Good Heavens

I sit here watching the rain come down outside the window.  Did that yesterday, did that the day before.  The day before that there was a break in the routine, it was cold and windy, which it had been for the 4 days previous to that.
Summer is becoming a distant memory.  I imagine there was something approaching a summer three years ago but my mind could well be playing tricks with me.
It has been a long time when walking has been more than just theory for me.  It says something of the current weather conditions that work has become a viable alternative to walking. 
This is perhaps a little odd given I work outside in the elements rather than indoors.  The distinct advantage work has over walking is I can stop work when the weather becomes to unremitting in a way you cannot stop walking.  A side effect of working is earning, which again is something that walking does not provide.
Compensations for not actually getting outdoors in anything but the most mundane manner is I get to watch some truly dire England football.  The World Cup is the only football I watch and only when England is playing.  A few matches every 4 years (if we qualify) is enough to remind me why I have no interest in football.
Just finished reading Steve Blease, End to End.  He did LEJOG during a world cup year and he had a lot of bad things to say about England’s world cup efforts in 2002.  By contrast to this competitions effort Blease was living in beknighted times.
It was a pretty slim volume, but it was not a page turner, or perhaps I had too many distractions going on.
Sport, sport, sport, all from my armchair while spinning outdoor adventure in my head.
Outdoor adventures fuelled by reading matter.  Steve Blease was a follow on from a John Hillaby reading session which is culminating in Journey Home at this moment.  John’s account of his “LEJOG” during the late 60’s reminded me how remarkably different the “recent” past was.
When not reading about walking from one of Britain to the other, I have been ploughing forward with the books that were written about the Sunday Times round the world yacht race, again late 60’s, again a world so devoid of electronic gadgets it seems near mediaeval.
Donald Crowhurst did go bonkers, read the book, see the film.
Bernard Moitessier : The Long Way
At times I thought he had gone bonkers, or perhaps started off mad as a hatter.  At other times he just seemed very French.  A great read.
Robin Knox-Johnston : A World of my own.
Never any doubt about the sanity of Robin.  Solid British stock, wasn’t going to be beaten by a Frenchman.  Wasn’t.
The other reading theme has been last Ray Mears series concerning Canada (it was on last year).  Slowly been chewing through the various explorers he referenced in the series, and mighty find reading it has been too.
Of the three current reading interests there is a much higher chance I will walk from one end of Britain to the other, but the odds are slim I will do that.
In the meanwhile my kit list is refined, fiddled with, equipment is updated, improved upon, all waiting for a break in the weather to coincide with a break in the schedule that will allow me to take off for a while.

Ashes - Test One.

Its taken a few days to actually recover from the stress of it all. They describe war as hours of boredom and seconds of terror. The first test qualifies as war on that definition.

It seemed to be days of total inactivity. Englands recovery from a poor start in the first innings seemed to have achieved a decent enough score.

The Australians seemed to make little headway in the run chase on the second day, but equally our bowlers seem to give their batsman no concerns.

It looked to be a tedious pitch growing more tedious by day 3 and then it all started to go horribly wrong.

Australia mounted the sort of score which meant a draw was the best option for England.

Still that was no worry, the pitch was clearly a batting paradise, the Aus were making it look easy.

How many times over how many years have I started stupified at the screen when it comes to Englands turn to put on a performance. Suddenly this batsman's pitch had untold demons in it. Wickets fair cascaded.

Oh blessed rain, I'd be happy if it rained for the next two days if it meant a draw.

This was not too be. England were going to have to get this most tedious of results by their own skill.

Collingwood stood like a rock against the Aus mighty tide while the rest of the top order were quite honestly crap.

When Collingwood got out by the most unfair of catches (the chap deserved better) Monty was "the hope of his side".

We were well and truly sunk. Monty, bless him, is not a chap to put a wager on to survive six balls, let alone 60 odd.

However ball by ball, moment by moment, the impossible was happening. The crowd cheered every ball that failed to get a wicket. The hands of the clock crept towards the magic minute which would leave Aus no time to fight back.

The tension was hideous, every ball was going to be the one that knocked over the stumps, but Anderson and Monty showed batting skills some of the top order better start developing if we have any hope of winning this series.

The most incredible of draws was eeked out in front of my disbelieving eyes.

And a tedious test match was elevated into something incredible by a few hours of desperate play. We have survived the technical whitewash of 5-0 at least.

