Woosh!!!!
or
How supposedly intelligent politicians can miss the point entirely
With my job unfortunately taking me to London today (I've been on the road almost constantly for the last 3 weeks and trust me, travel with work fucking sucks) I invested in a hard copy of the Guardian which featured this story.
As you can see, very little has happened in terms of getting "working class" young people to university and the politicians at the public accounts committee want to know why, given that they have thrown the thick end of £400 million at turning this issue around.
So far so good. Politicians should ask what tax payers money has achieved when they have dished it out. Further more I agree, we should be asking why working class kids are not getting into the top universities and should be doing something about it. Like I said, so far, so good.
The trouble is that I fear our politicians, by laying the blame at the feet of the universities have, in my opinion, missed the point entirely. Now at this point I should put in a massive caveat, I have not read the report myself. I have tried to, it is linked to from this page, but the link appears to be broken. So for the sake of this post I am going to assume that the report says what the Guardian says it does. It's not just the Mail that's biased folks!
So if kids from disadvantaged back grounds (this seems rather interchangeable with working class in the article, which is curious because they are clearly not the same thing, I had working class parents but would in no way consider myself disadvantaged) are not getting into or even applying to top universities then why not?
Look at it from the point of view of universities. Top universities are, or at least should be, centres of academic excellence. (Politicians seem intent on changing this to simply providing a constant supply of work force fodder, wrongly in my opinion but that's another issue entirely) Their job is a mixture of research, and by that I mean academic research, it doesn't have to have an economic edge it, it can simply be expanding the breadth of human knowledge for the hell of it, and passing on that knowledge to students.
That knowledge is pretty tough stuff. It simply isn't possible to go to university and study for a degree without a thorough grounding in the subject involved. Without such a grounding it is simply not possible to keep up. And I do not believe that it is the job of the university to get you to that starting line. They are not schools. And you only have to look at the league tables to see that inner city state schools, where most of these working class/disadvantaged kids will go have lower A level results, and indeed lower numbers taking A level results full stop, than more middle class schools. Hence fewer of them go on to top universities. And if they are not expecting good results they are less likely to apply, it's just waist of one of your 6 choices. The whole thing is not rocket science people.
Which brings me to the question that our politicians should be asking, why aren't working class kids getting to the age of 18 without as high proportion of them as middle class kids being equipped to go on to the top universities?
I can't answer that for certain. I simply don't have access to the evidence. However I do have anecdotal evidence. First take a look at Snuffy's blog. I don't agree with all her answers to the problems she faces (although I agree with many) but you only have to read her accounts of day to day life at her school to realise that there is a major culture issue, both amongst the kids themselves and in terms of the attitude of their parents.
A very good friend of mine is also a teacher at an inner city school and last week we have a conversation on MSN that went something like this,
Me - How are you?
Her - Fed up, pissed off?
Me - What's up?
Her - Work stuff. Kids have been bloody painful. One of them called me fucking pathetic and ugly.
Me - What? That's out of order, you shouldn't have to put up with that. We'd have had our arses kick if we'd spoken to a teacher like that at school. Has he been suspended?
Her - No, head teacher wont do it.
Me - That's ridiculous, no one should have to put up with that.
Her - I know.
Me - What do his parents make of it?
Her - He's the kind of kid where he picked up this kind of behaviour at home.
Now like I said, it's purely anecdotal, but I doubt it's far off the truth to say that underlying cultural problems like that are more the problem than university admissions policies. And what you do about that is to big and too complicated job to even begin answering here and now.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Stress
The last few days have, for various reasons, seen me runnign round like a blue arsed fly dealing with cub and scout stuff and left me tired and irritable. But I've also ended up thinking, would my life be quite the same without a bunch of kids causing me to lose sleep, lose hair, lose money and cycle madly through town trying to ctach up with a bus? (To difficult to explain why).
And the answer I came up with is would it fuck!
The last few days have, for various reasons, seen me runnign round like a blue arsed fly dealing with cub and scout stuff and left me tired and irritable. But I've also ended up thinking, would my life be quite the same without a bunch of kids causing me to lose sleep, lose hair, lose money and cycle madly through town trying to ctach up with a bus? (To difficult to explain why).
And the answer I came up with is would it fuck!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Observations
A few observations and things that Akela learned today.
