July proved one of the tougher months of the season, for me, at least. I scored a paltry 57 runs in 8 innings, my average dropping from 16 to 12, the kind of drop it’s hard to truly recover from. After June’s back-to-back forties, I failed to reach 20 in July. My innings were as follows: Continue reading
It appears that there is something oddly energising about Parkinson’s Disease. Both Alan Fairburn and Colleen Henderson-Heywood, the organiser and compere of last week’s Shakefest respectively, are bundles of energy. It’s certainly no mean feat to get seven acts together for an evening of great music, sell over 200 tickets, raise two and a half thousand pounds and get the whole shebang to run on time. From the moment Colleen took to the stage to kick off the evening by sharing her story, to the moment a rather dazed Alan was dragged onto the stage and treated to a standing ovation after Easter Street’s rousing encore, the assembled hordes at Duns volunteer hall were royally entertained by a series of acts from the dauntingly young Missing Myla through to the gig-hardened Easter Street. Continue reading
So, the South Africans have taken the opportunity to put the boot in, and their size tens home straight in on the private parts of the England camp: the captain and coach. They don’t have an issue with KP, it seems. All they are doing, now the crack in the team is held open with a wooden wedge, is poor water onto it. This press release, as reported in The Guardian is, knowingly or not, genius: Continue reading
Well, as the KP fiasco takes root ever deeper, it’s beginning to bear the hallmarks of a witch-hunt. I’m not going to add my tuppence h’apennorth to the debate on KP himself, only to point out that like Usain Bolt, there’s an awful lot of psychology going on with the insouciance with which he bats, and to note that David Gower’s airy wafts outside off stump were strokes of genius when they sped through the covers, signs of carelessness when they were edged to the slips. We English love genius and hate our heroes sullying themselves with anything approaching hard work – until, that is, their star inevitably fades, and we can nod knowingly and wonder how much they would have achieved if only they’d done the hard yards. Continue reading
Now then, I’m all for discussion and that, but sometimes I do wonder what motivates people. Yesterday’s quick blog post on Bob Hoskins and Parkinson’s elicited one comment, which was perhaps in poor taste considering. It went as follows: Continue reading
I gained a brother-in-law, but totally lost the bus driver …
(BS) what if dot dot dot, as opposed to what if question mark, that was clarified very early on.
By whom? Continue reading
Well, it’s been a long time coming but here’s the second thrilling video installment of lefty Langman (damn, I hate that name) and his joyous exploration of all things sinister.
Go and take a look, and be sure to leave some really witty comments.
In that second you feel like the king of infinite space, only that you are Lear, desperate for validation, desperate to feel the love you have returned. As the object of your affections poses the most ambiguous of questions, you know that now is the time for action. You shape your response as the time hangs in the air, the tension palpable as every pair of eyes is upon you, willing you to take one of the many paths open to you. It is then that the internal battle commences. Is this the right time? Will you get the response you desire? How will you cope if you make the wrong decision?
Do you want, as they say, to die wondering? Continue reading