onionbagblog

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.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

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

⭐ ⭐

To Europe! …for one final time, possibly. Who knows when this experience will come around again? Another thirty year wait? Or if we play our cards right, we can still finish 7th in the PL. Steady the buffers, etc.

You know how this plays out by now. The team news drops (whilst I was in the shower, actually, with Sir Colin of West Bridgford on the waterproof bluetooth speaker). Morato. Oh. I have a bad feeling about this. We do love our anti-heroes at Forest.

Villa Park was spectacular ahead of KO, rising to the occasion. I remember the last time I was there for a semi - West Ham in the FA Cup, April 1991. I don’t recall tifos, fireworks and Europa League anthems.

“Who the fucking hell are you?”

…as West Ham ran out.

Forest were under the cosh, right from the start. You don’t say. In my mind, I resolved that we would be 1-0 down heading into the break. My hope was that we could SHIT HOUSE it out, and hang on for extra time and pens.

Our passing game was strangled by Villa in midfield. We missed MGW big time. Gaps appeared all over the midfield. McAtee is a very lightweight figure.

The volume at Villa Park only grew louder with the inevitable goal. I’m not digging out the Forest fans, but I couldn’t hear them throughout the 90 minutes on the telly. The atmosphere was very different to Villa Vs #lolspurs last Sunday.

We did well to hang on to HT with only the one goal against us. Time to regroup, time to urgently find a Plan B. Cometh the hour, cometh, erm, Ryan Yates. It would be quite some story if the Forest Academy player could lead us towards a major European final.

I’ve watched all our Europa League games this season totally stress free. The PL has been intense and horrid; the Europa is a nice jolly of a distraction. This kinda continued as the second, third and then fourth Villa goal went in.

Oh dear. This is not happening, right?

It’s been a messy, joyous and utterly BONKERS season for Forest. And there’s possibly still more to come. Farewell Europe - for now. We still need to put in a performance against Newcastle on Sunday to guarantee PL survival.

No one wants to be leading the charge of: To D***y! …next season.

I had the need to get out of the house. wfh with a friendly plasterer plastering around the house is no fun. I decided on an Estuary Wilds circuit walk. Nothing too radical, the usual waddle up towards the Creek, around through Alresford and then back to base. BONUS that I had the Olympus PEN-F with me to snap, snap, snap away.

The colours around the Muddy Banks were transitional. They weren’t sure if we are in late spring or entering early summer. The chill in the air suggested caution before you start wishing your days away.

The tide was stuck, also unsure which direction to shift. No one else was out there. A lone cuckoo on the other side of the Muddy Banks attempted to strike up a conversation with me. I put on a Forest podcast. SUCK IT UP, Woody.

A decent 10km-ish circuit.

A game of power over spin at the Table of Dreams for Tuesday afternoon. The earlier pleasant spring weather had turned. It was a little breezy out there. Arseing around with fancy spin shots in no way to keep warm. TWAT it and keep your body moving.

My extra strength somehow led to a surprise 3-2 win. There was talk of playing on to see if my partner could come back in the game. BALLS to that. Quit whilst you’re ahead. I even managed to celebrate with a Drop the Bat moment.

Proof that there aren’t actually 1,001 albums you must listen to before you die.

⭐