A woke industrial album before woke and industrial music were even such a thing? Blimey. It’s hardly Marv’s What’s Going On, but I kinda like the general vibe and message here. What saves it for me is the Jam and Lewis production. Jam and Lewis could produce Black Lace and it would still get my feet tapping. It’s such a distinctive production sound that is so tight and identifiable. It’s not a bad album but Lauryn Hill took this to a different level.
⭐ ⭐
What a thoroughly miserable evening with very few positives to take. In fact there were zero positives to take. The best I can offer is the smile I raised when news dropped that Taiwo had scored early doors for Coventry. We’ll miss him when he’s gone…
Shortly before KO it was confirmed that Delap was about to sign for Forest. There’s some neat symmetry there. Farewell Taiwo, hello Delap.
I can’t but help think they are both very similar players in terms of confidence. Leeds at home in the League Cup would have been ideal for Big T.
I was reflecting earlier in the day about the epic League Cup semi against Leeds back in 1978. Yep, I was there. I still have the programme to certify this. That seemed like an absolute proper cup tie. Tuesday evening in August felt less so.
The team news wasn’t any great surprise. Five changes from the 1-0 home defeat against Leeds only three days earlier suggests that OG was taking this competition seriously.
I had to watch the game on crappy ITV. Sadly I couldn’t get Sir Colin of West Bridgford’s commentary as it wasn’t even available on the Forest app.
Forest walked out in what looked like a League Cup walkout kit. That’s going to become something of a collector’s item on eBay in years to come. Almost box fresh, worn once. Whatever did happen to those Europa League whistle and flutes?
Leeds really are a horrid side. I can’t take any team seriously that has a player in goal sporting a man bun.
Forest weren’t poor in the first half. They just lacked pace and attacking ideas. Ola seems to be making progress down his wing as part of his new role. Not so Neco, Surprisingly he was caught out more than once.
Meanwhile Kalimuendo seemed to be playing for his place ahead of the transfer window. It was disappointing to see Diomande look so shaky on his home debut.
It was round about here that I started to lose interest as the first Leeds goal went in. It had been something of a long work day and I confess to resting my eyes on more than one occasion.
I was just about present and correct to see that we’re still as shit as ever at defending set pieces - or even taking set pieces. I can’t see what Delap brings to the table on this front.
The inevitable second goal followed. Heads dropped, the body language looked shocking for Forest. It looked proper miserable to actually be there at the World Famous.
And so we crash out of the League Cup once again in the early rounds. At best this was a Forest performance on par with peak Dyche. SHIT THE BED. That’s saying something.
We had wind and dust to contend with at the Table of Dreams on Tuesday afternoon. It was like a scene from a Sahara, only set in North Essex with some random dogs snapping around at our heels as we tried to focus on the wiff waff.
Apart from the dog walkers there was little other foot traffic around. This is peak holiday season. I quite welcomed the relative quietness. Yep, it may be a public park but I demand peace and quiet whilst I focus for my wiff waff
I got off to an absolute flyer. I stormed to a 2-0 lead, playing power over spin with every shot. The only way my opponent was going to get back into this game was if I was to mess up.
Guess what happened next…
One particular shot summed up the entire game for me. My opponent struggled to return the ball and launched it sky high, ready for me to smash. I paused with the smash, faked it and attempted just to give it a slight tap over the net. The ball didn’t go over the net, natch.
By this stage my opponent was already blaming silly goal for her 2-0 defeat. I sadly had no such excuses in which to fall back upon.
I turned to spin when really I should have stuck with my power shots. I messed up big time, throwing away a 2-0 lead to walk away with a 3-2 shameful defeat.
Like I give a shit.
I had sun, wind and high water for the random anarchic walk on Monday morning. I made my way down Quayside and past the Sailing Club with WivGigs but already putting Varuna away after a morning social session.
I thought I would try something of a change of route. My plan was just to walk with no real intention guiding me apart from a work deadline looming three hours later.
I cut across the marsh, which takes you back up towards Alresford. The marshland was bone dry. It was littered with cowpats, which became quite an obstacle to overcome.
The terrain around here late summer is quite astonishing. Marsh has now become dust. It was only a few winters ago when we actually witnessed a couple of local kids lacing up their ice skates and gliding off effortlessly along the ice that had frozen over the marshland.
It was here when my route went a little wonky. I know, let’s go for a bit of a schlep through Cockaynes’s Wood I thought. I pretty much know all the paths inside out.
Wrong.
