onionbagblog

Just noise. Horrid noise.

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Monday was BENCH MOVING day down at the allotment. Or to be more precise, how the chuff do we get a bench that doubles up as tool storage from the house over to the allotment? Simple. Carry it. YEAH?

Tool storage has been something of an issue. We’ve inherited a plot with no shed. I’m no shed fan, tbh. They’re don’t age well with the Estuary Wilds wind and rain. They also look a little Old Man Allotment. Which I am certainly not, bro. And so instead we settled on the bench that doubles up with tool storage underneath. Job’s a good ‘un, etc.

This was delivered to our home via Mr Amazon. We built it back at base, and then thought, ARSE - we need to get this thing over to the allotment, with no car. We’re sustainable, if not blessed in the brains department.

It was actually quite lightweight. We chose a strategic time when there would be the fewest number of folk walking around the town. The house to allotment distance is just over 1km - a ten minute walk. What could go wrong?

It was bloody cold for a start. We looked like a right couple of dicks, carrying a bench along the mean streets of CO7. One car even slowed down, with the driver staring at us, rubber necking. I half expected the phone to come out, and then a pic appearing on the local FB group later in the day.

YES, THAT’S RIGHT, Madam. I’M CARRYING A FUCKING BENCH. What the chuff has it got do with you? Concentrate on your driving.

We rocked up at the allotment. We were immediately met by the Bench Inspector.

“What is that made of?”

Erm, recyclable materials. I think.

We just about got away with that one.

Positioning then took place. Two options were available: in front of another fella’s greenhouse, or on the small patch of land that currently has shingles on it. This is dead space in terms of growing, and so it emerged the winner.

I took a seat, looked around my patch, and then told A to get on with some weeding.

I’m such a TART. Any excuse to get dressed up Jase. And so on Sunday evening, out went the shout of: To the Conga! For Wiv Music Mix! These Sunday monthly Sunday night sessions have been on my radar for sometime. But I’m usually working on Sunday evenings. A little rota tinkering around the edges, and I’ve found some space to enjoy some live music right on my doorstep.

And that’s the whole bloody point. The Congregational Church (stop sniggering) is less than two minutes over the road. Quality live music is scheduled each month, all for around £20. You’d struggle with that over at the Sunny Colch Arts Centre. Plus it’s a right bloody pain for us to get back from late at night.

Steve’s Music Mix - to give the event its correct name - is a broadly jazz based listing of artists playing in a live setting. The Sunday evening slot seems just perfect for live jazz. Elmer’s Jazz Collective rocked up at the Conga this month - an informal gathering of local musicians, put together by local jazz drummer, erm, Elmer.

The Conga actually looked great, and nothing like a Church. Even Song this most certainly wasn’t. The main space was blacked out, with plenty of stage lighting to add to the atmosphere. And blimey, it was bloody busy. I’m no good at head counts, but I’d wager possibly somewhere between 250 - 300 folk had turned out.

I made a beeline for the bar. Blood of Christ, etc. I settled on a bottle of red. Chin chin. We took up our seats, poured a glass of BOOZE and waited for the six piece to take to the stage. This is far better than Antiques Roadshow. Or even Sunday evening work.

The musicians were superb. The setlist was an exploration of some jazz standards, as well as a left field approach for finding inspiration. Solos featured heavily, allowing the trumpet, saxophone, keys, jazz guitar and double bass to showcase their individual skills. Elmer held it all together with his sticks.

This felt like a local approach to a professional performance. SHOUT OUT to the various local hands who were volunteering and helping out with the desk, front of house and bar etc.

I found myself head nodding as the evening - and the BOOZE - continued. The set became very funky in the second half. Two and a half hours later and the house lights came on. That was bloody brilliant. I’ve really missed live music. Now it’s back, and right on my doorstep. Nice.

