onionbagblog

To Witham! …early on Thursday morning for the 40+ club ride - but not early enough. I missed the rendezvous once again.

Hey hoe.

Witham is a lot further geographically than what I think it is in my mind. I need a good run of two hours to get there comfortably without any stress.

The clock was counting down for the 9:30 am rendezvous. By 9:10 am I had given up and started to ghost along, knowing that I wouldn’t make it.

This soon became the Ride of the Sneeze.

I just couldn’t bloody stop sneezing. Once I break out into a sneezing fit it’s pretty constant for a couple of hours, and then it disappears just like that.

Atishoo.

At least I’m becoming familiar with the route from Weird Wiv over to Witham. It really is quite scenic, and yep, that includes the Pink Palace just outside of Tiptree.

It’s a FUCK OFF Essex mansion where everything is painted pink. At first you think, Oh dear. We’re talking the pink brickwork for the perimeter wall, the pink front door, and even the pink chimney stack.

But I’ve learned to rather like it. I’m sure the neighbours feel the same.

And so I made it to the rendezvous, albeit around 12 to 13 minutes late. By absolute luck I bumped into R, who was also a little behind the 40+ schedule.

He reckoned if we time trialled it together we could catch up with the main group. This involved a rather hellish ride along the cycle path that runs adjacent to the A12.

Most unexpected was an adult shop along one of the sidings of the A12. It looked like it was one of those old roadside cafes that had now been converted into something a little more spicy

‘cos you never know when you fancy some soft porn whilst you’re commuting on a main A-road.

Jeez, some people.

We caught up with the rest of the 40+ Thursday crowd just ahead of the coffee stop. The warmth for the cafe cum pub was most welcome. The customer service was absolutely crap.

“Have you paid for those?”

…came the rather abrupt questioning from a young member of staff behind the counter.

Yep, dude.

A couple of riders then put in a request for a top-up of their coffee. The young assistant took this as a signal that everybody wanted a top-up and went around one by one saying, “What do you want, what do you want?”

He looked right pissed off when I declined to take out a second order.

And then the 40+ ride pretty much split up as we all went our relative separate ways and headed back to base. I tailed behind R once again.

Don’t forget that a 40+ ride is not a 40+ ride until you have ridden down the obligatory Turkey Cock Lane.

I was solo by the time I reached the outskirts of the half town, half city.

I rode along the High Street. There was the loudest sneezing man ever. He was creating something of a scene. I think health issues of the mind may have been involved.

By now my own sneezing fit had come to a close.

What a find! and yep, that comes from a fella who rarely uses exclamation marks for fear as being seen as an extrovert! I still find it difficult to write or talk about jazz in a meaningful way. There are so many intricacies that blend in and out with the genre, but I do know that music like this connects to me. Red Clay could have been released any time in the past 40 or 50 years. It still sounds remarkably fresh. You wouldn’t think twice if some vocals are added and you were told it was by Ezra. A very uplifting album.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

‘Sorry, not sorry,’ Britain tells Commonwealth on slavery

via Morning Star

I’m a sucker for this fag end of the ’60s hippy shit. Hippy wigs in Woolworths, etc. The production here is absolutely lush, in particular Danny Thompson’s double bass, which sounds as though it is reaching beyond the speakers coming to pluck you out. Like I say I’m a sucker for this hippy shit.

This is a most uncommercial album. You wouldn’t want it any other way. You’re never going to be troubled by any of these tracks on any daytime radio station. Listening to the album from start to finish was an absolute joy. I was born in the wrong age.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

To Moving Image! …on Tuesday evening. Being shown on the multiplex screen in the poxy village hall was Tuner.

I’d seen the trailer a few times as part of our cheapo, cheapo, Sunny Colch grubby fiver deal. It was on our list of films to watch in the half town, half city but somehow time and tide meant it passed us by.

No worries, that’s what the local village cinema is for. A two minute trot across the road, and then I pinged a fiver over on my phone, and sat down in a not quite a multiplex chair to enjoy the film.

The not quite a multiplex chair needed a bit of manoeuvring first. I was sitting behind an extremely tall person. Thankfully a village hall chair has the option that allows you to simply stand up and plonk it elsewhere. And so I did. You try doing that in the Sunny Colch Odeon.

