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The acoustic tracks work best here. They allow the genuine soulfulness in Neil Young’s voice to be showcased. When he plugs in the guitars he reverts to just being any old hairy rocker wearing denim.

The pipedin crowd noise gets on your tits a bit. The Woodstock interjections from a decade previously are just weird. All the tracks drag on. This is something of a Neil Young trademark.

It’s a decent enough album but it also proves that when it comes to Neil Young, he matures like a fine wine.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

A wifey Bank Holiday boner bicycle ride for Monday. Bank Holiday Mondays are always the best for riding, especially when you roll out early. The roads are deserted.

This ride saw the first wearing of the gilet for the season. It was a little windy out there.

The first obstacle was to dodge a couple of darting squirrels who came close to my front wheel. I suspect there was a bit of boy/girl action taking place there.

This was soon upgraded to a lone pheasant who shot out in front of me, eyeballed me, and then thought better of hanging around. SEE YA!

There wasn’t a lot of pace taking place to be honest. My cycling partner had decided on a more genteel ride, despite rolling out on the roadies.

Our progress was curtailed considerably when we reached the descent into Dedham. This is normally a stretch where you hover with your hands on the brakes, but hope for the best as you dart down the hill at around 45 km/h.

A couple of horse riders were midway through their descent. This meant an incredibly slow ride towards the town.

Dedham was a little more lively. There was some church jumble sale action taking place. I did think of stopping by briefly but it was full of tat.

A toilet stop did take place once we had left the town. I was wearing my cycling bibs, which always makes for something of a faff when it comes to the correct manoeuvre. I was happily going about my business when I noticed a couple out walking across the vale, around 200 or so metres away.

MORNING!

The stench of the ride soon turned to onions. Despite being a Bank Holiday, the young farmers were out in the fields harvesting their crop. You could write a blog post about onions being harvested and put into a bag.

An hour and a half or so later and we were back at base. A decent enough ride with quiet lanes and something of a pedestrian pace.

To Wivenhoe Town Cricket Club! …mid-afternoon on Sunday.

For some reason the Wivenhoe Town Cricket Club website has stopped displaying future fixtures. But if it’s a Sunday then chances are there is a game taking down at Rectory Road.

We rocked up to find an empty wicket but the scoreboard showing 220. It was the interval in what looked like either a 30 or 35 over match. Players from both teams were already tucking in to the Sunday spread as we took up our boundary seats.

The outfield was looking much improved after a weekend of on-off rain showers. I wouldn’t say it was the lush green that we see back down in SE11; it was more weeds starting to poke through amongst the rock hard surface.

Speaking of rain - we sat down and then it started to piss it down for five minutes or so. The covers didn’t come on. The players did come out however, gave it a quick look and decided to carry on with the 2nd innings. This is village cricket after all.

I still had no idea who the chuff Wivenhoe were playing. This was a question which carried on all the way throughout the game, into the evening and even the following morning.

The away team however were keen to start their bowling comeback, leaning heavily on spin and pretty much every outfield player in the slips. Boundaries were there to be taken if Wivenhoe wanted them.

The first over was complete village comedy. It was absolute chaos out there with people running, diving and falling over.

Spin worked in the second over, with one of the Wivenhoe openers clean bowled for three. An early catch was then put down.

I was sent to the bar and missed the next wicket.

Every ball seemed to lead to some comedy action. Thank fuck for boxes as one poor fella at the wicket took an absolute belter in the balls. His team mates laughed from the sideline.

SHOUT OUT to the away team fielder in his bucket hat, who seemed to be vaping at silly mid on for the entire game.

It was at this stage that I dozed off. The sun was out once again and we had a half- decent place in a sun trap, looking out across the wicket.

Some wind then woke me up and I could see that Wivenhoe were on 94 for four. We decided to make a strategic move over to the scoreboard end. This offers some shelter from the wind.

The game from here onwards then got even more chaotic and incredibly confusing. It appeared as though Wivenhoe had a runner with another batsman standing at square, except he wasn’t running each time a run was taken. How very odd.

It turned out the runner was one of the umpires. He was all padded up and carrying a bat. I then clocked that this was some kind of rotation system where the runner/umpire was simply the next batsman coming in who was carrying out some umpire duties.

The main uncertainty for the afternoon then happened when Wivenhoe were most deff on seven wickets down. Another wicket fell and all of a sudden they were five down. What the chuff is all about? The space-time continuum was being ignored as Wivenhoe were actually travelling backwards with the scoreboard.

Up stepped another umpire/runner, this time carrying a beer. This, I think, was something of a theme for the afternoon. The vaping bucket hat dude kept on sparking up.

This was a truly bizarre game. The scoreboard said that Wivenhoe were around 50 runs short with one ball remaining. The batter at the crease slogged it and attempted a run. He fell over. I suspect alcohol was involved. Somehow the ball went all the way to the boundary.

The scoreboard then said Wivenhoe had won. We both scratched our heads, looked at each other, and concluded isn’t village cricket a truly wonderful and bonkers game?

