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Another Sunday morning, another good old 10 km walk. I’m still in tattoo recovery mode. It may have been pushing 30° out there, but I was still wearing trackies with all my ink covered up.

There was a warm wind as I strolled out at a not-so-brisk pace along the estuary. The other rowing club were coming in to the sailing club hard. They looked rather majestic with an incredibly well-timed and synchronised oar action.

The mud along the muddy banks is extremely parched. Where you would normally not want to head out and stray along these parts through fear of sinking, you now have a cracked surface.

Out on the estuary distance I could see the sailing club yachts out racing. They had picked a good day for it with the right mix of warmth and wind.

In the AirPods, as ever, was Robert Elms on BBC Radio London. He dropped My Friend the Sun. I confess to having sung it maybe a little too loudly as I thought I was all alone walking through the shaded woods. I was caught out, natch.

A little further up towards the creek and the blackberries are starting to appear way too early in the season. Mother Nature is pretty much fucked around here.

There were some enthusiastic young bathers out along White House Beach. I was half tempted to join them, but my ink recovery mode means this is an absolute no-go.

I headed up towards Alresford when I reached the creek. I walked along the main road, past a man in black looking very much the North Essex persona of Johnny Cash waiting for a bus. He wasn’t exactly walking the line.

The final stretch is usually pretty hellish. It involves hugging the side of a main road and having to pull over into the hedgerow when a car approaches.

I had the brainwave of crossing the road to see what’s on the other side. Oh lookie, lookie over here. It’s only a footpath which has escaped my notice for the past sixteen years.

I blame the heatstroke.

The new album from Haircut 100 is a hell of a lot of fun. Boxing the Compass is 44 years in the making. These boys make The Stone Roses appear almost hyper-productive.

Back in the day and a jazz samba rhythm was always at the heart of The Haircuts. Sure, they felt the need to add in some pop perfection in order to gatecrash the charts.

Unboxing the Compass retains the classic Haircuts horn section. This is sunshine music that leaves you with no other option but to smile.

The lead single The Unloving Plum seemed to have dropped over an age ago. The wait for the remaining tracks was worth it.

Pelican West was absolute perfection from The Haircuts. The new record, almost half a Century later, picks up the pieces.

The foppish good looks and persona from the band back in 1982 may have weathered slightly. Nick Heywood, however still retains a certain schoolboy charm.

The Haircuts haven’t lost it.

Hurrah!

To Wivenhoe Town Cricket Club! …on yet another heat wave of a Saturday afternoon. The First Team were at home welcoming the visitors from Bury St Edmunds.

For the neutral this seemed like an unfair contest. This was the Wivenhoe First Team up against the Bury Edmonds Second Team. Don’t be fooled by the semantics. Both teams were full of big hitters and this was a highly competitive contest played out on a dust bowl of a pitch.

I arrived fashionably late, natch, with Wivenhoe batting. They had raced to 266 for nought in the 27th over.

This was not an afternoon for falling around on a rock hard surface whilst out in the field. Instead the Bury captain had set up his field to try and take catches on the boundary. A couple were dropped in spectacular fashion.

Bury didn’t also hold back with their bowling rate. Wivenhoe managed to match this with a rapid run rate to keep the scoreboard ticking over.

This was a highly competitive game. Both teams had plenty of encouragement from their respective team mates and supporters back in the pavilion.

The Wivenhoe opener finally fell for a very tidy 99. Close but no cigar, fella, but well battered all the same.

It was also hard work watching. I managed to doze off in the afternoon heat. I was woken up when a ball cleared the ground.

A century soon followed for Wivenhoe’s second opener. Meanwhile down by the boundary fence and tops were left to hang out to dry on the makeshift washing line.

A massive six then followed for Wivenhoe that not only cleared the car park, but also pretty much the driveway leading on to the main road.

After their 50 overs Wivenhoe had racked up a highly impressive 297, which was a competitive score for Bury to try and chase down.

The restart after the tea interval was slightly delayed. Both umpires were having a crafty fag on the boundary.

Wivenhoe took an early wicket with a Bury opener falling for one. Thanks for coming, etc.

I think I succumbed to some mild heatstroke. I have a lack of details to follow. I did see a classy catch from the Wivenhoe keeper as he lunged forward to take yet another Bury wicket.

Allotment watering duties on the other side of the field beckoning for me. I had to depart early.

A quick online shifty back at base later in the evening revealed that Wivenhoe had won by only 11 runs. This is village cricket at its best.

