Advent 2021

Big Fat Pig has been playing quite a bit more golf in the last couple of years. Bad golf in good company. Bad golf on some good courses. Bad golf on some decidedly mediocre courses. Only the good company has been a constant.

All of which got me thinking. What are my favourite golf holes? Not necessarily the best holes but those that stand in the memory. Now sometimes those holes achieve their status because they are well-designed; sometimes because they suit my eye; sometimes because I have played them well. So this year we have twenty-four of the best. No course is allowed more than one entry in the list. To my surprise not one of the three courses on which I have broken eighty merits an entry on the list. On reflection this last fact is not so remarkable and I will say it before you do - any course on which BFP can score that well must be crap.

We will start tomorrow with a par 4 of modest length on a course of immodest scale. 

Twelve Films At Christmas - 1

Here at Casa Piggy the snow lies all around, deep and crisp and even, disturbed only by the trail of paw prints from the local fox. Thus I find myself starting the usual cinematic Christmas thread a few days early. But don't worry, we haven't put the decorations up yet. Anything before December is terribly infra dig.

Christmas films. They have been showing the crappy schmaltzy ones for the best part of a month now. However I am pleased to report a rather more elevated addition to the Christmas canon. A Boy Called Christmas is a Sky/Netflix co-production, thus part of the conspiracy to take over the world. It has a cinematic release but is available on Sky at the same time. Do you know what - it's rather good. A cast of very good British thesps including the compulsory Maggie Smith. A plot that completely ignores the religious side of Christmas (but hey ho) and I think I even detected an anti-Brexit tinge (but hey ho). The effects are very good and there's a sassy talking mouse, voiced by Stephen Merchant. Pleasingly in amongst the saccharine (it is Christmas after all) there is some jeopardy and a bit of unleavened tragedy. A good start to this year's festive dozen. 69/100. 

Brave New World That Has Such People In It. Or Quite Possibly Not.

Casa Piggy is located in what could justifiably be described as a leafy suburb. One would have to confess that this locale is a safe haven for the urban affluent. It sits in a constituency with an unchallengeable Tory majority. But we do now have a Lidl and we are soon to have an Aldi - both much to the disgust of some reactionary residents, who are still mourning the closure of our Waitrose. Well, you won't find Big Fat Pig complaining. No Siree Bob. This is because the Pig yesterday found that Lidl stock a perfectly acceptable Barolo at £11.99 a bottle. Brave new world indeed.

But away from these (the Pig has to concede) trifling triumphs of the middle classes, things do not look so good. I read a good and pertinent line a couple of weeks ago to the effect that Boris Johnson doesn't care what direction the bus is going, just as long as he is driving. Tragically this is true. We are led by political pygmies and those pygmies are opposed by even shorter nonentities. To push that bus analogy to its limits - none of them can see over the bloody steering wheel. Still, at least I am not going to run out of Barolo this side of Christmas.

Regular readers (a small but loyal band) will be agog to know the subject of this year's OG Advent Calendar. You'll have to wait just a little longer. I'm afraid it's a bit parochial this year but it's given me some fun.

It's A Hard Job But Someone's Got To Do It

Just for your benefit (you can thank me later) I have watched  a lot of international rugby over the past few weeks. The coverage on Amazon was well up to scratch and Channel 4 did a respectable job with the matches they carried. Meanwhile the poor old BBC had to content themselves with the women's internationals in which England's professionals trounced a succession of part-timers, including the normally formidable New Zealanders. I will concentrate on the men's matches.

Having said that the Amazon coverage was fine, I do just have to wonder about the marketing wisdom of playing to such a limited televisual crowd. That's modernity for you.

These are (Italy excepted) exciting times for the Six Nations. Scotland are a slick and professional outfit even if it must be frustrating to play with a player as gifted and yet daft as Finn Russell. He is taken from the mould out of which they cast his coach, Gregor Townsend. I am a fan of both. Just.

Wales have an injury list as long as a lock's arm but come out of the month just about even - they got ripped apart by the All Blacks but were otherwise creditable. Their depth in the back-row is admirable.