We had something of Boy’s Own outing for the WivGigs Sunday Social. Four male rowers and a male cox. This is most unusual. I prefer mixed rowing. Having five blokes in a boat can often lead to disaster.

It was all very lively down at the Sailing Club, hard around midday. An exceptionally high Bank Holiday weekend tide meant there was plenty of aquatic action out on the water.

Some dinghy racing was in full flow. The Time Keeper’s hut bleated out the incredibly LOUD horn each time some form of watercraft passed the finishing line. This always makes me want to shout out RAVE!!!! and put my hands in the air.

This was a maiden voyage for Audacity, our returning gig boat. She has been out at some repair yard for the past month or so, undertaking some pretty heavy duty patch ups as well as being tarted up with paint.

The aroma coming from the new coating was still fresh and rather lush. It was actually quite exciting rowing in a boat that was now looking and feeling as good as new.

The Boy’s Own crew headed out downstream along the estuary. We had plenty of water to enjoy, with time and tide on our side.

Past Alresford Creek and the waters became slightly choppy. A couple of crew from one of the racing dinghies were now neck deep in water, having capsized, and were being picked up by the safety boat.

The Brightlingsea Ferry passed us in the opposite direction on a riverside cruise from one town to the other. The passengers on board were most friendly and seemed pleased to see us.

We turned around at what I think was Buoy 22 and then made our way back with the tide still incoming down to the Sailing Club. Some bank holiday campers had pitched up on White House Beach.

The return journey involved a little bit of stop-start action. Some of the Sailing Club racers had decided to tack left to right in front of our path. Thankfully the Boy’s Own crew remained sensible and decided not to take them on.

Back at base and Audacity was given a decent scrub. Whoever said that males can’t carry out a half-decent cleaning routine?

A decent row.

A beat the rain ride on Sunday morning. Usually it’s a BIG FAT BOLLOCKS to the BBC weather app; but the blackened skies up above the Estuary Wilds told me it was time to get a shifty on.

There had been some serious rain overnight. This was the first time in a number of months I have had to avoid puddles whilst pushing the pedals.

My rough direction of travel was over towards Lawford. This involves around two minutes or so on an A road. For once there was a considerate motorist who was happy to let me slip off onto the slip road without taking me out from behind. Thank you, Madam.

I reached the lanes. Consideration scales soon started to diminish. Some dickhead driver in what looked like a Land Rover couldn’t resist revving up behind me, and then close passing, leaving a thick dark dirty black plume right in my face.

You dirty dog.

Finally I had some quiet around the lanes. It was tranquil apart from the other riders. Sunday morning seemed to be something of a Last of the Summer Rides around these parts.

The terrain got more remote as I ploughed on through. I did stop to allow an approaching car to have the road on a particularly barren lane. As I stopped I noticed something flapping around by the roadside.

Oh dear.

A closer inspection revealed a rook who looked like his days were done. To my surprise the motorist also stopped and out stepped a big old Essex geezer.

He was actually wonderful and knew how to handle the situation. He managed to pick up the rook and feel the strength that was remaining. The diagnosis was the feet were gone, there was still a little flapping left in the wings.

We both agreed on a dignified end to what was a very sad situation. He placed the rook somewhere quiet in a nearby field. At least that would mean no other passing motorist would finish off the poor bird.

We both stepped away and then looked on from a distance for a couple of minutes. The rook was still flapping and fighting for its life. It looked like a bit of airborne action might happen. We both decided to cut our losses, shake hands, and head in our opposite directions.

The rest of the ride was uneventful. I barely changed gears. It felt like I was riding on a fixie.

An early morning walk around Weird Wiv. I passed some random who was wearing the pinstripe home shirt of last season. I’ve never seen this random around Weird Wiv before.

“U REDS!!!!”

A fist bump and a return of U REDS!!!! followed. This has to be an omen ahead of a possible third consecutive away win at Anfield, right?

Sticking with the kit theme and it was good to see the debut of Forest wearing their third strip, which was making its debut at Anfield.

Disclaimer: no football club should have a third strip. Modern football is rubbish, against modern football, etc. But we are where we are.

I can’t say I’m truly won over by the Sky Blue third strip of Forest. I don’t even really get the ripples of the Trent on the strip. But it looks a damn sight better than the late 80’s pigeon shit throwback that Liverpool ran out in.

The game kicked off and Ndoye looked lively right from the start. He was having a few issues staying on his feet, possibly wearing the wrong studs?

The aim of the first 15 minutes was always to keep Anfield quiet. 20-25 minutes later and it was job done. In your Anfield slums, etc.

It looked like Ola was playing for his place in the team, possibly in the squad. He put in a great early cross as a benchmark to show the OG what he’s capable of.

Meanwhile in midfield, McAtee was simply majestic. I was surprised to see him starting after such a lacklustre performance against Leeds in midweek. This was the McAtee that we were all led to believed we had signed a year ago.

The goal from Ndoye was superb. It’s happening again. You Scouse bastards. It’s happening again. Yep.

And then whaddyaknow? Liverpool get an equaliser.

But wait! What’s this? Oh gawd I bloody love VAR. I bloody love Michael Oliver. I don’t think anyone at the ground - or even watching on the telly - saw that as offside.

