. Still it wasn't bad. And it earned me a small ripple of applause which for a library is the equivalent to a standing ovation.

Have decided to limit the books I borrow from the library to two. One football book and the other well anything that takes my fancy. Having said that it is stretching it to say that this is a football book.

Mark Chapman - The Love Of The Game

This book is about how he tries to instill a love of sport to his children. I must be honest here and say that for reasons of her unwillingness on some sports and just bad luck with injuries on others have not really been successful with my daughter. But I'll chat about that once I've finished reading this. Can though relate to it, which is the reason I picked it up.

My second choice could not be more different:

Marian Keyes - Under the Duvet (actually photographed above one)

I have mentioned before in this blog how I believe that Marian Keyes is a brilliant writer undermined by chick lit book covers and blurb. This is a collection of her journalism (I mean would you expect a cover like that for Alistair Cooke?) so I'm hopeful.

I didn't have much time to spend once I finished with the library. But armed with £3.57 from my Penguin paperback budget went to the PAWS charity shop. Bought two books for a total of 50p. What really pleased me was that they were both on the old numbering system.

On the other hand:

835 - C S Forester - The Happy Return

As I've recently explained when discussing The Commodore I'm not a C S Forester fan at the moment because I believe UKIP would lap the over the top patriotism, all foreigners are flawed mantra that ran through that novel. So I'd be lying if I said I was looking forward to reading another novel by him for a while.

The other book could not be more different:

D114 - Vasko Popa - Selected Poems

Vasko Popa was a "Yugoslav" (when this was published - was born in Serbia) poet. I've made it clear that poetry and me rarely get on. But I'm intrigued by this and will give it a fair wind when it's name comes up on the pile of the great unread.

It had been a while, other than watching Penybont FC, that the stars of the universe would align that I would be so aligned that I could watch some live sport. But later that afternoon I discovered through Twitter that the Cardiff  Under 23 team would be playing in the city stadium that evening and it would be free (including, a factor crucial to me for going to matches at Cardiff City in an evening, the car park). Daughter would be at guides, wife would have the chance to watch whatever Downton Abbey replacement TV is throwing these days and I would watch live football. Happy family life.

As I've made clear previously, Cardiff City, along with Swansea City, Newport County and Leyton Orient, belong in that small group of teams that I genuinely wish well as long as they're not playing West Ham. And as they were not facing any of the other teams I've just mentioned was happy enough to be a Bluebird fan for ninety minutes plus stoppage time.

I drove to the Cardiff City Stadium early. I'd done this once before and I knew that essentially it would be a few blocks of the stadium that would be occupied by fans so consequently had a good chance of a decent car park space. Once that was done went to what I had not realised before was a surprisingly small McDonalds (given how busy it must be for match days) for a meal. Once finished went inside the stadium.

Bluebird Country

From a distance new football stadiums look as if alien spacecraft have just landed ready to request to be taken to your leader. With the nearby Millenium stadium Cardiff has two relatively close together. That presumably is one of  the privileges of capital city status.

I'd taken the book Bobby Fischer Goes To War with me to read during the breaks and claimed on Twitter that I was the first person to take a book on chess to a Cardiff City game. Their Twitter feed quickly came back to say that they would need to "....check.Mate".

But for now....

...I'm still claiming this

Cardiff's opponents were Ipswich Town who apparently judging by their away strip seemed to think of themselves as the Barcelona of Suffolk. Still when the match began they were the ones who came closest to scoring in the first minute.

Beware Barcelona . Boys in Tractors are coming for you

Both teams played the opening minutes full of energy, youth and enthusiasm. As a fifty three old man I hated them for it.

But around the twenty sixth minute Cardiff scored. As I recall it was a response to a parry of a first attempt. But It didn't matter how they scored, they scored. One nil.

And from the moment the first half was mainly one set of Cardiff attacks after another. You've heard of an "unlucky bounce"? Well in this match there was an unlucky ricochet as the Cardiff shot went from the goalkeeper to a defender and then to safety to Ipswich. One nil is therefore how the first half ended.

So to the second half. You will note from this picture the Ipswich goalkeeper. Dressed in a colour that I could only describe as motorway maintenance.

