So, Fatima Whitbread is in the jungle, eh? The mention of that marvellous name certainly brings back fond memories. Is there a man in the land over the age of 40 who can hear the name Fatima Whitbread and not immediately think of a cricket ball? A very fine joke indeed, but definitely not fit for publication. Those were the days mind, when Britain reigned supreme in the gentle art of female spear throwing, with our two girls battling ferociously with two of the legion of nearly men of East German athletics, the redoubtable Petra Felke and the superbly named Beata Koch. Which is nearly as good a name as old Bernt Hass at Sunderland in Reidy's day, but I digress. The story goes that Petra and Beata were always beautifully close shaven, but maybe not where you would expect.
View from the Cemetery
No such thing as bad publicity, that's what they all say, and it just shows you how little they all know. Pride goeth before a fall, and if a two-page spread complete with banner headline in the local paper doesn't add up to pride I don't know what does. Rise and rise of RCA it said, which, as you very well might have guessed, has unfortunately been immediately followed by fall and fall, though maybe we got something at Durham on Tuesday? (Yes we did, and an absolute cracker by all accounts). And now the Manchester United of the North East come a visiting, should be fun.
"Just like a river that don't know where it's going, I took a wrong turn and I just kept flowing...."
Well apart from the wrong turn bit, if it's good enough for the Boss it's good enough for me. Might not be a wrong turn, in fact it's turned out lovely, but we certainly don't know where it's going, or if it will ever end? A comprehensive dispatch of the Bishop's boys and another two solid wins on the road since my last communication, and we sail serenely on in untroubled waters, well clear of the chasing pack.
I always think the Northern League's Northern Ventures magazine is a good read, when that is it gets thrown over the fence, but for name dropping purposes the editor has surpassed himself this month. His Grace the Duke of Northumberland, The President of the Worldwide Methodist Conference and the MP for Guisborough. All in a few pages; a noble, holy and, almost certainly, honourable trio if ever I saw one. Counterbalanced of course by the usual stories, and sadly pictures, of blokes who look and sound demented in the extreme, and whose dress sense, if sense is the word, leaves quite a bit to be desired. Unless, in one spectacular and eye hurting case this month, you are about to mount a surf board in Hawaii. Which they weren't. I was once asked to leave the bar at Crook Golf Club because of my trousers, specifically the fact that I didn't have them on as it happens, but I won't bore you with sordid details. Much more importantly, there is no photographic evidence of the same, something some of the braver correspondents to Northern Ventures might care to ponder on. Still, makes for something to talk about during the boring bits. And were there boring bits in the 0-0 draw down at Bishops? Not really to judge by the reports, which either reckoned Bishops should have won comfy, or that RCA could have been five up by half time; funny how folks can see the same things different ways, no? And a quid for a cup of tea, no recession in the wild south west by the sounds of it.