… my musings on, er, "stuff"
These pics recently came to light, of me playing football for RAF College Cranwell versus the German Air Force Officer College.
I can’t recall exactly when the game was played – it was certainly whilst I was on either EOT 1 or EOT 2, which would make it either ’92, ’93 or ’94. I played left wing. The game was, as far as I can recall, unremarkable. I think we may have won by a single goal, but I’m not sure.
2nd game of the season (& career!) – another friendly between mid-Somerset sides Westfield FC and Saltford FC (both 1st XIs).
Another baking hot day for a 2pm kick (not 2.30 as advertised.) Much more relaxed about the pre-match stuff than last week – now an experienced pro!
Game kicked off and instantly there was a bit more “chat” from the players – I think it was just trying it on, seeing what they would get from me (not a lot!), “In the back, ref” etc. I’ve surprised myself a bit in that I’m not much of a “chatty” ref, just waving appeals away and getting on with the game, rather than into a discussion or explanation. I think this is partly because often I genuinely have no idea what they are appealing for! I put this down to one of two possible reasons:
I reckon its a lot like teaching: deal with it (by telling them nothing given) and move on and they soon realise that its not going to work, forget about it and stop doing it themselves.
Westfield (red & black) took the lead on 8 minutes, Saltford equalising on 18. Wesfield took the lead shortly before half time (43 Mins) to edge into half time with their noses in front, but on the whole a well balanced game.
Westfield started the second half briskly and four minutes after the restart netted another, their third and begun to show their dominance. In two minutes, around the twelve minute mark, the home team scored twice and the contest was effectively over. Better organised and more comfortable on the ball they ran the show, scoring again in the 27th, 30th & 42nd minutes to win the game 8-1.
As the game wore on, tiredness begaun to creep in, along with frustration for the Salford side and a little tetchiness started to creep in. On the whole, though, a good game played in a good spirit and I think I managed it well. Would still like a little feedback, particularly on those niggles, nudges and knicks – think I’m getting most of them right, be would welcome an external, unbiased observer’s opinion. Physically I found it much less demanding – partly because I managed my positioning better (in my opinion!) less worried about the patrol path and more concerned with being in the position I needed to be to see what I needed to see.
Enjoyed it!
Match Stats
Westfiled FC 1st XI 8 Saltford FC 1st XI 1
Open Age friendly, 90 minutes
0 Yellows 0 Reds
Match fee: £30
Track of the week 19/6/16
Youtube is good. This is another track that it just “threw” into my playlist.
Not sure I’ve heard it before, although I reckon it’s been heavily sampled down the years.
Any, some fine acid jazz from when JTQ was probably still in shorts.
Stuff these days just works. And that’s a good thing. Whatever it may be, you go to it, you turn it on and it does what it’s supposed to do. It’s wonderful and is testament to the engineering skills of mankind.
It hasn’t always been like this – growing up things were much less reliable and we all learnt the little foibles of various machines, cars and electronic devices and what we needed to wiggle to coax them into some sort of spluttering life. But not today, today we expect everything to work at the flick of a switch. One soon knows that the wi-fi has dropped out when the calamitous cries of “I’ve lost the internet” ring out from the four corners of the house. The modern day fix of “turn it off, and turn it back on again” typically does the trick and peace is restored across my little realm.
So when, on Tuesday (31 May), I hopped in the car (the Almera Tino) and it didn’t start it was somewhat discombobulating. Why? Things just work. At first, I thought it was the key fob as I couldn’t open the car with the electric bipper, but when I turned the ignition – nothing. A flat battery was my instant diagnosis, so pulled up the Micra, fished out the jump leads, connected them all up and … nothing. A few weeks earlier the car wouldn’t start, drained battery, and this did the trick so I was, now, a little concerned. But before, there was some electrical power – dashboard would light up etc. – now, nothing. I still suspected the battery, but a complete and total absence of electrickery did leave a nagging doubt that perhaps the fault was more serious – a bad earth, broken cable, blown fuse …
The next day, a quick trip to Halfords and £45 later I returned with a new battery, fitted it and fired her up. She purred into life at the first turn of the key. Not exactly rocket science – no electric power probably means dead battery – but I was still chuffed with my fault diagnosis and rectification. Took me right back to those early days in my engineering training at RAF Halton – I’ve been taught and forgotten many things in my time, but I still remember that lesson (from Sgt Starling? can picture him, think that was his name, but not 100% sure) on fault diagnosis and about which parts you try swapping first: most easily accessible or cheapest, and how, if you were paying (i.e. fixing your car) you’d go for the cheapest first. As I was fitting my new battery I remembered that I had a cheap multi-meter bought from eBay a couple of years ago so I used it to check the batteries. The old battery was kicking out about 3Volts, the new in excess of 12. I think I’ll check again in a few days (and continue to monitor) – hopefully the old battery died of that: old age, but by checking the new one periodically I will discover if there is a problem, (alternator not charging, or leak when ignition is off) and not get caught out again.
I don’t like it when things break, but I do get enormous satisfaction from diagnosing and rectifying a problem. There’s an engineer lurking in the old dog yet!
It was time to tackle the hedge at the front of the house.
It’s a bit of a monster – too high, a big green block of lelayandii. It needs top come down about a foot or two, perhaps to be level with the Box bush to its left.
And so the ladders came out and the hedge trimmer plugged in. Up I climbed, and set to work. Like a hot knife slicing through butter, the first fronds soon succumbed to my mechanical masterpiece.
But. But … then it ground to a halt. In the middle was not twigs and leafs that would bow before my blade, but thick, thick branches, standing proud and unyielding.
It became apparent that it’s not really a hedge, but two gert big trees throwing up some hefty branches in the middle. Out came my hand saw and I began to cut. I’ve chopped out some big branches, but there’s still more to do. From the roadside it looks fine, from above you can see my butchery. But I shall persevere. It needs to be done, to be literally cut down to size. The aim is to reduce its height such that a quick skim with the hedge trimmers a couple of times a year will keep it in check and looking trim.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, and a march of a thousand miles begins with a single step – today I took that first step and the foundations of Italy’s capital have been laid (and, it seems, I’ve butchered a few phrases as well as a hedge …)
Action shot!
Yesterday (30/3/16) I swam a mile.
Not the first time I have swam a mile – I have breast-stroked my way up and down Shepton Lido before – but the first time I have swum a mile, non-stop, front crawl. Swam it in 38 mins 37 secs.
Went for my 4 o’clock swim, sans Sam who had somehow persuaded us not to go that day, jumped in and set off. It was not busy and a sense of calm enveloped me as a began to plough up and down the lane.
With no Sam, I soon decided I would swim 36 instead of my normal 30 lengths – I’ve done this a few times. I then figured doing another 4 lengths to take it to 40 would be no big deal. And then the thought began to crystallise in my head: if you are doing 40, another 8 lengths isn’t much to ask to take you to the magical mile. And so I decided to do so. I did, however, waver at 24 lengths – at this point I would normally be thinking about ramping up my pace for the last few lengths, but now I realised it was only half way. I trekked on, was soon in the thirties and the mile was in touching distance. I kept going and was soon there.
I don’t think “mile-ing” will become the norm (Sam wouldn’t have the patience to wait!) but would like to do a mile on a reasonably regular basis. Perhaps once a month? And after a mile, what next? The two obvious challenges are 60 lengths (2 Km) and swimming for an hour. Who knows? My knee remains a bit dodgy so still not pounding the pavement, and I do enjoy my swimming at the moment.