Wednesday 2 November 2011

C'mon, c'mon...keep up (3)

In blog land I'm still in last week. That's the equivalent of not changing the clocks back (or forwards) some ninety-six times if my maths is right. Which is a lot.

I celebrated Palestine being being accepted into full membership of UNESCO. It may be a small step. But it's a significant one. The US has shown its colours by cutting off UNESCO. That would be justifiable if it had a realistic alternative. But it doesn't. Its' middle-east policy is bankrupt and has been for years under successive Presidents. And whilst the middle-east remains in turmoil there is little question that extremism will grow with almost inevitable terrible consequences. Peace and prosperity in that neck of the woods would bring calm and safety in the rest of the world.

But enough...

After two days hard toil at the office last week I needed a break. You may be able to work five, six, even seven days a week, but I am more a more tender flower wilting under the the glaring heat of stress. Well that's my reasoning anyway....and I can justify it by letting you know about a senior moment I had this week. I had an important letter to post, so I stepped out of the office and walked towards the post box. As I neared, I tossed the letter in only to realise immediately that I'd put it in the black rubbish bin, not the red letterbox. As I stuck my arm in to retrieve it I had to sheepishly explain to the people walking past and whispering to each other my mistake. Well at least it amused them.

As it happens, I had the perfect excuse to escape the office on Friday. The Cat's Granddad was celebrating his eightieth birthday. That's a fine age to reach. That's thirty more years than I've managed, and he still seems to be bright as a bell. So to celebrate The Cat's Mother had organised a day at Lord's for the family. That's the world-famous cricket ground. The biggest in the world (inspite of what the Australian's might claim). It's also home to the most ridiculous trophy for any sport. A broken perfume bottle that may or may not contain the ashes of a stump. Only the English. You may feel that late October is an odd time to be at Lords, but our day consisted of being coached by two former England cricketers...John Lever and John Embury. And what a challenge they had. With the age group ranging from six through to 80 and with talent ranging from the very enthusiastic amateur to me. We were in the Lord's Indoor academy, and it was a lot of fun for everyone. My appalling bowling (it was noted that I had left a former international cricketer speechless with my performance) was compensated by a pretty respectable turn at batting even if I say so myself. Birthday boy had to race his brother round the wickets, and it was a shame we didn't quite capture that on video.






For Up and Muffin Dad, the day was a special treat. The Muffin is the keen cricketer so he was playing on holy ground, and in their younger days Up and The Cat's Mother used to be enthusiasts. UP had kept a programme from years gone by, and it was his opportunity to get it autographed...how touching is that?!

No wonder we needed a quiet weekend.

Oh no. I forgot. On Sunday we forewent the delights of Downton Abbey to see a couple of exhibitions by urban artists which were also being filmed for a BBC documentary. So it may be my second chance of fifteen minutes of fame, although I did avoid the opportunity of being interviewed this time round. There's a thing that worries me. I like modern art, I like street art, I like urban art. I also like more traditional art. The major difference as I see it is that with traditional art, the craft is more important than the concept (although I know many scholars would challenge me on that) but with urban art, too often it's all concept and little artistry. We didn't see any thing we'd like to hang on the wall at home. It would have been a fabulous time, but the teenagers took it on themselves to be teenagers. One spent the evening sulking and the other threw a mini-strop.

If only I'd had a cricket bat with me.