Two More Films

A Happy Easter to all our readers. I'm at the old country seat, gorging myself on chocolate and other comestibles whilst glancing surreptitiously out of the window at the people viewing the house next door. Nosey bastard - I'm turning into my father-in-law.

We watched two good films last weekend. The Verdict stars Paul Newman as a downbeat ambulance-chasing lawyer. Newman does good drunks even if it is hard to marry with his undoubted beauty (the Groupie confirms I am right on this point). This is the old staple - a courtroom drama which confirms that, deep down inside, the American dream is alive and well. A message that can seem rather important these days. Expert hands are at work on this piece - Sidney Lumet directs and David Mamet gets a screenwriting credit. Tidy. 7.5/10.

Talking of expert hands, Tom Hanks doesn't really do bad films does he? He is the successor to those old studio stars who could shine in most any vehicle. And when you ally his talents to a witty script and generous direction what you have is an old-fashioned sort of success - the kind of film that Frank Capra might be making if still alive - which is probably the greatest compliment one can pay to the giant who is Steven Spielberg. Charming and uplifting throughout, in fact thoroughly bosting as they say at home. 8/10.

A Funny Old Thing

Life, that is. I find it hard to abide either Donald Trump or Jeremy Corbyn but, wonder of wonders, I find myself incapable of a knee-jerk reaction against either of them on certain recent and select issues. Am I growing old, is my political knee no longer working?

Big Fat Pig's new mates

Trump is an odious creep. His attitude to women is antediluvian; his reaction to the latest school shootings was immoral and sententiously boastful. However his cut in corporation tax makes some libertarian sense and (at a stretch) his goading of North Korea may just have forced that rogue state to the negotiating table. Now the libertarian streak in me should not approve of the threatened trade war with China, but I have a particular animus against China (bet that's got them quaking in their boots) and if the free world is going to pick an economic fight then it should be with China. Trump is an inexcusably horrid man but, as any idiot savant, he has his moments. I still hope that he is hounded out of office in disgrace and that he will be shunned by his wider public. Fat chance.

Corbyn is a middleweight at best (even as I type this I feel an apology to all middleweights coming on) but his muted reaction to the Russian poison attack strikes me as the right one. The rush to condemn Russia has a strong whiff of the 'dodgy dossier' about it. Theresa May should be very alarmed that her stance has attracted support from the invariably wrong David Miliband - mind you Miliband did use the word 'revanchist' in his interview and I have to admit that it's a top-hole word I plan on using at the first opportunity. Russia is a kleptocracy and Putin is plainly a wrong'un but pick your fights guys, or at the very least establish your casus belli and lay it open to public scrutiny.

So that's me then, managing to be an 'apologist' (current political commentary's most overused word) for Trump, Putin and Corbyn all at the same time. Mind you after weeks of slobbing around I did run/trudge three miles this morning so I'm not a complete lost cause. Maybe my brain has gone as flabby as my body. 

6N18: Week 5

Well thank goodness that's over. If we'd gone on any longer England would be losing a relegation decider with Georgia. I jest of course, but this has been a chastening couple of months for the hubristic element in England's fan base. Once the initial disappointment has evaporated (could take a while) this may be no bad thing.

Ireland are a deeply impressive unit, a formidable alliance of passion and efficiency. Gordon D'Arcy (the most acute of the television pundits) got it spot on when he observed how they controlled the tempo of the game in order to dissipate any difficult English passion. Only towards the end of the match (by which time the outcome was certain) did England locate any oomph - as good a word as I can find for England's missing element. They next face three tests in South Africa against a rugby-mad nation on a rescue mission - no small task. Oh well, that's why they get the big money.

France are on the way back but their domestic season is even more ruinously exhausting than England's. They also desperately need a reliable fly-half. Wales still look marginally less than the considerable sum of their parts. Scotland almost conspired to lose in Italy but Gregor Townsend has them playing a good brand of rugby. The Six Nations as a whole manifests a strength-in-depth long absent. You can construct a case for any of Ireland, France, Wales or England winning the next World Cup but not a favourite's chance. That chance still resides in New Zealand.

All in all a good year, particularly if you're Irish - which I am by marriage, so I'm clutching at that straw to keep me happy.