The inevitable legit equaliser then soon followed after half time. I had just posted on BlueSky that it looks as though Isak had gone AWOL. His goal in front of the Kop got the crowd going.

Delap came on and looked decent on his debut. Within seconds he had engineered a genuine penalty claim for Forest. How many of those have we had turned down over the years at Anfield?

I had hoped that Delap might step up to take it and absolutely TWAT the ball to score in his debut. Instead the ball was handed to MGW.

Oh dear.

Don’t stutter please don’t stutter. He didn’t stutter, 2-1, back of the net, GEDDIN.

An unlikely third consecutive away win at Anfield seemed likely. The second equaliser that followed was far from deserved.

Hey hoe.

An away point at Anfield is always something to celebrate. This might just be what finally gets our season going under The OG.

I was met with distinctive Constable skies as I strolled out and made my way around the 10 km Estuary Wilds walk on Friday morning. I often find it hard to define Big Essex Skies. It’s sometimes just best to look above and marvel at the emptiness of the landscape, and then how the clouds clutter up the brilliant blueness from the estuary and beyond.

Shit. I’m turning into a bloody hippie.

The ground underfoot was slightly soft in terms of race conditions. We’ve had a couple of downpours but everything else is absolutely bone dry. If I ever get myself match fit again then the only bonus from the recent heat waves is that my summer estuary running route may be extended well into the autumn muddy months.

I wasn’t alone in strolling out towards Alresford. I must have passed half a dozen or so other mid-life crisis single all males doing the exact same thing. We’re all living the best years of our lives; we’ve all given up on work. Back of the fucking net.

I made slow progress but not as slow as the old boy I saw rowing single-handedly heading out into the greater reaches of the estuary beyond Fat Bloke’s Bench. I was a little fearful as to how he would fare once he entered the more choppier waters past the Creek.

Looking slightly lost was a swan in an adjacent field who seemed to have taken over on where the cows normally go about munching their way through what remains of the grass. I approached with caution. This didn’t stop the swan having a hissy fit at me.

Ford Lane and the road towards Alresford was reached. A couple of geezers were out trimming the overgrown hedge. The homegrown peppers on the balcony overlooking the Creek look ripe for picking.

Another day, another plod.

Plod to live, live to plod.

The annual Bank Holiday Art Exhibition at The Nottage was defo worth a visit this year. Each year four local artists exhibit in the rather antiquated, yet still very scenic surrounds of The Nottage down at the Quayside.

Local artist Colin Smith always seems to anchor the event with his brilliant and bright acrylic scenes capturing familiar surrounds. The radiance coming out of the colours was quite stunning, both for daytime and sunset compositions.

He is joined this year by a Kristin Handley. Her artwork displays a lighter touch. Some of the local scenes, such as the Trail, were almost fairy-like, with a magical illusion as the daylight collided with the green scenery.

This artwork contrasted well alongside work being exhibited by Vicky Rosenthal. Her style was a lot more harsh, almost industrial. This also suits parts of the town, with regular head nods to the fishing heritage and history.

Completing the quartet of artists at The Nottage this weekend is Julie Bowes. Her work was more animal-themed, alongside some portraits which showed human form morphing into images that wouldn’t look out of place in fairy tale books.

We were encouraged to see a couple of the artists at The Nottage performing their art and carrying out some live painting sessions.

This almost inspired me to dig out the canvas I have somewhere and make the most of my CSE Grade 3 in art to capture the local cricket club this weekend.

Can you tell what it is yet?"

We made our way over to the Table of Dreams on Friday morning. There were bright and blustery conditions. The ground below appeared as if it had never rained. It’s going to take quite a few soakings for the Estuary Wilds surrounds to soften up once again.

I felt there was more pressure on us during the warm-up than in the actual game itself. We’ve slipped into the routine of practising forehand corner to corner at some pace, and then immediately followed by backhand corner to corner. It certainly improves your playing style but also frustrates your playing partner when you fuck up.

I fucked up.

The game was quite competitive. We attracted the interests of a more mature dog walker in the park.

“You’re playing for the Wivenhoe Championship!”

…she exclaimed with a rather unnecessary enthusiasm. Erm, nope, luv. We’re just filling in time to be honest, Whatever.

I went in far too early with my spin. This is always a sign that I’m bored and I want to start showboating. I wasn’t quite in a position to do this.

I realised the error of my premature ways and returned to TWATTING the ball as hard as possible in the very next game.

One particular shot projected the ball half way down the other end of the park. Enjoy the walk, playing partner.

I somehow walked away with a 3-2 win.

Sonny Rollins and What’s New - that’s what’s new, natch. This was another album that appeared on my daily feed as part of Album of the Day. I always knew that Sonny was a saxophone player but that was about it.

And then by pure coincidence the always excellent Late Junction dropped a track from the album the following week. I didn’t recognise it as Sonny Rollins at first. It sounded so contemporary, the kind of tune that GP might play.

This is a great album that not only has Sonny’s distinctive sax playing but also some almost tribalistic percussion sounds. Plus the cover art is simply cool as fuck.

Erm, saxy.