I Went To Manchester And It Didn't Rain

All of which was a pity since after my return to good old Brum, the rain has hardly left Manchester alone. I was there for the cricket and it looks as if the destiny of the Ashes will be settled by the intervention of the weather. England have utterly outplayed the Australians in this match but you have to have a poor medium-term memory to be oblivious of previous occasions where England have got away with it. So no complaints from this quarter - those should be reserved for the gratuitous gifting of the first test to the Aussies - see earlier grumpy entry.

All is forgiven

Our day at Old Trafford was a real treat. We saw Jonny Bairstow at his pugnacious best and we saw the Aussies reduced to pleasing dishevilment. Gratifying. Sadly one has to comment on the truly shocking toilet provision within the ground. Half hour queues to avail oneself of a squalid sewer is not acceptable. I feel a strongly-worded letter coming on.

So what else? Not much to be honest. I was having what I hope will be my last examined encounter with Shakespeare and Bagehot last week and found myself mentally drained as a result. Then a day on the quasi-lash at Old Trafford left this poor little poppet physically empty as well. Time for the Pig to act his age not his shoe size.

A thought - Italian red wines. Yes please.   

A Great Film, A New Calculus, And The Story Of Three Yorkshiremen

I am always careful not to bandy the word 'great' about too careleesly in my frequent opining on films. But you will have to indulge me in the context of His Girl Friday. Even my Halliwell agrees, describing it as quite possibly the funniest film ever made. I'm not quite sure I'd go that far although I can't, off the top of my head, suggest a better candidate. It is a lightning-paced verbal firecracker of a movie. Based on Ben Hecht and Charles Macarthur's stage play, the film takes the daring (and outrageously successful) risk of changing the sex of one of the leads into a woman - Hildy Johnson, played superbly by Rosalind Russell. Her co-star is Cary Grant, possibly more briliant that in any other role and, yes, I have seen Philadelphia Story. 94/100. 

Next, that new calculus. I refer to cricket and the much discussed 'Bazball', itself a nomenclature not loved by its principal practitioners, Messrs Stokes and Brendan McCullum. Mind you Stephen Greenblatt has never taken to 'New Historicism' even though any fule kno that he invented that critical method. Well, Bazball has been worrying me a tad. If we ignore (as we should) the test against Ireland, England, by their own generosity had thrown away two successive tests - the last against New Zealand in the winter and the first in the Ashes at Edgbaston. I like Zac Crawley as a batsman and I find supportable the view that he will become a worthy test batsman. However he gave a completely pudding-headed interview after the Edgbaston debacle in which he parroted the rot about the result not mattering and being in the entertainment business. I've been a sports fan all my life and I can tell you Zac that most of us regard the pursuit of victory as the foremost requisite of professional sport. Yes, you can take risks (including that of defeat) where they open up greater prospects of overall triumph, but throwing international matches away on the basis of a sense of theatre? No, that's professional wrestling and that is not sport.

Anyway, I can forgive the defeat at Lord's, just as I can forgive Carey's dismissal of the criminally negligent Bairstow. Such things tend to come back and bite you and Carey duly endured a tough time at Headingley. Mind you there was no redemption for Bairstow who kept wicket poorly and contributed bugger all with the bat. Which is not to say that Bairstow doesn't have plenty of credit in the bank after last season's heroics.

The Headingley test was almost too tense to watch but I managed it. Good to see one of the nice guys, Chris Woakes, a proper Brummie, scoring the winning runs. His boyhood cricket coach was my great mate ICW at Aston Manor CC. Fame by association!

Nice guys do win.

So those three Yorkshiremen. Bairstow is one and, England's victory notwithstanding, he had a poor match, as did, quite untypically, Joe Root. His droppped catch off Marsh in the first innings nearly cost England the match. Root owes us nothing. Which leaves the third Tyke. The old saw is that when Yorkshire cricket is strong, so is England's. In these days of a criminally diminished County Championship, this is harder to support but in the credit column we have to list Harry Brook. He batted with all the sureness of the infant Bambi in the first innings but then was lion-hearted in the second. Better to be lucky than good. Brook might just be both.  

I'm Not One Of Those People ... But

I'm not one of those people who puts photos of what I'm eating on social media ... but here is an exception that proves a rule.

If you ever wondered how there come to be shortages of cod stocks, well take a look at the size of the portion that the Groupie enjoyed at The Anglesey Arms in Menai Bridge on Saturday. Bloody brilliant. There was even enough for Big Fat Pig here to have to polish of the remnants.

 

And in the background you can catch a glimpse of the Pig's tower burger. Also bloody brilliant but just in case you are not convinced here is a close-up of that meal as well.

All part and parcel of a short but enjoyable visit to Ynys Mon. We had worked up an appetite for these gargantuan portions on a long walk around Trearddur Bay. Stunning. The only cause for complaint is the level of parking charges that Mon Council see fit to levy - bang out of order and yet another example of political small-mindedness. Don't start me on punitive Council Tax.