And so on to Friday night in Canterbury and the oldest rivalry in world cricket. That’s a load of hairy old bollocks. Who really gives a stuff about Surrey vs Kent as being rivals? It’s all about the action with that other lot on the other side of the river, rather than the Country Bumpkins.

And so on to the penultimate game in the group stages of the Blast this year. There was plenty to play for. A win for Surrey would give us a plum home quarter final tie.

Surrey in the Blast can be hit and miss, home or away. The main concern here was the balance sheet and what wonders it would do for the club to have 15,000 or so pissheads in the old ground for another tie.

Meanwhile, this was a must-win game for Kent. All of a sudden that old rivalry bollocks looked a little bit more interesting as we had the chance to eliminate them from the Blast this season.

For some strange reason I decided to say sober. I found myself having logged very little detail in which to bash out a Crap Match Report. Maybe I should return to the booze more often when it comes to watching cricket.

Friday evening in Canterbury certainly looked like a booze evening. The atmosphere had something of an out-ground feel. I had never been to Canterbury. One of the main areas is simply a banking of grass. This seemed to be where all the Friday night booze action was taking place.

I really can’t be arsed to log all the finer details of the game. I did note down that E. Singh of Kent came out to bat looking like he had an absolutely massive arse - or perhaps it was just the padding on his backside?

Anyway, Singh went for a song, treading on his own wicket. Oh dear. I did note down at this stage that Kent were 75 for 5 on what the local YouTube commentators were calling a batting wicket.

That soon became 82 for 7. Kent were in all sorts of bother. Harry Finch was the last hope for the home side. He was comically run out.

Surely not even Surrey can fuck up a run chase of 102? This was a piss poor score in which to be set. There was no need to take risks.

J-Roy stepped up to the crease, playing a cautious game for the first few overs. He then thought, sod this, and TWATTED the ball around the ground to get Surrey comfortably over the line.

And so we’re all set for a home quarter final in the Blast, probably on Wednesday evening. It may clash when England possibly have a World Cup semi final taking place. This could mean an afternoon T20 game. The Oval may yet still be empty for that.

“And as with blogging and podcasting, started 20+ years ago, we’re going to follow what people do with this. RSS will fade into the background and do its work quietly. Its job is to give users choice. Remember, every part is replaceable. If one is not, it’s not part of the web.”

Dave Winer on rss.chat

I bloody love The Fall - even though I can never decipher the lyrics and haven’t got a clue what he’s banging on about. The Wonderful and Frightening World is nominative determinism personified. This is a collision of sounds with guitar rackets crashing in and the double drums trying to drown out all the nonsense from yer frontman. It leads to an inner desire to dance - not in a rhythmic way but more of a stomp, chanting out random Mark E Smith mantras as you go along. There is nothing like them. It’s highly unfashionable music yet in some circles it remains almost peak hipster. I just love the experimentation, yet still being grounded in traditional meat ‘n’ two veg guitar sounds.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I don’t want to become something of a Pink Floyd completist but I’m going down the line of becoming something of a Pink Floyd completist.

Atom Heart Mother is an album that I’m surprised it’s taken me 56 years of age to become familiar with. I was already bored of Dark Side by the time I hit 21.

Atom Heart slots into the Pink Floyd discography four years or so ahead of Dark Side. It’s that moment in time where Pink Floyd hadn’t shaken off all the hippy shit, but were starting to blossom to become something else.

It’s quite a diverse album as well - that is if you can describe late 60s prog and experimentation as being diverse.

It starts with some rather theatrical music hall and then ends with the more acoustic peace and shit that you tend to associate with Pink Floyd.

I wouldn’t say the best thing about it is the cover art but I do like the simplicity of the cow. The late 60s were very, very odd.

And so on to The Oval on a steaming hot South London evening as Surrey welcomed Sussex to SE11 for another game in the Hot and Giggle.

Actually that’s not quite true. There was no way I was going to sweat my arse off back down in Transpontonia with the temperature lingering close to 34 degrees at 7 pm. I think I had the better deal sitting on the settee with five cold beers in the fridge.

Chin chin.

After the debacle in the Blast away at Bristol last week, Surrey somehow still found themselves second in the group table, but with something of a rebuilding job needed to do to carry the T20 momentum forward.

he team news saw Jordan Clarke come in for young Majid. I felt sorry for the academy youngster. He’s done little wrong in his few appearances. It just seems that the current Surrey hierarchy doesn’t like spin.

The great tattooed warrior Clarke is a more than capable replacement, but you do feel that the longer the season goes on, both in white and red ball, then we need to rethink our spinning options.

