Boo Hoo.

    We've got over it, that game of football I wrote about last time. (Derby County v QPR). 'We wuz robbed' is what all supporters say when they lose and this time it's true. (And no, we haven't really got over it.) Irrespective of the financial importance of the result to Derby (around £160 million over several years), non football supporters I'm sure would be amazed how important it all is to so many people. Over forty thousand people travelled to Wembley to see Derby County,' their team'. Now that's a lot of people. I have never experienced so much collective gloom in all of my life. And it's this collective feeling, this joint 'togetherness' I'd like to explore.

    As I mentioned last time, we have many emotional experiences in life, some highs, some lows. But seldom involving so many people all at the same time. I know of no other experience (losing this football match) that has affected my whole existence, my whole well being to such a depth. And I'm seventy four years of age, for goodness sake! England in the World Cup in Brazil, I'm interested, but not particularly concerned either way. Nothing has affected me so deeply and for so long as the result of Derby County's demise. Now why is that so, I wonder.

    There are several factors involved here when you think about it.We need an identity, a sense of belonging. Something to show 'who we are'. An old lady I know who lives in North Derbyshire comes originally from Yorkshire. She flies in her small garden a ruddy great Yorkshire flag. Everyone in the village has an opinion regarding her actions but she doesn't care. Her flag signifies' who she is'.

    There's no doubt coming from certain parts of the country, never mind the world affects the way we live, think, behave. Essex, for instance has gained an image in post war Britain that is brash in the extreme. You have only to watch 'The Only Way is Essex' on television to gain an opinion, however accurate of Essex people and Essex life. All hair extensions and fake tans apparently. (TOWIE is a reality show; a caricature of 'real life, perhaps!)  Yorkshire is the BIGGEST county and often it shows, Yorkshire 'expats' so often feeling they have to show they're the 'biggest and the best'. (Not all of course but enough!) Little old Derbyshire seemingly has no 'identity' of note. Many people I've met on my motor home travels couldn't place Derbyshire on a map however hard they tried. The Derbyshire motto, by the way is 'Derbyshire born, Derbyshire bred. Strong in the arm, weak in the head.'!

    There's no doubt this identity thingumajig is important to a lot of people. Manchester United are followed by thousands of people; many attend their matches weekly; many more follow their progress and support 'their' team without ever attending a live match. How many children over the years have adopted Manchester United as 'their' team, seduced by the glamour of the Bobby Charlton's and George Bests.

    There's not always much to recommend living in Derby, or Nottingham for that matter and standing by a machine all day to earn the proverbial 'crust'. (Times are changing but many still lead hum-drum lives, many haven't even got the satisfaction of a job, however mundane.) Small wonder their local football team, often a traditional thing, is followed with passion and blinkered fervour, come rain or shine. To many it is the event of the week. (The cry often at Derby County matches is 'It you hate Forest, stand up'. Surely the word HATE is a misnomer; or is it?) So to many this football malarky is a traditional think. Forty thousand individuals converging on London to support a football team is impressive. Plus thousands more watching Derby on televisions around Derby itself is awesome. I have never experienced such gloom after the match in Derby. I watched with friends and the gloom was indescribable. And a thought occurred to me. Is the 'collective thing' the important thing here. Is it 'catching'; are we all victims of 'mass hysteria on a grand scale?

    I remember a year or two ago a young marching band performing, Mansfield way if I remember right. It was a sunny summer's day. One or two children began to suffer from the heat. And a trickle became a flood. More and more children succumbed to the heat. Afterwards the suggestion was that the children were victims of mass hysteria, auto suggestion if you like. Derby County supporters, myself included are victims too, I wouldn't wonder! Victims of collective doom and gloom on an epic scale.

    We humans are the ultimate animal. We have feelings and emotions. Dogs and cats cannot appreciate a cracking penalty save or a Beckhamesque pass all of forty yards. (Neither are they daft enough to sit in the freezing cold on a Saturday in January watching a soccer match. You don't sit in the garden in January. So why sit outside at a football match. Who's the clever one now!

