Mrs Blazing is not holding back. “Come on big boy, let’s get it on.” I smile.

“Oh, nice touch.” She is quickly warming to the performance.

“Ooh, argh, ee-er. Oh For God’s sake stop buggering about and give it some.” I have to confess to a little concern at this point. Confidence is a fragile ally. I shouldn’t have worried though. It all comes together eventually.

“Go on, yes, that’s it…oh yeeesssss, that’s it. keep it up.” I wonder if the neighbours are listening again. Some of the ladies seem to be going out of their way to greet me when I leave for work or come home.

“Oh that is lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely. OOOOOHHHH.”

“OH, YEEEESSSSSS, THAT’S IT, YEEEEAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHOOOOOOOOOOOGETINTHERE”

“Christ almighty that was brilliant, Blazing.”

I’m almost blushing. So Andy Murray is in the semi-final at Wimbledon. Is it really that important?

Tags: performance

There is much excitement in these parts as the Glastonbury festival gets into full swing. The performance of Bruce Springsteen last night provides a starting point for the discussion in the Grot. Even those who have considered him somewhat over-rated in the past (me included!) have to concede that his two and a half hour set rescued an otherwise mixed day.

Today seems to have a much stronger line-up. Wouldn’t you know it. Tonight I suspect I will be frantically switching from the Confederations Cup Final, to Madness, to Manu Dibango. The final acts on all stages look interesting. Where else would you find Blur, The Prodigy, Echo and the Bunnymen, Black Eyed Peas, Georgie Fame, and Calvin Harris all in action at the same time?

Back to yesterday, and unless you are epileptic the only set to come close to the Boss was provided by Pendulum, and their spectacular lightshow, on the brilliantly named ‘Other Stage’. Adge is surprised an old git like me watched them. “Thought you would have been more into Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Blazin’?”

Indeed I did watch, and was disappointed by, the old folk rockers. They could still learn a thing or two from Neil Young, who gave an astonishing, if slightly bizarre, show on Friday. I am pleased though that Adge wants to engage in a serious musical discussion and ask him if anybody else had caught his eye, or should I say ear!

I should have known better.

“That Lady Gaga was hangin’ out all over the place,” he slobbers. “And what about that Lily Allen sort? Must have had superglue on her nips to keep her in that open chested jump suit thing!”

I despair sometimes, I really do.

Tags: despair, Glastonbury

It is the age of the internet. Oppressed people around the world have a route by which they can inform the outside world of their situation. We are now far better informed of events as they unfold, be they in Iran, China, Zimbabwe, or Wiltshire.

Yes, that’s right, Wiltshire! An army estimated at forty thousand strong under the command of King Arthur Pendragon (yes, that’s him above) has taken advantage of our desire for sleep by moving silently into the county in the early hours of this morning.

The occupying forces moved swiftly to grasp an opportunity on the alliance of the longest day of the year and the weekend. Our strongholds (admittedly unguarded) at Stonehenge and Avebury were overrun.

The seriousness of the situation did not escape Adge and Crash over a lunchtime pint. They were plotting a brave and spirited resistance operation.

‘Here, Blazing. We’re off over Avebury this afternoon to see if any of them druid birds are up for a bit of solstice rumpy-pumpy.’

It is heartening to see ordinary folk selflessly sacrificing so much in times of trouble.

Tags: internet, oppression, rumpy-pumpy, Wiltshire

Well, there was no surprise in the Grot today that the humble pasty should be leading the way out of recession. An entirely unnecessary straw poll revealed the place of reverance that a good pie is held in around these parts.

A healthy eighty percent of those polled confirmed that pasty, chips, and beans, was an essential part of any healthy diet. The only variation in fact came from Adge, who suggested that the only proper accompaniment for a good pasty was…another good pasty!

Even Denzil confessed to never having put any ‘exotic’ ingredients into his fabled home-made pasty out of deference to the finest of pies.

It’s hard to argue with those scientific findings, so get out there and buy more pastys’. You know it’s the way forward. Mr Darling, I know you are reading this. How about removing VAT from the pasty to further stimulate the recovery?