Presumably cycling to Suffolk after the game

After that picture was taken Cardiff scored a second.A shot by James Waite. All seemed to be going smoothly then.....but

There came the moment where the Cardiff defence went all Rip Van Winkle when there was a run along the left, a cross and the oncoming Ipswich player slotted the ball to the net. Two - One.

Around the seventy fifth minute order was restored when Matt Kennedy scored a delightful free kick that got everyone outside of Suffolk applauding in admiration. It must have been particularly sweet given that two Ipswich players in separate incidents were booked for tackles on him last seen in a Jackie Chan movie. Three - One.

Five minutes after where. after a pass went astray the Ipswich manager threw a water bottle down to the ground in anger. He was by far the loudest person in the stadium that evening. His equivalents on the home technical area seemed to say nothing until ninety minutes had passed when all of a sudden they were shouting things to their players. Ninety minutes gone. Three one ahead and now you want to say something? Did not get that.

Anyway made no difference. The Match finished with the victory to Cardiff City.

Earlier I'd poked fun at the Ipswich goalie's taste in luminous clothing. But let me also say this. There are matches where a team is comprehensively beaten but their best player turns out to be the goalkeeper because he (or she) stopped the score being much worse. This was the case here. Michael Crowe put his body on the line constantly during the match to thwart what seemed to be near certain Cardiff goals. Judging solely on this game Ipswich should do their damnest to keep him.

Thank you Cardiff City. It was fun.

Until the next time.

Pondering Pirlo,Coronating Coren and The Novel That Might Make Post Office Employees Cry

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Well have finished three books today clearly my reading habits are following the bus principle of finishing more than one on the same day after a wait.

Let's start with I Think Therefore I Play, the autobiography of Italian footballing legend Andrea Pirlo. I say "autobiography" because that's how it seemed to have started.

However a few chapters in I get confused. The timeline makes no sense to me whatsoever. Only as I go into this book deeper does it suddenly make sense. It's a collection of essays with biographical anecdotes and opinions put on them. So for example he could chat about referees, racism or playing for Italy.

Once you understand that the book is readable. Although a rough knowledge of his career would help the unwary.

Alan Coren's Toujours Cricklewood was a welcome reminder of the amiable man who would always be your friend even though you never knew him. Every piece was a comic gem that left a smile on my face.

For the moment I'm going to fire up the Kindle and use that when waiting fore people in the car.....until the copy of the third book in the trilogy, The Cricklewood Tapestry arrives.

Michael Palin has done something rare in my experience. Not since Kingsley Amis has my opinion of a writer changed radically from one book to the next. From the disappointment of volume  two of these diaries to my admiration for Hemingway's Chair, his 1995 "comic" novel.

It's the story of Martin Sproale. assistant postmaster in a small town and Hemingway addict, when he faces "progress" in the form of the new postmaster of the Post Office. Written when the Post Office and the Royal Mail was one organisation (though he does predict the privatised spilt) Palin cleverly shows the slow but insidious effects on an organisation when it's taken over by people know the price of everything and the value of nothing. The sort of people who are obsessed by efficiency savings , branding and gloss but at the same time ignoring what made the organisation respected in the first place and not caring about its effects

(Now of course there is a lot more to the plot than that but I try my best not to spoil things for the new reader)

The thing is if you work/worked in the Post Office and remember how things were you will get bittersweet reading this. You might even shed a tear at memories of things past.

It's the sort of book that I've always admired. Something to say about Britain today (even though it was written over twenty years ago) but done in a way that could appeal to everyone who read it whatever their background. Reminded me of Sue Townsend in that regard.

There are a few similarities between what happens to the Post Office in the novel and the one in Bridgend Town (though not to spoil things I'm not going to list them - just understand that you cannot assume that when I'm talking about some similarities I'm implying everything). I was tempted to send my copy to them but then saw sense. It would have been an action at best pointless and at worse patronising and condescending. Still it made the book even more topical to me than it was already.

It has an all too human hero, it has villains and it has Hemingway (though don't let that put you off. You can enjoy this even if you've never heard/read of him before).

If you can get your hands on this do so. You won't regret it.

The next book on the pile of the great unread is this:

Dave Edmonds & John Eidinow - Bobby Fischer Goes To War

This is the account of the chess world championship series between Bobby Fischer and Boris Spassky. The only chess match ever that could justifiably be described as legendary. Should be interesting.

