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To Moving Image! …on a damp and miserable Tuesday evening.

The other option was to watch the serial CHEATERS Manchester City on the telly. Wisely we opted for a documentary film exploring different ideas about farming and wildlife.

Country life, innit.

Being screened in the village cinema was Derek Vs Derek. I didn’t realise this was a documentary until I pulled up the trailer earlier in the day.

The basic premise is a couple of farmers living not so neighbourly side by side down in Cornwall. One of them is the more traditional intensive farmer type, whilst the other wants to explore ideas and concepts related to rewilding the land.

Never the twain shall meet, etc.

This was a beautifully shot film. Right from the opening scenes some of the drone footage was stunning, showing the harvest coming in for the more traditional type of farming.

It didn’t take long for the two ideologies to start to clash. As the title of the film suggests, both farmers were called Derek.

This was just a setup to explain what was to come. Derek, the idealist, had his land bordering three other local farmers who were also opposed to the ground zero approach he was taking to the land.

This wasn’t so much a film all about ideologies. It also explored the intricacies of human nature and conflict resolution.

Derek the rewilder explained in detail how his love for this type of approach could be traced back to a childhood memories of reading the Ladybird Book of Wildlife. It was almost his bible as he then put into practise what was to come in his later life.

“He tells me I need to broaden my mind but I don’t want to fucking broaden my mind!”

…was the response for the meat and two veg, Derek.

An interesting subplot that was then played out was the more sympathetic approach from the wife of Derek, the traditionalist. She was very playful and lived up to any stereotypes of a farmer’s wife.

However she was open to new ideas and had a gloriously cheeky glint in her eye when she gently prodded her husband to try and understand what rewilding and a return to nature might achieve.

Derek the rewilder then raved on endlessly about beavers and how they are the workhorse for any project. It was fascinating to see how reintroducing them to the land had major consequential and positive environmental effects on the whole area.

Perhaps my favourite quote from the film came from Derek the traditionalist:

“That man’s a fucking psychopath when it comes to his hedges.”

The same could be said of me when I’m let loose with my chainsaw.

I was broadly sympathetic towards director rewilder. In fact the film was pretty much set up to try and convert you over, as Derek the traditionalist was also being framed as the one who needed to change his ways.

A tipping point in the film, and also for the local community, was the conference that Derek the rewilder held about reintroducing wolves into England.

This seemed like a step too far and offered up plenty of metaphors of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

It was a fantastic film although it was often reduced to an A-level type essay argument of hHere are the pros, here are the cons, and I don’t really have a conclusion but let’s just see what happens.

It was better than staying in and watching the serial CHEATERS Manchester City.

The ending was really quite sweet. There are no spoilers to give away here apart from noting that a begrudging respect was the conclusion for both Dereks, as they could see the pros and cons of their opposite approaches.

It’s all about the common ground in it.

Christ there you go. I’ve become a bloody centrist.

To the Sailing Club! …on Monday evening. You know the routine by now. Monday night is wiff waff social night down at the Sailing Club.

The short walk down there was a little brisk. This was the first time this season I needed a winter coat. These small details matter.

Downstairs at the Sailing Club there was a GC meeting taking place. It looked like serious business. I gave the old boys a brief wave and then headed upstairs for the more social table tennis session.

We had four players, which meant we were playing to 21 rather than the preferred 11. I can get lucky when you play to 11. All it takes is for me to get three shots ahead and then the game’s pretty much mine.

Twenty one, however, requires concentration. My mind isn’t wired for any sustained level of concentration, not even beyond a five minute stretch.

This was an evening for smashing. I bloody love smashing a ball. I actually volunteered to give smash lessons to the other three players. There were no takers.

In response I got some advice about a different type of shot altogether:

“Flick your wrist, grip less hard.”

That’s what she said, etc.

In the end it was the smash that won it. My record for the evening was played 3, won 3 in the singles and then played 2, won 2 in the doubles.

GEDDIN.

A final question came my way on the short walk home as I was still buttoning up my winter coat:

“When you’re receiving and you’re playing doubles, do you stand so you take it on your forehand?”

Yeah, that’s what she said innit.

