onionbagblog

To the Odeon! …on Monday afternoon as part of the latest instalment in the Grubby Fiver Odeon cinema ticket deal.

But wait! What’s this?

We upgraded our usual tight arse experience of dropping in at Lidl for a bakery bargain for a Too Good To Go surprise bag at a nearby coffee shop.

£3.99 later we walked out with a very weighty blue plastic bag containing all sorts of pastry surprises. It then soon dawned upon us that maybe having a bag full of surprises wasn’t best explored in the darkness of the cinema.

Can you taste what it is yet?

Trying to distract us from our culinary pastry fixation was the film The Digger. We saw a trailer and it looked half decent.

The film chap with Robert Elms on BBC London was a little cold about it and let it slip that there is a major plot twist midway through.

The basic premise of the film is a Texan oil billionaire who is pals with the U.S. president. Both are faced with an impending environmental disaster.

My main aim throughout was to tuck into the Too Good to Go cheapo cheapo bag and try not to fall asleep.

The dialogue was quite gripping. For such an environmental themed film there wasn’t a lot of action to witness apart from the conversation between the characters.

You had to stay awake to witness this. I didn’t stay awake. I think I fell asleep during the big reveal, as mentioned by the BBC London film chap.

He said it wasn’t all that and was surprised that the critics had been told to stay schtum on it. I won’t give away the spoiler here but basically what unfolded was a play within a play.

The environmental message is really powerful, even when delivered through such comic means. You realise that we’re just one madcap U.S. president away from being completely fucked.

Oh, wait.

You can’t really say much more about the film without giving away the entire premise and plot.

There was a rather lovely Easter egg at the end. As the credits started to roll it’s worth hanging around just to hear this and have the shit scared out of you.

Another Easter egg surfaced when I remarked to my film companion, as we walked out, that I thought Tom Hanks was the strongest actor in the film.

“Do you mean Tom Cruise?”

Oh I’m not really cut out for this film review shit.

To the University Table of Dreams! …on Monday morning. Once again, wiff waff.

We rocked up at the University Sports Centre. It was busy, being the first week of Freshers' Week.

A wrong turn to the right and we could have gone straight into a careers fair.

Whoops.

Think carefully. Which direction do you want to go in, Jase? Right for the careers fair, left for table tennis.

Just like 1990, when I was turning out for registration, I made the correct choice.

Careers fair claptrap.

The table tennis itself, to be fair, wasn’t all that. My playing partner was in a very talkative mode.

“Less chat, more play.”

… came instructions from me. She responded with an absolute volley of power shots, corners to corner on the table each time.

Oh dear.

I did find my way back into the game.

“That was a poor game from me.”

…commented my playing partner.

“Yes it was. You were fucking awful.”

In my favour was she her unfortunate timing with a sneezing outburst. I managed to TWAT the ball just as her eyes were closing ahead of the full sneeze trauma experience.

I was always chasing the game. We both got a little reckless towards the end with some fancy Dan shots that didn’t exactly pay off.

I walked away with a 5-1 defeat.

I considered turning right and heading to the careers fair and asking about what opportunities there are to play professional table tennis.

“I’ve been on these trips with corporate platforms, and if they want you gone, you should just take the hint and go, because eventually you will get the point. This is a company that has nothing put spite for the web, or perhaps envy, or individual developers (ie indieweb). They are pure fuckers when it comes to people like you and me.”

Dave WIner on https - and yep, you have to bypass the bloody annoying Google Nanny State to get there…

A stone cold lovers rock classic. It even has the cover to match. Don’t judge a book etc, but that classic iconic photo of Carroll sitting on top of some wheels in South London defines the genre. The music itself is just lush, absolutely sweet from start to finish. The emotion and hurt come across in the songs, yet somehow the lovers rock keeps it all positive and uplifting. It’s a mighty fine South London tradition. It’s one I’m happy to return to again and again and again.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

There was just enough water and light left in the day late on Sunday for something of a WivGigs social row. We launched and did the rowing equivalent of treading water. We were due to pick up a come and try-er in around 15 minutes or so from the public pontoon.