Until the next time.

In Which Now I Take More Than One Tablet Plus More On Maesteg,Penguins and The White Stuff

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

I start the post by the admission that, at time of writing, I'm the owner of two tablets. One is the Samsung (yes that type of tablet) I've had for a few years now. Works fine for me, though I'm sure if I let my daughter get her hands on it then things might improve....but I'm not.

Now I have another. An Amazon Fire (yes I know you're impressed). Why? Well as always with these things it's a combination of money and opportunity. Work gave out a £25 shopping voucher as a Christmas gift. Trouble was the shops involved tended to be specialised (I have no intention of going camping when central heating is available at home) or places that I wasn't sure what I'd wanted for the money.

But then I noticed Argos was on the list, and having known that they were flogging a 7" tablet for £49.99 (add £10 for the case) thought that if I'd use the vouchers then the cost would be cheaper. My other thought (and yes the brain does hurt) that post brexit these sort of things might be considerably more expensive in the future in case the Samsung went down. So the Fire was bought.

So  how do I use them? Well not wishing either to be offended basically it's 9-5 for the Samsung and 5 until sleep time for the Amazon (remember I do shifts so this isn't work related). I find that the Samsung is for more serious matters, the Amazon is far more for fun at present. There are some apps (Pinterest, Twitter, Podcast Manager) that are on both machines but as I mainly use Facebook in the evening I've deleted it from the Samsung. Exactly the same with Netflix, although Amazon keep on trying to tempt me with Prime Video until we as a family no longer have Netflix on the TV they might as well not bother.

(That said I can buy things on Amazon Video and put it on the cloud. You may think the best Revenge is eaten cold but it actually was season one - it went downhill after that)

My music collection, small that it is, has been moved to the fire. Always found it better than Spotify anyway. And of course I can use it as a Kindle ereader

As they work on different systems the contact and diary parts have to be written separately. Which may seem stupid now. But come the day when one of them falters then you'd understand.

Does all this make me an internet junkie? Well I don't know. Perhaps if you see me rushed into hospital for an emergency operation to extract either tablet from my hand...perhaps then.

Today (Friday) is the last day of my two week stint as chauffeur to my daughter to and from school. Although by no means perfect her knee is far better than it was before Christmas so from Monday she will be using the bus. After having dropped her off decided to go onwards to Maesteg for some grocery shopping. Noticing as I did that although the snow didn't appear to have hit the town it reached the surrounding hills.

So Maesteg. Best view from a town centre car park in Britain anyway, now with added icing.

Does make you stop....at least for a little while

And again

I will return to more views of the area in a moment. But first having also gone to the indoor market there which I've mentioned previously, two Penguin paperbacks were bought for 50p each (remaining budget now £2.57).

This was the first.

Helen Dunmore - A Spell Of Winter

Should perhaps mention here that when I revealed it on Twitter there were a number of positive responses. Seems encouraging then.

The other was:

Ruth Prawer Jhabvala - Heat and Dust

As promised two more pictures before I leave you today. This was taken just outside Maesteg.

A quiet beauty

And this was from the village of Cwmfelin

If it wasn't for the cold I'd have been gazing for quite a while

This is exactly how I like snow......picturesque and from a distance.

Until the next time.

Snow And Teacher Patrol

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

At this moment I'm doing something I rarely do which is to regularly look outside the window in case snow falls from the bland grey sky. The weather forecasters have been putting forward the possibility of this for a few days now around where I live.

We are prepared. Milk tick. Bread tick. De icer tick.

Last night the BBC Wales weatherman was clear. There would be a possibility of snow in the morning, a possibility of snow in the evening and the possibility of ice on Friday morning. Don't you love it when they're clear?

Mind you there is perhaps a reason for his caution. This was the man who many years ago assured the nation that there would be no snow the next day.....and I think you can guess what happened next.

As a sort of sequel to the "Things I Hate About Christmas" theme I've chatted about in earlier posts, as I've grown older I've hated snow and ice. Picturesque it may be, but it's also dangerous. Me I just want the snow that hits the ground and immediately dissolves thank you very much.

