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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.

Looking back at Rock Against Racism—with hope for the future

via Socialist Worker

The four hours or so leading up to kick-off for Forest’s first home game of the season against Leeds United on Saturday were spent with some serious podcast action catching up.

I had hoped that the pre-season would mean a bit of a break from all the Forest obsessive pod listening. Time to concentrate on the cricket, right?

But nope. The content has been relentless. Back in the day I used to look forward every evening, reading the Nottingham Evening Post sports section from start to finish. If I missed out on a minor paragraph about Gedling United then my knowledge of local sport was incomplete.

I find the same OCD absorbing of online digital content playing out 40-odd years later. MY Forest world isn’t happening unless I’ve listened to all the audio, right?

The end result was that shortly before kick-off and ahead of Sir Colin of West Bridgford addressing the nation on BBC Radio Nottingham, I was all caught up.

I knew that we were in for an optimistic season with a finish anywhere between eighth and twelfth. We will go deep in one of the cup competitions. Europe would be on the cards once again.

The OG dropped a few curve balls in his first team selection. Starting in defence was Brazilian Jair Cunha ahead of new signing Diomande. It was also interesting to see McAtee being given something of a forward pressing role alongside MGW.

The most important selection in the matchday squad was young Zac Abbott. It seems that the OG is not only aware, but also respects Forest’s proud record of having an academy player in every squad dating back to the early 1940s.

Kick-off came. Earlier in the day I had panic buy session with a slightly pricier than expected renewal of Peacock TV. I was all in place with the us telly pics and Sir Colin in my AirPods synced up.

Forest got off to a shaky start. Matz Sels kept us in the game early with a half-decent save. Down at the other end and the header from Jesus could have got us going for the season.

The yellow card for Ola seemed about fair. A red card would have been bloody awful so early on in the game. Leeds, however, were able to live up to their dirty, dirty tag without being punished.

Wilson’s effort putting the ball in the net and then being judged offside was an early warning sign. Leeds were clearly here to play the perfect road game: hit them on the brake and then bugger off as quickly as possible with three points in the bag.

Forest were much improved in the second half. We seemed the most likely to score. Once again Matz Sels in the middle of our goal kept us in the game.

McAtee came and went. He was withdrawn. Everyone seems to talk him up behind closed doors but he has yet to ultimately deliver where it matters.

This was a game that was there for Forest to win. Conceding late, late in the game was pretty poor. The free kick was decent but Selz could have kept it out.

Leeds pissed off back up the M1 with a perfect smash and grab job.

See you next Tuesday etc.

A brief pre-match ride ahead of Forest’s first home game of the season against DIRTY Leeds on Saturday morning. New season, same old pre-match nerves. Running was out of the question because I’m a crock. Likewise for swimming with a dodgy shoulder.

I can just about managed to get all the mechanical parts of my body functioning that are required to turn the pedals on a bicycle. I rolled out in search of a little serenity along the Estuary Wilds lanes.

Less than two minutes in and I had the first dickhead close pass. What a silly cow.

This was no genuine mistake. It was clear a car was approaching in the opposite direction but nope, Madam Twatty Face Driver just had to jump ahead of me, narrowly avoiding the other car and even narrowly avoiding me.

When in doubt then cyclists are always the easy moving target. A dickhead close passer doesn’t want to crash their crappy car into another crappy car. They would rather take me out. What a silly cow.

Hey hoe.

I pressed on. What could go wrong? Oh the skies are starting to darken. Maybe my pre-match nerves were being better resolved sitting at home listening to some jazz. Whatever.

Finally I found some peace along the lanes. I also found a mild headwind, which slowed me down slightly.

The company along the roads out in the middle of bloody nowhere soon became quite appealing. I had to slow down as I overtook a very friendly coach being pulled along by a couple of horses.

I then also had to swerve the horseshit along the lanes for the next mile or so.

The dickhead motorist was soon forgotten when I had a little dance with a dragonfly. It must have been close to 10 cm in length. It clearly longed for companionship. It floated along incredibly close to my helmet, almost drifting in my midstream.

Or was that the other way around?

I was back at base in time for Forest. Pre-match nerves had been settled. We are going to absolutely BATTER dirty dirty Leeds United, right?

Erm…

Another day, another running injury, another walk instead. Having been laid up for pretty much nine months with a particularly painful calf strain, I’ve still got a slight niggle on my right-hand calf this time. Oh well. There’s only one thing for it: no more pounding the mean streets of CO7, and certainly no more pounding the BASTARD treadmill.

Walk to live, live to walk, etc.

I set off on the usual 10 km route along the estuary, and down towards the Creek before cutting back and going around Alresford.

The atmosphere down on the quayside felt like the fag of the summer holidays. Some kids were doing the crabbing thing at one end of the public jetty. The town had the atmosphere of very much being hot and bothered and having had enough of this recent heatwave weather.

This wasn’t a particularly balmy one but it was a lot hotter than I expected. I really couldn’t be arsed to get my head down and pound on at a rapid pace. I don’t think my calf is up to it anyway.

The pace of the estuary life seemed to be summed up by the fishermen sitting on their boats waiting for some water to arrive. I was also making slow progress. I was too busy taking snaps of the rather impressive Big Essex Skies up above me.

In Log News: you will be pleased to know that the log that blocked the path along the wooded part of the estuary has kindly been moved on by someone. Here ends Log News for today.

The blackberries lining the path were close to picking. Only a few remain red. The majority have gone a very dark, lush shade of black and are bursting to be picked.

I reached the Creek and headed back around through Alresford. I opted out on the final 1 km or so as the traffic was picking it up along the main road. I cut through instead along the farm track.

During the winter months this is sometimes not possible to pass through. The tractor marks are ideal for creating lake-like conditions. Not so today. It’s going to take some pretty horrendous autumnal downpours before the farm tracks cut off this return route for me once again.

And drivers wonder why cyclists ride in middle of the road

via road.cc