On Cheltenham, On Not Having Covid, On Harriet and Boris

I was on the lash last week - not noisily or obnoxiously so but nonetheless I was consumed by gambling and alcohol for the final three days of the Cheltenham Festival. I was in profit on the gambling front, again not obnoxiously so but enough for my self-respect. Which was nice.

Our group of cheerful punters was at the course itself only on the Wednesday. On Thursday we took up residence in the Gate public house in Sutton Codfield. Not least of the advantages of this arangement (never mind the numerous screens showing the sport) was that a round of beers was only slightly more than the cost of a single pint on-course. Similarly advantageous was the attendance at Aston Manor Cricket Club for Gold Cup Day on Friday. 

Still crowded. Still expensive

It was actually with some trepidation that I headed to Cheltenham on the Wednesday. Don't get me wrong, it is, notwithstanding the dilution of the quality consequent upon the addition of a fourth day (and yes I know that ship has sailed, but please don't get me started on the possibility of a fifth day), a fine day's racing but the course has gradually become a less congenial place. Too crowded, too expensive (£7.50 for a pint - really) and thronged with overdressed men and underdressed women. And you pay more than a hundred of your English pounds for the privilege. I went in full expectation of declaring this my last visit to the Festival. Well, I must say I was pleasantly surprised. It was still crowded and expensive but it felt mildly less oppressive than of late. The official attendance figures confirm that the attendance was down on last year so perhaps our ruined economy is a cloud with a silver lining for elderly drunken gamblers. Will I be back next year? The jury's out.  

A much cheaper place to back winners (and losers)

As for the Gate. Proper old boozer. Proper old drinkers. Bring your own food. Good beer. Not crowded. Cheap. Will we be back? Yes.

Not salubrious. Answers the needs of the day

I have always found Gold Cup Day a hard card from which to pick winners - and that's saying quite something for a serial loser like me. The annual bash at Aston Manor (very busy but you can lean on the bar - not an option at the course) is as congenial a way of doing your bollocks (as we like to put it) as can be imagined. £5 in which included a top-grade buffet (excellent samosas), beer not as good as the Gate but way cheaper than the course. Will we be back? Yes.

I came away from my exposure to beer and betting with a cold. Covid? No - for reasons I won't bore you with, I've done a test.

That braggadocious grifter Boris Johnson was yesterday offering his pathetic evidence to the Commons Privileges Committee. I won't bore you with the details because I've been over this ground before. Suffice to say that this expensively educated and bright man asks us to believe that he learned nothing from the briefings he himself led during the Covid crisis. As I say, pathetic. That his inquisition was chaired by the catastrophically pious Harriet Harman might have made me lean in favour of any other witness but, and you won't hear me say this again I suspect, I'm on Harriet's side for once.

    

What Have I Done To Deserve This?

I think I've posed this question before but sod it, this is my blog and I'll cry if I want to. And look at me daringly ending a sentence with a preposition - oh no it's not - of course it's an infinite marker in this usage.

So what's winding up the Big Fat Pig today? Well here I am, finding myself a citizen-subject of a country in which within the space of a couple of days arch-berk Jeremy Corbyn, arch-joke Harriet Harman, and arch-windbag Ken Clarke have all expressed their willingness 'to serve' as caretaker Prime Minister as Boris steers us knowingly over what most people think is a cliff but others believe is the tiniest of tiny steps. It tells you how little I think of this trio of selfless volunteers that I believe all are less well-suited to the premiership than the amoral Boris. Don't start me on Philip Hammond and Nancy Pelosi - two exemplars of a self-regarding righteousness that might almost put La Harman to shame. Let's just say this Phil: don't presume to tell me why I voted as I did you patronising twat. Let's just say this Nancy: I saw the IRA collection tins in Boston bars in the eighties that helped fund the bombing of innocents in cities like my own beloved Birmingham and it made me sick. And before you write in, yes I am a catholic.

But there are reasons to be cheerful. DN2 is in transit back to Brum for the weekend and she will be joined by DN1 tomorrow. We can all share the celebration of The Groupie's latest commercial triumph - she came back from That London yesterday having endured a sale process that has dragged on for three quarters of a year. Saying I am proud does it all less than justice.

While the Groupie was in the Big Smoke I watched, with no great expectations, Solo - a Star Wars Story. Here's the thing, it's good fun. It's really a western set in outer space and it overstays its welcome by perhaps twenty minutes but, as I said, it's good fun, certainly better than the first three volumes of the core Star Wars. 7/10. So, reasons to be cheerful. Oh and I forgot to say that I stocked up on wine yesterday and a sophisticated Chianti will be calling me a little later.

Mixed Feelings

As me. Go on ask me. What do I think of Harriet Harman? Ask me another. Go on ask me. What do I think of Piers Morgan?

Well since you ask, I can't stand either of them. Which means I ought really to be dead chuffed that both are enduring some discomfiture at the moment. But the bloody annoying fact is that my relish in their predicaments is severely qualified.

Harman first. I think we can take it as read that she's a sanctimonious windbag, nothing controversial about that. But the efforts of the Daily Mail to implant into the national consciousness the notion that she is some sort of paedo are pitiful. I've said it before and I'll say it again - the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable.

Morgan? I think we can take it as read that he's a preening, self-aggrandising shitbag, nothing controversial there. But if it really is the case that his CNN show is being pulled because of his having antagonised the gun lobby, then I feel the tiniest tinge of sympathy. I've said it before and I'll say it again - the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable.