And the thing about snow is this. To those of us unused to it the white stuff is quiet and insidious. One moment nothing, the next the area is blanched as if preparing for a Ku Klux Klan parade.

The forecast heavy rain has occurred. But the journey taking my daughter to school was nonetheless not as bad as I'd expected. And as I was viewing the mountains on the way to Maesteg there was no iced sprinkling. So here's hoping it stays that way...much to the disappointment of my child.

Later wife and I will be going (weather permitting) to a parents teacher evening. I won't chat about my daughter's schoolwork, that's personal to her, but I will make two predictions. One, there will be a teacher that I won't like. A few years back my daughter had average or above average marks in every subject bar one. And when we asked the teacher of this particular subject why this was the case his answer was: "Well I'm a bit tougher than the others".

"Really?" I thought . " Perhaps if you're different to the rest you've misjudged the situation?". Of course I bit my lip. You do. He's a teacher.

On the other hand there will be a teacher that your child hates, moans about with every not on the internet opportunity she has for being tough, that will praise your offspring without any criticism at all. As parents you are just numb to an almost monk like degree with surprise though obviously pleased. You come out singing that teacher's opinion to your bemused offspring who is just as confused. That has also happened to us.

I assume that's the Alex Ferguson style of management

Until the next time.

In Which For Two Weeks I've Become Old Dad

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

For the past week, and for the remaining part of this one,I have found myself at three fifteen on an afternoon along a lines of cars on a busy road outside my daughter's school waiting to pick her up there.

I have had companions. It had been dull D H Lawrence, now the more amiable Alan Coren to pass the time whilst I'm there. But it was only yesterday did I realise that I was, temporarily, old dad. The man who would pick up his daughter regularly from primary school and drive her straight home with rarely any dramas (" How was school?" "Fine").

Since the move up to secondary school this changed, as had she. Being now a teenager the old parents collecting her cramped her style. And as the place was a half hours drive away from where we lived, she wanted to take the school bus instead.

But for a short while my daughter's knee injury has brought us all back to the future. Given that unlike the bus she could put the seat back on the car seat to stretch her leg out. there would be a car taking and picking her up.

Thankfully now better than she was. But at the beginning her pain was such that when she looked at me I didn't see the questioning everything teenager but as a child seeking help. And in the reverse I wasn't the boring stick in the mud who nagged at her to do her homework and tidy her room. Or the man who deliberately limited her time online simply by changing the passwords on her laptop or Ipad. No I became old dad.

So three fifteen. Deliberately early so that I can get a reasonable space. (Impossible to actually get into the school at this time as it's packed with buses). I stay in the car, daughter knows roughly where I'll be parking so I won't wait by the school gates to pick her up. No parent (I'm not the only one) stays by the gates, it's just not done. The Sixth formers get out first and eventually the rest. Daughter throws her coat at the back of the car and her school bag at the front.

It won't last. Next week she'll be well enough to go by bus and already she's back to picking up on faults both real and imagined of her old parents. To be honest, I was exactly the same at her age. Indeed my mother often recounts the story of when she accused me of lacking a sense of humour. "Well I eat your cooking don't I?" came the reply.

Until the next time.

In Which D H Lawrence Is Used As A Sleeping Pill,Bridgend Town News And The Return Of Alan Coren

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

I woke up around two o'clock on Sunday morning and went down to watch some Welsh language TV programmes I'd recorded. Today (Monday) morning I found myself awake at one twenty five am.

But I had a plan.

The Kindle was fired up. The plan was simple. Despite what I'd said in my previous post I was to read one chapter of the current book, then would try and go back to sleep.

Well I read the chapter, got back to my pillow.....and slept like a baby.

Which only goes to show that under experimental conditions D H Lawrence is as good an alternative as a sleeping pill.

Eventually today I'd finished that book. Twilight In Italy. An account of his time there. It was a book solely remarkable in that D H Lawrence was able to perform the amazing feat of making Italy and Italians dull. It was gibberish boxed in boredom wrapped in pretension.

Lawrence could not resist the cliché of the simple, primitive Italians being observed by him, the sophisticated inglese. Having Italian blood in me would have riled me to have accused him of racism....if I hadn't been bored into submission in the meantime.

The next book on the great e unread is The Man Who Knew Too Much By G K Chesterton. I've never read a Chesterton book before so am looking forward to it.