    A final thought, courtesy of a friend. This lady suggests we all have a 'spiritual side' to our nature. What is happening, she suggests, is the spiritual side of many is channelled, not towards religion, but towards another outlet; in Derby football supporters case, Derby County. Makes sense, what was it the famous Bill Shankly once said, 'Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I am very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much more important than that.

    What is your 'drug', greatest passion in life? Do tell! Now I'm going for a lie down. All this thinking is making me quite tired!

Mad, Had, Bad, Sad, Glad.

Most of us lead unimportant little lives. We are inconsequential in the big world. There are fifty nine million plus of us in Great Britain alone, mind bending. Many with similar hopes, aspirations, fears. It's been a funny week, not necessarily funny 'ha ha', a week that's made me realise how easily our moods go up and down. Unimportant we may be, but we cannot hide from life and all it throws at us.

Tuesday morning and a nondescript envelope dropped through the letter box.

'Notice of Intended Prosecution' 47mph in a 40mph area near Chesterfield last week. News to me, not an area I know well, must have been done by the static vans they use. Bit sneaky, no danger, broad daylight, nice little earner, no excuse, I know, the laws the law but not happy. I'm MAD, SAD and feel I've been HAD.

I'm no longer a 'boy racer', hopefully normally a law abiding citizen. In over fifty years driving whats my record? A 'Without Due Care and Attention' in Croydon.' The policeman who booked me suggested ' We get lots of accidents at this spot.' Not 'Bad spot so the councils looking into it.' Speeding near Ilkeston. Camera near a school so did its job, except that the road was deserted, being a Saturday afternoon. When the camera flashed, my wife said, 'Look its lightening.' I knew better!

Again over the limit, this time in my home town, on a road I was convinced was a 40mph, not a 30mph limit. At ten thirty at night, the road again deserted. Plus an adjoining, similar road has a forty limit. I know from talking to other motorists the first road is a massive earner for government funds. Parking offence in Chesterfield many years ago ( I sent a letter with a quote by Martin Luther 'To do so no more is the truest repentance.' My fine was half the normal!) Plus a parking ticket in Wales issued by a pair of megalomaniacs I don't even wish to talk about! The whinges of an old man, perhaps. The overall effect is to make me less supportive of the law and its idiosyncrasies.

The same day a delightful lady, Veronica called from Barking Mad. We were interviewed as to our suitability as 'dog sitters'. Evidently we passed the 'tests' and await an introductory 'lodger'. I have never seen my wife so excited since . . . . On second thoughts we won't go into that! The mood lightened, speeding ticket or no speeding ticket for which I was GLAD. Until I went to Mansfield next day.

My motorhome has had a heater problem for some time. I have to take it to a specialist dealership in Mansfield. Pleasant day in the town, spoilt a little by being dropped off a mile from where we should have been due to terrible instructions from Mansfield public and bus fraternity. The pain in my knees compounded by a bill for nearly £350 to repair damage to the heater. The damage almost certainly caused either by a trip up the the rutted hard shoulder of the M25 or the pot holed roads around Derby, that's BAD. The mood at rock bottom again, MAD that we pay taxes for roads that are ill maintained, SAD at parting with hard earned cash.

Two phone calls changed the mood again. A phone call to a cousin brings good news, not BAD. A long awaited serious hospital examination has revealed her problem, although serious, is far less serious than at first thought. What we haven't got rather than what we have got is often the important factor where illness is involved. Whatever the brave face, worry and uncertainty is inevitable. And make no mistake, good health is first and foremost the most important factor in life. So I was so GLAD for her and hers, speeding tickets, motorhomes and cash shortages are so unimportant compared to health issues.

A second phone call brings further joy, For which my wife has reason to be GLAD. Barking Mad has a problem, someone is needed to 'house' a dog for the weekend. Who would be available for such an emergency; who else? So, as I write, the house is being 'valeted', even more thoroughly than for the visit of mother-in-law! The imminent arrival of Tilly awaits; Tilly is evidently a 'Cockapoo. (Don't ask!) I am GLAD we have a visitor for the weekend

All somewhat unimportant. But it does suggest that our lives and moods are subject to never ending, ever present circumstances and events until the day we die. I suggest we enjoy the moment, live for the day, for you never know what tomorrow, next week, next year may bring.

What's been the best and worst for you in the last seven days?

