Another day, another crisp ride along the Trail. Once again there was a bloody high tide down by the Muddy Banks. The spillage where the estuary floods the marshland was almost impassable.
Almost.
I rode through, as though I was competing in the Slow Bike Race back at a schools Sports Day.
OCD wins the day, as ever.
Chapeau!
Everyone loves a big old red boat, right? There’s no finer sight than the Colne Light Ship on a crisp autumnal morning. Sure, the Estuary Wilds sun rays may highlight the urgent need for a paint job. But the Hythe has always been a little rough and ready.
”We go into Europe, all the money is spent and we’re back in the same situation we were when we got promoted,”
Tell It Like It Is Forest Focus.
An album that makes you want to BOOZE and reflect in equal measures. The transition from Stay with Me to Debris captures this perfectly. An extra star for only being thirty six minutes long - the ideal time for any rock ‘n’ roll album.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐
My matchday routine now starts with the early post on the Forest Insta feed. What clues will be given away?
My reasoning is that any player featured in the Matchday post is likely to be in the starting eleven.
Oh look: there’s Douglas Luiz. He’s wearing that shitty Forest cream kit that looks like a dirty white.
A big thumbs up for Luiz, who I thought would be rested. The cream kit can go back in the City Ground washing machine, and preferably at a high temperature.
The team news dropped shortly after 12:30pm. And yep, there he was, Douglas Luiz. Goodo.
I do worry about James McAtee, absent once again from even the bench. Online rumours hinted at a possible bug. I fear that his face doesn’t fit at Forest.
#BlameEdu etc.
Still, it was an attacking team, suggesting that Dyche was after a win with another positive performance. A cursory glance at the league table and OH MY DAYS, yes we deffo could do with three points here.
KO came. Bournemouth were relentless from the start. The plan seemed to be to put the willies up Forest, knowing that they don’t like it up them.
It didn’t take long for the first goal. I’m not giving away any spoilers here when I speculate that Matt Selz is unlikely to trouble the Golden Glove shortlist this season.
A second soon followed.
How the chuff do you score from so far out with a daisy cutter? I thought only Collymore in all his pomp was capable of that.
Bloody Bournemouth. Go away. Don’t come back. Never again, etc - which was another fond Trent End ditty from back in the day.
Oh we had FUN in the old Trent End.
HT couldn’t come quick enough. Time to regroup. The next goal was going to be MASSIVE - which is exactly what I said to my mate Johnno at HT in the Simmod Cup Final, surely the greatest Forest game ever.
The big surprise - and a very welcome one - was the appearance of Taiwo out of the tunnel.
TAIWO!
Shit the bed.
His role these days is as a Chris Wood not so Mini Me. Which doesn’t bode well for Jesus who was hooked.
Christ, etc.
The second half was a little better, but only marginally. It was like switching from an Aldi microwave curry to a more upmarket Lidl equivalent.
Whaddya mean you can’t taste the difference?
This was one game too many for Anderson. Sure, he’s far from shot. But the poor lad desperately needs a breather.
It all felt very Cooper-esque with plenty of puffing, but not much end product. It was the kind of performance that might make the Big Fat Greek kick another telly ahead of an incoming P45.
But we’re not there. Not yet, anyway.
Hutchinson shouldn’t be anywhere near corners. MGW still isn’t the MGW model of seasons one, two and three in the PL. I found myself wanting Sangaré. It was that kinda match.
THIRTEEN summer signings, and we still had limited options coming off the bench.
Like I said, #BlameEdu.
This was an off day for the whole team - something you simply can’t accept in the PL. No one was able to raise their game above five out of ten.
Training ground set pieces need to be drilled home throughout all of next week. Everyday is a GAFFER DAY, right?
It’s probably time for Dyche to introduce them to those training ground nettles.
Forest have scored a solitary goal in the past seven PL matches. It was this weekend last year when the CL dream first started to stir.
LIVE the dream.
How did that one work out?
Still - the PL bottom three has a nice Nuno feel to it.
Hey hoe.
We’re in deep shit. We’re in a relegation battle.
There was something of a Rebels reunion on home court as Reading Rockets arrived at the Essex Sports Arena on Saturday.
Any team with Zain Poorman and Victor Olarerin is going to be a little tasty.
Once a Reb, always a Reb, etc.
This was a weird watch, tbh. The Rebels men impressed on the last home court performance a couple of weeks ago. A couple of big name players from the demolition job over Bristol weren’t on the bench.