Had to go to Bridgend Town today. Another shop in the town, a ladies clothing shop is closing down.

Another sad closure

Now a shop has opened in the town. One that sells pre owned tablets, DVDs and the such like. I don't think this means the revival of the town though. Far from it. Indeed although there are out of town stores it's telling that there are four shops where you could get pre owned stores in Bridgend but only one that would sell new television sets without an instalment payment plan attached to it. Says everything you need to know about the town really.

Final piece of Christmas news. The body that is the Christmas tree has been boxed up and is back in the attic.

A masterpiece of wrapping

Wife was unimpressed. Said that her friend W could fit her tree back in the box completely shut "and it was bigger". My response? " Give W an award then".

Snow is apparently forecast for the later this week (cannot tell you how much I want it to avoid us). In the meantime though as I waiting for daughter to get out of school I realised it was getting lighter. Which meant I could return to the "car book" Toujours Cricklewood by Alan Coren. Already I feel myself smiling as I'm reading it.

Alan Coren would never make me sleepy.

Until the next time.

Passing The Time Caused By Insomnia WithTea, Polish Biscuits And Australian Football

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Well I went to bed at a reasonable time (eleven). But they came a moment when all of sudden my eyes shot up. My thumbs were twiddled. I was bored....and awake.

Dark outside. Wife asleep. What to do?

You might think I would have fired up the Kindle to continue reading Twilight In Italy by D H Lawrence. Certainly as a literary sleeping pill it might have worked. But despite the fact that I can read a book in almost any place the one exception to that is in bed. For some reason my back feels stiff and I'm not comfortable. It's not an option.

So yet again it's time to look downstairs and watch a programme from the great unwatched on the DVR. It's only when I'm downstairs that I suddenly realise what the time is .......12:50am.

Amazingly I have a plan for being awake so early. Whilst I can't sleep watch a football match I've recorded. Just the match. No pre,half ,or post time stuff. Just the match. Then go back to sleep.

First though priorities: A cup of tea and some Polish wafer biscuits (chocolate flavour). I'm running out of the biscuits. Need to get some soon.

Hot Tea (And Biscuit) Action

Taking it I notice that the next match to watch is from the Australian (plus One New Zealand team) Hyundai A League dated December 10th. As I've explained before can watch sport (especially football) months after the event as long as I don't know the result, so if the league is across the world that will be even more .

The game was the Western Sydney Wanderers (after all like Bolton and Wolverhampton where else is there to wander) and the modestly named Melbourne Victory.

(A quick digression here: The team I follow in this league is Adelaide United. Champions last season,,not doing so well this.And the reason? Because they are one of the few teams with a proper football name. Most have the sort of quasi ra ra American sports team name which doesn't work because it's well, not North American.. Brisbane Roar? Perth Glory? Really?

That said, the oddest name was that of Melbourne City before the oil powered Manchester City machine took it over. They were called Melbourne Heart. Probably the most metrosexual name for a football team in the history of man, or should I say Person, kind.

I assume the finances of the Melbourne Victory are built from the foundations laid by their shirt sponsor, Builders Academy.....I'll get my coat)

But back to the match the Wanderers started well. There was a shot that it the post, travelled the goal line but impolitely decided not to cross it. It seemed like a close game until near the end of the first half when Barisha, the Victory's star player pounced from a parry by the Wanderers goalkeeper, Andrew Redmayne of a shot from  another Victory player. He was condemned by the Fox Sports commentator for this goal. Personally though had a Wanderers player been first there to collect the ball it would have been fine. Such are the football percentages. Anyway that's how the first half ended. One nil Victory.

No time for half time analysis. Fast forward. Mind you the Hyundai A League did answer the question few people in Britain were asking. Whatever happened to Mark Bosnich? Well he's a TV pundit, just not for me today.

The second half was just one sided and for most of it one manned as Barisha scored two further goals. The second of which reminded me of Winston Reid's second goal for West Ham against Swansea where one man out jumped two defenders to score.

Victory had their Victory and I had my ninety minutes of football. Went back to bed then and slept properly until the morning.

So thankyou, tea, Polish wafer biscuits and the A League. You made insomnia bearable.

Until the next time.

