Summer is a dangerous time. It’s not wasps or bees or jellyfish stings. Danger lurks in the garden centres of Sovereign Britain, out-of-town Marks and Sparks, cramped tea rooms, car parks with scenic views. It’s here that gentlemen of a certain age expose their Ercol recliner forearms, full English breakfast thighs, pale Carry On knees, oven-ready necks. But that’s not the half of it. The true horror, the dead hippo in the sub-branch of the building society, is that they’re clad in beige. Beige. Even deadlier than the unfunny and never as sardonic as he believed himself to be, Roger Moore.
Beige. The acme of self-congratulatory Middle English. The colour of cowardice masquerading as caution, convention, conformity and double glazed conservatories. Ghastly beige pink men in short white socks and sandals. Beigeteers blessed with collectable coin intellects who found enlightenment in Brexit and visited it upon us. Bags of boiled sweets in the creepy pouches of their appalling sandy brown cargo shorts. Beige is a death foretold. The uncolour of The End. Should I lose my marbles my partner has sworn on the bones of St George Michael that I won’t be dressed in beige.
So, imagine my surprise at the howls of consternation that greeted me when I made the perfectly reasonable suggestion, I thought, to purchase some slip-on shoes. I had thought they looked rather natty as they’re Swedish, and above all, they’d be comfortable. But then I guess beauty, like beige, is in the eye of the beholder.
Playing dead with the elephant in the room
Looks like Labour are matching the Tories’ penchant for dead cats with a dead mouse judging by their ‘new’ non policy on Brexit. Why are Labour so obtuse? I’ve always turned a blind eye to their reluctance to abolish private education. But the maddening Brexit miscalculation in pandering to Labour leavers (who switched to the Tories anyway) was too much for me.
And now, just as the recent IPSOS research suggests people are seeing sense on the folly of Brexit, Labour are at it again. Heads down navel-gazing – heading in the opposite direction to imagining and sharing a vision for UK and Europe. Just as they have doggedly maintained their macho refusal to countenance PR. Come on Sir Keir & co… give us something to look forward to!
New – Tory TV! And it’s all on us
In a triumph for common sense and decency the Tory Party now enjoy their own TV channel on which to debate who should be their next leader and our new prime minister. And in breaking news, a spokesperson for the UK’s 25 million pinko licence fee payers who have underwritten the Tory TV specials, said: “At last we can enjoy unbiased public broadcast programming and targeted help for the 170,000 members of the Conservative party on whom we depend for our wellbeing and our children’s futures. Not to mention doing our bit for net zero by saving them from driving to their hustings.”
GOOD NEWS ON THE OUSE: If you love a good river, Sunday 25 September is the date to ink in to your Filofax (other diaries are available). The first festival celebrating the multifaceted and mighty Ouse has been announced, organised by loveourouse.org. Full lowdown in my next Digested Month.
After Lionesses, bring on the Rooks
The title of Van Morrison’s 1985 album A Sense of Wonder says it all. It was indeed wonderful to see the FAB U LOUS Lionesses winning the UEFA Womens Championship – all played with smiles long time missing from the men’s game. Sport really was the winner.
Their great success and the recordbreaking crowd at Wembley demonstrated there’s no stopping the rise and rise and of women’s football in the UK. And Lewes Football Club has been right at the forefront of this revolution. In 2020 Lewes was the first football club in the world to pay the same wages to their women’s team as their men’s team.
So what better reward than a grant of £750,000 for a state of the art pitch at Lewes FC’s football ground the Dripping Pan, aka the Pan Siro? Living close by it’s been with a sense of wonder that I’ve watched its construction. Whether the new surface will deliver the extra 20 points I’ve heard mooted, remains to be seen. After all, a level playing field is exactly that, but for both teams. So with a different sense of wonder I wonder how the mighty Rooks will fare in 2022/23. Come and see for yourself.
I love housework… just kidding
I don’t wish to be a ‘drudge grudge’ but I must admit I had no idea as to just how unfulfilling, unrewarded, unappreciated, unnoticed and even unnecessary so much housework is. I consider myself to be very fortunate to be a stay at home dad with two kids and a fantastic partner. However, there are times when you do feel some/all of the above. I wish my Mum was alive so I could tell her how much I appreciate the monumental shift she put in over the years on top of a part-time job. Washing, cleaning, cooking and, the running of things.
Admittedly there wasn’t the African drumming workshop at school to sign up for, or the need to craft a Harry Potter outfit from toilet rolls and cooking foil for World Book Day. But then neither were there disposable nappies, the all-in-one washing machine, dishwasher or microwave to save all that hard graft. And there was all that pastry to make. From bacon and egg flan (gristle included) to aspirational part-work ‘I’m backing Britain’ pizza with a topping of tomato puree and cheddar cheese sprinkled with mixed herbs.
