It's a Funny Old World

On the macro-political side of things, it's been a bloody awful week. On the micro-personal side of things, I've had an absolute blinder of a week. It's a funny old world.

The bad stuff first. One really cannot get away from that bastard Trump and his shameless lies. He works on the principle that if you say a lie often and loud enough, it will mutate into a truth. Thus Ukraine 'started' the war and the embattled Zelensky is apparently nothing better than a dictator. Of course Trump neither wants nor cares to convince effete liberals like me that his sordid dissembling represents some new truth. He merely has to carry with him enough of his enablers to continue in power. I was wrong - his is not a policy of America First, rather closer it is America Only. Even that is wrong in the ultimate analysis - in this age of the unrestrained grifter, what we are witnessing is Trump First/Trump Only. 

To happier things. I have eaten well and sensibly this week. I feel good. Golf: on Tuesday, in partnership with MB, we posted a net 62 in the Winter Alliance. I think we might have won although I have not checked yet. Just nice to be in contention. I feel good. And best of all, yesterday I enjoyed a joyous lunch with eleven men with whom I had started at KEGS Aston back in 1971. To JRS, ICW, CDL, SH, MN, DC, SS, RGB, SW, TS, and NN, my heartfelt good wishes. Some of these I had not seen since the late 70s when we all left school. The years fell away. I feel good. I hope they all do as well. Particular chapeau to the good doctor, MN, who put it all together. 

Listening to the Moody Blues. I feel good.

Stripes: The First Rite Of Spring

It's a bizarre time to be alive. For the first time in my life (and let's face it, despite my boyish good looks, I'm no spring chicken) Europe is playing host to a trans-national war and, even scarier, one of the protagonists is quite possibly enough of a demented shit to push the nucleat button. I have decided that the best thing to do is to carry on as normal (or as near to normal as the life of the Pig allows) and I have even stopped watching the value of our investments yo-yoing up and down as the kids in the City keep pissing about. Mind you, if and when this horrible Ukraine situation is sorted, we will still have to deal with a problem that I have experienced before, that is to say the ruinous inflation our lords and masters have allowed to be stoked-up in the economy. I did warn them but quite clearly they are not amongst my readers.

So Spring has sprung. And the lawn back at Casa Piggy has got its first stripes of the year. Stripes give me feeling of remarkable well-being. And, lo and behold, I arrived here at Plas Piggy last night (here for a writing camp and to watch the Six Nations) to the pleasing sight of the lawns and the hedges here having been clipped for the first time this year by my faithful retainer (well actaully a bloke from Amlwch who's brilliant).

At the moment it's raining but, this being Wales, we are only ten minutes away from the first of two televised rugby matches tonight - a club match preceding Wales v France. I note with dismay that the magnificent Principality Stadium (so much better than Twickenham) is not expecetd to be full tonight for what should be a cracking match. That's what happens when you sell your soul to television. God, listen to me. So old.

The Drains Of Plas Piggy And Wider Woes

What a mixed weekend. Once again I am on Mon to do a bit of work on the thesis and to watch the Six Nations. Also, unplanned, I have had to rod the bloody drains again - a constant problem here. We may need a man with a digger - or is it cheaper to keeep the rods in operation? The answer to that one is easy - of course it's bloody cheaper you idiot. And, as I have written before, there is a primaeval satisfaction to a successful rodding. Ooh er Mrs.

The Six Nations gave us a very appealing performance from France, They blasted Scotland (victors over England remember) away with six tries born of ferocity and accuracy. Dupont, Alldrit, Ficou - these are all world class players with plentiful others on the threshold. England go to Paris at the end of the championship. Be afraid, be very afraid. And speaking of England, well they held on to beat a Welsh 2nd XV (an exaggeration of course but their injury list is horrible) in a chaotic match at Twickenham. England were once again inaccuarate, unimaginative and underpowered in midfield. Next up are Ireland, no doubt chastened by the lessons handed to them by the French. Ireland to win. Jones must go. Fat chance.

One thing I will say about the England match - it made no difference to the result but the referee had an absolute mare. I know from my own refereeing that you can have games that just get away from you. Luckily for the global game, mine was Redditch v Woodrush, Mike Adamson chose England v Wales. Dreadful. Come back Jaco Peyper, all is forgiven.

All of which acts a prelude to the subject I have felt unequal to writing about. Life continues with a war raging on continental Europe. Nobody needed a crystal ball to know that Putin is a wrongun. Russia has been mishnadled by the West but Putin's eternalist hogwash about the extent of Mother Russia should not be tolerated. His wretched country needs to be cut adrift until he is gone and if that means some turmoil on markets then so be it. I watched the screens on Wednesday as shares took a tumble and then felt a degree of shame as they bounced back when the twats in the City expressed their relief that sanctions had not gone 'too far'. As an aside, you would not want to be Taiwan as the West ties itself in knots over the Ukraine. The chaos can provide China (the biggest of the rogue states) with just the chance it's been waiting for. Oh well, at least there's drains to be rodded and therapeutic purgation thereby to be had.  

The sun is shining on the island.