Paperwork: Part Two

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Well I have two hours to spare before I continue in my role as school bus driver for my daughter whilst she recovers from her knee injury. So I might as well do some paperwork in the big white box.

Halifax Bank: A letter from the end of October telling me that the payment protection insurance has improved. That's nice. File. (Let's face it who looks at these letters once the insurance is in place).

Also bank account statements from October and December . Filed.

Barclaycard: Who not only know my name and address also have the nerve to address me by my first name whilst trying to flog their credit card at me. The one rule of economics that I know is that these things are at their height just before a recession. Bin.

Harveys: A furniture company. A brochure promoting it's January sale.....that ends in the middle of January. Doesn't really matter. I've said to my wife (as we need sofas) that no new furniture is going to be bought until the issue of the house move is resolved. Bin.

Aldi Offers: One for last week,the other for.....October. Bin.

Yorkshire Tea: A card and a tea bag for my birthday. That's nice of them. almost makes me feel guilty that I don't buy their tea. To use then bin.

Child Trust Fund: A letter from a company I've never heard of regarding their takeover of the company that handled my daughter's child trust fund. Have to think about this. Tempted to change the company to one I have heard of. To look into.

SellQuick: "Get an instant,no-obligation offer for your property" It says in bold,underlined lettering. How did they know we were wanting to move? Anyway don't like this. Bin.

A Google Play Gift Voucher for £10: Wondered where it was. To use.

A National Express Ticket For A Journey I've Already Taken In September Last Year: Yes I know....bin.

And that's it.Not much for two hours I know. But as is always the way you set time for yourself and a phone call spoils your best laid plans. The Postman might always ring twice (though nowadays you'd be lucky if he knocks the door once) mothers will ring forever until  you answer).

Until the next time.

Next Let's Talk About Next

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

So the news tells me,British clothing giant Next has made less much money in the past twelve months than the year before, shocking those wizards in the city of London (those who are not preparing to move to Paris post Brexit that is).

What makes this funny to me. Is that today I got to experience the glories of the place and to be honest judged by this afternoon before I pick up my daughter from school knowledge I'm not surprised.

You may remember that my brother in law and his partner gave me a thirty pound gift voucher and I went to the local Bridgend store. Now, I know I'm a fifty three year old man but there was no obvious sign of a sale in the place. Possibly it could have been hidden in and I didn't notice it. But the place didn't scream SALE. When I was young a January sale meant exactly that. No longer

In fact it was the complete opposite. The first thing that my eyes set upon was a jumper. In fact my sight was mugged by the light greeney, bluey aquamarine thing.

Let me explain my jumper theory. Few heterosexual men wear a light coloured jumper unless it has been bought for him under cover of Christmas/Birthday wrapping by wife/mother. And it's only because a loved one has bought it that he would feel honour bound to put it on.

It was also thin. I've been given thin Next jumpers as presents and without wishing to seem ungrateful they are rarely worn. A jumper is not a fashion,or a style accessory. It is there to keep you warm in the cold months. It is why when you buy a jumper you want it to mirror the IQ of Bridgend council. Simple and thick.

But the biggest shock came with the price. Thirty two pounds for a thin piece of brightly coloured wool. For that amount I would have insisted on picking the sheep and watching it being constructed by a crack team of Shepards and knitters.

Having metaphorically got that off my chest, or metaphorically put it on, I do also need to say that on looking around the place it was no better. That heady mixture of expensive bad taste began to make me feel nauseous. So I left.

But I didn't leave Next. As it was on the way to my daughter's school I decided to go to their outlet store in the Macarthur Glen complex just outside the town. Outlet stores are of course where the things that didn't sell go to so there could be once last attempt to flog it.

As my wife has remarked. Of all the stores in the place there is no attempt in the Next outlet to hide the fact that you're mainly looking at rubbish. Clothes that hurt the eyes as you looked at them. Jackets with what appeared to be flock wallpaper lining and colours that will kill people in the street due to the seizures they would have laughing uncontrollably as you passed.

In the event I bought 5 pairs of black socks for a fiver,a casual blue shirt for fourteen pounds ( which I think was not an outlet price but I'm not sure) and some aftershave half price for eight (And regarding the aftershave some of the others on sale included ingredients like chicory and pepper - to which my silent reaction was.....what?!).

