Aaron Ramsey

(Note - these postings come from my facebook page, where they are titled "in praise of", not "what made me happy")



A couple of times in the last few months I have nearly done an "in praise of Ramsey" but something else has trumped him (horseradish sauce or peeing alfresco or something).

Whenever I've seen him I've thought how come no-one found an English grandmother for this one....he's looked the best young home-grown talent for years.

For those who don't follow such things he had his leg busted-up last night in one of those tackles that leads to the other players being physically sick on the pitch, and a few in tears (not least the similarly-aged lad who got sent off for the tackle).

We call these tackles a "Croughan" in our house, (after an identical incident at Lampeter) though pampered Premiership footballers get oxygen, stretchers, and an ambulance that comes in under five minutes as opposed to well over an hour...

Fingers-crossed for the lad.

Macon Rouge

Assuming home-made wine doesn't count (and it doesn't), here's the second in my occasional series on gluggable wines that are nice and cheap.

Marks and Spencer's Macon Rouge is a light and fruity delight, and much like Fulham the standard has remained surprisingly high for a few seasons now.. Anne seems to chug down the Macon Blanc likewise.


And M&S are currently going 25% off 6 bottles.


.

Anne leaving Birmingham City Council

About bloody time. Even I've been spending sleepless nights compiling imaginary e-mails in my head to the scum-sucking pigs determined to drag everyone down to their own level of miserable incompetence. (CU boys, think of being managed by that walking miasma, that putrid contagion of cancer that was *** ****** and multiply it by a public services factor of soul-scouring despair).

As Alistair Darling's wife would have it - what a bunch of cunts.



Kids, don't work for Councils....


.

Gareth Southgate

Chris Coleman's wife once said in a Fulham match programme that Southgate was the funniest man she had ever met, which seems hard to believe. He's not going to win the Peter Ustinov award for resonance and eloquence either.

On the other hand, as co-commentator on the Chelsea match last night, he was very illuminating on the art of central defending. Which you don't expect to hear from co-commentators, so obsessed are they by describing in slow motion exactly what you can see for yourself.

My personal co-commentary consisted of shouting "big goal...big goal..." when Chelsea equalised, which was mainly due to the money it had just won me, but I had to laugh when my new favourite failed penalty-taker/manager/pizza hut actor picked up the baton effortlessly with his own summation of the situation - "big goal...big goal.."


.

Sally Sparrow

Congratulations on the Bafta. Such a shame Doctor Who didn't snaffle you up to be an assistant before fame came a-calling.

Still, it's always fun to spot the talent of the future. My two greatest successes are Tim Roth from "King of the Ghetto" and Gina McKee from a Carlsberg ad.



Talking of the Baftas, did anyone else catch the speech from winner of (I think) Best Costume Designer? It wasn't intentional but through her nerves her speech came out something like:

"And of course this is also for Millie who died. She was the designer - no, I was the designer - she cut the dresses - and as such was totally replaceable....


.

Lionel Jeffries

Who made my favourite children's film.

Not Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, nor even Jenny Agutter waving her knickers around.

The Amazing Mr Blunden.

Thank you Lionel.



And talking of films, my favourite film of all time is on Film 4 tonight 9pm.

The Big Chill. Just in case you don't know...


...of course I'll be watching Survivors personally....


.

Ski Cross

When I was a kid, whenever I watched Ski Sunday I'd moan "This would be so much better if they actually raced against each other."

And now they do. And it is.


.

Steve Palmer's Betting Diary

He's the golf-betting journalist for the Racing Post and every Sunday shares his diary for the week detailing his attempt to become a professional gambler.

Last week he swore to give up football betting. This week he describes laying Liverpool for £150 in their derby; backing Man City to beat Hull, and then when both of these hit the deck, emptying the rest of his Betfair account on Spurs to beat Villa. In one magnificent "tilt" he dumps £800 in one afternoon's betting on a sport he gave up forever seven day's earlier.

I spent yesterday giving up all this month's carefully hewn, unbelievably disciplined, quality trading profits, in one dismal hour of throw-back gambling. So, I not only sympathise, but am greatly comforted not to be alone in my self-loathing...


.

Dominic Alers-Hankey

Thinking of him still makes me laugh.

When Andy and Crispin were trying to get into Sandhurst I rather assumed the army would take Crispin (Durham school, daddy a Lieutenant-Colonel) and overlook the claims of a rather less-privileged Gloucester boy. So I was pretty impressed when they actually made the right call.

However, if you were to fall through the looking-glass into Sandown racecourse for the Royal Artillery Cup (yesterday), or the Grand Military Cup (in a couple of weeks), you'd never believe them capable of that decision.

It's fence-to-fence chinless wonders, as the Harrys, Ollies and Tarquins of this sceptred isle gather on the concourse to cheer on their double-barrelled officer chums - Trice-Rolph anyone?

And the greatest of them all was the now sadly-retired Dominic Alers-Hankey. I doubt he actually won the race but he certainly upheld the proud legacy of Balaclava as I'm fairly sure that over the years I've seen him fall at every single one of Sandown's fences.

