Pa's Tale

That's what they used to call it when I were a lad, and the Met Office is promising 31º on Wednesday, when I will be playing in a competition at High Elms. Fortunately I am acclimatised after my Italy trip.

Another quiet weekend, which is just as well, as I am greatly lacking in energy. The Guardian has been obsessed by the death of Michael Jackson, reported all over the front page on two days, plus a special supplement. Iran and UK politics have gone away in favour of something really important. And the BBC website - "The world mourns". Daft, I call it.

The brutal Boks got lucky against the Lions thanks to a stupid minor offence by O'Gara in the last minute. The two Welsh props, who dominated the scrums in the first half, were quickly smashed after the interval and had to go to hospital. It reminded me of the premeditated and criminal attack on O'Driscoll after two minutes of the Lions First Test in New Zealand. Rugby used to be the game for ruffians played by gentlemen (football being the reverse), but those days are long gone.

Then I watched some tennis. I'm not mad about the game, but I was impressed by Murray. He covers a lot of ground at high speed and serves a lot of aces. I read somewhere that there is one Aussie man at Wimbledon, and only one in the world top 100. Laver, Rosewall and Hoad and the rest must be wondering what went wrong. After all, it's not as if the best Aussies are all playing cricket.

While the TV was at Wimbledon,we were shown another example of the lunatic waste of money - the very posh Royal Box - used by Her Maj's cronies and assorted hangers-on for a few days a year.

Then we had a splendid thunderstorm, crash, bang, wallop and a deluge of big hailstones. It stayed dry at the tennis though.

I received a new style of Phishing email today, purporting to be from HM Revenue and Customs saying that I was due a tax refund. Click here etc. It got me going for a minute, then of course the penny dropped. I bet a lot of people will click without thinking. But not Old Smartarse.

There is a nice Solo's golf holiday in Spain in September. I might be ready for a break by then, so I have bookmarked it.

I recorded Springsteen's set from Glastonbury last night, so that will be my entertainment tonight.

Kate and Sami are back from RSA, while Nisar is on a field trip in Somaliland (which is supposed to be less lethal than Somalia. Let's hope so.)

Here's a pic of the pink climbing roses. They are full of bees rolling around gathering pollen, though I don't think they are honey bees.

... there was lots of big sport, which our hotel was unable to let us see. So I have been catching up through the BBC website. The England women's 20/20 games against Australia and New Zealand, of which I have watched the summaries, were thrillers, especially the beating of Oz by 8 wickets.

It seems that Lancs lost two county matches. Their batting isn't good enough. And the Lions were out-muscled by the big Boks (a friend found a bar in Lucca which had it on - he told me that the ref was dodgy, but I dunno).

Montecatini Terme is a Victorian era spa town, where most of the buildings are Belle Epoque small hotels, which accommodate people who come to take the waters. So the in-house bar and music were not up to much. But the golf courses were very good, especially the one designed by Arnold Palmer - lots of water and bunkers, but offering lovely classic views of the Tuscan countryside.

Bloody expensive though. I'm just spending my pension euros, so don't have to convert, but prices in the posh shops are just daft. No worries. On one of our no-golf days a few of us took the (cheap, fast and on-time) train to Lucca, a walled town in the Tuscan manner, wandered round the Centro Storico, lunched in a shady hidden courtyard. Very nice. And my Italian is still serviceable.

My golf was inadequate again, but so was that of some of the others, and nobody minds because we're on holiday. On the last day I played with a 5 handicapper. On a par 3 I hit my best 5-wood - a crisp smack to the middle of the green - and John hit a wedge to two feet from the pin. What can I say? I've got more hair than him, so ya-boo.

I arrived home yesterday on an easy BA flight from Pisa, and an easy drive on the M25. This morning I thought about laundry and stuff, then went up to the golf club just because it is there. And I played quite well.

Then I cut the grass back and front, did the laundry, watched a bit of tennis, and I have something out of the freezer getting ready for supper. I'm planning a restful weekend, which I need to recover from the usual pisshead week away with the Solo's mob.