I reached one end of Cockaynes’s Wood and then found myself on an empty country lane. I kinda knew where I was but I decided to live dangerously and turn left rather than the usual right. There’s a life lesson in there, Jase.
The lane threw me out back onto the main road. It was pretty shit to be honest. I then stumbled across an unexpected public footpath, which should have taken me back roughly in the general direction of the town.
It was a really quiet and deserted path that was pretty much overgrown. There were a number of small little bridges to cross with absolutely nothing underneath them.
To my surprise the unexpected path brought me back to pretty much where I started, back in Cockaynes’s Wood. I wasn’t expecting that. At least I knew my directions. I made it back to base.
This all sounded new to me. I had no idea about the artist or the album, and then the Cowboy song kicked in. Oh it’s that one. The Cowboy song is pleasant enough and felt efforless. It’s still worth a listen if soft pop rock is your kind of thing. Guess what? I’m not really a soft rock pop kind of guy.
I came close to bailing. I’m pleased I stuck with it. There’s a lot more going off than I had originally thought possible. It’s thoughtful, a little quirky, and I’d be tempted to give it a second listen. Strong Kate Bush vibes. Sometimes you need to look beyond your own musical prejudices.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐
To the Sunny Colch Odeon! …on Monday afternoon for the cheap as chips grubby fiver deal. Sitting in my Odeon app and selected less than an hour earlier, was an online ticket for The End of Oak Street.
The trailer has half captured my interest in recent weeks. I confess to not recognising Ewan McGregor in the leading father role during the promo clips.
The trouble with the Odeon cheap as chips grubby fiver deal is that during the school holidays there’s not a lot of choice to choose from. We’re talking crappy kid’s cartoon flicks here. At the end of Oak Street was my only realistic option.
I viewed the trailer once again before making the decision to buy the grubby fiver ticket. Hmmm, that looks alright. Not great, but alright. I read the Guardian review. It got slated. Hey hoe.
No worries I quite enjoy the idea of watching films on the big screen for a fiver that I would otherwise in no way get to see, or at least if I did view them at home they would hold at best 20% of my attention.
The basic plot for At the End of Oak Street is a slightly dysfunctional American family in the Michigan area in the early 1980s. Something wicked this way comes and all of a sudden their neighbourhood is transported into a not very friendly dinosaur park.
I think you’ve seen this one before. The appeal of the early Jurassic Park films was that there was nothing like this previously. You were genuinely in awe seeing the big beasts interacting with humans.
At the end of Oak Street could have quite easily slotted into the Jurassic franchise. The dinos look pretty much the same. There’s also the same US-style goofy humour taking place.
It’s not a bad film, it just tails out rather rapidly. In fact the first 20 minutes or so are really rather enjoyable. There’s a definite innocence in being transported back to the early 80s and seeing the very dullness and routine of family life in a pre-digital age.
As soon as the first dinosaurs appear, it descends downhill very fast and becomes absolutely ridiculous.
The basic play is that classic Jaws moment where everything is quiet then all of a sudden BOOM! GOTCHA! The only trouble is that you can take so many gotcha moments before you are desensitised to them.
It all got very silly when some classic hardcore dinos sex was displayed. A selfie on a polaroid was then taken by the two main characters, natch. That’s something you most defo wouldn’t have seen in any of the Jurassic films. The shark had been jumped, not to mention the two mating dinosaurs who were jumping each other.
The final 10 minutes also just about manages to draw together the threads from the opening scenes. It starts as it ends with an OK-ish film but nothing outstanding. What follows in between is one great big steaming dinosaur shit sandwich.
I really shouldn’t like Rage Against the Machine, all that noise, all that hair. The blueprint for any RATM song seems to be a pounding bass that builds up as the drums crash in, with even more SHOUTY SHOUTY vocals accelerating with every chorus. This is everything I don’t like about music, but somehow I find RATM something of a rallying call. To me it sounds like marching music. The bass and drums are always tight and despite not knowing too much about the content, it’s a message I can generally get behind. Music to listen to when you want to kick against the pricks.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐
To Rectory Road! …mid-Sunday afternoon. Wivenhoe Town Cricket Club Sunday XI were hosting their counterparts from nearby Ardleigh.
I rocked up, of course, fashionably late. I arrived as tea was being taken, with Wivenhoe about to chase down what looked like an achievable 208 set by the visitors.
What I love about cricket at this level is that no questions are asked. So what if I entered the hallowed ground carrying a compost bucket whilst I was wearing a pair of cycling tights?