Iain and I used to make an annual event of it, with our finest voices - me joining in the braying with a "come on dear old Alers-Hankey", and Iain giving it the full Hornchurch "Oi, Oi, come on my babby" as Hankey-Pankey eats dirt at the Pond Fence.

Yesterday he and I raised a glass to the Queen and remembered those who have fallen for our pleasure. Hurrah Hussar Hurrah!


.

Home-made Wine

Not making it obviously. That's just silly - it takes forever, is a right fiddle and is pretty pointless when you can buy perfectly quaffable plonk for a fiver. Besides, it nearly always smells of petrol, and at best tastes like all the bits of the fruit you never actually eat in real life.

But when you're round your in-laws and you've run out of Sainsbury's finest it is quite good fun to raid Anne's dad's cellar.

Last night we had:
Elderberry and damson 1996 (diesel vapour with cow dung undertones)
Damson 1996 (cloudy but less diesel, more cow)
and Apple 1986 (a vintage year, a nice sweet apple juice with snot sediment)

We left the last bottle of my own Apple 2005 masterpiece to mature....



.

The Invisible Man

Check this guy out....I particularly liked number 10 - took me about 5 minutes to find him when looking at picture in the newspaper.

http://browse.guardian.co.uk/search?search=liu+bolin&sitesearch-radio=guardian&go-guardian=Search


.

A pleasing coincidence

A photographer was sent up from the big city yesterday to take some "moody" pictures of me gambling for a small project I seem to have got involved in.

We indulged in small-talk whilst he he took all-action shots of my mouse finger and it turned out he was one of Paula's (and Daryl's) best friends...

Small world. Eat your heart out Kevin Bacon.



At one stage he said "right, now how about pretending that you're losing".
Pretending? Right...



And then when he took pictures of me winning, he quickly came to the conclusion they didn't look very likely...



.

BBC1's Sunday Night is Shropshire Night

BBC1 seemed to discover Shropshire for the first time on Sunday, with its double bill - Countryfile from "Long Mynd", followed by Antiques Roadshow from Ironbridge.

After my own adventures on The Long Mynd the last few weeks (rock-falling and ice-pond-drowning - soon to be new adventure sports) I don't think they captured the danger of The Long Mynd, so busy were they avoiding saying its definite article.

I think the evening must have been part of the BBC's remit to become less Londoncentric. I fully expect to see Claire Balding fronting wall-to-wall coverage of the Wenlock Edge Olympic Games, Ruth to be holed up in a safehouse in Ludlow, and Letitia Dean to open a gastropub in Telford...


.

Snowdrops

Optimistic little buggers aren't they, poking their heads up halfway through February, like someone arriving at a party hours too early...

.

When Harry Met Sally

Our Valentine film of choice....

When it was first out I used to do small film reviews and remarkably I thought this was pretty moderate. I was so obsessed by counting up all the Woody Allen rip-offs that I don't think I watched it properly.

I feel a bit sorry for the film really, being mainly known for its fake orgasm scene. Nothing wrong with the scene, perfect punchline, but it isn't even in the top 15 scenes in the film.

Anyway, not a bad way to spend a Saturday night...


.

Shifnal's new dress shop - "twelve"

(not that anything fits me...)

One of the things I miss about London is that, as you go about your daily life, there's a parade of female loveliness wherever you look. I once fell in love five times on one tube journey from Balham to Leicester Square. With Spring coming the annual city bloom of frocks and skirts will be starting soon. In Shifnal, not so much.

So it's surprising that we should have a shop selling second-hand designer clothes and it seems to be thriving. Window-shopping is hardly my thing, but every day I pass by the shop I'm taken by how beautiful the window displays are. There is a mannequin in each window, and everyday they are wearing something new and stunning.

I've definitely been in a small town too long. I think I've fallen in love with a headless shop dummy.



.

When Saturday Comes

When I was praising Granta I forgot that I've also subscribed to this for around 20 years, and it dropped on the mat yesterday for an enjoyable read by the fire.

I'm not sure how long football's half-serious, non-partisan fanzine's been going, but long enough for its title to seem hopelessly outdated!


Of course, even if you don't know what on earth I'm talking about, you can still praise when Saturday comes....


.

Drains

Now there's something we should count our blessings about.

I've just read Sweet Thames by Matthew Kneale and The Ghost Map by Steven Johnson, back in Victorian London where fetid clouds of gases roamed the city and were thought to be the cause of cholera.


.

Survivors

I was first infected with the virus back in the Seventies, but I was just a kid, and we only had three channels to choose from.

I think it was the opening sequence - which to my mind remained the best I'd ever seen right up until the Sopranos.

Now, each week I find myself lapsing out of remission for an hour each Tuesday, as I lie back horribly afflicted, seemingly rendered catatonic by a mixture of implausible plot-line and terrible acting.

Last night's episode was right up there, with what seemed like a reprise of Peter Ustinov's Spartacus role woven seamlessly into the story.

The one significant strength of the show (and true of the original too) is that I don't particularly find myself rooting for any of the characters. This lends it a deeply existential element that I'm sure is entirely accidental. Again.

When watching I often think of a conversation I had with Andy Williams (now Brigadier Williams) many years ago. I was enthusing about anarchy. He said something like "Bring it on, Gary, bring it on. We've got all the guns."