1. Trying to run the communicator's badge with cubs gets trickier when BT helpfully remove the phone box that was once just yards from the HQ.
2. You can only eat so much muesli before it gets a bit dull.
3. Insomnia is pretty dull. Even more dull than an excess of muesli.
4. Muesli is an incredibly difficult word to spell.
5. TV this late at night gets a bit freaky. Have you ever watched quiz call? Some cracking films though, 28 days later, indecent proposal, entrapment. Why aren't they on earlier in the day?
6. Some people are so fucking useless that organising the proverbial social occasion in a brewery is clearly beyond them.
7. Some kids are too bright for their own good. When a 9 year old tells you they've built their own server the temptation has to be there to poke them in the eye.
8. There's none so deaf as those that wont listen.
A few observations and things that Akela learned today.
1. Trying to run the communicator's badge with cubs gets trickier when BT helpfully remove the phone box that was once just yards from the HQ.
2. You can only eat so much muesli before it gets a bit dull.
3. Insomnia is pretty dull. Even more dull than an excess of muesli.
4. Muesli is an incredibly difficult word to spell.
5. TV this late at night gets a bit freaky. Have you ever watched quiz call? Some cracking films though, 28 days later, indecent proposal, entrapment. Why aren't they on earlier in the day?
6. Some people are so fucking useless that organising the proverbial social occasion in a brewery is clearly beyond them.
7. Some kids are too bright for their own good. When a 9 year old tells you they've built their own server the temptation has to be there to poke them in the eye.
8. There's none so deaf as those that wont listen.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Sucking the soul out of humanity
A couple of nights ago while bored and tired after spending the better part of 5 hours on a train I found myself channel hopping. It's a hobby I try to avoid as unless you stumble on an utter gem (I once found that Rising Damp is being repeated in ITV 3) it leads to your brain rotting and climbing out of your ear. Anyway on this occasion I am glad that I channel hopped because I stumbled on a TV programme that I think needs as much publicity as possible simply to expose how unspeakably awful it is. A TV programme so lacking in, well, just about anything positive or worthwhile that it left me wondering whether it had been produced as a spoof.
That programme is "Paris Hilton's British Best Friend".
Now if you have not had the dubious honour of encountering this show the basic premises is that a reality TV show format is used where contestants compete with each other to become the "British Best Friend" of Paris Hilton, an individual who, other than an unfortunate youtube moment, is famous for being er..... um...... well..... not a lot really. She's rich, being heir the Hilton group, and apparently glamorous and beautiful (although that is a matter of opinion) and the contestants are essentially expected to spend several weeks kissing her arse, getting voted off by Ms Hilton one at a time as she selects her lap dog.
Now I ask you, what level of indignity and self loathing would you have to sink to in order to compete for the friendship of anyone? To have someone stand before a group, including you, and say "I will be friends with just one of you" and then actually try and compete for it? Especially one who is quite obviously doing it for a spot of self promotion? What would drive you to do that and not simply tell them to fuck off and die?
In each episode I understand that they take part in various events at which they are judged by Ms Hilton who regularly swans into a room, sits on a throne, yes people, she sits on a fucking throne wearing a tiara, and pronounces judgement. And the best bit is, and you'll love this folks, is that they actually discuss which of the contestants is being the most false! Fuck me, I mean honestly, fuck me with a carrot, I have never seen anything so unbelievably laughable (Michael Portilo losing his seat in 1997 election came close I'll grant you) and nonsensical. People competing to be the lap dog of the mega rich accusing each other of being false. Tell me, it's not just me is it?
The worrying thing is that not one of the contestants seems to have any sense of irony, not one of them seems to be entering into a game show with any sense of it all being a bit of a joke. No, the way these people come across is that they honestly believe that this "friendship" is worth having. They believe that simply being used as part of a self promotion activity by someone already fabulously wealthy is worth something. They seem to believe that they are going to be taken into her personal life when we all know that they will simply be used for a few publicity photos and then cast aside.
I have never been a fan of "reality" TV but this really has taken it to brand new levels of farce and indignity.
A couple of nights ago while bored and tired after spending the better part of 5 hours on a train I found myself channel hopping. It's a hobby I try to avoid as unless you stumble on an utter gem (I once found that Rising Damp is being repeated in ITV 3) it leads to your brain rotting and climbing out of your ear. Anyway on this occasion I am glad that I channel hopped because I stumbled on a TV programme that I think needs as much publicity as possible simply to expose how unspeakably awful it is. A TV programme so lacking in, well, just about anything positive or worthwhile that it left me wondering whether it had been produced as a spoof.