No time to post pics of my bank of pink ramblers. Later. Sorted for now.

Let's get the sports stuff out of the way. Another appalling round yesterday, and I had to choose between playing through it or having a rest. So I tried again today, and I now realise that my powers of concentration are to blame. I really have to think about the shot - I can't just walk up to the ball and give it a clout. Right, that's one problem solved.

The Lions played today. Several of the South Africans are six foot by four. There was one such called Human. Somebody was having a laugh when he got his name. But the Lions won again, unconvincingly.

I have just realised that by going away I will miss the First Test against the Springboks, the whole of the US Open golf, and much of the 20/20 cricket later stages. There will probably be an Irish bar in Montecatini Terme showing sport, but if not, too bad.

And the usual media hysteria about Wimbledon has transferred from Henman to Murray. I avoid the nonsense by not reading the articles, which shows what a well balanced person I am.

The 20/20 cricket has turned out to be very interesting. And the old British Empire thing still lingers. Immigrants, whether temporary or permanent, from the old empire (Indians, Pakistanis, Sri Lankans, Windies, Aussies, Kiwis, South Africans and the rest) are filling the cricket grounds for the competition as they might not anywhere else, because here is where they are.

And the format is looking better. Ireland lost to Sri Lanka by only nine runs. England beat India by only three runs. And I treasure the look on Ponting's face when the young Sri Lankan spinner Mendes clean-bowled him.

I am busy packing for my trip. This can be quite a laborious process, and I have to keep saying DON'T PANIC. And it's only for a week.

Now to other matters, some more interesting than others. Euan attended the Mairie de Paris to receive a medal for his community contribution (to do with his school, Rick says). Julia is off in Britanny on a sailing course. She just missed qualifying for the Championnats de France.

Our Glorious Queen's pad, which has a 39 acre garden, got a big mention in the Observer because they are planting vegetables in a 10x4m plot. What bullshit. And there is a 20-year waiting list for allotments in London.

There seems to be an enquiry behind closed doors into the decision to go into Iraq. But don't worry, Mr Brown assures us that we will all be told everything except the bits that he thinks should be kept secret. The slimebag Blair must be sniggering up his sleeve. Surely he can be brought to book.

Yesterday evening, as the cricket was proceeding nicely at the Oval, there was a terrific thunderstorm. At one stage, I was at the centre, where the flash and the bang were simultaneous. Torrential rain fell for about 20 minutes, and it all got absorbed somehow.

Right. Must complete packing. Pisa here I come.

I cried off the trip to Stoke-by-Nayland some weeks ago, and even abandoned my deposit (the organiser got it back from the hotel and put it in the kitty, where it lasted about ten minutes). Two nights away with some extreme pissheads, with three rounds of golf on a longish modern course - the magic has faded somewhat. Though I would have gone if we had returned to Le Touquet. The cost in France became too high with the strong euro. People were muttering about having to pay a fiver for a pint, so we stayed at home.

Another gruesome round on Thursday, still starting OK then hitting horrible scuffs, which none of my playing partners can diagnose. I couldn't face Friday's date at Sweetwoods - we had planned two rounds, mechanically assisted (buggies), but I wouldn't have got home until nine. A 13-hour day, with driving at each end, seemed too much, especially in view of my dire form. So I cried off that as well.

As it happens, I played fairly decently at my club on Friday, so I don't feel too anxious about my Italy trip. Where it seems that the temperature is in the 30s. What did the man say? DON'T PANIC!

There is lots of cricket on. The players are getting the hang of this 20/20 game, and it isn't really a "close your eyes and bash it" approach. And of course it's all over in three hours rather than five days (sorry, John).

The Lions have been showing some form in South Africa, where the hosts are resting their Test players. Cotton wool was never a good idea for preparing rugby players for the heat of the arena. And France won in New Zealand, which is good news for the European countries.

I don't leave until Wednesday, so there will be a couple of rounds before then to fine-tune my play. It is supposed to get hot later in the week, which may scorch my pots of flowers while I'm away. That's their problem.