Tags: pasty, recession, VAT

So a couple of days away have recharged the batteries. The weather was thankfully a lot better than the forecasts would have had us believe, and we ended up sampling some of the best that North Somerset has to offer.

Now I do have to confess that ‘the best that North Somerset has to offer’ did include liberal doses of Guinness and rioja, neither of which were obviously sourced locally. Cider isn’t really a favourite of mine, so the liquid menu remained pretty much as it would have done at home.

On the plates, however, we were truly treated. Red mullet on the first evening was accompanied by some fabulous new potatoes and swede. I knew then we would be travelling home via a farm shop. The fresh strawberries that accompanied the cheesecake had a flavour long since forgotten.

On the second evening the chef showed he could merge the best of Somerset and the med by dishing a superb escalope of turkey with delicious chorizo, all drizzled with a scrummy chilli sauce. I had to round off the evening with a selection of cheeses (sorry, the cheddar was second to the wonderful stilton).

For those that have not been to the area the snap above is as close as we got to the Cheddar Gorge. (Yes, the little rocky outcrop in the middle is the top of one of our natural wonders!) Had the sky looked more welcoming we may have taken the open-top bus tour. That remains an option for our next trip down there. I’m pretty sure we will return.

It was just outside the village of Cheddar that we found the farm shop on the homeward journey, and loaded up on new spuds and strawberries. A carrier full of goodies for about a fiver was the purchase of the weekend.

The trips to Cheddar were in marked contrast to the brief outing to Weston-super-Mare. Once a favourite destination for west country folk, this seaside resort now seems to be a tatty and pale imitation of its heyday. If a day trip to the coast is required in future, we will head south rather than west.

The final morning saw the traditional farewells to new, and temporary, friends. Most fascinating of those who shared our two days at the hotel were a Scots couple who were walking locally before heading off down the M5 for a wedding in Cornwall. I hope the rest of the week is kind to them.

Now, it’s the final day of my brief ‘holiday’ so I am off to the Grot for a couple of pints and a bit of cricket on the box. I wonder if I should take a couple of fresh strawberries to Ossie so he can appreciate the difference between the real thing and the tasteless blobs he buries under jelly in his strawberry tarts?

Tags: Cheddar, Guinness, rioja, Somerset, strawberries, Weston

It is approaching half past eleven. My one small bag and suit cover holding jacket, tie, two shirts, and trousers, are now in the car.

The spare room looks like a tip. Two big cases, a carrier bag containing goodness knows what, assorted woolies and coats adorn the floor. I don’t think Mrs Blazing is anywhere near ready despite the fact we agreed we would be leaving now. I reckon there will be another bagfull yet.

We are spending a couple of days just an hour and a half from home.

How much more stuff do we need?

Tags: a short break

Must be an age thing. I was trying to envisage an incontinent band of ageing rockers releasing a new concept album when I saw this headline on the beeb’s front page.

I even worked out who the special guest vocalist would have been.

Seal.

Tags: incontinent, rockers

You cannot beat the first decent sun of the summer. Indeed, if memory serves summer fell on a Sunday in June last year, so the last few days have been a wonderful surprise, as well as the prediction of more to follow.

This means just one thing in Blazing Towers. The annual unveiling of the cudgels for country rambling, or ‘golf clubs’ as the unimaginative would call them. They have been ’seasoning’ in the garage since last they were exposed to the atmosphere back in September. It is difficult to know whether they or my creaking bones have seen more damp and cold over the course of a dark winter.

“Bacon rolls at half past nine, Blazing, so be there by quarter past.”

I thank Big Mike and make a note to get to the course at eight so I can hit a basket of balls and gently loosen muscles that have not experienced any form of violent exercise over the past eight months. The big day arrives and I scream into the car park on two wheels at half past nine. I must do some preparation. I am in luck. The big bacon baps are just being served along with a delicious mug of steaming coffee.