That programme is "Paris Hilton's British Best Friend".
Now if you have not had the dubious honour of encountering this show the basic premises is that a reality TV show format is used where contestants compete with each other to become the "British Best Friend" of Paris Hilton, an individual who, other than an unfortunate youtube moment, is famous for being er..... um...... well..... not a lot really. She's rich, being heir the Hilton group, and apparently glamorous and beautiful (although that is a matter of opinion) and the contestants are essentially expected to spend several weeks kissing her arse, getting voted off by Ms Hilton one at a time as she selects her lap dog.
Now I ask you, what level of indignity and self loathing would you have to sink to in order to compete for the friendship of anyone? To have someone stand before a group, including you, and say "I will be friends with just one of you" and then actually try and compete for it? Especially one who is quite obviously doing it for a spot of self promotion? What would drive you to do that and not simply tell them to fuck off and die?
In each episode I understand that they take part in various events at which they are judged by Ms Hilton who regularly swans into a room, sits on a throne, yes people, she sits on a fucking throne wearing a tiara, and pronounces judgement. And the best bit is, and you'll love this folks, is that they actually discuss which of the contestants is being the most false! Fuck me, I mean honestly, fuck me with a carrot, I have never seen anything so unbelievably laughable (Michael Portilo losing his seat in 1997 election came close I'll grant you) and nonsensical. People competing to be the lap dog of the mega rich accusing each other of being false. Tell me, it's not just me is it?
The worrying thing is that not one of the contestants seems to have any sense of irony, not one of them seems to be entering into a game show with any sense of it all being a bit of a joke. No, the way these people come across is that they honestly believe that this "friendship" is worth having. They believe that simply being used as part of a self promotion activity by someone already fabulously wealthy is worth something. They seem to believe that they are going to be taken into her personal life when we all know that they will simply be used for a few publicity photos and then cast aside.
I have never been a fan of "reality" TV but this really has taken it to brand new levels of farce and indignity.
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Beautiful Game
The fans of Bochum who looked after us (a mix of Barnet and Leicester fans) for much of the weekend were amazing people but honourable mentions must go to St Pauli and Osnabruck fans who were perfect hosts as well.
Akela is back from a weekend in Germany and a complete over dose of the beautiful game. Friday night I saw Oberhausen v St Pauli, Saturday Bochum v Schalke and on Sunday Osnabruck v Mainz. A complete and utter footy fest and what a refreshing one it was as well.
Forget the premier league and plastic stadiums full of people watching rather than participating in the whole event. Forget over pricing and robo cop style stewarding. Forget having to sit down and fans whose vocal support consists of chanting the team over and over again. Forget tension between fans and being scared of travelling in colours. No, go to a different place all together.
Stadiums where you can stand, on proper terraces. Stadiums where the crowd gets behind their team. Clubs where the fan is the heart of the place and is treated well. Think of top flight games where 13 euros (about £11) is considered expensive. Grounds where home made flags are brought in and not considered a safety hazard (or a block to the club gaining more revenue). Games where you are considered adult enough to drink beer within site of the pitch. Fans that are friendly and want to know where you are from and what brings you there and want to talk about football of all levels in all countries and understand that football does have meaning outside the top flight and champions league. Fans that can drink like fish and just simply smile more, sing more and then fall over without the slightest hint of agro.
The fans of Bochum who looked after us (a mix of Barnet and Leicester fans) for much of the weekend were amazing people but honourable mentions must go to St Pauli and Osnabruck fans who were perfect hosts as well.A weekend like that has completely restored my faith in football!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
A nasty bit of reporting
Have you ever seen the nazi propaganda films from the 30s and 40s where they talk about jews carrying disease? How they spread crime and brought chaos with them? If you've not then go look some of them up, I imagine some of them are on you tube etc. I'm sure you'll agree that there is something pretty distasteful about them but more than that it is difficult looking back to understand how people fell for it. They did of course, we know that, but it is still so obvious looking at it now that those films talking shit.
So it's pretty chilling when we see news paper reports like this.