The up-tempo tracks are far too twee. It felt like some banjo showdown. The slower songs are much more melancholy and heartfelt. I wouldn’t want to listen to this unless I was going to take up line dancing. Trust me, that’s never going to happen.

⭐ ⭐

It’s 24 hours since Forest lost 1-0 at home to Arsenal. I’ve not really got anything to say about this, which makes this perhaps one of the most pointless blog posts ever.

I watched the game on delay having basketball duties up at the University, just as the game was kicking off at the World Famous. I raced home from basketball and watched it on delay.

I had a strict embargo of not getting my phone out whilst watching the basketball. I walked back from the University and almost came a cropper when I stared into someone’s living room and saw a big green pitch, but thankfully no one celebrating or even having their head in their hands.

I arrived back at base, had a quick cup of tea, and then was all set to see Forest take on the current league champions.

That grated a little to be honest. Arsenal won the league fair and square, unlike others. I did associate this Arsenal team as being something of a collection of bottlers.

I now accept this isn’t the case. Somehow they have managed to move themselves to be the elite team in English football. That’s takes quite some doing to displace what looked like a resurgent Liverpool, Chelsea and all their millions, and yep, even Man City, before the illusion of what we all now know.

I’ve always had something of a begrudging respect for Arsenal as an institution, as a football club. They seem to do things the right way.

I can also respect how, over the past five years or so, they have emerged as THE London club, although I don’t think this was deliberate. The way that they have crafted and styled together a team that LOOKS like London, and even acts like London with the messaging, is quite something.

It’s amazing what a Premier League victory will do to flush out all those old Arsenal fans who try and convince you that they used to stand on the banks of the old North Bank back in the day.

But anyway - the cup of tea on Sunday evening was soon finished and I turned to the BOOZE. That’s not something I’ve done in a couple of months whilst watching football. The mood just felt right.

Four pints later and I was singing D***y songs in the absence of anything else to celebrate

I’ve read and heard an awful lot about the game in the past 24 hours. As ever, some of it I agree with, a lot of it I think is a load of old bollocks. The truth is somewhere in the middle.

Yes, this has been a very poor start to the season for Glassner and Forest. It’s not been awful, just poor. You can’t win away at Villa Park and have a classy 2-2 draw at Anfield and call it an awful start to the season.

But that bloody home record is truly shocking.

The Arsenal game wasn’t truly shocking for Forest. But even when you narrowly lose 1-0, you still surrender three home points. I don’t think anyone was expecting anything different ahead of kickoff.

Let’s try and look for the positives. The defence was very decent. Neco in particular, I thought, had a tremendous match.

There’s been a lot of whispers about Murillo in the past month or so. His audacious attempt at scoring the Goal of the Season towards the end should hopefully silence those doubters.

I actually look forward to Forest being linked with £75 million-plus deals for Murillo once again. At least, it will be a sign that we’ve got the old Murillo back.

I thought Delap battled well up front. He is such a bully of a player and also still so young. It’s exciting to think what he would be like in three to four years' time if he’s still around Forest. He’ll be at the peak of his physical powers and be an absolute beast of a centre forward.

Chris Wood, however, looks like he has started his farewell tour.

But it’s in the centre of the park where we really need to have cause for concern. Without MGW there’s one gaping hole in which to provide that spark and that creativity.

I thought McAtee would step up but that’s one hell of a leap to try and dictate a game in the way that MGW does.

I’m not disheartened. I thoroughly expect Forest to get three points on the road away at Ipswich on Friday evening. The run of fixtures thereafter doesn’t do us any favours.

This is certainly no time to panic. That time would be if we dumped out of the FA Cup in the third round come January.

I’m a very measured man. I have mellowed in my middle age, even with the veracity in which I sing my D***y songs.

I hope the Big Fat Greek has a similar perspective when it comes to the long term future of our club.

To the University! …on Monday morning for yet another hybrid of table tennis and squash.

But wait! What’s this? Why don’t we add pickleball into the mix?

We were playing table tennis inside a squash court with the option of using pickleball bats.

My playing partner had earlier in the morning been pickled so to speak. It was tempting to switch to the big old bats on the University Table of Dreams.

It was a little hard to concentrate inside Squash Court 2. Squash Court 1 was housing some hardcore squash players. There’s a particular grunt associated with squash players when they reach hard for a ball.