Off to Lords, not a ground filled with happy English wins. We need to play a hell of a lot better to give ourselves any chance of victory.

The Ashes - Cricket at its finest

The first day of The Ashes.

The most glorious manifestation of the most wonderful game, gods game.

The series itself might last 6 weeks, which can either be hell (see 2007) or simply bum clenching terror (see 2005).

In between 2005 and 1981 (Botham'a Ashes) there was nothing for England to be cheerful about.

The game itself hopefully is a friendly rivalry between what amounts to global cousins. Certainly there is no reason to get aggressive about the game, but it does mean everything.

My life is measured in Ashes series in a much more direct manner than ever it is by other sporting events..

My introduction to cricket came about by reading the Jennings novels

And later it was my favourite sport to participate in as a schoolboy as it involved doing nothing more than sitting about in the sun waiting to bat, or standing in the sun on a lush outfield with no real thought the ball would come my way. Most of the rules were a mystery to us and our cricket master was a war veteran with a wooden leg, and by the age of him the rumour was, it was the Boer war. Cricket umpire being a perfect sport for someone not able/willing to move much.

Cricket is a game that knows its history and could well have been created by statisticians.

The next few weeks I am sure to go through all the sporting emotions and no doubt this blog will record a few of them. I will be watching it on Sky Sports (not HD, stuff your endless adverts where the sun dont shine), when that is not feasible, Radio 4 LW, Test Match Special, will more than fill in the gaps for me.

Actually TMS is the very essence of The Ashes series for me, in much the same way Heavyweight boxing has to be heard on the radio, just to get back to the "old days" when that was how it was done coz there was no choice.

Add to this the avalanche of feeds and analysis which will come, this represents my biggest sporting indulgence, which is saying something.

Perhaps at the end of this series with the help of this blog I will be closer to understanding my love of this game and what it means to me.

Murray lost

Oh well.

So it was not to be. In a typically heroic effort Murray "nearly" overcome all the problems he gave himself (did anyone else give up watching his first serve and do something more interesting instead of watch him fail to get it over the net?)

Having given away the first set Murray blasted Roddick out of the water in the second set but clearly that was too easy so third and fourth set Murray seemed to try really hard not to break Roddicks serve despite getting to 0-40 on numerous occassions.

How much greater Murrays victory would be if he overcome the man with perhaps the finest record in tie-breaks.

Cannot dislike Andy Roddick though, good after match interview even managing to overcome the BBC interviewer they must keep in a store cupboard between Wimbledon fortnights.

So here is too another 50 odd weeks of not giving a tu'peny-toss for tennis and I am very glad about that.

Oh and a quick apology, having said no Brit had won the mens single final in a lifetime I had forgotten the great Boris Becker, he clearly is a Brit who just happens to have been born with a decidedly German accent to German parents in Germany. You cannot let that sort of mishap of birth stop us claiming what obviously is a true Brit.

Afterall if we are all the same beneath the skin, we must all be Englishmen, what higher aspiration is there?

Anyone for tennis ?

Its been a long time since I saw a british wimbeldon champion in a singles event. Virginia Wade, 1977. If I had known how long it was going to take before there was a sniff of another winner I would have conentrated a whole lot more.

All the years of not very heroic failure have hardened my heart to all the mealy mouthed excuses trotted out year after year as to why we cannot get anyone into the second round (beyond the odd freak of nature that thrive despite rather than because of the nations efforts to turn them into champions).

Hell some of the "future prospects" we heard about so eagerly have retired since, having achieved not a lot. Even pretending a Canadian was British did not help.

Now though we have "Murray Mania". How the media loves a catchy soundbite to get them from one "ummm" "errrrr" to the next.

Tim Henman try not to wear out your "umms" and "errrs" reach for more novel methods of connecting your banalities. Then again as last year Henman called Murray a "misreable git" the BBC might be hoping for less of that and more of the "umm" and "errr" routine.

We have waited a lifetime for a British mens single champion and the fates have served us up with our best chance yet. A Scotsman whose facial contortions would give Cherie Blair a run for her money in a pie eating competition.

Murray interviews are not quite the dour tedious list of excuses and complaints they used to be but they still teeter on the edge of it.

Anyway like others I will be settling in front of the TV wishing Murray to victory while secretly wishing it was an Englishman with a sunny disposition flying the flag.

I fear though there is not that much lifetime left in me to ever see that day.