The story is a about a report by Sheffield City Council and Sheffield primary care trust into poverty among the Slovakian population. Now I've not been able to track down a copy of the report on line, although I'm tempted to try and get hold of a paper copy, but it's clear even from the story in the Mail that this is meant to highlight the consequences of poverty among the Slovakian population. It's interesting how this is emphasised even further in another report in the Sheffield Star.
And yet, despite the message that it is trying to give what headline does the Mail come out with? What is the important message that it feels we need to hear?
"Migrant children are wandering 'destitute' and 'spreading disease', says NHS report"
Yup, that's right folks, forget that these people are getting screwed over, now lets make sure everyone knows how they are spreading disease.
Now lets see, Slavic people irrationally accused of spreading disease? Where have we heard that before? Oh yes, I remember.
Have you ever seen the nazi propaganda films from the 30s and 40s where they talk about jews carrying disease? How they spread crime and brought chaos with them? If you've not then go look some of them up, I imagine some of them are on you tube etc. I'm sure you'll agree that there is something pretty distasteful about them but more than that it is difficult looking back to understand how people fell for it. They did of course, we know that, but it is still so obvious looking at it now that those films talking shit.
So it's pretty chilling when we see news paper reports like this.
The story is a about a report by Sheffield City Council and Sheffield primary care trust into poverty among the Slovakian population. Now I've not been able to track down a copy of the report on line, although I'm tempted to try and get hold of a paper copy, but it's clear even from the story in the Mail that this is meant to highlight the consequences of poverty among the Slovakian population. It's interesting how this is emphasised even further in another report in the Sheffield Star.
And yet, despite the message that it is trying to give what headline does the Mail come out with? What is the important message that it feels we need to hear?
"Migrant children are wandering 'destitute' and 'spreading disease', says NHS report"
Yup, that's right folks, forget that these people are getting screwed over, now lets make sure everyone knows how they are spreading disease.
Now lets see, Slavic people irrationally accused of spreading disease? Where have we heard that before? Oh yes, I remember.
I suppose we are going to have to tolerate this ad infinitum
The Mail's anti BBC agenda rambles on in to yet another cringe worthy desperation fest as apparently people were shocked, yes people, shocked by the word wanker! In fact they were shocked twice when it was said twice.
How is this news? In what possible way? What other media outlet has made this a story? None, that's the answer. I'd ramble on longer but lets face it it's all such a non story there's nothing to say.
The Mail's anti BBC agenda rambles on in to yet another cringe worthy desperation fest as apparently people were shocked, yes people, shocked by the word wanker! In fact they were shocked twice when it was said twice.
How is this news? In what possible way? What other media outlet has made this a story? None, that's the answer. I'd ramble on longer but lets face it it's all such a non story there's nothing to say.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Moving on
So as some of you may recall I agreed to move on from cubs to running scouts in the summer. Tonight it looks like we have found my replacement as Akela. (I mean to run cubs, my alter ego will live on and will still be writing on here as much as ever!)
I'm dead pleased (actually, hold your horses, the fat lady isn't singing yet, but she's certainly finished her warm up and is waiting in the wings) to have found someone. I've put a lot of work in over the last 6 years and to have someone come along so quickly to take it on and make sure it doesn't all go to waste is brilliant.
And yet.... fuck it's hard letting go. And I have to, because if they are going to carry on as a success they have to be allowed to do it their way and assert themselves and build their team around them. It's going to be difficult though, you can't work as hard as I have and easily let it go.
So as some of you may recall I agreed to move on from cubs to running scouts in the summer. Tonight it looks like we have found my replacement as Akela. (I mean to run cubs, my alter ego will live on and will still be writing on here as much as ever!)
I'm dead pleased (actually, hold your horses, the fat lady isn't singing yet, but she's certainly finished her warm up and is waiting in the wings) to have found someone. I've put a lot of work in over the last 6 years and to have someone come along so quickly to take it on and make sure it doesn't all go to waste is brilliant.
And yet.... fuck it's hard letting go. And I have to, because if they are going to carry on as a success they have to be allowed to do it their way and assert themselves and build their team around them. It's going to be difficult though, you can't work as hard as I have and easily let it go.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
No Shit Sherlock
Coming thick and fast these aren't they? This time for your delectaion, Lincolnshire in no visit from little green men shock horror!
Well no shit sherlock!
Coming thick and fast these aren't they? This time for your delectaion, Lincolnshire in no visit from little green men shock horror!