Blimey. Those injuries aren’t half building up for Forest - all at the arse end of the season as well. After the EUPHORIA of #lolspurs, Burnley, Sunderland and Chelsea, the mood ahead of Newcastle at home was a little more sombre. The Europa semi defeat only three days ago has changed the whole outlook amongst the fan base.

And that’s the central point here: In the timeframe where Forest have played three matches in seven days, DIRTY Leeds haven’t played at all. How can that be fair in a fight to the death relegation battle? The starting XI against Newcastle looked more like a pre-season team selection.

Some standout names need mentioning. This is the 50th appearance for Forest from Jesus this season. Christ, etc. We’re bloody working him hard. He deserves a decent summer break in order to recharge for next season.

KO came. The World Famous City Ground looked an absolute STUNNER under the early afternoon sun. Forest started fine. The Serbinator was aggressive, Bakwa is starting to bloom.

I’m no fan of in game formation changes. It’s not quite in the spirit of the game for your ‘keeper to go down with a mystery knock, only for the Coach to change the line up ahead of the restart. But it seemed to work for Forest, and kept Newcastle out.

Taiwo was looking strong. I’m still unsure about him for next season. He needs a run of half a dozen or so games to get going once again. But he’s unlikely to get that, especially so with no European football to look forward to.

Luka Netz meanwhile looks like a very positive option ahead of next season. I’d have no issues if he slotted into regular first team action. Not so Morato. Anyone who waves £15m at Forest should be taken up on the offer.

I confess to losing a little interest midway through the second half. I had a few household chores that couldn’t hold back. I pottered around with the telly pictures on, and the BBC Radio Nottingham commentary in my ears.

Newcastle scored. Arse. The defence was split wide open. But wait! What’s this? Anderson’s goal was great. It was a proper old school Harry Hodge midfielder’s goal, timing his run and momentum just right. It was quite emotional seeing his celebration.

A nervy couple of hours or so followed, watching West Ham and waiting to see if Arsenal would do us a favour. You have to feel for Nuno and his team. FUCK VAR, etc. But whatever. We’re safe and staying up. I couldn’t take the desperation of having to play out for a win against Bournemouth on the last day of the season.

To the allotment! …on Sunday morning. I had one task: mow the verges. Phew, the CRAZY world of rock ‘n’ roll, etc. We are under strict instructions as part of our tenancy agreement to keep the verges looking neat and tidy. So what if the rest of the plot looks like a farmyard? Fines have been threatened unless I trim my edges.

The only issue is that there is no electricity on site. Petrol lawn mowers are available to hire. Nice little cash cow going off there. Not to be sucked into the mini eco-capitalist system, I went out and spunked some money on a battery operated little mower. What could go wrong?

Erm, the battery lost its charge after I headed up to the allotment the day before, and managed about two minutes of mowing. Oh dear.

No worries. A full charge overnight, and I was all set for, oh, five more minutes of mowing. The mower worked a dream this time. I even attempted to add in some football pitch style stripes, y’know, just to please the Grass Verge Border Police.

Job’s a good ‘un.

Elsewhere and I noticed a gathering of poppies have started to grow around the patch. I think I’ll leave the in. They add in a half decent colour palette to all the green goodness growing around them.

Some bench planning also took place. A garden bench with secure storage for tools underneath has been ordered. That will at least take up a small section of the KING SIZE allotment, and is one less thing to worry about when it comes to growing decisions.

A fly past of sorts took place up above, in what looked like a mini-airshow. The nearby wicket of Wivenhoe Town was being rolled. It was rather windy for the Sunday XI. Rowing for later in the day had already been cancelled. I got to use the compostable toilet.

#allotmentlife

To the Sailing Club! …on Saturday afternoon for a WivGigs Sunshine Social row. I’m thinking back to those bloody miserable February and March months. My enthusiasm for getting out on the water was at an all time low. It was cold, damp and bloody miserable. Not so in recent weeks. Have rays of sunshine, will row, etc.