The compost was part of a trip later in the day around the corner to the allotment. The cycling tights were just me being a lazy arse and not being bothered to change from my earlier spoiting exploits.
Out came Wivenhoe to chase down the 208. They opened with a couple of young guns with some early boundaries to steady the nerves.
Looking around the ground and the pitch is slowly, slowly starting to green once again. The majority of the ground still resembles something of a straw field and it’s not the type of surface you want to go sliding along to stop boundaries.
It was that time in the afternoon when I dozed off. It’s an age thing, innit. I missed the first two wickets for Ardleigh as the openers fell. The cheers on the outfield stirred me but weren’t sufficient to gain my attention.
What did get me livened up however was bring your own barbecue. An extended family nearby were sparking up under what must be said was very safe and well-managed conditions.
TUCK IN.
A big dark cloud then blew over the ground. Conditions became a little dark. One of the Wivenhoe batters was clean bowled.
The wind picked up. The vaping ump out in the middle left a trailing fume, which was now mixing in with the barbecue.
Ardleigh looked frustrated. They turned to spin. This was the most delicate of spin actions with a fella out in the middle having a very tidy skip just before he released the ball.
It was at this time that the barbecue was now in full swing. It felt a little rude to be sitting so nearby and intruding on the family fun. I opted for a boundary walk.
It was with good timing with my cricket companion rocking up with some homemade peanut butter cookies.
We decided on sitting on a bench at the other end of the ground. It was getting a little tight for Wivenhoe, with the win earlier seeming like a formality. The hoe team now had a sweaty palms with the home team on 174-6 chasing down that 208.
It was rather glorious to be honest in the late Sunday afternoon sun. We had found a sun trap at the far end of the ground and took it all in.
The game progressed at quite a pace. Wivenhoe all of a sudden found themselves in a spot of bother with 12 runs needed to win and no wickets remaining in the hutch.
A tactical game then broke out. It was clear that Wivenhoe only had one realistic batter out there who could achieve the run chase. Ardleigh knew this and set their field accordingly depending on who was on strike.
Wivenhoe turned down a single which could have tied the match. The very next ball and the poor chap was caught from behind. Ardleigh were joyous. This was a cracking game of cricket with the away team winning by one run.
Inspired by the la Vuelta Time Trial rollout the night before, I set out on my own personal race against time on Sunday morning. It wasn’t quite the Monaco backdrops that the pro riders on la Vuelta were able to enjoy. Instead I had Great Bentley and surrounds.
It’s been a few weeks also since I rode around this patch. The first sightings of the Invasion Colchester posters have started to appear. This is an annual event where sci-fi and cartoon characters appear around the half town/city as part of a charity event.
The riding conditions were fresh for me this morning. I wasn’t chilled and I wasn’t overly warm.
In my nostrils was the smell of freshly cut grass coming from I’m not quite sure where. Good luck in finding any fresh grass in which to cut around these estuary wilds parts of late.
I felt a lot stronger throughout the ride. I’ve gone many months without riding the roadie. This is now slowly building up.
Strava, the old bastard, tends to disagree. It clocked me as being a four seconds slower when compared to the exact same route of a week ago.
A rather curtailed WIvGigs Super Sunday with a short row just after sunrise this morning. There was a very low high tide, if you see what I mean. This meant our window of opportunity for launching and then recovering was limited.
No worries. We pressed on with an enthusiastic crew. Some of this optimism was soon diminished when we were wading knee-deep in shit as we tried to launch the boat in what was a very muddy estuary.
A muddy estuary is a metaphor for something a little more pooey.
Still, it was very… still. Launching was easy. We had the briefest of brief little adventures downstream before turning around for our rendezvous with a come and try-er rower.
We made our way back past the trots and the immaculate looking Wivenhoe One Designs. They looked sure pretty, almost picture postcard like, each with their individual light touch colour palette, reflecting off the water.
We weren’t expecting a come and try-er until an hour or so ahead of launching. To be fair to the fella he was bang on time and we liked his enthusiasm.
It was a little tricky mooring up on the public pontoon. There was a lack of water and another boat was blocking our passage.
The come and try-er was soon on board and a few safety instructions were given. We continued once again downstream. The come and try-er was sitting directly behind me. I took a few polite hits to the back but he soon got the hang of it.
We dropped off the come and try-er and then made the most of the very limited time available whilst we still had water. A few bursts of race training took place. It was a little tricky navigating the estuary with other traffic around early morning. This included the tiniest of tiny kayaks.
Big SHOUT OUT to our cox who managed to wake up half of the town with his booming voice giving out instructions.