We had a little more of a leisurely session than the fellas next door. We were playing with a drooping net. This led to some very low shots that made the clearance with ease.

The first game in particular set out the stall for what was to come. We play the international rules of first to 11. If it’s 10-all then you need to win by 2 clear points. The first game ended up 18-16 in my favour.

“Oh that was a soft serve”

…remarked my playing partner after she messed up, yes again.

Yeah and that was a bloody hard return from me.

Never mind, luv.

I had to make a break for it midway through the session for a toilet dash. I was leading 3-1 at the time.

I think that was my downfall. I couldn’t recover after the toilet dash. I ended up walking away losing 6-3.

“You had me.”

That’s what she said.

Seventy four tracks is an awful lot to sift through. It helps that this is laid out in chronological order. It’s a little like a history lesson but you can almost hear the blues developing as a genre as you work your way through the box set.

You can hear how John Lee’s voice deepens as you work your way through the 4 CD box set. For once it’s all about the songs and not the production. These early ’40s and ’50s recordings stand on their own without any studio techniques or cleanups.

The pace picks up as we enter into the 70s. The guitar picking here is superb, with the rhythm being kept by the strings alone. I’d normally swerve any 4 CD box set but this is worthy of repeated plays.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

To the Essex Sports Arena! On Sunday afternoon, as Essex Rebels were hosting Hemel Storm in a Men’s Div One Championship match.

Much has been made of the supposed rivalry between the Rebs and Hemel Storm. If you squint ever so faintly then you can possibly just about see it, but I fail to get excited about a matchup with a team based over in Hertfordshire.

What was a little more concerning was that new Rebs head coach Joshua Perkins is still looking for his first dub. That’s not to say the team is playing badly. They have pushed all their competitors in the previous matches incredibly close but just can’t get over the line.

It didn’t look too promising ahead of tip off when the Rebs bench was only half-dressed. They were incredibly short on options and it looked like it could be a long evening ahead.

Storm had bought a sizeable away following. A battle of the drums took place with the right old racket being made by two sets of supporters.

I would say SHOUT OUT to the incredibly enthusiastic young kid sitting in front of us, but he was doing his own shouting out. Fair play for all the effort and energy. We’ve sat with him behind us before. We had to move after five minutes. We thought we would try and stick it out on Sunday afternoon.

Making his home court debut for the Rebs was a new number 12 Melchi Egbeyemi. He saw plenty of court time with such a short bench in the first quarter. Some wild shooting from the Rebs was a little off target. They left the court after the first quarter, trailing Storm 22-17.

The atmosphere was half-decent for a Sunday afternoon Rebels match. The new MC is doing a fine job and is warming up well into the role.

The Rebels were superb in the second quarter. Tyrese Hudson overcame some of his personal demons and managed to sink three free throws in a row. Good effort fella.

Tre Baumgardner III dominated showing all his style and skill as he set up a superb backboard pass for one of his teammates, with the Rebels then moving slightly ahead, 36-34.

Controlling things for Storm was a former Rebs playmaker Victor Olaerin. He was full of energy out there as ever.

Once a Reb, always a Reb, etc.

The halftime buzzer came with the scores at 48 all. The last thing I wanted after last weekend was another overtime session.

We took the strategic move to shift away from the incredibly loud young kid. Christ that boy’s got a right old screechy pair of lungs on him.

The third quarter kept it tight for both teams. Rebels edged ahead by one point, taking a 69 to 68 lead into the final quarter.

The Kiss Cam appeared on the big screen. I had to move once again, shuffling four seats to my left, so we were both singletons. You’re not going to get any kiss cam action out of me.

Some huge back to back three-pointers followed in the fourth from Rebs star shooter Kyron Martin. I then got even a little more paranoid when the Lookalike Cam appeared on the big screen and Mr Bean’s smiling face appeared.

What are you trying to do to me here?

Storm were incredibly strong towards the close of the game. The Rebels just ran out of energy. With fifteen seconds left on the clock, the Rebels were trailing 91-88.

Some set plays failed to bring the scores level and Storm left the building with a well-deserved 93 to 88 victory.

Jase, wears G Force innit?

You don’t say.

I ummed and ahhed over this one. It appeared on eBay and soon picked up plenty of followers. I dithered. I debated internally.