When I paid for it the shop assistant said that there was two pounds ninety nine pence left. I think you'll find that the card will be conveniently lost rather than used again (sorry brother in law / partner - it's Next not you...honest).

What can I say? I'm probably not Next's target market but their bad results suggests they don't know what their market is anymore. They don't have to worry about me though. I'll just shop for clothes at somewhere that actually understands that flashy nausea is yesterday's fashion.

Until the next time.

Morning In Maesteg With Michael Palin

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Well, although decorations are still up for a few more days, this is the moment when the world returns from the Christmas/New Year stuff and faces reality in the face. For my daughter that meant the return to school.

As I mentioned in an earlier post a problem with strained ligaments in her knee and amongst other things what that meant was that for the first few weeks of this year I, as part of the Dad service, becomes her school bus driver. That's in the sense that I'll drive her as much as possible to and from school in the Kia so that she could put the seat backwards and extend her leg.

Her school is a half an hour drive away from where we live, and it's not that far away from Maesteg. This was important because, as it turned out, there was a viewing on the house at the (to me) odd time of 10:30am. So what I decided was to drop her off and then spend my time around the town before returning home.

Surely winner of the Best View From A Town Centre Car Park In Britain Competition?

And Again

It was an icy morning. So much so that the I couldn't get into my Kia on the drivers side the lock had been frozen up! But once the mighty Picanto  got going the journey was fine. Once at Maesteg the first stop was to the 135 year old Indoor market that has been cruelly threatened with closure by the Labour, and yes I'm going to repeat that,Labour, council (if you're interested I have written a post about that late last year - click on Maesteg in the labels).

The original By laws - Hung proudly in the market

You may remember that when in the market I buy books from the stall there. But what you may not know is that you can buy the books from the market café if the stallholder is not present (as she wasn't when I was there eight thirty in the morning). This was convenient in more ways than one because I'd decided to while away some of the time by having breakfast there.

So with a budget for Penguin books of £4.57 two books were bought from the stall. The first one was:

Jane Austen - Emma

Now I must admit to have never read a Jane Austen book before. When I was (much) younger I just saw her as a writer "for girls", an upmarket Mills and Boon. Nowadays it's simply that her books have not been next to read amongst the great unread (they are all on my Kindle).

This was the other one:

D H Lawrence - Women In Love

Now those regular readers of my blog know that, based on the books of his that I've read. I'm not a Lawrence fan. Let's see whether this can change my mind. It's not impossible for me to change my general view of a writer, as I will explain later.

Those two books cost me £1. Good value. And something that would be lost if the Labour council had their way and closed the market.

So I paid for them at the café whilst also ordering a big breakfast. I chatted to the lady about the threat by the council. She told me that the council had underestimated the reaction against the proposal to close the market and turn it into a library (that doesn't surprise me). She also said that the decision as to whether they would get the EU money (yes I know) for this renovation of the town hall would not be made until November. One other thing that didn't occur to me in my stupidity but she pointed out. The council want to use EU money to create a big town centre library in Maesteg when they used EU money to take the library out of the town centre in Bridgend.

This is typical Welsh labour, ignore the basics, try and force the big idea not thought through instead.

Anyway time for breakfast

Not Continental Today - Mind you the drink was a Cappuchino

It was delicious. Note that Bridgend Council. Something yet again that would be missed.

You may notice the book on top of the pile. The Michael Palin novel Hemingway's Chair. I took it with me to read whilst I was waiting for the breakfast. I won't chat about it properly until I've finished but let's just say that I'm loving this as much as his diaries were a disappointment. So you see, I can revise my views on a writer.

I went to a few other charity shops in Bridgend and bought one more Penguin book. It was this for a pound (so budget now £2.57).

Philadelphia - Christopher Davis

What's interesting about this book is that it's a novel based on the screenplay for the film. Presumably after VHS and DVDs this was one of the last to be made.

On my way home (having done a little grocery shopping) I stopped from time to time to take in some of the views.

Just outside Maesteg Town Centre

And I think my favourite view of the day. From the nearby village of Cwmfelin.

Stunning

As for the viewing? Don't think it went well. Came home at Eleven and whoever came were gone.

Until the next time.

