YOU CAN'T PLEASE ALL OF THE PEOPLE ....

Anyone with the slightest interest in Motor racing today, cannot but have noticed the meteoric rise to almost super-stardom, in only a few weeks, of Lewis Hamilton. Having been nurtured and mentored by Ron Dennis, the boss of McClaren, he slid smoothly into the absolute top echelon of the sport, having very precociously won Two Grand Prixs after starting in Formula 1 only in March this year. It took everyone else ages longer to get to the same position - Schumacher, for instance, took over two years, not two months, to get two wins under his belt.

And, apart from being a very fast racing driver, the guy seems to be disarmingly and unfailingly nice, he's totally fluent in "corporate speak" as if he's known the language for years, he's utterly polite, and seems to be the perfectly equipped individual for a sport which is heading into new countries, and even continents, at a rapid rate. Everyone seems to have a view that he has no faults - in a sport where image is so important, he is a Marketing Man's dream.

Except - he's not the only British Formula One driver on the scene, and a simple image taken at the marvellous Festival of Speed at Goodwood yesterday may well have identified at least one person who probably wishes he'd never heard Lewis Hamilton's name.

Seen on a very large pile of identical scale model Racing Cars for sale on a stall.

Tags:

motor racing,
jenson button,
lewis hamilton,formula 1,
f1

YOU'LL GET ME INTO HOT WATER

My wife went into Telford this morning, to meet my daughter and 1 year old grandson. They went into the only decent Coffee shop in the town centre for lunch, and, in order to feed the little one, asked the staff serving behind the counter, for a jug of hot water in which to heat up the Jar of Banana Custard and Anchovy they had taken for him.

“We can’t do that, madam, you’ll have to give it to me here behind the counter, and we’ll put it in the jug of hot water and heat it up for you.”

"But, I’m quite capable of heating up a bottle for a child, I’ve brought up two children, who are still alive, and am now on my third grandchild. I think I can be trusted.”

“Sorry, madam, we’re not allowed to. It’s Health and Safety” – the answer to everything in the whole UK world today.

There then ensued a gentle rantlet from my wife, which, as always, got absolutely nowhere, apart from a significant release of steam.

She then asked for her own order which included a Pot of Tea, which was filled from the same exploding steam machine used to fill the grandson’s jug which THEY had determined we were unfit to handle, and handed it to my wife. The temperature of the tea to which she was entrusted was probably around 211ºF, having cooled down ever so slightly from the superheated state it had been in some 5 seconds previously. Even when pressed to “Compare and Contrast” the two actions and attempt some form of rational explanation, the irony of it all passed completely over the staff’s head, as very nearly did the Pot of Tea.

A couple of minutes later, the assistant came over to the table with the Grandson's Jar of Food, which they had heated to a temperature where it was now glowing Cherry Red. They now needed a Jug of Cold Water to reduce the temperature of the jar from "Searing", down through "Jeez, that's still Bloody hot" and onto "Now, that's how it needs to be". The good news is that they were allowed to be trusted unsupervised on their own with the Jug of Cold water the Assistant brought to allow this quenching process to be implemented.

“Health and Safety” apparently explains it all.

And for a minute there, I thought there was a problem.

Tags:

health and safety,
HSE

TIPPING THE COW - JERSEY'S FIRST MEDAL

The Olympic bandwagon for 2012 gathers pace. The UK already has a new “edgy” logo, which nobody in the whole country yet owns up to liking, and which to me looks like the result of a Highland Terrier swallowing a large Swastika sign.

We can also see the spectre of additional “sports” appearing on the horizon, all vying for a 21st Century piece of the action. Skateboarding seems to be the latest one, for reasons that currently escape me. In my glorious ignorance, I would have thought this activity was limited to youths wearing their caps with the peak at 90º covering their left ears in the inner suburbs of a few western cities. I have no idea if it has yet caught on in, say, Morocco or Nigeria or the Rest of the World. Perhaps that’s the cunning plan for the UK to win something in 2012 – get a sport included where you’re the only country who is any good at it, or even knows of its existence. Curling? Scotland, anyone? Or, as Jeremy Hardy calls it – Housekeeping on Ice.

