ABC?

I should have thought this whole blog business out rather better - intended architectural, industrial and cultural curios have this time given way to a curious experience, albeit linked to something quintessentially English - a game of cricket.

The backdrop - a lovely sunny day, an unusual villlage ground tucked away behind a farm in a Sussex hamlet. The pitch in itself was an oddity, situated in a bowl, having the steepest boundaries I have encountered; comforting during fielding when the ball starts to roll back away from the rope just as you were about to give up the chase, but frustrating when batting, as your elegant cover drive ('four from the moment it left the bat') ends up being a scampered two due to gravity. But back to the curious experience, which will no doubt, henceforth, mark me down as a crackpot. Perhaps the loneliness of fielding on the boundary can play tricks on the mind. A field populated by several ponies lay beyond the boundary and whilst the game was entertaining with wickets tumbling regularly enough, there was no ignoring the fact that all of sudden the ponies got 'spooked' and all stampeded to the far side of the field. I looked over to where they had run from and saw what looked like a large black labrador 100 yards off, half hidden in the grass at the edge of the field. It was only after the labrador was still rooted to the spot 10 minutes later that I began to take a closer interest and wandered over to the square leg umpire who was in conversation with deep square leg. As all the locals knew apparently, it was a Black Panther, which had lately been blamed for the loss of several small dogs. Normally a sceptic about such things, I have to say that I found it a very plausible explanation for the behaviour of a big black dog, with no apparent owner, that patiently stalked a herd of ponies, rather than running around barking excitedly as dogs might be inclined to. Others apparently saw it skulk off and climb a nearby oak tree, something that I've never seen a labrador attempt. So, was it an Alien Big Cat; an escaped or released 60s rock star's pet? Call me a crackpot, but I reckon it was. Maybe I won't volunteer to field on the boundary next time.

Level playing field?

Wireless

Although "wireless" in the current vernacular indicates internet connection without wires, there are of course plenty of die-hards who still use the term affectionately for radio, probably those lovely old wooden ones with a fabric covered speaker. We had one when I was very young and it resided in my bedroom for a while in an attempt to help me get to sleep. I have a degree of nostalgia for that piece of 'furniture', but my favourite radio ever was my GEC Starfinder II. It was a 13th birthday present and I still vividly remember lying in bed in the school infirmary listening to a 1975 UEFA Cup commentary featuring Jimmy Case scoring a hat-trick over Slask Wroclaw from Poland. Great name for a radio, Starfinder, reaching out to the heavens for sounds - well as often as not, reaching to the end of the dial to listen out for police communications, which seemed so exciting and daring at the time. Well, sad to say, the Starfinder II has now made the trip to the local recycling depot. I had to just take a photo to remind me of old times.

All Hands to the Pump

Lunch hour for Puddler today entailed a quick dash to Sainsburys to fill up the Puddlemobile with fuel, resist the goodies on offer in the kiosk and then back to the desk to eat the usual sandwich, today made from Mrs P's home-baked bread and raspberry jam. The anticipated delight was tempered by the odour of diesel on the hands (the polythene glove holder at the garage is always empty). So, as I experienced the raspberry-diesel flavour, I pondered on days gone by when your car was refuelled by a garage attendant who had permanently oily hands and might even check the oil and water while he was at it. I wonder, do any rural garages still offer this service? The last I recall in our neck of the woods assisted its last customer about 10 years ago. Upton-on-Severn still has the right type of pump, and not a litre marking in sight.

[Four years for the first post to materialise - a record?]