Mad as a March Hare weeks 3 and 4

In case the recession is getting you down here is Grumpy's alternative news you may have missed.

The Crime Scene

A two year old was sent an ASBO warning in Lincoln for kicking footballs at windows and abusing neighbours. What on earth will he be like when he learns to walk! Police apologised for sending the warning to the wrong address.

Staff at Rymans smashed a forgery ring after finding Boy George's image was on the watermark of the £20 notes. Again a case of mistaken identity, this time, wrong queen!

Two robbers leaving a Milwaukee jewellers with cash and jewellery were mugged. Even more unlucky was footballer Ashley Cole, fined a mere £80 for being drunk and disorderly but another £160,000 by his club, Chelsea. (two weeks wages!)

A single mother in South Wales was so fed up with her daughter's bickering (aged fourteen and eleven) that she filled the fridge, left £30 on the mantelpiece and cleared off to Spain. She shouldn't have done it but I know the feeling.

To deal with antisocial behaviour on an estate in Mansfield pink lights have been installed to deter teenagers gathering in groups. Evidently pink light highlights teenagers acne. I await the results with baited breath.

Finally, is it my imagination, or are crooks and not the police the sophisticated ones? Police officers on the beat in Falmouth have been issued with whistles for the first time in forty years, Evidently they make it easier to attract the attention of cyclists. Whilst a thief in Sutton, Surrey admitted using Google Earth to identify lead roofs. He admitted £100,000 of thefts. I assume he didn't go round on his bike to commit these crimes. (Incidentally the new Google service Street View is already causing concern. In the USA where it was launched two years ago it has shown people nude sunbathing, being arrested and urinating in the street.)

It's a strange old world

I try not to join the wingers who constantly carp on as to how bad life is today but occasionally they are fed information that is just up their street. The Chelsea Pensioners have at long last accepted the ladies into their ranks. Brilliant, but please don't 'ape' the females of Teignbridge Ladies Netball League in Devon. They have all been sent letters concerning the use of 'foul and abusive language'. Oh dear, definitely unladylike behaviour. Neither can the parents who booed the winners at the inter-school sports day at Worthing be proud of themselves. Not exactly behaviour designed to impress. Plus you do wonder when McDonald's new jobs drive includes training on skills such as 'how to report for work on time.'

There again maybe it isn't obvious to some as to exactly what a brain is for. A man from Doncaster evidently drove his car down a FOOTPATH, via sat-nav until a fence prevented him from going over a 100 foot cliff. Then he blamed the sat-nav!

But enough of being serious! Who noticed the discovery of a 2500 year old sauna at a site of a new park and ride close to the M5 near Taunton in Somerset. Plus twenty three skeletons. Now that must have been one hell of a hot sauna. They don't make them like that today!

Finally, very finally, many may find my slant on the month totally daft. But fancy being daft by name as well as nature. Evidently names that many find hilarious are in decline. Cock, Daft, Death, Smellie, Gotobed, Shufflebottom, Jelly, all reduced numerically. Cocks for instance has declined by 75% since the first census in 1881, Daft and Balls by more than 50%. And the fastest growing you may ask. Zhang, up from 123 in 1996 to 5804 in 2008. (Closely followed by Wang, Yang, Huang and Lin.) As Michael Caine was heard to retort, 'Not a lot of people know that!'

So there you have it, another month consigned to history. Hopefully there are many more to come.