I was throwing out some old newspapers the other day, which set me thinking about all this. There was an article on the sport we’ve all missed here - Cow Tipping. Now I seem to have spent my Three score and a tiny bit years on this earth completely unaware even of the existence of this sport. The clue is in the name – the sport centres on how many people it needs to push a cow over, and somehow or other the League of Cruel Sports, and our Governmental Protectors have not yet seen fit to bring the cruelty of it to the public’s attention, and, presumably as a follow up to the Hunting Ban, push for legislation to ban it. It is therefore burgeoning, presumably more in the rural parts of the realm. Very odd.

The Times carried a very erudite article exposing the subject, showing by means of lots of Cos theta and Tan alpha hieroglyphics how much force pushing a cow over required. The maths seemed to indicate it needed around 3 people, but a flurry of letters in the newspaper threw doubt on the accuracy of the calculation, citing the possibility of a large Centre of Gravity variation dependent upon whether the cow’s udders were full or empty. Some cow-lover from Hawaii then wrote in to confirm that indeed it did need 3 people – “One person on one side of the cow, and two on the other. The lone person pushes very hard on his side, and waiting for the balancing response from the startled animal, the other two then push very hard on the other side to overbalance her.”

Note they don’t do it to a Bull. Apparently this approach “works like a charm”.

The last word on the subject came from a guy from Cambridge University, who apparently has calculated that a person of 12st 10lb would need to Drop kick the cow at around 12mph to get it on its side.

Perhaps the key comment in one of the letters is the claim that, in order to undertake this activity to maximum effect, “Sobriety is a hindrance” – 4 words which tell all, and which should suit the UK’s entrants perfectly if the attempts to promote it as an Olympic Sport are successful. At least, if it does creep in, we could also have a replacement logo, showing a Cow Rampant, with the 5 Olympic Rings tastefully entwined around and attached to its Nose.

It can’t be worse than Kaiser McTavish, the Nazi Highland Terrier.

Tags:

olympics,
2012,
cows,logo

GOLF - THE LONG GAME

In a list of “Greatest Ads of All Time”, this one gets somewhere in my Top 10. Remember it?

Press centre arrow to start

As part of a long running sequence of the best car Ads EVER, it sits right on top of the pile.

And here’s another from the same camp.

Today, the ear-ring would be worn by a bloke.

An advert can create an impression, a feeling and a perception about a product, a desire to try it out. Be it a chocolate bar or a car, the advert gets you through the door. You buy the bar of Chocolate, you try it, and if you like it, you’re hooked. If you spit it out, no amount of the best advertising in the world gets you to buy another one. For the car, the advert is a much more powerful thing. It’s a fundamental plank of the Image and the Brand – that nebulous, but Oh so Important thing which can command Millions, even Billions of extra money for the Manufacturer from the buying public.

Just ask Vauxhall what they’d give for VW’s image, ask why Ford spent $1,600 million buying the Jaguar name 15 or so years ago, wonder why Cadillac are falling flat on their face trying to sell luxury saloons in this country, and then ask why Peugeot, Renault and Citroen squander hundreds of millions of pounds even bothering to try. IMAGE, my boy, IMAGE.

As I say, the advert only gets you through the door – the product has to deliver – all of which leads me to the subject of this little celebratory piece – the Volkswagen Golf.

IT HAD TO BE SILVER, DIDN'T IT?

Having waxed lyrical about the ads, I bought one. I’ve had mine for 1,915 days now (that’s almost 5¼ years) and the other day, the milometer rolled over the 100,000 mile mark. That’s an average of 52 miles per day.

CATCH THE MOMENT!

And, apart from the bulbs which give up the ghost, new brake pads, new windscreen wipers, a new camshaft belt when the service manual advised me to, and a couple of minor niggles resulting from my failed attempt to mate one of my front headlights with the very inviting rear of an old Audi, NOTHING has gone wrong with it.

It starts when it’s supposed to, stops when I want, and doesn’t stop when I don’t want. It does everything a car like that should.

It averages over 52 mpg (It’s a diesel), accelerates when required, like a little rocket, uses no oil between services, rides and handles tolerably well, and the interior fittings, which are a model of restrained modern elegance and design, scrub up, even now, like new.

Yes. I could write VW a (shortish) list of things they should improve, but none are that important. The Autocar Road testers whinge that it doesn’t handle or ride like a Ford Focus (they’re right, it doesn’t), but in the real world when most of us are not looking for the last ounce of performance, that’s totally irrelevant.