Creature of habit that I am, I will shortly eat my usual Saturday night supper of fish cakes, chips and salad. I harvested four strawberries today. Fortunately I had bought a big load of them for £1.99, so I don't have to rely on home-grown produce.

The Windies demolition of Australia was very entertaining. But even though Gayke hit him for 27 off one over, Brett Lee showed again why he is my favourite cricketer. He smiled as he walked off the pitch chatting with Gayle - he knows that cricket is only a game. A true sportsman.

But then Sri Lanka did the business and the Aussies are out of the 20/20. Some of them have gone home, and the Ashes lot are coming in. Two weeks in Leicester before the real stuff starts should test their ability to relax.

No doubt I shall be hearing from my Chief Australia Correspondent. I wonder if he suspects that their Test bowling looks a little, what shall I say - less than scary.

I am getting worried about my golf.Hitting off the tee OK, but towards the end of the round I am scuffing lots of shots that I am normally quite good at. This is rather embarrassing, and my playing partners have to look away in case they catch the bug. Send me to a sports psychologist, or give me some tablets. Please. I have to play two rounds on Friday for the Queen's Birthday Chalice at Clive's club near Tunbridge Wells. I am making my own way there, rather than share the driving with Stuart, so that I can go home when I have had enough.

So a couple of days' rest. One of the disadvantages of staying in the house is that I keep noticing jobs to add to the ever-expanding list. I am definitely building up to a chucking out session. And one day I must start on the list.

Some rugby from South Africa coming up soon, then England get to bash little Andorra at Wembley. Mighty Bob Crow has got the Tube drivers out for 48 hours, so there won't be many people to watch the match. It must be hard to call a strike on the grounds that there must be no compulsory redundancies. I suppose it's different from the UAW's contribution to the bankruptcy of General Motors in that people can buy another make of car, whereas they can't get to work without the Tube.

I know - I need a holiday! And I have just remembered that I am going to Tuscany next Wednesday to play golf and chill out. I feel better already.

So a huge cricket tournament - a World Cup, no less - is organised. So it rains, and the elaborate opening ceremony is curtailed. No worries; the England team is being polite by staging the opening match against Holland. At Lord's. Then, as you might expect, the Dutch win off a misfield off the last ball of the match. Mind you, one of the Dutchmen spoke fluent Strine.

And at noon today, possibly because of the World Cup cricket, it was raining everywhere in the land. Only in England! It was sunny in South Africa of course, and the Lions have just scraped a win against one of the lower ranked local sides. The Tests will be thunderous.

Final sports note: there are people who want to make golf an Olympic event. That is rubbish, and my reason for saying that is surely obvious. The Olympics should be about running, jumping, throwing things and fighting, just as they were 2,500 years ago. Anyone can do those things. No fancy equipment or special terrain. How many African and Asian peasants could aspire to representing their countries at golf? Polo next, or Grand Prix motor racing?

A cautionary tale now. My golf chum Graham's ancient mum had a fire in her flat. Her toaster, which hadn't been used since the morning, went on fire at ten at night, setting fire to the work top and a cupboard. She has Parkinson's and can hardly speak or move, but she was rescued by the fire brigade and is in hospital suffering from smoke inhalation. The flat (sheltered accommodation) will have to be totally redecorated. When I got home I put a battery in my smoke alarm, and it went off today while I was grilling lamb chops for lunch. (That is probably why I took the battery out some years ago - too sensitive.)

Re the government meltdowm: nobody who is supposed to be running the country has ever had a proper job (apart from the ex-postman). They have all been pols since leaving school. It is a management failure caused by Brown's inability to see that he needed a fixer to keep an eye on the small but subservient people he appointed to do big jobs.

There has been army activity in Guinea Bissau. Politicians are being shot for various reasons. I only mention this because my sponsored child Maude lives there. The bloody place doesn't even need an army.

I had a bit of a coup regarding my leak. A chum suggested that I lift off some tiles and cut open the felt to see what was going on. There was a plastic 1" plastic pipe, dripping. So I crawled into the extension roof space and saw that the pipe is for overflow from the central heating header tank. The ball valve may be sticky. Diagnosis done, action to follow. Phew! I thought it might be something serious.

