One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

I've just revisited One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and must admit I had forgotten what a stimulating film it is. As a mental heath patient myself (no point being coy about it) I think I had told myself that this movie took liberties with an important topic. I was wrong - it is thought-provoking, affectionate and uniformly well-played. That final shot as the escaping Chief Bromden disappears over the horizon is arresting and all the better for the lack of dialogue. 8.5/10.

I refer You To My Earlier Answer

Today's unavoidable headline is the draft Brexit Agreement. I've been watching the proceedings in the Commons and have to admit to a grudging admiration for our poor beleaguered Prime Minister - she has dealt politely with a queue of backbenchers all waiting patiently to ask the same specimen of question - 'You no longer enjoy the confidence of this house, please therefore let us off the hook of doing our job by mandating another referendum, which will hopefully give a different answer and we can get on with the job of ceding our sovereignty inch by dying inch.'

I said grudging admiration for she has, of course, been comprehensively out-manoeuvred in negotiations by the EU mandarins. May is right up there with Major and Callaghan in the running for the title of worst PM under whose yoke we have laboured during my lifetime. Could be worse. Couldn't it? Corbyn anyone?  

Two Films Recently Watched

I've pondered for a week since watching Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, and I've decided that my initial reaction was correct - this film is brilliant. Frances McDormand fully deserves her Oscar bur there is so much more, not least a stellar turn from Woody Harrelson. This film has dark humour, horrible tragedy and a realistically small hint of redemption. As, I say brilliant. 9/10.

From Here to Eternity achieved something that eluded Three Billboards - it won the Best Picture Oscar. Mind you there has been some right old tripe that has triumphed at awards time. From Here to Eternity is decidedly not tripe, in fact it's rather good. Sadly when the film you had last watched before revisiting From Here to Eternity was Three Billboards, you are still bedazzled by the brilliance of the latter. Still, as I say, not remotely tripe - 8/10.

Small Moments Of Perfection

I finished my last entry by ruminating on what to put in this my thousandth blog offering. I needn't have worried.

At eleven o'clock yesterday morning a crowd of all ages formed a disciplined semi-circle around the monumental dedication stone at the Aston Old Edwardian Memorial Ground in Perry Common. The carving on the plinth records that the ground was acquired and dedicated in 1927 in memory of one hundred and twenty-three Old Boys of the School who died in the Great War.

At eleven o'clock the two minute silence was beautifully observed. A boy bugler from Camp Hill RFC, in his full rugby kit ready for the match to follow, sounded the Last Post. Wreaths were laid by every section of the Rugby Club and by The Association President.

At three minutes after eleven a fine low November sun broke through and dazzled me. After the small but moving ceremony the youthful players dispersed across the playing field to enjoy our wonderful sport. I felt proud to be alive to see such courtesy and gratitude afforded the dead and the delights of the game afforded the young.

I've Heard Of Winning Ugly But This Is Ridiculous

England -12 South Africa - 11. One can only assume that Eddie Jones played his Get Out of Jail Free card at half-time. In the first half the team was plain dreadful: out-muscled; out-thought; out of it generally. Maro Itoje started as if brain-dead, giving away puerile penalties and getting sin-binned. That bane of modern technique showed its annoying face (I speak as an old coach here) - tackles were routinely aimed at the torso when the situation cried out of for the good old-fashioned low (or 'chop' as the absurd vernacular would have it) tackle. Edge of the seat stuff. Did the better side win? No, but who cares - rugby, red in tooth and claw, just as it should be.

A more than passing word of credit as well for the Springbok captain, Siya Kolisi, who must have been absolutely gutted but spoke magnanimously at the finale.

losing with style - respect

Finally, that 'tackle' by Owen Farrell at the climax, which the referee adjudged legal. For me, this was both the right and wrong decision. Right so far as my own stance on our game is concerned. Wrong by all the indications from matches I have seen in the early months of this season. Our sport should not be emasculated -but that is a debate for another day.

Next week New Zealand - and if that doesn't scare you nothing will.

Please note this is my nine hundred and ninety-ninth blog post. I am trying to think of something spectacular to mark the thousandth. Suggestions welcomed.

The Last Jedi

Episode VIII. Good but not as good as Episodes V and VII. Nice recurring tropes from Episodes IV and V. Enjoyed it. 7.5/10. That's all folks.

That Rule Of Law Thing I Mentioned

I finished my last blog by saying that Peter Hain should know better. I am delighted to find my view echoed by several legal notables. Philip Green gives every impression of being a rough-edged, chippy gobshite but he stands equal before the law with the rest of us. Peter Hain gives every impression of being a smooth, chippy gobshite who enjoys privileges before the law because he is a peer of the realm. I do not begrudge peers their advantages - they are there for a reason. However when those privileges are exercised in a spirit of arrogance and self-righteousness we, the great unwashed, should shout our heads off. And please don't tell me that if the allegations against Green are later proven (I know where my money's going) that such an outcome will justify Hain's presumption - if you think that, I'm sorry, you've missed the point.

Big Fat Pig looking swell

Cheerier news - after an absence of a few weeks I've been out running this week and, a twinge in the knee aside, I feel quite good for a fifty-eight year old with a body ravaged by four decades of rugby. And today, shamed into it by the Groupie, I went to the gym and swam (drowning stylishly maybe) a dozen lengths. It's a start - I hadn't been in a pool for an age. Next year: a couple of triathlons. Watch this space!