To happier matters. A rewarding weekend for the rugby enthusiast. I speak not only of the Six Nations but also of the nice reception I got from the good burghers of Woodrush RFC where I strutted my refereeing stuff on Saturday. Thanks gents.

Six Nations: the Overgraduate is rather chuffed with himself thus far having stated before the whole shebang got under way that there would be no Grand Slam this year. Three weeks in and QED. Wales have taken a beating in Dublin and then administered one of their own to a bafflingly dull France. England and Ireland gave us a proper high octane test match at Twickenham. In analysing that performance it should not be overlooked that England won despite butchering a couple of gilt-edged chances. Ireland are beautifully coached. Even the basement battle of Italy and Scotland (whose coach does a very good impression of a buffoon - or perhaps it's not an impression) wound itself up to a thrilling finale.

By this time in two weeks I will be deep in the postmortem over the first day at Cheltenham. Remember you read it here first - you don't have to have a bet on every race..... Paging Dr Faggot!

Don't You Just Hate It?

When someone says what you think but says it so much more concisely and eloquently than you can?

I brought a pile of magazines with me to Anglesey to catch up with my reading and I've had a lovely vinous night ploughing through the back numbers. Found a topping article in the Spectator of 3 July.

http://www.spectator.co.uk/essays/6113288/do-you-want-someone-like-you-in-charge.thtml

Now I have to confess it does include a little bit of gratuitous Harriet Harman bashing but that is not what makes it so good. It takes issue with what it aptly terms a 'pernicious new orthodoxy.' I've said before (in the context of proportional representation I think it was) that you need to be careful what you wish for and that applies equally to this topic. Mind you I am looking forward to the imposition of a quota of talentless 50 year olds in the England rugby team. Just think how proud Dad will be when I stride out to earn my utterly undeserved cap. It's my human right after all. Nobody can deny that I worked awfully hard to be as crap as I was.

Alternative Vote

I was actually doing a bit of devilling about my beloved Harriet Harman when I came across this demonstration of precisely how the alternative vote system works http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Labour_Party_(UK)_deputy_leadership_election,_2007
I'm not sure what this proves other than that things are never as simple as people make them out to be. Is this a way of finding the favourite candidate or the least disliked? Beats me.

The World Cup, Patriotism and Stuff

The mighty England demolished Slovenia 1-0 this afternoon and march triumphantly into the last 16 of the World Cup. I shouldn't carp because they played far better this time and might easily have won by more. Nonetheless the last ten minutes were pretty nerve-wracking with England needing to win to progress. The country goes through the emotional wringer again on Sunday.

And very loosely the World Cup brings me to the subject of the day - patriotism. I was out running this morning and you have to find something to keep your mind off the pain and boredom. I ranged over flag-flying, Harriett Harman, Barack Obama (I know, it's an obsession) and leftiness and rightness in general. It seems to me that someone should do some research into why men don't think about sex every seven seconds when they are running. The methodology of any study would be interesting.

As is now the norm during sporting festivals the St George's flags are flying from cars, from windows, from trees. English patriotism is everywhere. I encountered an internet joke site the other day where the jibe of the day was along the lines of: how can you tell a man with a penis less than 2 inches long? By the small white flag with a red cross flying from his car. Now this offends the first rule of good jokes, namely that it should actually be funny, but we will let that pass for the purposes of the current debate. There had been a flurry of indignant comments posted on the website, mostly from outraged and over-sensitive Englishmen. The poster of the joke had responded with a confession that yes he was indeed Scottish and that the English were pathetic and ought to lighten up. Now I'm with the Scot on this one but I'm also fairly convinced that he would be a better man if he didn't think this so damned funny in the first place. As I laboured round the streets of Four Oaks I also wondered what would be the reaction if the roles in the joke were reversed. Now this would require one to imagine that Scotland had actually qualified for the World Cup, an act easier for those of my generation who remember such things happening with a cheerful frequency. But to return to my original point - I suspect the Englishman making the joke would be deemed by certain sensitive souls as ignorant, arrogant and even racist. Which makes you think. Or does when you're out running. Instead of sex I suppose.

Now as the sweat dripped down my nose (a sensation I rather enjoy, feeling as it does a signifier of virtue) I constructed a little theory, no a hypothesis. This brings me to the difficult subject of Harriet Harman. Why does she hate us all so much? Why is she so angry? I had heard her berating David Cameron in parliament, not of itself a bad thing but why so preachy and charmless? Now you know that I am distinctly underwhelmed by Barack Obama but I think there is an important difference between him and La Harman - like most Americans he is instinctively a patriot. He is comfortable in his nationality. He does that hand on heart thing during the national anthem and he means it whereas a Brit doing it can only look a bit of a prick. And there we have the distinction between the American left and the British left - our prototypical strident  lefties (Harmans) are deeply ashamed of being British. They don't approve of themselves and feel the need to apologise for all sorts of things they never did. Which is a real pity because I don't like to think of all these essentially decent people being so unhappy.

Bad news. As I have been posting this the Germans have won and England's next match will now be against them on Sunday. This cannot be a good thing. We will lose. On penalties. And on Monday all the flags will look rather sad and Scotsmen (and Harriet Harman?) will be happy. Which just sucks.