The Joys of Motoring

The fridge has packed up in the motorhome. Not very exciting and certainly nothing new. We've had it quite a few weeks, from new for goodness sake and it only cost just over thirty thousand pounds. What do you expect, a lifetime of trouble free motorhoming. Plus the blind on the roof has fallen to bits and we've replaced the seating cum beds with miracle foam as the originals are pathetic in the extreme. The water leak behind the bench seat has been fixed but now the internet motorhome chat rooms are full of ominous mutterings concerning the new Fiat motorhomes inability to reverse without an almighty juddering. Fiat, Fix It Again Tomorrow.
All this after an eight month battle to get the last one replaced due to a catalogue of problems. Leaking roof from day one (hooray for a wet summer) faulty door seals, water persistently under the bonnet, blown fuses, toilet leaks, four or five recalls, engine management failure, fridge replaced, you name it, we had it. Three or was it four visits to the dealers at Weston Super Mare, though in fairness they tried hard to sort us out. Visits to importers at Grimsby and heating specialists at Mansfield. At least it was an educational year. Why else would one normally go to Mansfield or Grimsby, or to Weston come to think of it three times at least in one year.
All this puts me in mind of motoring years ago; trouble free times, reliable vehicles, exciting trips out. Who's kidding whom! Though the exciting bit stands, every trip was an adventure in that you never knew for certain if you would arrive at your destination.
In my student days, poor with a wife, two children and a scruffy old dog to support I owned in quick succession two Moskvichs, a van and an estate. Now they were real motors! The van used to make strange noises, a zut, zut, zut sound as you rolled along. Traced to the rear end and caused by the rear tyres being too big for the wheel arches, don't ask me why. Easily cured by hitting the inside of the wheel arch with a hammer until it cleared the tyre. Imagine doing that to a new Rolls Royce.
Not to be outdone, the front tyres used to rub against the copper brake pipes when on full lock. Again only a problem if you had no imagination or DIY skills. You simply grasped the coiled pipe firmly and manoeuvered it clear of the offending tyres. Hooray for flexible copper pipes.
The floats in the carburetters were made of brass and the Russians never did get the hang of soldering. Consequently the float periodically filled with petrol and sank, bringing you unceremoniously to a halt, wherever you were. Of course you always carried spare floats so no great problem. (I also carried a spare starter motor, battery, bulbs, cable, fuses and undoubtedly other paraphanalia I have forgotten in the mists of time.) Though my technical skills have never excelled (No shelf stays up in our house for more than two weeks, one if you put something on it) I could replace a Moskvich carburetter float at the side of the road in less than half an hour. And I have spent an entire day under a Moskvich swinging on a chain via a crane in a local scrapyard on my own in order to remove a back axle. What would Health and Safety make of that nowadays I wonder. Mind you, we pulled a small trailer to contain the camping gear and I don't suppose they would have been too keen on our towbar, bolted to two metal plates secured through the back doors. Heath Robinson, eat your heart out.
My wife has never been happy on my improvisations and in retrospect she's right. I once charged the Mosky battery up still on the motor via the cable through the letter box. The lazy way, I know, I know and even lazier to pull the clips off the battery rather than carefully lifting them clear. To do so when still plugged in to the mains literally nearly fatal. The clips jammed in the boxwork supporting the battery, sparks flew and the consequent explosion brought out the entire street; acid shot to a great height in the air and I undeservedly narrowly escaped serious injury. Strangely enough the battery, though now in three pieces remained connected. Even more remarkable, the car fired on ignition first time and I ran it for a day or two until I could afford another battery.
By today's standards my Moskys were crude in the extreme. Rumour has it they were built from melted down Messerschmidts shot down in the war. The steering, rack and pinion failed on me one day. But it only failed on left lock. Fortunately I wasn't too far from home, but you try going home unable to turn left!
Life today motor wise may be more sophisticated but its not necessarily more fun. I had a talking Maestro once whose electric windows never worked properly in its life. In winter they always stuck open, in summer on a boiling hot day, immovably closed. The blasted car never mentioned why! Strangely enough that too suffered carburetter flooding problems. I remember sitting in a line of traffic near Paignton, hot day, kids tired, car refusing to start and the fool behind me hooting impatiently. I walked back to him in his posh car with its air conditioning. "I tell you what, mate" I volunteered, "You go and sit in my car and try and start it and I'll sit in yours and blow the horn." If he'd have got out he may well have been six foot six to my five feet four but he got the message. Happy days!
No vehicle is perfect, at least not the ones I buy. I had an A35 Austin I think it was with cable brakes and you could never be certain to stop it in a set distance, lethal it was. I had a Simca, old and worn out, another 'never be certain' car,. You could never, ever be certain what gear you were going to get when you changed gear.
Hopefully the Tribute will give us happy hours when the niggles are ironed out. I hope so. My nomination for my worst ever. Undoubtedly the Simca. And the best? Almost certainly my perplexing, infuriating, exhilarating 970cc Mini Cooper S, number GDT 703C. But that's another story.