It’s been an interesting three weeks. The first two comprising mostly manic preparations, many thanks to all those that helped, that were largely finalised the afternoon prior to the big event – there was little more to be done – Thursday afternoon, time for a beer. Friday went well beyond expectation, many thanks to all those that attended (especially my best woman) and that interventionalist god, in which I don’t believe. The following day it was, after six weeks of living on adrenalin and anxiety, down to clearing/sorting and the thought – is that all there is? This week, I’ve been avoiding storms.
It would have been great to see England winning their first test in Australia last Saturday, only I didn’t see it – I don’t have Sky Sport TV and, bearing in mind the events of the day before, it was twearly for the pub; perhaps I’ll get to see tomorrow’s 11am game. Later that night, I half watched England’s other football team draw against bad boys Russia but find it difficult to muster much enthusiasm for soccer; yesterday, I watched them again and, with all the back passing and kicking over the posts, thought that they’d have been better off playing the real game.
The previous Saturday had seen a small band of Companions on one of our occasional days out, Nottingham this time – eight good pubs: eight good beers. I caught an early train specifically to visit their Contemporary Gallery and was a little disappointed with the Simon Starling[1] exhibition. ‘…Sterling is interested in physical, poetic and metaphorical journeys. These include the unacknowledged journeys of objects and materials – geographic, economic and through time – and their transformation.’ I could understand that it was all very clever, too clever for me. I left after about twenty minutes and enjoyed an hour or more mooching around the streets of a town that I knew so well – happy memories.
We Companions met up at Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, long a tourist trap built into the rock below the castle, as much famed for its age (arguably Nottingham’s oldest pub) as its setting, and enjoyed a sunny outside pint (Oakham’s Citra) before moving up to a pub opposite the castle green: the Castle – 10% discount if you show a selfie with Robin Hood. And it was down to the Old Salutation (arguably, Nottingham’s oldest pub), a wonderful bikers’/metal real pub where one of us put Abba on the jukebox. It was then time for the Malt Cross, an old Victorian music hall, now selling good beer and grub and all for a good cause[2]. And then to the nearby Bell (arguably, Nottingham’s oldest pub[3]) before a swift half in the Stage where we bumped into a lively party of pink ladies. We walked through a horror-themed pub: the Pit and the Pendulum, but it was too tacky on all counts, before finding the Keans Head, a small Castle Rock Brewery pub, with the best range of beers seen all day. We ended up at the Cock and Hoop for a pint of Blue Monkey[4] which necessitated a dash back to the Station in time for our separate trains.
Great larks were had throughout the day as we discussed variously, though not exclusively, religion, apostasy and theosophy; Einstein, quantum physics and Schrödinger’s Cat; submarines, depth charges and hydrostatics; swimming pool disinfection, filtration and micturition; psychopaths, sociopaths and the difference (including a correct telling of the cycle path oldie) and the work of John Cowper Powys – truly life, the universe and everything. Only towards the end did we talk of women, marriage and the amount of divorces that we’d collected between us.
In February I wrote of the coming referendum: ‘My advice is don’t waste the next four months worrying about your choice, all you’ll do is hear a load of wholly subjective toss on what is, essentially, a wholly subjective issue – remember that the toss will be spewing from the mouths of politicians. Forget it till the day and then decide with your heart.’ Since then I’ve been disgusted by the extent of that ‘wholly subjective toss’ (read nasty vicious lies)coming from both sides of the argument, as a European it makes me embarrassed to be English. Remember to cast your vote next week and to cast it wisely.
Finally, what’s in a name ? On June 1st Moseley Rugby ceased to exist and a new body: Birmingham Moseley Rugby came into being. I’m not too bothered about this, especially if it should bring in a bit of extra sponsorship, if not? Anyway, Birmingham Moseley Rugby have just published their fixture list for next season. After last season’s relegation to National League 1, we now play 15 other clubs, as opposed to the 11 in the Championship, and many of these clubs are new to us. No longer will we be travelling to Jersey, Leeds and Penzance but will be off to places as exciting as Blaydon, Fylde and Hull; there’s also a few local clubs and it will be good to revive our traditional boxing day fixture against rivals Coventry. I’m sure that I’ll find out more about this as I’m just off to Billesley for the AGM of the MSA[5] – or is it the BMSA now? Gotta’ go.
[1] A Turner Prize winner who studied at Nottingham Trent.
[2] It’s now a Christian charity helping the homeless and many more.
[3] There’s a reason for the argument as it all depends on how you define the boundaries of Nottingham.
[4] I love their branding.
[5] You know, the Moseley Supporters Association