We headed up the trots and then back down the trots again. The Wivenhoe One Designs looked absolutely resplendent, like ducks in a row, with the setting sun radiating off the incredibly sympathetic colour scheme.

Any such poetic rowing thoughts were then soon diminished when one crew member was politely accused of letting rip while sitting in the boat.

AWKS.

This wasn’t quite the case. It was simply that the leather that supports their oars was in need of some more dubbing. They were making a rather unfortunate trumping sound.

We made our way towards the public pontoon for the meet up with the come and try-er. As ever on these occasions, C was out in the water doing his one man swimming thing. Good effort.

Also on the public pontoon was the most friendly and smart bunch of local kids. They were doing a bit of sunset fishing.

They were incredibly accommodating in helping tie up Audacity and making way for us as we had a temporary berth on the public pontoon.

The come and try-er came and then didn’t exactly leave. She was fantastic. Usually these short bursts of freebie sessions last for around 15 to 20 minutes while we explain the basics. Within the first five minutes she had picked it up to perfection.

We offered to drop her off back at the public pontoon before a quick burst of more energetic rowing. She asked if she could stay in the boat simply as a passenger to take more on board of our technique. I predict she will be racing by the end of the season.

I got to cox for a very short while as we headed briefly downstream. We did a very wide turn on an unforgettable buoy. Even with the tide behind us, for some reason the water was incredibly lumpy. We made a slow return back towards the Sailing Club.

Another Sunday, another mad dash to make it to the rendezvous ahead of the 9 am rollout for the CTC Sunday ride.

Chapeau!

It’s always the same: I’m up bright and early on a Sunday and full of energy ahead of the ride. I know what time I need to leave. Plus I also know what chores I need to get done ahead of departing the house.

For chores read arseing around on the modern internet, OBVS.

I reached the University and took up a mountain descent positionas I sped down Boundary Road. There was mist rolling in from the Colne. It felt like autumn.

It might have been early but there were still some students rocking up ahead of the start of the new term. I don’t envy them having a full-on day of unpacking, saying farewell to family and friends, and then looking around and seeing who the fuck it is you’ve got to spend the next three years with.

Good luck.

What was all the rush for? I was at Leisure World for the 9 am rendezvous with five minutes to spare. We rolled out, taking a bit of a higgly-piggly route out of the half town, half city. This included cycling up Roman Road, a place I was settling into some 35-odd years ago.

I’m pretty shit at navigation around the half town, half city. I know my own locations and that’s about it. That’s all that I need to know.

It was therefore slightly unexpected to find out that we all of a sudden we were cycling underneath the grand St John’s Abbey Gate arch.

Quite a pace was being set by the lead rider. This was a little tricky as we had a lot of cycle paths and tight turns to overcome. I was half cleated for the first ten minutes or so.

It then became a bit of a cross-country ride. This wasn’t great for my road bike. At least it meant there was no traffic. It was all about avoiding the cars and getting us out onto the lanes.

But first how about a guided tour of development?

Stanway is an absolute anomaly to me. It is bloody never-ending. We seemed to go around all the new parts of the suburb that have now been submerged into the half town, half city.

I looked up and all of a sudden we were at Turkey Cock Lane. That always raises a smile.

A fifth rider was picked up at a designated rendezvous. He was a new rider to the group. He was riding an MTB. This slowed the pace down slightly.

We were approaching the coffee stop at Tiptree. I had a quick glance over into one of the fields and saw around a dozen or so monkjack deer prancing around and having the absolute bloody time of their lives.

Tea was then taken at Tiptree. Other riders were already waiting for us, leading to a rather sizeable group of 15.

The plan was then to head over on a Mersea Island hop. I decided in advance to take a little bit of a detour and opt out on route.