It can be a little frustrating trying to keep up with squad changes. Injuries, work, life etc get in the way.
You don’t want a running commentary of EVERYTHING that is taking place behind the scenes. Premier League football has become toxic with this level of demand coming from the fanbase.
But it would be good to know a line or two about where players are, having impressed so much in previous performances. Are they still at the club? If not, we wish them well…
Which all meant that it felt like the Rebs bench was a couple of big game players short. The home team didn’t play badly, but they couldn’t compete with the extra muscle coming from the Rockets.
Oh - and Victor Olarerin as well.
This was pretty much a one man show from the ex-Reb. He clocked up a bloody impressive 51 points alone.
Outstanding, and a pleasure to watch.
Rebels were always chasing the scoreboard. Three pointers were the option, rather than a slowly, slowly turning of the scoreboard with more reliable shots. The majority of these didn’t sink.
It was also a scrappy, physical tussle out on the court. Sometimes you want to see that. But when you’re lacking a little in muscle, then there’s only going to be one winner.
The Rebs chased the game in the third and fourth, never really out of it, but never really within a serious chance of catching up with Reading. Heads dropped a little in the final five minutes.
Hey hoe.
Onwards.
Another win for the Rebels women at Our House, aka the Essex Sports Arena. New flashy sporting structures take a little time to bed in. It feels already that Our House has found its identity.
This game was themed around Black History Month. The Rebs organisation does a bloody job in recognising significant events, and then planning gameday around the theme.
It’s not all deserved, progressive themes, that are likely to get Daily Mail readers frothing at the mouth. In the past we’ve celebrated sixty years of the University, international students, and, erm, retro basketball jerseys.
On the court and the Rebs women are transformed this season. It’s early days, but you can’t argue with a record of P5, W5. Some high scoring games have set a high bar for the long season ahead.
I’m not sure what’s changed tbh. Recruitment has been great over the summer months. But then again it looked as though a strong roster of superstars were drafted in twelve months ago.
Quietly, quietly, the team and Coach have gone about building a great team spirit, without the obvious outstanding superstar candidates.
No I in Team etc.
Whatever.
The Rebs got off to a lightening start in the first quarter. Job done, I thought.
The second quarter was a little slower, with the scoreboard not ticking over at the same pace. An injury to Claire Paxton benched her for the rest of the game.
Get well soon, Skip.
Rebels should have been away by now, leaving Caledonia with the long road trip back home. But somehow they drew the scores level.
Whoops.
This is a strong Rebs team though, that knows how to get the job done. Some creative running down of the clock got them over the line.
The celebrations at the end are becoming infectious. We’ve not always seen a happy Coach and team come the final buzzer.
Smiles were everywhere, as the players ran around the stand, high fiving the fans - a lovely touch.
Up the Rebs!
That was one hell of a high tide down by the Muddy Banks this morning. In fact the Muddy Banks were nowhere to be seen.
It was also incredibly choppy around Windy Corner at Rowhedge.
You don’t say.
Birds were bobbing up at down along the water. Walkers were walking. My bicycle bell was active.
Chapeau!
I gave Weller’s 22 Dreams another play first thing this morning. It all came about after a particularly vivid dream.
Hey! I know. Let’s play 22 Dreams at 5am to get me through the first work shift of the day. Job’s a good ‘un, etc.
I absolutely rinsed this album when it was first released at the start of the summer of 2008. It pretty much defined that period for me. I had to force myself to stop listening to this and nothing else as the year drew to a close.
Seventeen years have somehow passed between then and now. 22 Dreams is still an outstanding, mixed up album.
There’s so many disparate parts that somehow all hang together around the theme of a dream; Northern Soul, psychedelia, Krautrock. It really shouldn’t work, but it does.
It reminded me of listening to the White Album from start to finish on the punishing sound system at the Colchester Arts Centre last week. So many different styles, what a racket. But a bloody glorious racket at that.
22 Dreams started the resurgence period for Weller. Every other album since then has been outstanding. No bad feat, considering he delivers pretty much each and every summer.
The album carries itself, rewarding you when you reach the end. It sounds like a chore, but it really isn’t. It’s like coming to the season close of a boxset that you’ve binged. You’re left wanting more.
A lot of crap is written about Weller. Erm, just read the above.
But time and time again, he comes up with the goods. His back catalogue is now looking pretty much unrivalled in terms of UK artists. He’ll leave quite a legacy.