The Wardrobe Checklist

Hello there. Hope you're feeling today.

You may remember a few posts back I decided that as one of my New Year resolutions was to completely sort my wardrobe out (leaving aside work clothes). However first thing I need to do before really starting going all GQ by using what remains of my IQ on buying/sorting out clothes is to work on a checklist.

Boxer Shorts: Fifteen . Worked out by a fortnight's holiday plus one.

Socks: Seventeen. Sixteen of which will be dark leisure socks. One more dark formal socks to wear with a suit (to be mentioned later) for things like weddings, funerals and the like.

T-Shirts: Fifteen. Firstly get rid of most T shirts of more than one colour or with words on them. I'm fifty three not twenty three. T-shirts in my wardrobe universe will become feminine.....in that they'll be multitasking. In summer T-shirts in winter a vest.

Shirts: Only one needed for weddings, funerals etc. Would like more long sleeved casual dark colour shirts and less short sleeved ones. Wife likes it but for me has the look of going off to the golf club bar. One formal one and fifteen casual.

Jumpers: Three, very heavy ones.

Trousers: Two. Jeans: Three. But to try and make them dark blue and black not denim blue. I live near Maesteg not Montana.

Joggers: Two.For lounging in whilst watching TV sports and wearing my collection of football shirts (ie the four West Ham ones).

Suit: One. For weddings, funerals and the like.

The Garden: For when I have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the garden I'll need 1 Jumper,T-shirt and pair of jeans that have seen better days.

Shoes/Trainers: One pair of shoes (Black) needed. Two pairs of trainers.

Peripherals: Two ties. Black for funerals. One reasonable one for weddings. Not very bright definitely no design. Five black belts for each pair of trousers/jeans. The closest I will get to martial arts. Two watches. No jewellery.1 pair of Wellington boots

Coats: I want one long dark coat!!! Like Sherlock on the TV. And one that goes down to the waist.

Jackets:Three. Two dark ones and a grey.

I'm sure I've forgotten something. I'll come back if I have.

Until the next time.

UKIP would love Horatio Hornblower.....Which Is Why I Hate Him

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

If I'd read The Commodore, a Horatio Hornblower novel by C S Forester, five years ago, I would've said that it was an entertaining piece of boys own high seas adventure stuff. Although I would have mentioned that the jingoism was a bit obvious sometimes for the most part it was acceptable stuff.

That was then, this is now. I have changed, Britain has changed. I hate this book because I know that people who I would radically disagree with would love it.

Now before I go on let me acknowledge one fact that both myself and my self of five years ago would have agreed on. This novel is far better than the one other C S Forester book I've read The Gun, which comes highly recommended if the sleeping pills don't work.

And that's it.

The most objectionable thing about this book is it's treatment of anything "foreign". The foreign character range from the enemy,to the suspicious to peoples so weak they need the help of Britain to deal with their wars.Whereas any "English" character bar one  (and for the most part   there was tellingly  rarely any use of Britain/British just England/English) is for whatever faults is noble and trustworthy.

(One quick aside:There is a scene where an attractive Russian countess makes tentatives advances to Hornblower.  His reaction is described as one of revulsion. My reaction was"yeah right").

The point though is that this attitude towards foreigners, the "we're superior than them" tone, is what drives UKIP along. It's why they'd probably want to put the Hornblower novels in the national curriculum if they could. Trouble with this attitude, leaving aside the racism, is that the days when Britannia ruled the waves, had an empire or even a large manufacturing industry has long since gone. Without it, UKIP'S wish fulfilment makes the UK's future even more dangerous.

Now you might say two things. Firstly is it fair for me to comment on C S  Forrester based on the attitudes of today? I would answer by throwing this back at you. Why should the reader of today judge a book on the attitudes of when a book was written?

Secondly you might accuse me of being unpatriotic.  My answer is if the definition of patriotism is the red white and blue Brexit patriotism of the scoundrel then yes I am unpatriotic .

I have a few other Hornblower novels in the great unread. Perhaps my views will change again. Doubt it though.

The actual Penguin book to read next in the great unread is this:

Ibsen - Brand

Of course the great irony is that being Norwegian Ibsen just might be on a UKIP reading list.

Until the next time......oh and happy new year  (let's hope)