The next obstacle to overcome was a ringtone coming from the fella at the front who introduced the film. Don’t forget to turn your phone off mate.

Tuner was a bit of a weird film in terms of style and direction. I didn’t know that Dustin Hoffman was playing one of the lead roles. Spoiler alert: he doesn’t make it to the second half of the film but it was a nice touch.

The basic premise is a piano tuner - as the name suggests - who suffers with some extreme hearing issues. He does have pitch perfect tone and is able to go about his job.

He’s also gifted in that this almost sensory form of hearing allows him to manually open safes by listening, by default, to the clicking mechanism.

Nice work if you can get it, etc.

All this suggests that the film takes a turn midway through, which it does. It goes from being a rather charming and quite quaint New York romantic flick to becoming all of a sudden Pulp Fiction.

The soundtrack was superb. Not so much the use of classical music, which was all part of the plot, but some of the more contemporary songs, such as Nina Simone’s Sinner Man which was played out to great effect.

There was kind of a happy ending but it was also one of those films that left you wondering what exactly the conclusion was.

I managed almost an unobstructed viewing and no ring tones played out throughout the film. None that I could hear of anyway.

To the Sailing Club! …on Monday evening for another social table tennis session. Having skipped last week due to being away, I was a little out of form when it comes to playing opponents other than my usual partner.

There you go. That’s excuse number one baked in.

It didn’t help that I forgot my own bat as I left the house. I only realised when I had schlepped halfway down to the Sailing Club.

Bagger.

I’ll take this one as excuse number two before I’ve even got to hit a ball.

No worries. The Sailing Club has some cheapo cheapo bats that can be used. The padding is significantly less than my preferred weapon of choice.

This meant spin wasn’t the wisest shot to attempt on Monday evening - which is all a little unfortunate seeing as my game is built around spin. Sure I can TWAT it with ease, but not always on target.

So the approach on Monday evening became quite clear: set my opponent up so the ball was lobbed back up high towards me, and then aim for the corner of each table with the TWATIEST of TWATTING shots I could produce.

I just about got away with it.

Late in the session a newcomer rocked up. He was the son of one of the regular players. It’s always good to face new opponents as you test them as well as them testing you.

The newcomer was extremely tricky. We play a game of winner stays on. He didn’t leave the table throughout the duration of the session. We then decided it was time to go home…

He had an absolute killer spin and it’s impossible to read his serve. Betcha if I had my own personal bat then I could have counter spinned him.

Spin it to win it, Jase.

A useful bridge between big band jazz and the oncoming onslaught of rock and roll. There’s a very raw energy to this album even though it’s a compilation. The covers here are great: Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Cryin' and Is You or Is You Ain’t? Jazz meets rock and roll is a great genre.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

An album that messes with the space-time continuum. You’d expect nothing less from those involved. I love the way the beats are stretched out. You’re one step behind where the rhythm should be.

Weatherall and pals mess with your head, as well as the whole dance industry that was growing around the time of this release. They’re looking for something new but also taking the piss privately. If you’re in on the joke, then it’s a fantastic piece of music in which to offer optimism as to where dance music would head next.

The Sabres' dream didn’t deliver and we were still left with the same old commercial crap with all the big dance festivals and mega clubs, plus the big-name DJs. Weatherall always kept it real. This album is testament to that.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Another Sunday, another Cycle UK ride out with the Sunny Colch crowd. Except it wasn’t so sunny up as I made my way to the Leisure World rendezvous at 9:30 am.

This was a dull but dry day. In my mind there is always the sense that I need to be cycling when there is no sign of the pesky rain up above.

We started off as a group of four and ended up as a group of a dozen. It’s quite a new thing with the Cycle UK meet-up; the defined starting point now has become elongated as we pick up passengers along the way.

I got cut up at a roundabout by some idiotic driver before I was even out of Stanway.

The suburban houses were still full of all the Halloween tat from the night before. Landfill, here we come.

The first pickup point for our ride saw a couple rolling out on a most splendid recumbent tandem. It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of these out in the wild.

As ever I had little understanding or detail as to where we were heading. We always seem to take a turn off along Turkey Cock Lane. This never fails to raise a smile.