It really is a marvellous thing, and I have grown to respect, admire and occasionally love it. The way it’s going at present, it doesn’t feel as if the next 100,000 miles will hold any great traumas. And if it does have to go, you can understand that the decision about its replacement is really quite simple.

All down to a short advert where I still believe the girl binning her jewels and fur coat was Princess Di!

Tags:

volkswagen,
vw,
golf,cars,
adverts,
princess di

FLOWER POWER

A simple picture of a poppy in our garden, taken against a fence. It's the feathery beauty of the poppy flower, which only lasts a couple of days, its glorious zingy pink colour, matched against the pale grey/green colour of the fence against which it has been set which caught my eye. Mother Nature (or is it now Person Nature?), aided by the Mistress of the house to create a small patch of floral perfection.

Tags:


garden,
poppy,
flowers,
pink

LONG SHADOWS AND WARM BEER ....

"Fifty years on from now, Britain will still be the country of long shadows on county [cricket] grounds, warm beer, invincible green suburbs, dog lovers and old maids bicycling to Holy Communion through the morning mist".

The one quote you tie immediately to John Major. I’m not actually sure he was that well advised to come out with it, if what he wanted was to create a broad church of consensual nostalgia throughout the country. It probably made, all too clear, the real distance between the more down-trodden parts of say, Manchester and Birmingham, to name but two, and 10 Downing Street. But, there you go. I don’t live there – I live here.

This author’s eyes see where Major was coming from, living where I do, in a small village in rural Shropshire, where there are a lot of dog lovers, where, if the village had a pub, the beer would probably be warm and where old ladies still dutifully attend Holy Communion, sometimes on foot, sometimes on a bike, and sometimes, very, very alarmingly, in a car.

And yes, the village has a church, of Norman origin, and next to it, a lovely local Cricket ground, where every Saturday, and most Wednesday evenings, the “long shadows” fall on twenty two men, good and true, attempting to beat seven bells out of each other with a leather cricket ball and a willow bat.

Yesterday afternoon, I took the Nikon down to the ground to take a few pictures of the gentle slumber/ritual slaughter which was then in full flow. It was a beautiful evening, warm, sunny, with lovely slanting light. If you really wanted to see England at its nicest, then standing alongside me watching the proceedings would not have been a bad place to start.

THE LOCAL CRICKET GROUND

A CLOSE UP OF THE ACTION

A BEAUTIFUL COVER DRIVE, STRAIGHT OUT OF THE COACHING MANUAL, EXCEPT THAT HE MISSED THE BALL, AND 0.02 SECONDS LATER, THE BAILS WENT EVERYWHERE

THE CLUBHOUSE

THE CROWD

THIS GUY, WHO CLEARLY POSSESSED, AND HAD WATCHED, ALL KP'S TRAINING VIDEOS, WAS TERRIFIC - THIS HIT WENT STRAIGHT OUT OF THE GROUND FOR 6, INTO THE ADJOINING RAPE FIELD - LEADING TO -

YOU DON'T GET THIS AT LORDS - LOOKING FOR THE BALL. SOME PLAYERS SEEM LESS KEEN HERE THAN OTHERS!

GOT IT!

PUTTING YOUR HEART AND SOUL INTO IT

BILLY NO-MATES, AT LONG ON, WITH THE WREKIN IN THE BACKGROUND - TELL ME YOU DON'T LIKE THAT!

Tags:

cricket,
village cricket,
england,
john major,
shropshire,
photography

A RATHER CONVENIENT BREAKDOWN

As one drives one's journey to work through the seasons, the colours and patterns of the countryside at the side of the road slowly change in a rather miraculous way. We are in the middle of one of the most enjoyable times of the year - there is a great deal of change, and everything is new, bright, zingy and colourful.

I have watched the field of poppies gradually appear over the last few days, alongside Junction 4 of the M54. Tonight, on a mission of marital mercy to Ikea, my car seemed to suffer an odd desire to slow down and stop just alongside the field, and remarkably I found that I had brought my camera along with me. I took a few pictures, four of which are reproduced below. Amazingly, whatever it was that had afflicted the car seemed to have cleared itself when I returned to it.

So, all in all, a rather magical evening - Ikea excepted of course!

Tags:

poppies,
landscape,
photography,shropshire