Well no shit sherlock!
No Shit Sherlock
In the second of what I intend to be semi regular feature we have the startling news that taking vitamin pills aren’t some magic cure for all ills and wont make you live longer. Apparently what you should be doing is eating a balanced diet and taking regular exercise.
Well no shit Sherlock!
Once again it’s terrifying that people actually need to be told this shit.
In the second of what I intend to be semi regular feature we have the startling news that taking vitamin pills aren’t some magic cure for all ills and wont make you live longer. Apparently what you should be doing is eating a balanced diet and taking regular exercise.
Well no shit Sherlock!
Once again it’s terrifying that people actually need to be told this shit.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Old Favourites
So sat here being ill and bored (I'm not very good at being inactive) I decided to renew my aquaintance with a few things I haven't read for a while, months in fact, and thought I'd point you in the direction of. First of all go have a look at Hecate.
Now she may not be everyone's cup of tea and I can't confess to understanding all of her posts but it's rarely dull and if you want to read something a bit left field then the thoughts of an American witch have to be worth a try are they not?
Next up Post Secret. If ever you have one of those days where you think you are a bit messed up then a quick look here will bring a fare bit of comfort. I reckon all of us have something that we could post on here and not look out of place.
Finally it's always worth hitting the next blog button at the top of the page, you simply never know what weird and wonderful shit you're going to come across.
Happy reading!
So sat here being ill and bored (I'm not very good at being inactive) I decided to renew my aquaintance with a few things I haven't read for a while, months in fact, and thought I'd point you in the direction of. First of all go have a look at Hecate.
Now she may not be everyone's cup of tea and I can't confess to understanding all of her posts but it's rarely dull and if you want to read something a bit left field then the thoughts of an American witch have to be worth a try are they not?
Next up Post Secret. If ever you have one of those days where you think you are a bit messed up then a quick look here will bring a fare bit of comfort. I reckon all of us have something that we could post on here and not look out of place.
Finally it's always worth hitting the next blog button at the top of the page, you simply never know what weird and wonderful shit you're going to come across.
Happy reading!
Decisions
Yours truly feels dreadful this morning. Blocked nose, soar throat, cough etc etc. I am tempted to go home (I am in work) but tomorrow I'm meant to be seeing Brazil v Italy. Once in a life time stuff. And you can't really do that if you've been off work sick now can you?
Bugger.
Update
With raging temperature and a throat that feels like it's been attacked with vinegar soaked sand paper I have retreated home. Fuck this is dull.
Yours truly feels dreadful this morning. Blocked nose, soar throat, cough etc etc. I am tempted to go home (I am in work) but tomorrow I'm meant to be seeing Brazil v Italy. Once in a life time stuff. And you can't really do that if you've been off work sick now can you?
Bugger.
Update
With raging temperature and a throat that feels like it's been attacked with vinegar soaked sand paper I have retreated home. Fuck this is dull.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Just how much worse can it get?
After a very pleasant weekend (which I may blog about another time) I think I reached a low earlier this evening. It is the kind of low that not even reading Richard Littlejohn articles back to back could achieve. Let me explain the circumstances.
Having booked a cheap train ticket home I first found myself waiting in the cold for over an hour for the train I had to get. When it arrived it had no seat reservations resulting in a wonderful bum fight for seats. Having found a seat the air con was stuck on when the temperature outside could barely be arsed to get above 2C. So I needed the toilet. The first toilet I found was flooded. The second one I used the flush wouldn't work and then the taps had no water. So I used a third to wash my hands. Lovely.
So I arrived at Peterborough where I needed to change. I had missed not one but two connections. I was now in need of sustenance and I explored the delights of the Pumpkin Cafe on the station. And this is where an already shit journey hit absolute rock bottom. I chose, foolishly, a veggie pasty which the individual serving warmed for me. Sitting down at my table in the freezing cafe that stank of stale beer I extracted the offering that I had paid £3.
I was tempted to ramble on for several paragraphs to explain this horror but instead I think I shall keep it short. It looked, smelled and tasted, like cat sick wrapped in cardboard. At this moment I thought things could get no worse, that I had reached a low that most people will never know, that this was as bad as life could get. Then something happened to snap me out of that madness. Lets face it, there are worse things than eating cat sick in Peterborough. What was that thing?