There were plenty of other cyclists on what was a glorious October autumnal sunny afternoon. We passed one poor fella who was having some unfortunate cleat adjustments in a ditch. My main concern was dodging a few apples that were falling from the trees.

Abberton Reservoir was reached. We stopped for a little bit of birding. I looked around, saw a few birds with feathers, and thought, yep, let’s move on.

I was now on familiar territory as part of my regular 40 km circuit. Most of the other riders headed out over to cross into Mersea. I took a left turn and went back down along through Fingeringhoe.

Ha bloody ha, etc.

That’s 260 km for the week. Happy with that.

To the Essex Sports Arena! …on Saturday evening. The Rebels Division One men had their home season opener of the regular season, with Newcastle making the long journey all the way down to Our House.

It’s a long old stretch of a season, all the way to the playoffs in April of next year.

And so it begins.

The Rebels were short benched. Three players weren’t dressed, making decisions a little tricky for interim Head Coach Jordan Ashley.

Oh yeah, let’s talk about that interim Head Coach. The longer the season goes on, the more difficult it must be to recruit a full time Head Coach.

The longer the season goes on and the longer interim Head Coach Jordan Ashley continues to deliver, the more comfortable he looks in the role. Saturday evening at Our House was no exception.

Sitting behind us by many of the men’s Div 3 team. I like their enthusiasm; I like their freshness. I kind of like the collision of different aftershave smells that were lingering around us all evening.

The Rebels got off to an explosive start. It’s clear that their tactic under Coach Ashley is to play an incredibly fast paced game. The ball was moved around the court at tremendous speed.

Newcastle were just about able to match the tempo. Rebs had the slight advantage, taking a 23-21 lead into the first buzzer.

Dominant for the Rebels was Tre Baumgardner III. He needs to be with a name like that and he managed to live up to his reputation. He completely controlled the game, starting and finishing off moves, showing great awareness around the court.

The second quarter got a little crazy. Newcastle managed to pull ahead. It’s around this time in a game that the Rebs usually collapse. They somehow got their act together and managed to take the lead once again.

At one stage the home team had a 15-point lead towards the end of the second quarter. Tyrese Hudson rose to the occasion, coming off the bench putting in a fantastic performance.

Half time came. Let’s Go Crazy by Prince and The Revolution sounded bloody amazing being played out in full over the arena PA. I made a mental note to try and watch Purple Rain uninterrupted sometime next week.

The third period could have been a little cagey for the Rebels but it wasn’t. Some superb defending meant they didn’t buckle. They knew that a victory was within their sight as long as they kept the same team mentality together.

Come the final buzzer they had stretched away with a 94-79 home win. The celebrations were superb.

It was clear that all the players have the complete respect and trust in the young rookie coach. Ashley Jordan was singled out as the players pushed him forward to take all the acclaim.

Also a massive SHOUT OUT to Tyrese Hudson. He absolutely stepped up in this game, showing great vision and also finishing. He’s becoming something of a Rebels club legend.

Saturday’s ride was all about the gin. I was under strict instructions to return with a bottle of the finest and cheapest Lidl gin that money could buy. Which all meant this wasn’t a day for the road bike. I set off on the Raleigh Electric with a couple of panniers, also known as gin bags.

We are now entering sloe pickling season. Hopefully in three months' time we’ll be into sloe gin getting pissed season. We’re still using the tried and tested recipe kindly handed over to us by R almost 15 years ago.

But first how about a bicycle ride?

I made my way down through the University. It’s that one weekend of the year when returning students and new undergraduates start to rock up on campus. I remember those days well. They’re best off behind me.

I crossed over the Dirty River and made my way over towards Fingringhoe. Traffic was particularly heavy. I can’t be arsed to make a piss poor joke.

There was a rather quaint village scene by the village pond that is overlooked by Fingringhoe Church. There was a grandad, a father, and a young grandchild all fishing together. It really was quite sweet.

I’d mistimed my own personal rod dangling escapades completely wrong. I was caught short and had to pull over.