Meanwhile over on Vinted, a wonderful G Force full on cardigan appeared. I also dithered for a day or so. I then went to make my move yet the item had sold.

Arse.

There’s a lesson here Jase. See it, buy it. Yep. If only life was as simple as that.

And so a few back and forth messages were exchanged between the seller of the waistcoat and me. ChatGPT may have been used in order to position my bargaining options.

The deal was finally cut and a few days later job’s a good ‘um and the waistcoat arrived.

It was exactly as described, plus a little bit more. The quality of the knitwear and the condition - for what must be a 30 year-old vintage piece of clothing - are superb.

I date this from the early ’90s, from the Hockley shop back in the Fair City. I thought it might be a little short on me but it fits just right.

I do have a G Force Google Sheet where I log all the costings for this clobber. My heart does miss a beat each time I open up the spreadsheet these days.

To Champion Hill!

…on Saturday afternoon to see Dulwich Hamlet host Carshalton in a tasty National League South fixture.

The journey seemed straightforward enough. We were in Clap’ham and so the Windrush line for one stop over to Denmark Hill and then a short walk down to the ground, looked like the best option.

But wait! What’s this?

The Windrush line was down arse.

A quick reverse ferry and we were back on Acre Lane, left waiting for the bloody number 37 bus.

Oh dear, the bloody number 37 bus.

Back in the day I seem to have spent half my free time on a Saturday waiting for the bloody number 37 bus, or even travelling on the bloody number 37 bus.

It remains the most unreliable bus in all of South London, despite a few tinkering’s with the route change.

The bus finally rocked up and we managed to find the last two seats on the top deck. We were surrounded by what looked like a bus full of Bright Young Things, all heading their way over to Champion Hill. That’s something you didn’t see back in the day.

We arrived outside the ground a few minutes after kick off. The queues to get in were batshit crazy.

I felt for the poor stewards who were trying to guide people into the ever growing number of queues.

There was the queue for season ticket holders, the queue for people with digital tickets on their phone, the queue for the bag search, and then the queue for the poor sods who were left in some kind of holding area, waiting to see if any space was left in the ground once everyone with a ticket had entered. There must have been at least 250 people without a ticket waiting to gain entry.

Back in the day - and I mean REALLY back in the day - I thought nothing of rocking up at Champion Hill at five past three on my bicycle, banging on the big blue gate, and then seeing the friendly face of Bill opening it and waving me through, bicycle as well.

Not all changes are for the better.

But everyone is welcome. Dulwich Hamlet was a dying club. Around 2007 to 2008 when my patients finally snapped, it seemed unlikely that the club would limp on into the next decade, given the levels of debt, the apathy, and the lack of supporters.

So here we have, in 2026, the first home sell out crowd of the season, with 3,000-plus crammed into the old ground. The new stadium can’t come quick enough.

I had vague plans to meet a couple of pals. On previous occasions it would have been a simple case of walking around the ground on a photo shoot and then stumbling into them. Some careful pre-match planning had to go in place to define the exact meeting point.

I made my way past the group of partying Bright Young Things with their party hats and headed towards the Greendale End.

The Carshalton fans had already taken a small section of the Toilets Opposite Stand. They seemed in fine form - and so they should be, with their team having a decent start to the season as well as i this game.

As ever with Crap Match Reports, little focus can be spent on the actual game itself. Truth be told it was a little tricky to actually see what was going on, given the sheer number of people packed around all four sides of the ground.

I could see quite clearly however, that the pitch was in stunning condition. This was lush green. It wouldn’t have looked out of place in a top flight fixture.

Meet ups were made. I managed to have a view of probably around two-thirds of the ground.

From what I could see the quality and play was a massive step up from what we’ve seen in recent weeks back at Wivenhoe Town - and even the new Wivenhoe Town of 2026 are playing a pretty special brand of football.

I took a bit of a moment to look around and try and see some of the old faces. I do miss the ease of being able to see the likes of Mishi and Steve R and having a brief catch up about football. I like to think that something of their character and presence still remains around the old place.

Conversations followed with plenty of catch ups. The football was a little secondary to be honest.

Look there you go - You’ve become one of those Dulwich dickheads who goes to watch the Pink ‘n’ Blue Boys as part of a social gathering, the football being secondary.