Celine Dion came on over the piped music.
From thinking life could get no worse, I now knew.
Akela is now going to bed and hoping that life will look better in the morning.
After a very pleasant weekend (which I may blog about another time) I think I reached a low earlier this evening. It is the kind of low that not even reading Richard Littlejohn articles back to back could achieve. Let me explain the circumstances.
Having booked a cheap train ticket home I first found myself waiting in the cold for over an hour for the train I had to get. When it arrived it had no seat reservations resulting in a wonderful bum fight for seats. Having found a seat the air con was stuck on when the temperature outside could barely be arsed to get above 2C. So I needed the toilet. The first toilet I found was flooded. The second one I used the flush wouldn't work and then the taps had no water. So I used a third to wash my hands. Lovely.
So I arrived at Peterborough where I needed to change. I had missed not one but two connections. I was now in need of sustenance and I explored the delights of the Pumpkin Cafe on the station. And this is where an already shit journey hit absolute rock bottom. I chose, foolishly, a veggie pasty which the individual serving warmed for me. Sitting down at my table in the freezing cafe that stank of stale beer I extracted the offering that I had paid £3.
I was tempted to ramble on for several paragraphs to explain this horror but instead I think I shall keep it short. It looked, smelled and tasted, like cat sick wrapped in cardboard. At this moment I thought things could get no worse, that I had reached a low that most people will never know, that this was as bad as life could get. Then something happened to snap me out of that madness. Lets face it, there are worse things than eating cat sick in Peterborough. What was that thing?
Celine Dion came on over the piped music.
From thinking life could get no worse, I now knew.
Akela is now going to bed and hoping that life will look better in the morning.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Happy memories
So with the snow on the ground I thought I’d reminisce a little about my sprightly teenage years.
As I think I’ve written before I was always one for the great outdoors although living in darkest suburban Hertfordshire as a kid it wasn’t the easiest place to throw yourself into it. Let’s face it, the Chilterns are hardly mountains are they? Which is why I was extremely grateful for the fact that Hertfordshire Scouts, of all people, owned a wonderful place at Lochearnhead in Perthshire, right in the Scottish Highlands. I did several walking/climbing trips up there and had the time of my life! It’s such a pity that the website doesn’t really do justice to it. Maybe I’ll scan in some old photos one day that do!
The place itself was, and still is, an old railway station on a disused railway line that runs along Glen Ogle. The station buildings are used as central facilities with wooden chalets providing the accommodation. The place is hemmed in with trees and despite the village being quite a bustling place it felt wonderfully secluded. Often the trees would be coated in snow when the snow line dropped and when it was warm, as it often could be in spring, the smell of the pine was simply out of this world.
What I loved most of all was that the slog of getting there (10 hours over night on a coach) meant that only those of a similar mindset to me, i.e. love the outdoors and pretty bloody minded, actually used to make it there. I made some wonderful friends there and am in touch with many of them still. The scouts and guides that went up there were typically left to their own devices in the evenings (outside of theory sessions on mountain craft etc) and there was a tangible feeling of growing up but still very young and youthful. You know those moments where you start to spread your wings a bit and everything is a little bit scary and a little about dangerous?
I got reminded of it on the way to work today, a pigeon was cooing in a tree while snow was thawing around me. Very typical of the place when I was there.
I think it’s brilliant that places like that still exist, where kids can go and have a real adventure. Long may it continue!
So with the snow on the ground I thought I’d reminisce a little about my sprightly teenage years.
As I think I’ve written before I was always one for the great outdoors although living in darkest suburban Hertfordshire as a kid it wasn’t the easiest place to throw yourself into it. Let’s face it, the Chilterns are hardly mountains are they? Which is why I was extremely grateful for the fact that Hertfordshire Scouts, of all people, owned a wonderful place at Lochearnhead in Perthshire, right in the Scottish Highlands. I did several walking/climbing trips up there and had the time of my life! It’s such a pity that the website doesn’t really do justice to it. Maybe I’ll scan in some old photos one day that do!
The place itself was, and still is, an old railway station on a disused railway line that runs along Glen Ogle. The station buildings are used as central facilities with wooden chalets providing the accommodation. The place is hemmed in with trees and despite the village being quite a bustling place it felt wonderfully secluded. Often the trees would be coated in snow when the snow line dropped and when it was warm, as it often could be in spring, the smell of the pine was simply out of this world.