Ireland, like Wales, have four professional provincial teams but the Irish versions are a force to be reckoned with whereas Welsh domestic rugby manages to lurch from self-inflicted wound to internecine pig-headedness. The Irish game against New Zealnd was a magnificent test match. Ireland pummelled The All Blacks  remorselessly and yet still the All Blacks stayed in the game. Andy Farrell may just be the best English coach currently operating - Ireland's gain.

simply a great game

France ought to be grateful to the Irish for softening up New Zealand but let us take nothing away from the French victory - a massive psycholgical boost in the continued growth of this French side. I have been saying for two years that France are the value bet for the next RWC. Well, the value has all gone now. However check out the 12/1 available on Ireland in some places. Certainly better value than England at a skinny 4/1.

generational talent - a flanker

Which leaves us with England. England, bloody England. There's no requirement for me to redeploy my anti-Jones opinions. They remain valid but, praise where praise is due, his players demonstrated Herculean resolve to oulast South Africa. Let us bask in the glory whilst we try to forget the eviscerated scrums and the almost suicidal penalty count. A win is a win. In Steward England have unearthed a coin of rare value. Magnificent. Marcus Smith kicked every goal offered to him on Saturday, potentially answering my own reservations about ditching Owen Farrell altogether. Now for some name-dropping. Jeff Probyn once said to me (I've only met him once) that for all but the very greatest, you don't retire from international rugby, it retires you. It's called test rugby for a reason - it's not supposed to be easy.

So, England have much promise and enviable resources. But one last (and I accept repeated) question - if you have a generational player like Tom Curry, why would you play him out of position?

A Good Day On The Island

Mon being the island in question, Plas Piggy being the country residence of course. Today new flooring has been fitted in the front bedroom. Top notch. I have been here for three days waiting for the work to be done - there was a hitch with delivery of the materials but all's well etc.

I have watched three films today and abandoned a fourth because it gave every indication of being rather crap. In the gap left by the abandonment I rewatched an episode of the excellent BBC Watergate. You couldn't make it up.

First up was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Martial arts films are not really my bag but I enjoyed this. The fighting is hypnotically balletic and the plot has a tidy confection of love, honour and destiny. I could see what all the fuss was about. 76/100.

Rather different but also well worth the effort is the small but beautifully put together 1932 adaptation of A Farewell to Arms. Assiduous readers will recall that I recently reviewed the source novel in these pages. This movie takes considerable liberties with the plot but still manages to cram the romance and sardonic horror of conflict into its seventy-five minutes of drama. 72/100.  

The third and, by a small margin, best of these films was Munich, Steven Spielberg's worthy rumination on the state of Israel. The peg on which the picture hangs its questions is the massacre at the 1972 Olympics and a ruthless and clandestine Israeli response to it. It is a violent tale, of course it is, but the violence is never gratuitous and the overall effect is one of beneficial provocation. 80/100.

The crap film? I'm afraid that was The Eiger Sanction. I'm generally an admirer of Clint Eastwood but this is not his finest hour. No mark awarded.

 

Silence Is Golden

But not so golden when you are a blogger.Writers Write.

I am ever grateful for the company of good men. Winter golf can be a tad disspiriting, apart from all else, it gets your precious white shoes dirty - I have to wear white shoes. Not sure why but have almost invariably done so. To counter this desecration of my summer shoes, I have taken to wearing my old shoes - these look fine (also white) but my sodden feet remind me why I replaced them earlier this year - there'a substantial hole. No part of this small personal drama dims the lustrous company of BH, JRS, CL, MS and RW at Royal Pype Hayes. 

More good company: the Aston Old Edwardian Reunion Dinner at School on Saturday, an event which seemed to have been crawling to a sad oblivion, transpired as a resurgent iteration. This was the first time that our new Head had heard the School Song being sung. Silly but brilliant. Long live the good old schoolboys, God bless the brave old school. 

The T20 World Cup has come and gone. Good riddance. Australia winning anything is a little tiresome but this is, after all, only pub cricket. The height of the tournament was the ignominious exit of India - the nation who have stolen the soul of first class cricket. Ha ha.

You may recall me concluding some months ago that Eddie Jones has outstayed his welcome as England rugby coach. I stand by this. Apart from the fact of his fondness for acting the charmless nerk, forgivable when winning perhaps, he just does plain stupid things - he plays his best player (Tom Curry) out of position in a specialist position for example. I could go on. But won't.