onionbagblog

And so Forest have released their retained list for the 2026-27 Premier League season. First things first - it’s worth saying that again: the 2026-27 Premier League season. We took that for granted almost ten months ago. To have a fifth season competing in the top flight is an outstanding achievement for a club of our size.

There were no great surprises in the retained list. It will be sad to see Willy Bolly leave the club but he has served his purpose. He wasn’t even a bit-part player last season. For a brief spell during the Steve Cooper years he was an unlikely hero, always relied upon to be a calming figure in defence. He was also a great dug-out cheerleader.

No surprises in seeing Angus Gunn depart Forest. It was still a really odd signing this time last year. He was clearly misled in thinking he will be challenging for the goalkeeper’s number one jersey. We saw less than 45 minutes of him playing first-team action.

I’m a little sad to see Stefan Ortega also not be retained. I thought he was magnificent as a Europa League starter. Sadly not having European football next season means it will be a struggle for him to get any game time.

I remember him saying some very fine things about the club and its history after only being around for a few weeks. If you know your history, etc.

I’d forgotten all about Lorenzo Lucca, or Pizza Crouch as he was affectionately known. He wasn’t affectionately known for being a great player. He looked completely out of sorts right from the start. Clearly he was a Dyche signing who never really fitted in once we gambled with Pereira. Thank Gawd we didn’t trigger his 30 million pound or so release clause after he had played x number of minutes.

Looking a little further down the list and some other names that you tend to forget about are still there as retained. David Carmo and Omar Richards have yet to see any first-team action for Forest. It feels like they have been around since the start of the Premier League comeback era, except for the loan periods.

Jota Silva has also been retained. I would love to see him fight for a Forest place once again. He was an absolute dynamite bulldog running around, without really doing much. He’s a complete chaos type of player.

Taiwo has also been retained. That’s an interesting one. I suspect if someone comes in with a cheeky 10 million pounds for a Championship club or a newly promoted Premier League side, then he will be allowed to move on.

Don’t read anything into the fact that Elliot Anderson is still listed as a retained player. I expect to refresh the Forest website and that to change within the next 48 hours.

This all gives me some excitement ahead of the new season. The next step is fixture release day. BALLS to your stupid World Cup.

I’ve always wanted to like Smashing Pumpkins. They’re a band that I feel I should like. For all the melodic interludes, you’re only one riff away from what sounds like hair metal. The quiet / loud thing was done far better by Pixies, and was far cooler as well. The Baldie thing also puts me off - said the man who has had no need to own a comb in the past ten years. You’d rather listen to this than some cock rock, but then I’d rather listen to some Sam Cooke than Smashing Pumpkins. Life choices, innit.

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Christ. That was a hack and a half. What was meant to be a simple pruning of the wisteria somehow ended up in a four-hour garden tidy-up. Shit the bed.

I had half an eye on Surrey against Hampshire back at the Oval in the Championship. Tea was about to be taken when I decided to nip outside for a very quick and brief garden tidy-up.

Once I had braved the heights of the scaffolding to prune the wisteria, I was on a roll. I remembered I had another task: hack away at the shitty bamboo slats outside the fence. This will be piss easy, right?

Wrong. Our garden designer wants to see what lies between the slats and the fence itself. Here be dragons etc. Actually it was ivy, BASTARD ivy. I’ve left it there so the garden designer can get triggered and talk us into buying some new fences.

Gardening gloves were needed. I only realised this after I pricked myself half a dozen times with some particularly fiendish thorns on a rose bush. I wouldn’t mind so much but the stupid rose bush never actually flowers. A rose bush with thorns only is a very vindictive species.

I then had the brainwave for a shed reorganisation. Are Surrey still taking the tea interval? I was disturbed by an almighty squeal underneath the garden shed. Daisy soon emerged with a dead bird, right between her jaws. God girl, bad girl.

It was a job well done. I headed back indoors and what do you know? Surrey were in the field making hard work of chasing down a Hampshire score. There were still five overs left to play. It was almost 7 pm. Gardening is not for the faint-minded.

I’ve been up the scaffolding. Oh dear. The scaffolding really shouldn’t still be here by now. We have been encased around our back passage for over two months. Trying to pinpoint the exact place where a leaking roof is letting in water is a lot trickier than you think.

Summertime, the wisteria and scaffolding is not a great combination. We were told by the tree expert to enjoy one last summer of the BEAST of a wisteria before it is chopped early autumn. It has outlived its purpose and its footprint.

So much for enjoying the wisteria. The scaffolding went up one week, and then the wisteria blooms started to emerge the next. It was all under cover and in disguise for the brief blossoming period for its one last stand.

Now we reached that time in the wisteria cycle where the green wisps and shoots start to accelerate almost day by day whenever there has been a downpour. Wisterias love something to hold on to. The scaffolding is making for the ideal makeshift pergola.

So that’s why I’ve been up the scaffolding. It’s two stories high and I’m scared of heights. What could possibly go wrong?

The view was quite stunning but I didn’t dare look. I was too busy with my secateurs, clip, clip, clipping away at the wisteria.

I came down from the structure and had a charming conversation with a local coffin dodger. “You’ve got a lovely garden,” she observed. I then went into a bit of a potty mouth rant about the scaffolding.

Fuck this shit, etc.

This time next year hopefully there will be no scaffolding and I very much doubt there will be any wisteria either. Make the most of it whilst you can, we were told.