All Of Life Is There

Cheltenham. I did something notable in its incompetence. For the second successive year I managed to go through the card on Thursday and get not a single pick-up, not even a compensating piece of each-way thievery. But enough of that. The day had its high points, not least the paneer peas at the Asian Grill at the end of the day.

transport of delight

Cheltenham. I saw the racing from all angles - one day in each enclosure. Tuesday I went down by National Express coach, a mode of transport I recommend. Best of all was the cabaret on the return journey provided by the drunken couple sitting immeditaely behind me. I say on the return journey but in fact their turn had run out of gas by the time we left the car park, as they both descended into a rasping sleep. Highlight of their ignorant spat with the driver was the complaint that we were an hour late in our departure, only for a fellow passenger to have to point out to the venting knob-head that the clock on the coach was an hour fast. His ire was all the more impressive because had that clock not been incorrect he and his noisome inamorata would have missed it. Mind you I bet they backed more winners than I did.

Cheltenham. Unsuitable clothes. Now, you may already be familiar with my strong belief that the skinny lurid blue suit worn with brown shoes is not suitable attire for any occasion but when skittering over the muddy car parks at the Festival it is plain comical. And someone needs to tell their girlfriends that chilly mid-March is not the time for exposed tattooed flesh and stilleto heels. Still it keeps me amused.

Tuesday was spent in the Tattersalls Enclosure, Wednesday in the Members' and Thursday in the Best Mate. Value for money? The Best Mate, where the betting ring was to my eye more vibrant than elsewhere. Perhaps it was because the bookies had been so successful in taking my filthy lucre off me. It must cheer them to see me approaching.

Yesterday's Gold Cup was a fabulous sporting spectacle, an apex of equine and human courage, but my highlight of the week was the imperious Altior, my only trumpetable bet of the week. 11/10 to a good stake.

even I had backed it

Expensive and exhausting. Roll on next year.       

6N18: Week 4

There's no place to hide if you're an Englishman (and despite my Celtic antecedents I am one): this was very disappointing. I have been saying for ages that France are eventually going to produce a performance, but, here's the news, this wasn't even it. By the end the French were blowing out of their arses and trying hard to hand England the match.

Three reasons why England lost: breakdown; breakdown; and, yes, breakdown. Straining the statement of the bloody obvious I know but England won pretty much zero quick possession and therein lie their attacking woes.

One other observation and it has nothing to do with the result - why Does Jaco Peyper keep getting appointments to referee at this level? He's useless. And just to confirm the fact that he had no bearing on the result (so this is not some English whinge) he actually unjustly favoured England in the scrum. News flash: the English scrum is no longer a thing of brutal beauty, hasn't been for several years.

Other stuff: Ireland too good for Scotland; Wales too good for poor old Italy. Next week? Ireland to land the spoils at Twickenham, cue mass hysteria in the English press. Wales and Scotland also to win, cue Celtic delight and much crowing about the dire state of English rugby. Things will not be as they seem - Eddie Jones is cute enough to weather this storm. It was ever thus.

Not So Brilliant

We stayed with David Hare's Collateral until its end but it never did get any better. At best it was diverting, at worst it sounded like undergraduate agitprop. Hare has a massive reputation and this fact no doubt explains the stellar cast. The distracting (distracted?) direction didn't help.

Only this - if the brilliant Jed Mercurio turned in a script like this we'd all compain that he'd lost his touch. 

Are Brilliant ... Mark XXIV

Running up hills - actually this is hell whilst you do it but the aftermath floods your mind with unwarranted righteousness, even if the hills in question have all but finished you physically.

Benllech beach - ran on it before I tackled those pesky hills. In the off-season, as now, the sand is at its cleanest peak and you can run in near solitude. Endorphin city.

Canyonero (it's a Simpsons reference - look it up). This car has served us well and still it basks in the glory of its seven year warranty. Now that's great marketing.

Llyn Padarn, around which magnificent water we walked today. Yes, all the way around and me fresh from a run as well. Made up for the mess of food I ate yesterday.

Guinness and a portion of chips, with which I rewarded myself at the end of the walk. The Groupie went slightly more upmarket - sauvignon blanc and chips.

Llyn Ogwen, still bound in ice and which we took a scenic diversion to drive past on the way back from Llanberis.

My mood. Top draw deluxe. And next week is Cheltenham. Life is good.