He had a point. Where are all the guns?





"Found this parka on a dead man,
Jamie's gotta couple of knives,
The countryside's crawling with maniacs,
You gotta survive."

(Brucie bonus for this one - released around the time the original series was axed...)


.

Delia

Because I don't even have to put her last name; because she's a noun; because she has her own effect; because we have over 500 cookery books and she's the one we use for arbitration purposes; because she doesn't feel the need to act the cheeky chappie, or fellate her food, or invade Padstow; because her recipes are virtually unique in that they actually work.


Letsby Avenue....


.

Kalahari King and Weird Al

Currently my two fave horses in training, and they both put the finishing touches to their Cheltenham Festival preparations with bloodless wins on Saturday.

It looks like 40 minutes on the Wednesday will decide my fate this year, as opposed to the usual Thursday. They both have really tough races to win, but then again you can get 90/1 the double. Worth a few weeks dreaming if nothing else.


.

Pad Thai

Now I'm not a noodles man. They're nearly as pointless as soup. However, pad thai is my personal exception that proves the rule. I've had a brilliant one in Bangkok (obviously), a lovely one in Tooting (slightly surprisingly) and even a decent one in Horsham (amazingly).

And last night we cooked up our own and it went down a treat alongside a Cambodian chicken curry and a Vietnamese fried fish dish (actually also with noodles now I come to think of it).

We seem to treat the whole of the Far East as one big melting-wok.


.

Birds - passing on through

We have birds that reside with us - a small flock of about twenty sparrows live in our hedges, along with a family of great tits, and a robin. Two by two, wood pigeons, blackbirds, thrushes and blue tits visit daily. And occasionally a greater spotted woodpecker. And nuthatch. All nice.

But what's better is the small flocks of birds that come to the field and refuel for a few days before moving on. Fieldfare and redwings have been and gone, as per last year, but for the last week we've had about 200 corn bunting swirling around, and sitting on our tree and telephone lines. It took me most of the week to work out what they were and as soon as I did, off they pootled. Wonder if they'll be back next year.


.

Nancy Banks-Smith

www.guardian.co.uk/tv-and-radio/2010/feb/04/nancy-banks-smith-40-years

www.guardian.co.uk/tv-and-radio/2010/feb/04/nancy-banks-smith-classic-reviews

Counter-attacking football

A quiet day yesterday, so I'll reflect back on the weekend. I've always been a sucker for football played on the break, and this despite never having played in a team capable of doing it, nor actually being quick enough to have joined in with them had they done so.

Fabregas got a corker earlier in the season with a lung-bursting, and in his case hamstring-busting counter-attack against Villa, but Rooney's goal on Sunday was a thing of rarest beauty.


.

Magnus Mills

It seems to me a lot of novelists suffer from not having a proper job, and from only socialising with other writers and similar.

Not Magnus, who drives buses for a living. I like his take on life, and his latest book seems a perfect combination, being his normal sub-Kafka routine, but this time in the world of buses.

"The Maintenance of Headway". No question, it would be best read in one sitting on a tortuous cross-London bus journey - 12, or 36 would do the trick.

Stationery

(Or, build a better life stealing office supplies).

As I break open a new Oxford 6mm lined A4 80 sheet notebook, and uncap the greatest everyday pen in the world - the Signo uni-ball gel grip 0.7, I daydream about owning a stationery shop. Not to sell anything, just to browse my treasures and order stock from catalogues....

One of my favourite jobs when training was re-filling my trainer-case with all the oddments of a peripatetic's life, which required a feel for necessity versus weight that Ray Mears would have been proud of, particularly as a lot of it was "liberated" stock, found in the field as it were. (In fact, if you've ever wondered where all your pens go, I've probably got some of them).

Off the top of my head: Scissors, sellotape, paper, acetates, index/cue cards, glue, blutac, all sorts of pens, pencils, highlighters, marker pens, sheets of sticky dots and numbers and letters, ruler, protractor, process-mapping template, parcel tape, string, cotton, pins, safety-pins, safety-clips, stapler, staples, stamps, pocket tissues, plasters, nurofen, indigestion tablets, birthday cards and a small furry pig.



See Staples and Die.

It may be as outdated as analogue,
But happiness is a Ryman's catalogue...



.

Yorkshire Pudding

I seem to have more choices for my daily "in praise of" on Mondays than any other day of the week. Sadly, I had hoped to do one on Andy Murray this morning, but it looks like I'm going to have to wait until Federer retires for that one.

So, instead let's return to roast dinners which after all have only appeared twice so far - apple sauce and horseradish sauce - and to be fair the horseradish sauce only appeared because last time we had beef Anne cocked up the Yorkies. She redeemed herself yesterday (as long as you don't mention her seville orange marmalade that is).

Of the normal roasts, chicken and pork would be my clear favourites, followed by beef, with lamb trailing the field. However, our beef dinner comes with (two) single-portion yorkshire puds, and that's enough to raise a cheeky glass of shiraz to these little angel cups of gravy-smothered fat that bring the week to a warm and satisfying close.


.