More Bardolatry And More Booze

I think I might have promised you reporting from my student digs in Swansea on the progress of the British Shakespeare Association Conference. In the end I got taken up in the doings of the conference and will have to settle for this summation delivered three days down the road.

This was a good conference. In its organisation it perhaps fell slightly below the military-like discipline that characterised Hull two years ago but, at least to this aged consumer, this iteration delivered more fluently on its conference title - Shakespeare, Race and Nation. Serious stuff but, as it turned out, also compelling. Kudos also to my new mate P who delivered his paper with aplomb and suggested that Portia probably voted Leave. Good old Portia.

Only one downside to the conference -it does get a tad tedious to be reminded by the terminally woke that it (whatever it might be) is undoubtedly all the fault of bloody middle-aged white men like me. Give me a break - a chap could get a complex.

The 1st at Royal Pype Hayes

Golf is occupying my mind at the moment, both as spectator and as player. As a spectator I doubt anyone could fail to be swept up in the romance of Shane Lowry's march to victory in the Open at the brilliant Portrush. But even better and as a player has been the company of good men and true at Pype Hayes on balmy Monday evenings. Last night I played closer than the recent norm to the game I used to play. For now I have decided to be optimistic. There will be the weekly games at Pype Hayes to play and then in early September Mikey B has organised a trip to Northumberland for Big Willy, Viperjohn and Big Fat Pig. Bring it all on.