Right on cue Clarke took the wicket of Hughes for 9. Well done you.

Come the end of the Sussex power play Surrey were in need of a breakthrough. The away team were getting away on 64 for one.

Up stepped CJ to do the business. Thomas then continued the acceleration for Sussex, hitting his half Century after 23 deliveries. The scoreboard pressure looked as intimidating as the sweat box that is The Oval.

Meanwhile, In Kit News: there was a slight variation on the dodgy kit we saw away in Bristol last week. Back then J-Roy had forgotten his own Surrey top and had to wear a kit with the legend of Dan Lawrence on the back.

The wardrobe malfunction for this evening was the Sussex player Thomas wearing a very crumpled top that he had clearly washed in too high a temperature.

J-Roy saw him off with a catch over on the boundary. That position is pretty much J-Roy’s own. I’ve seen him fielding there and playing to the old OCS stand throughout the past 15 years. We’ll miss him when he’s gone.

Elsewhere CJ looked angry in the field over something that was never quite explained. He did manage to channel this anger, taking the wicket of Coles, who was caught behind.

I felt sorry for young Tear on his Sussex debut but I didn’t shed any tears when the golden arm from Lawes saw him off for one. Price also followed for one with some CJ bowling, caught by Lawrence as Surrey started to take control.

Are you ready for the BOOZE blackout just yet? You know how these Crap Match Reports work.

I was relatively coherent to see the start of the Surrey innings. I could certainly decipher that Laurie Evans is well past his sell-by date, heading back to the hutch after only 10.

Cometh the hour, cometh the man. J-Roy stepped up with a fine 50. He was backed by the Aussie Philippe, who is making a rapid impression in his early T20 matches. He departed after making a cheap ramp shot, but his 31 kept the scoreboard ticking over.

A boundary from J-Roy brought up his hundred and was a fine way to win the game for Surrey.

I can’t stand all the franchise bollocks that comes with the modern game. But if we can keep J-Roy in this type of T20 peak performance for a couple more summers then he is free to go globe-trotting to earn his dosh.

To the tattoo studio!… on Wednesday morning. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. Yep, two consecutive days of being inked up with a big bad boy of a tattoo needle.

Live the dream, Jase. Live the dream.

The first task today was to complete the outer ring of my knee. I was told this could be a little delicate as there was some slight swelling from the ink action the day before. Piss easy mate. Piss easy.

Some rather deep conversations followed between myself and my ace tattoo man. He most definitely has sussed me out, knowing that keeping me engaged distracts from the pain.

On the big telly screen was non-stop Japanese food preparation via YouTube throughout the day. I wasn’t expecting this. It’s always good to get a different perspective of things you would never normally watch. Apparently it’s a genre all of its own that is increasingly popular with the Bright Young Things.

Basically it’s a tour of local Japanese villages and towns, dropping in at their local patisseries. It was shown how the fine art of preparing Japanese bread and pastry takes place.

At the other end of the cultural scale was a rather cool Americana playlist throughout the studio. Tom Petty in particular raised a smile and managed to distract me from the scratching away of the big bad boy needle.

Once the outer ring of the knee was finished, the next task was to add a drop shadow to join up the work from yesterday and today. This is where the magic numbing spray came out. I was then wrapped up in cling film like a 20th Century Mummy to help speed up the tattoo anaesthetic process.

The actual drop shadow inking was pretty painless. It looks the bollocks in the way that it links two very tricky parts of the knee.

The afternoon session was spent planning what comes next with the bottom half of my calf. Working together we came up with a great compromise joining a couple of ideas that I had brought along to the session.

The needle on my calf was pretty painful. I noticed the aroma of my cheapo Lidl deodorant increasing, which correlated directly to the level of pain being inflicted.

On the telly for the afternoon session was some motorbike cross-country head-cam footage. Like I said, it’s always good to get a different perspective on things you would never normally see.

We realised that my knee is a little wonky as we tried to join up the earlier session with a calf. My tattoo man said not to worry, most people have wonky knees.

The music then shifted to Dexy’s. This helped me get through the final half hour or so.

A bloody decent session with plenty achieved. My tattoo man is the best.

“Who cares if we burn more CO2 now, the effect is miniscule for the explosive crisis that could be coming any day or week. One that we have no ability to recover from. To say it’s unenvironmental would be like complaining that you want more Pepsi from the flight attendant while the plane is crashing into a small city.”

Gosh. via @DaveWIner