Push it, push it real good. I pushed it real good for the run on Tuesday lunchtime. I ummed and aahed over whether to set off and pound the mean streets of C07. Today is new bike day. New bike day is the best day. I’m waiting for delivery of my new electric model. To run or not to run? If in doubt just bloody do it.

I reasoned that I could spare 20 minutes out of my stay-at-home day to get in a quick lap of Wivenhoe. Always back yourself with these kind of odds, Jase.

As ever, I’m still unsure about the calf injury that may or may not still be an actual injury. The plan was to take it easy. But I can never take it easy when out running.

After the first minute or so I started to panic about new bike day and my shiny new toy arriving. Time to put my foot down on the Lidl cheapo carbon running shoes and leg it around the town as fast as I could.

I felt really strong on the downward slope, heading down the High Street. Three friendly waves of familiar faces took place. I often think other people must think me most strange when out running. All those endorphins kick in and you’ll smile at any old fucker. Maybe they just think I’m strange anyway?

Fifteen minutes earlier and there had been a torrential downpour around the estuary wilds. Now I was down by the quayside under glorious blue Big Essex skies. I pounded it like a demon along the quayside front.

I think I’m about ready for a return to parkrun, although I did feel the same this time last week and bottled it last Saturday. Here’s hoping the new bike has arrived by the weekend.

THREE hours of recordings. Blimey. I’m increasingly turning towards jazz as background music for working. Background music is a little harsh; it’s one of the few genres I can appreciate without giving it my full attention. Three hours will get me through the morning shift, right? Job’s a good ‘un. I have no vocabulary or understanding of how to talk about jazz. I just know that I like what I hear. This bounces along with a breeze. It’s pretty timeless. Sadly the ebay prices for the box set aren’t. £200+? Erm, nope.

It’s been a joy in recent weeks walking down to the Monday evening table tennis sessions at the sailing club. Those dark winter days seem in the distant past when a headlight was needed to navigate the various obstacles and estuary path en route to the Table Tennis HQ.

I rocked up shortly after 7:00 PM on Monday to find a high tide that was completely flat as a pancake. It was most tranquil. Time to disrupt that peace with some ping pong action.

Our usual group had been reduced to three for this evening, no worries. That meant extra table time for us all. We played a rough game of winner stays on. I wasn’t on for very long.

I was finding it hard to find my length on the indoor table, having been blown away at the Oval yesterday, as well as then having a bit of a pickleball strength left in my arms from the session this morning.

I do love playing indoors, and the sailing club location is the most picturesque setting for a game of whiff-waff. Apologies, oval table of dreams, but there’s no dog shit to manoeuvre around here.

Another half-decent pickleball session at the university on Monday morning. We’re back in our usual slot now that the exam season is over.

I do miss the SEXINESS of playing in the Sports Arena. It’s back to the bare bones of the sports hall where thirty three summers ago I used this exact same space to sit my exams, as well as getting sent off playing five-a-side football.

There wasn’t such controversy - or even intellectual requirement = for the pickleball session on Monday. Playing on my mind mainly was my on/off injury. I still feel that I’m only giving it 90%, afraid that if I push it too hard my calf will go PING once again.

I was only booked in and paid for the hour. Various numbers drifted in and out. This meant that my limited pickable skills were required for the full two-hour session. Pay to play, or rather not, as the case was.

It got really competitive for the final hour. I was playing alongside some experienced tennis players who had managed to convert their big boy tennis skills to the pickleball court. It’s surprising how much this raises your own game.

It was pissing it down when pickleball was finally complete. I had planned this in mind with the strategic decision to walk up there rather than get wet cycling.

I passed a very wet Captain Bermuda Shorts putting in his paces as he continues pounding the mean streets of C07. There was also the Wivenhoe Viking who gave me a friendly hello at the bus stop.

Funny old town.

To the Oval Table of Dreams! on Sunday afternoon. We had a rare his and hers away day jolly down at the Oval. Who wants to waste 40 minutes during the luncheon break having a picnic out in the middle, when you can head to the back of the Harleyford Road and enjoy the public table tennis tables?

These are perhaps the only decent thing going for Lambeth Council, 2026. The previous Labour administration fucked up on so many fronts. If I had the chance then my vote possibly might have gone to Labour, only as a direct consequence of them providing a couple of superb outdoor table tennis tables at the back of the Oval.

There you go again Jase, making it all about you and table tennis.

We had a brief knock-up as time was a little tight. We went for the usual corner-to-corner four-arm smash warm-up rally. The table played very fast. It didn’t help that it has a slight lean to it.

The game got underway. As well as a fast table we had to contend with the hard pavement. Whenever the ball bounced onto the closed-off LTN road, it bounced and bounced and bounced, pretty much all the way down to the Oval crease. It usually ended up resting in a pile of dog shit.

The closed LTN was far from quiet. We had to pause serving a number of times for the expected procession of endless Lime bikes.

I got rather enthusiastic during one particular rally. We both TWATTED the ball back and forth at tremendous speed. It took a ricochet off my partner’s bat and was projected up into the air and over into a nearby garden of an estate. The garden was locked. The ball was lost.

I was trailing 3-0 at the time. I officially called it an abandoned game as you can’t play table tennis without a ball. I do love these table tennis mini tours.

Cuckoo wasn’t quite what I was expecting. I vaguely remember listening to Curve back in the early 90’s. It was all shoegazing and self loathing. But wait! What’s this? Cuckoo is a right old bloody racket. The music is heavy, but the lyrics lend a little on the sensitive side. It shouldn’t really work, and tbh, it doesn’t. A real disappointment.

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