I'll go and watch the Windies in their match against Australia now, and try to follow the action from the England football in Central Asia. It's all action round here.

The Veterans played a match against the Ladies yesterday. It sounds dreadful, but as often happens with golf it was very entertaining. My partner and I were one down on the 18th tee, and we scraped a half with our agreeable opponents. Followed by a pleasant lunch. What's not to like, as the saying goes.

I got home at five, tired and fed, so there was not much else to do except to take a light supper and go to bed early.

The big stuff now, of course, is about the rats deserting the sinking ship. The Guardian has got its knives out, and Brown has to go. What a strange hulk of a man he seems to be, with no apparent political skills at all, either to deal with his underlings or the public. Some of his big ideas as Chancellor are turning sour. For me, it is the PFI saga which has gone nasty, plus of course his courtship of the City. If you are a beggar, the City will shaft you. As it did.

But I turned out to vote today. It's no use whinging about the governance of the country unless you vote. I was disappointed to find that it was only the MEP election. I was given a great long list of parties/individuals, and I had to put an X against one of them. Well, I don't think that a screwed-up governmental system and economy like ours could go it alone. We need all the mutual support we can get, which the UKIP loonies don't begin to understand.

A day off from golf today. I must avoid excess. So I spent a happy hour filing my tax return online. To my surprise, the automatic calculation performed by the taxman agreed with my own calculation. I always was a fairly competent clerk.

And while I was sweating over the tax stuff, my parcel was delivered. Only sale-price special offer golf trousers and shorts, but they fit. I seem to be becoming over-trousered. The trousers are too good for playing golf in, so I will save them for my upcoming Italy trip. Then I did the laundry, and hung lots of shirts on the line (I had to improvise a clothes prop, but that was easy, given my DIY skills). I must say that the shirts offered in the catalogue which came with my trousers are tempting. I looked at the old rags on the line, and I did think of placing an order. But I resisted.

Rick called: they are back from Japan. The food he described wouldn't appeal to me, the original S&K pie man, but he and Pia enjoyed the trip. The firm has been chopping, but he seems to be OK.

There is a mysterious drip of water from a place where there aren't any pipes, to the right as you go out of the kitchen door. I suspect that there may be a leak from the central heating system, and I will have to call in Terry Plumber for a consultation. It costs about as much as a dentist, but, as they say, if you can do it yourself, do it. If you can't, get your wallet out.

As I was preparing my rather nice salad for supper, iPod Shuffle gave me one of very favourite pop songs - It's Not Me - the Ting Tings. Great name, great song.

I'm going to try to add a rather unusual picture. It looks to be upside down, but it's reflection - a lake in New Hampshire.

Last weekend was one of loafing around. Sport on the box was rather ordinary, so I did a bit of online shopping. I hope they fit.

On Sunday, all day, I spoke two words to another person. They were "thank you" to the cashier when I bought my paper. Though I suppose that if it bothered me I would know what to do. I read the meters. Got to keep busy.

There was a nice moment though - I harvested a strawberry from my pot on the terrace. (There was only one. So much for grow your own.)

BBC online subheading of the week: "Madonna watches Prince Harry play polo". That is the higher level of bullshit that stand-up comedians get paid to think up. Hang on though. Is it a coded message that the old bat fancies a new toyboy?

I have just sat through a BBC thing about Beowulf. Many pics (some aerial) of trains carrying the narrator, and of said chap making interested faces when spoken to. An hour long programme containing about 20 minutes of what you might call "content".

So what do I do? I play golf. Two days of adequate play, though today there were two exquisite (and that's not a word you hear very often on the golf course) sand iron pitches to within inches of the hole, and several very nice putts. Still didn't win, but my play moved to a (temporary) higher level.

Tomorrow is the match Veterans v. Ladies. I got dragooned into signing up for it, but it is said to be a very agreeable event, and I will enjoy.

Rather warm and dry lately, so I have had the sprinkler on on the lawn, and have had to water the pots. (Is that a unique usage of "on on"? It is not pretty but it looks correct to me.)