We had limited water however - which is something of a concern when you are out rowing. The tide and time thing led to a narrow window of opportunity in which to launch, and then recover Varuna. Now was not a time to arse around, chatting, and taking snaps every five minutes or.

The estuary was also bloody busy. Joining Varuna was our sister boar Audacity, as well as our friendly rival club Corsairs, putting in some serious strokes in Defiance. Plus don’t forget the Sailing Club Cadets. We had to play a game of dodge as we tried to second guess when they would be tacking from left to right.

K was on stroke. K is VERY strong. She set a fair pace at the front of the boat. It may have been a social row, but it felt more like race training for the first fifteen minutes or so. GOOD EFFORT, Madam. We slowed down slightly when the seal was spotted off bow.

With the plug having been well and truly pulled from the estuary, the water was disappearing fast. We had the tide with us as we headed back to the Sailing Club hard. The sunlight on the WAD boats along the trots made them look super cute. A decent row.

There were a few distractions on Saturday morning down at the Table of Dreams. The Town Council was setting up for the post-AGM activities. This involved a tent thing with some booming bass coming out. I bloody LOVE booming bass, me. Especially so if there is some drum prefixing it. Not so when it is crappy pop music.

Whatever. We pressed on with the game of wiff waff. There was bright blue skies above, I had the sun on my back. Life was good, and so was my first game. 1-0 up. GEDDIN. Twenty minutes later and I walked away with a 4-1 defeat. Oh dear.

A return to running. OUCH, etc. It’s only been six months or so since I last pounded the mean streets of CO7. All was going well back inNovember on a 10km effort, when… PING! Oh arse. That will be my bloody calf then.

I routinely have little calf strains whilst out running. This has been a constant over almost four decades of putting in the kms. You could plot a graph showing the upwards trajectory of how long it takes for me to recover.

It wasn’t unknown back in my 30’s for my calf to ping on a Sunday, and then I would be back playing 5-a-side at Brixton Rec on the Monday. Sadly those days are long gone.

Like a FOOL I substituted 5-a-side for pickleball this time. My Monday morning booking for a pickle session after the latest PING didn’t exactly go very well. I almost needed a stretcher to carry me out of the University Sports Hall. Oh woe is me, etc.

I was optimistic of a return to running over the Christmas period. There’s something quite special about putting in the strides over the festive period. But nope, this didn’t happen either. Just HEAL, you bastard.

I became restless over January. I wanted to do Run Every Day. I settled instead for Walk Every Day. But I couldn’t do it in moderation. I turned to power walking around Weird Wiv, clocking in around 5km each day.

I enjoyed being out and having a little more time to take in my surroundings. Podcast listening was a bonus. But still I didn’t feel as though the November injury had quite healed.

A visit to the Doc, and then a physio appointment followed. I was told to lay off the power walking, and take a further two months out. Oh dear. That’s not what I wanted to hear.

And so come Saturday morning, my eight week sabbatical had been served. I had a wanky pair of running socks to offer calf support, plus my new Lidl carbon magic trainers to road test. What could possibly go wrong?

Not a lot, actually. I was cautious. I took on a sensible 4.5km route, up to the top of the town and back, strictly no hills. I was a little sheepish at first, but soon found my stride. I clocked my pace on my Garmin. It was like I had never been away.

My ankle feels slightly sore, but not the calf. I suspect this is the cheapo cheapo Lidl trainer support, rather than my running technique. I’ve got an ice pack on my calf just for precautious. I’ve got plans for a Sunny Colch ten mile-er tomorrow morning.

Dick.

Heavy Ozrics vibes. I love this kind of shit. It’s so easy to get lost in the music and allow it to take you where you want to be. I day dreamed half the morning away with the album on heavy rotation. I still haven’t a clue what it’s all about. I don’t think you’re suppose to know. It could easily have been recorded in 1995, 2005, 2015, even 2025.

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R.E.M. outtakes. Bland as fuck.

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