I just have enough time to chuck on my shoes and head for the first tee. At least I can have a practice swing?

“Come on Blazing, you’re up. Get a move on”

Four hours later I find the strength to lift my pint of Guinness from the bar and stagger to the dinner table. The card of the course tells all and sundry that the length of the combined eighteen holes is 6595 yards. I have covered six miles. Nobody has got better value for his money today. I reckon about twenty pence per stroke it cost me!

The ham, egg, and chips reminds me why I am in love with the game. Nothing will ever capture the essence of English summer golf quite like this poor man’s feast. It is beyond compare. It is delicious, and it is well and truly wolfed down.

“Coming back to the pub, Blazing?”

That seems a damned good idea to me. Less so when I arrive home twelve hours after I left it carrying a good percentage of the Liffey within the confines of my expanded waistline. Mrs Blazing is remarkably understanding, no, that’s not the word. Tolerant. That’s the word. Mrs Blazing is indeed extremely tolerant as I incoherently recount the tales that only an idiot can recount!

Roll on Monday and I can do it all over again.

Tags: bacon rolls, golf, Guinness, ham egg and chips, summer

Adge’s brother, Crash, is an occasional but welcome visitor to the Grot. I’m delighted to see him as I walk in because Piggy is busy and I don’t really want to be stuck with just Adge and Ossie for company.

Ossie is a fine keeper of ale, but unbearable at the moment because he is convinced his team is going to win the FA Cup and cannot keep off the subject.

Adge is, well just Adge. Lovely fella, with a heart of gold, but ‘intellectually challenged’ I’m afraid, and hard work sometimes.

‘So Crash, how’s things going on the railway then?’

I forgot to mention, didn’t I, that Crash works for Great Western Railway. He joined British Rail, as was, after a brief apprenticeship in carpentry with his and Adge’s father ended in disaster.

From what I have been told they had a bathroom refurbishment to do on one of the big houses up by the Manor. The job ran into three or four days and to make access easier the bathroom door had to be taken off. This didn’t stop Crash blundering upstairs one morning while the lady of the house was concentrating on what ladies of the house concentrate on first thing in the morning.

The version I have heard would have it that the lady of the house completed doing what ladies of the house do at that time of the morning rather quicker than was originally intended while Crash stood there aghast but transfixed at her plight.

After that it was thought he would be better off with a ’safe’ job on the railway. He had not been in the job long when he was tasked with supervising the shunting operations at the local car factory. The fact that he took that task all too literally was the reason for him acquiring his nickname.

It cannot be too easy to reverse a train loaded with brand new cars into a siding that has been made too narrow by the temporary siting of a mobile crane. It must be quite a feat to scrape all of the vehicles on the transporter on the way back, realise your mistake, and scrape them all again as you bring them back up the line without having the crane moved!

Astonishingly the union were able to save him from the sack and he was shunted out to the first of a series of village stations where he has been ticket seller, porter, handyman, and even sometimes acting Station Manager. He tells some cracking tales about life on the railway.

He is also good company because he enjoys 2L as much as me, and we can lose a night in double quick time at this time of year discussing the prospects for the upcoming cricket season, before stumbling down the road chuckling about his brother!

I wonder what, if any, tales of work-related disasters will keep my grandkids amused when they reach their later years. In this age of Health and Safety, impotent unions, and ruthless managers, I suspect not many. A good thing, I accept, in most respects, but where will the characters be?

Cheers Crash. I hope you come back again soon.

Tags: apprenticeship, characters, railway, safety, the Grot

Surely I am not alone in wondering that had evidence of widespread fraud and theft by members of the general public been exposed in the national press then action would have been forthcoming within hours?

Particularly if that evidence were relatively detailed and about to come into the public domain?

Certainly if the misuse of public funds were involved?

Especially if the accused were named and photographs published.

The Met and the CPS surely would not be nervously pouring over the evidence and wondering what to do next, would they?

‘Blazing, you can be so naive at times.’

‘Do you think so, Ossie?’

Tags: evidence, fraud, theft