I did see the Carshalton first goal and then also had a clear view for a Dulwich equaliser that was probably just about rightly ruled offside.

Carshalton added a second before Dulwich got a deserved equaliser, making it 2-2. They did press hard towards the final five minutes for all three points.

The Key Moment shit thing still takes place. The jingling jangling of keys was funny for about five minutes, five years ago.

SHOUT OUT to the wonderful Hill song, which the Rabble now sing to celebrate the abundance of hills around this patch of Transpontonia.

It all got a little weird towards the final whistle. Three very young ankle biters were making their way around the Greendale terrace, trying to meet up with their adults. There was a strange sight of one little kid walking between the legs of anybody who got in his way.

The Tuscany sky started to gloom a little as we slowly headed our way out of Champion Hill. Everyone was in good spirits, apart from a very small minority group from the Carshalton ultras, who probably still had their homework to do ahead of Monday morning.

Trashing a shopping trolley in a public park where people are filming you is not the best of looks.

The train was boarded back to London Bridge and blimey, there he was. I wasn’t expecting to be in the same carriage as K, also making his way back to Weird Wiv.

You can take the boy out of Champion Hill, etc.

To Studio Voltaire!

…over in Wankerville on Saturday lunchtime. I say Wankerville with some underhand genuine affection for the mean streets of Clap’ham and surrounds.

These are the pavements I have pounded for over three decades as I make my way back and forth between Sunny Stockwell and the Common. Once you reach the Common I maintain it’s a magical place.

It’s just that stretch which starts pretty much past Clap’ham North and then over to Clap’ham South, where the Bright Young Things of SW4 like to go about their ME ME ME lifestyle, can be a little testing.

It’s all about me, innit.

Of course I was adding to this hyper gentrification by choosing to spend my leisure time on a Saturday lunchtime at an art gallery, rather than tucking into a sausage bap at one of the few remaining greasy spoons in the area.

Disturb the comfortable. Comfort the disturbed, etc.

And yep, Katherine Hubbard’s Green Room over at Studio Voltaire was indeed a little disturbed.

I’ve not been to the lovely gallery space in over a year. My last visit was roughly twelve months ago, at the exact same time, on a Saturday lunchtime.

The place was buzzing with the Bright Young Things of SW4. Art wasn’t on the agenda, but tucking in the cafe with some croissants and coffee most certainly was part of the Wankerville lifestyle.

Not so today. The gallery was empty. We had the whole space to ourselves.

It seems that the fairly pricey - but certainly not unaffordable - cafe has now become a fine dining restaurant, or perhaps even a venue for private events.

This meant that the space had one table where a group of four were waiting on their fine dining experience.

Nothing to see here.

There was more to see over in the main exhibition space with Katherine Hubbard’s The Green Room.

Woh, where to start with this? The basic idea is a series of black and white photos depicting the relationship between Katherine and her elderly mother. It’s very intimate, sharing some precious times with her Mum.

You’re never entirely sure though as to how much of this is natural time or something of a staged experience for the camera, given that someone had to be there to press the shutter button. I suspect the latter.

The layout within the space was more enjoyable than the photographs themselves. There was plenty of carpentry depicting the structure of a wooden house.

The moodiness of the black and white photos mixed in really well with the light and airy space of Studio Voltaire. It’s a magnificent gallery and one that deserves many more visitors than were present on Saturday lunchtime.

Some of the photos had plenty of female nudity on show. There’s nothing wrong with that - or even male nudity. It seems that each time I visit Studio Voltaire I’m presented with nudity bordering on the pornographic.

I spared my blushes and headed into the smaller and more compact gallery space to see Christine Hazell’s Different Faces.

These are the sketches from an 89 year old artist who takes photos of well known people and celebrities and then provides a portrait.

We’re talking Prince Charles, Kate Middleton, and erm, Mark E. Smith. I’m not sure how he strayed into the conversation.

I need to be polite here. At first I thought it was a piss take. They looked like some of the self portraits I was familiar with whilst working in primary schools. But apparently not.

Art is a serious business even if these sketches are far from deep and meaningful. It was very playful and some of the portraits did raise a smile.

A very strange Saturday lunchtime gallery experience all round.