What I loved most of all was that the slog of getting there (10 hours over night on a coach) meant that only those of a similar mindset to me, i.e. love the outdoors and pretty bloody minded, actually used to make it there. I made some wonderful friends there and am in touch with many of them still. The scouts and guides that went up there were typically left to their own devices in the evenings (outside of theory sessions on mountain craft etc) and there was a tangible feeling of growing up but still very young and youthful. You know those moments where you start to spread your wings a bit and everything is a little bit scary and a little about dangerous?
I got reminded of it on the way to work today, a pigeon was cooing in a tree while snow was thawing around me. Very typical of the place when I was there.
I think it’s brilliant that places like that still exist, where kids can go and have a real adventure. Long may it continue!
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Akela Predicts
Following this incident one local council somewhere will ban sledging in one of its parks. Following this the Mail will go off on one, quite rightly at the council involved, but will go totally OTT and inform us that sledging has been banned everywhere by the Elf and Safety police probably backed up by the commie BBC EU Nazis who are coming to replace your children with Pole’s who will steal all your jobs, homes, food, clothes off your back etc…..
Following this incident one local council somewhere will ban sledging in one of its parks. Following this the Mail will go off on one, quite rightly at the council involved, but will go totally OTT and inform us that sledging has been banned everywhere by the Elf and Safety police probably backed up by the commie BBC EU Nazis who are coming to replace your children with Pole’s who will steal all your jobs, homes, food, clothes off your back etc…..
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Blackadder
I always loved Black Adder, one of the best pieces of satirical comedy ever produced on tv, all the more funny for its painfully tight budget, and the best line was the wonderful,
"Something smells fishy and I'm not talking about the contents of Baldrick's apple crumble."
And it was this very line that sprang to mind when I read about the wild cat strikes breaking out at a number of oil refineries across the country. Something at the back of my mind wasn't computing, it all looked like workers with a legit grievance on the surface but something, somewhere wasn't sitting comfortably with me, and I just couldn't put my finger on what.
And now it seems that I was right to feel a little suspicious, because guess who have reared their ugly head behind it all? Our dear friends the BNP!
Sorry lads, but it looks like you've been rumbled. Now fuck of back underneath what ever rock you crawled out from under. There's good chaps.
I always loved Black Adder, one of the best pieces of satirical comedy ever produced on tv, all the more funny for its painfully tight budget, and the best line was the wonderful,
"Something smells fishy and I'm not talking about the contents of Baldrick's apple crumble."
And it was this very line that sprang to mind when I read about the wild cat strikes breaking out at a number of oil refineries across the country. Something at the back of my mind wasn't computing, it all looked like workers with a legit grievance on the surface but something, somewhere wasn't sitting comfortably with me, and I just couldn't put my finger on what.
And now it seems that I was right to feel a little suspicious, because guess who have reared their ugly head behind it all? Our dear friends the BNP!
Sorry lads, but it looks like you've been rumbled. Now fuck of back underneath what ever rock you crawled out from under. There's good chaps.
How it should be
Last night one of my younger cubs came through the door. His necker was wonky and psattered with mud, a big smear of mud was streaked across his face. He had a huge grin on his face. He through himself into everything with more enthusiasm than I have ever seen. He fell over at least 4 times and kept laughing even when he’d obviously hurt his knee.
What a legend!
That is how kids should be!
Last night one of my younger cubs came through the door. His necker was wonky and psattered with mud, a big smear of mud was streaked across his face. He had a huge grin on his face. He through himself into everything with more enthusiasm than I have ever seen. He fell over at least 4 times and kept laughing even when he’d obviously hurt his knee.
What a legend!
That is how kids should be!
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Ipswich Town 0
Plymouth Argyle 0
Or what Akela did at the weekend
So with a free Saturday with not much on and Barnet away to Exeter I finally saw sense and decided to take in a game farely close to home as part of my slightly geeky quest to join the 92 club by going to see Ipswich Town (the Tractor boys) take on Plymouth Argyle (the Pasties).
Arriving into Ipswich station at 1pm I was clearly running quite early so having collected my ticket and done the customary circuit of the stadium I wandered around Ipswich town center to get an idea of what sort of town I was in. Ipswich is a genuinely pleasant market town with a sense that the local do really support their local club, at least that's what the number of people in colours in town suggested. There are a large number of properly preserved old buildings around despite the obvious attempts to create a concrete jungle and as I strolled through the market square I have to confess to developing a proper affection for the place that other towns have failed to impress upon me.