One of our riders was a bit of an ornithologist. He had a keen eye and was able to spot a tremendous buzzard preparing for takeoff in one of the country fields.

A toilet stop was required before the coffee break. I pulled over to syphon the python with one of the other male riders. We picked an exact same spot where there was a trough in place of a farmer’s gate blocking people out.

Needs must.

The tea stop was reached. It was functional although everyone in our group was served in a dirty teacup. I did ponder bartering at the till, but then it wasn’t really the occasion to kick up a fuss.

We left the tea rooms of Coggeshall and cycled off, I think, in the rough direction of Maldon. At this stage I couldn’t stop yawning. The autumn colours from the trees and kept me awake.

We passed a large sign for Cobb’s Farm Pumpkins. I pondered stopping off and popping in to see the country cousins.

The luncheon stop just outside of Maldon was taken. It was at a caravan park. Blimey. I wasn’t expecting that.

It was actually a seafront restaurant that involved lifting a 27 kg electric bike up a short flight of stairs.

It was worth the effort. We had the Captain’s Room at the top all to ourselves. One of the tables actually had a boat underneath with a glass panel cut out in the shape of the boat.

I was energised with a very late late all-day breakfast and all set for the return ride back to base. The light was starting to fade. I took a turn off and deviated from the rest of the group when I caught my bearings and a quicker way back home.

92 km in total.

Chapeau!

I think I’ve finally made my peace with Forest. The 2-0 away defeat down at Brentford on Saturday was something of a turning point for me.

The narrative ahead of this game was that Glassner needed a win, not to save his job, but to keep the fan base on board. I I just about buy into the Forest line that he is the man for the long term.

But then the Big Fat Greek can be very trigger happy when needs must.

We’re not quite there yet, but WOH, we’re getting damn close. This time last season this situation would have been giving me sleepless nights. That’s what four head coaches in one season does to you.

But not today, nope. As I’ve said, I think I’ve finally made my peace with Forest.

This all came about, really, through coincidence. Time and tide had me running all over the place on Saturday afternoon. Peacock TV over in the States wasn’t screening the match and so I decided to go about my usual business.

That meant a first half of football up at Broad Lane watching Wivenhoe Town, and then legging it over to the Essex Sports Arena to catch the Rebs women at home.

I had a contingency in mind when it came to Forest. I caught the first half of the BBC Radio Nottingham commentary in the AirPods whilst watching the Dragons.

At the Sports Arena I had my FUCKL OFF noise cancelling Sony headphones with me. They don’t half pump up the volume at Our House when the Rebs take to the court.

I struggled to get a decent signal in the Arena. That was something of a first. In the end I just gave up on the commentary and pretty much gave up on Forest.

I had made my peace.

The 4G in the Arena was so poor that I couldn’t even get any score updates. I sat back and rather enjoyed watching a highly competitive game of basketball that was breaking out on the court.

I wasn’t surprised to see when I left the Arena that Forest had lost 2-0. No worries. If we’re relegated then so what.

I know that’s a very broad statement to make and obviously I’ll feel very different if and when that happens. But right now I’m rather chilled about all things Forest.

The performances on Saturday were shit right across the team, judging by the two and a half minutes I caught on Sky back at base and also the BBC player ratings.

We know these aren’t poor players but somehow they just aren’t buying into the system. This makes little sense. Failing to buy into four different systems last year is understandable but Glassner has laid out clearly what he wants. Just go out there and do it, right?

I gave in and had a minute or so of scrolling on X. I saw a couple of fan videos from the Forest end. The mood has clearly turned. Boos at full time is pretty ugly viewing.

But I kind of get it. If you’ve made it all the way down to some shithole in West London and then then see a team with so much promise being outplayed by what is essentially an old third division club squatting in the Premier League, then you’re going to feel angry.

Lovely bit of arrogance there, Jase.

So next weekend we welcome the serial CHEATERS Manchester City to the World Famous City Ground. How’s that home record looking, Forest fans?

Maybe the trick is that I just don’t watch Forest on the telly anymore and breeze through the season with no expectation.

You’re never going to take away what I feel for this club but I rather enjoyed a stress free Saturday afternoon at the basketball, not being put through all the emotions from a team that rarely delivers these days.

Oh yeah - I then looked at the D***y score.

Ha bloody ha.