My timing was a lot better with the sleeping lion back in the cage, just before the next car turned around the bend.

Nothing to see here, Madam.

I reached Abberton Reservoir. There was a very excitable gathering of twitchers.

A little further along the route I could smell the fresh soil from the fields. It was all very rustic.

About 30 seconds later I realised it was actually manure.

The run-in involved seeing some poor fella roadside struggling with a puncture. I’ve learned that we don’t talk about this though.

Destination Lidl was reached. The cheapo Lidl gin wasn’t as cheapo as I was anticipating. I still went for the lowest price one, natch.

Objective achieved. Another bicycle ride ticked off.

Chapeau!

And so after all the waiting around following the RACE DAY in Manningtree last weekend, Friday afternoon was a much more relaxed affair with another WivGigs social row.

I don’t think I’m alone in the club in coming to the conclusion that race days are a little bit too much stress without much reward.

I don’t personally get stressed out with it all, but hanging around all day with some very tense rowers for what can be a 20-minute burst is difficult to justify at the weekends.

Social rowing it is then. You have time for conversation, you have time for gossip, you have time to do not a lot of rowing and just sit around in the boat and take pretty pics.

Whatever.

We launched at the Sailing Club hard, having been kindly waved through by a couple of dinghy sailors waiting to launch. The chap, in particular, had the most magnificent sailing beard.

I was also experimenting with my own appearance. It didn’t quite go to plan. I opted for my wet rowing shoes and then some ridiculous cycling luminous bib shorts that I rolled up to my knees as I waded in the water.

I won’t be troubling the front page for any fashion shoot of the next edition of Sexy Rowers Monthly.

We headed downstream, which was a surprise to me. I was half expecting the row to be cancelled. It was rather windy and the waters were incredibly choppy once we reached the Creek.

I’m not into all this nature shit but perhaps the highlight for me was some birds (GAWD knows what) that decided to speed past us at an incredibly low angle, almost hugging the water.

We reached a buoy. I’m not sure which buoy it was. You come back to this blog for these kinds of details, right?

The turn was made and then we had a bit of a brief water break before making the row back upstream. We must have downed oars for no more than two minutes. We had drifted around 500 km or so already back towards the Sailing Club. It was that kind of tide.

Talk in the boat then returned to race rowing. I had absolutely no idea there is a 300 Club option available for the Harker’s Yard series.

To qualify you need to have at least 300 years of age in the boat for all four rowers and a cox.

This could work perfectly if you somehow got a centurion in the boat who did pretty much fuck all and then some rather energetic 50 year-olds.

We recovered Varuna with still plenty of water around the Sailing Club. This was a nice ying to the yang of the Manningtree chaos of last weekend.

I returned to the road bike for Friday morning. Something just felt right about this. The Estuary Wilds still insist that it’s late summer and not early autumn. Road bikes are for summer, right?

The windy conditions were incredibly warm albeit windy. There was some debate about whether rowing would take place later in the day.

I opted for a gilet. It was the right decision both in terms of the atmospheric conditions and my aesthetics. I looked cool as fuck with a Brixton Cycles gilet.

The last-minute decision to neck a big fat bowl of porridge was a wise one. I had that Ready Brek glow as I rolled out to see where the road bike would take me.

I opted for the Lawford route. It’s an absolute breeze to get there now, with the new Road to Nowhere being open, but not really open. It throws me out along the Lawford to Manningtree stretch within no time at all.

I was singing along to Edwin Collins, having heard the magnificent Girl Like You shortly before setting off. No one else was around. I say singing, it was more like shouting out the lyrics and grunting that bloody great guitar riff.

The lanes were absolutely empty for Friday morning, all apart from one dickhead van driver who approached me in the opposite direction in the middle of Gawd knows where.

I did slow down and indicated I was going to pull over. The twat didn’t slow down and didn’t even attempt to head slightly to the left of the lane.

Oh dear.

Hey hoe, live to ride, ride to live, and all that bollocks.