So on to Portman Road itself.
The stadium reflects the town. It has some proper old features to it despite obvious attempts to bring it into the modern world. I took my seat in the north stand and saw how the two end had clearly been redeveloped in recent years. To my right the Britannia stand screamed 1920's classic design and to my left the Cobolt stand showed off the features of the earliest 1960's cantilever design. Compared to some of my more recent introductions to stadiums, such as St Mary's, the ultimate anti Christ of stadiums, with all the character of a plate of cold custard, this place is pure heaven. Add to that that it serves real ale at the bar and the stewards don't try to impersonate robo cop at any given opportunity and I think that this place could become a big favourite of mine!
And so on to the game.
To be honest it wasn't great. Neither side showed any real desire to win it. Ipswich had more chances but failed to deliver much in the way of good final balls. If anything Plymouth were worse although they perhaps showed more composure in defence than Ipswich. Ipswich hit the post in the first half and Plymouth were lucky to finish with 11 men on the pitch after a shocking elbow by their center forward followed up with an awful bit of diving. Ipswich no.14, Stead, showed most guile and Argyle had difficulty coping with his wing play although from the comments of fans around me this was an usually good performance.
As for the fans, there is clearly a hard core if town fans who get behind the team but they could do with others joining in. Pulling in 20,000 fans for a mid table game is all very well but if only 500 fans are making any noise, as seemed to be the case their isn't much home advantage.
Probably this will be most memorable for being the coldest afternoon I have endured since I fell in a river in the Brecon Beacons when I was 16 when there was a foot of snow on the ground. Seriously, I came close to hypothermia. It was bloody Baltic!
Overall not a great game but a good day out!
Plymouth Argyle 0
Or what Akela did at the weekend
So with a free Saturday with not much on and Barnet away to Exeter I finally saw sense and decided to take in a game farely close to home as part of my slightly geeky quest to join the 92 club by going to see Ipswich Town (the Tractor boys) take on Plymouth Argyle (the Pasties).
Arriving into Ipswich station at 1pm I was clearly running quite early so having collected my ticket and done the customary circuit of the stadium I wandered around Ipswich town center to get an idea of what sort of town I was in. Ipswich is a genuinely pleasant market town with a sense that the local do really support their local club, at least that's what the number of people in colours in town suggested. There are a large number of properly preserved old buildings around despite the obvious attempts to create a concrete jungle and as I strolled through the market square I have to confess to developing a proper affection for the place that other towns have failed to impress upon me.
So on to Portman Road itself.
The stadium reflects the town. It has some proper old features to it despite obvious attempts to bring it into the modern world. I took my seat in the north stand and saw how the two end had clearly been redeveloped in recent years. To my right the Britannia stand screamed 1920's classic design and to my left the Cobolt stand showed off the features of the earliest 1960's cantilever design. Compared to some of my more recent introductions to stadiums, such as St Mary's, the ultimate anti Christ of stadiums, with all the character of a plate of cold custard, this place is pure heaven. Add to that that it serves real ale at the bar and the stewards don't try to impersonate robo cop at any given opportunity and I think that this place could become a big favourite of mine!
And so on to the game.
To be honest it wasn't great. Neither side showed any real desire to win it. Ipswich had more chances but failed to deliver much in the way of good final balls. If anything Plymouth were worse although they perhaps showed more composure in defence than Ipswich. Ipswich hit the post in the first half and Plymouth were lucky to finish with 11 men on the pitch after a shocking elbow by their center forward followed up with an awful bit of diving. Ipswich no.14, Stead, showed most guile and Argyle had difficulty coping with his wing play although from the comments of fans around me this was an usually good performance.
As for the fans, there is clearly a hard core if town fans who get behind the team but they could do with others joining in. Pulling in 20,000 fans for a mid table game is all very well but if only 500 fans are making any noise, as seemed to be the case their isn't much home advantage.
Probably this will be most memorable for being the coldest afternoon I have endured since I fell in a river in the Brecon Beacons when I was 16 when there was a foot of snow on the ground. Seriously, I came close to hypothermia. It was bloody Baltic!
Overall not a great game but a good day out!
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