The World Cup was no sooner over than we were off to dear old Blighty for our annual summer vacation. It is always a relief to escape from the stifling heat of Japan’s summer season and this year was no different. However, it marked the first time that my wife and I have travelled by air without the offspring, which felt a little odd at first. It is something we will have to get used to though, as they gain years and wisdom. My wife was only there for a week, being worried about leaving our daughter in charge of the boys for any longer than that. I was there for nineteen days and had a fine old time, even though the weather did not play its part all the time.
I did manage to get to St. James’s Park to see the black & whites take the field, treating my old friend Keith to his first view of the interior of the magnificent stadium.
As he is a Sunderland supporter (aka a Mackem) he had difficulty in saying anything at all positive about the home ground of his deadly rivals, but he did mutter some monosyllabic grunts to that effect. The opponents in a friendly game were Villareal of Spain and the ground was less than half-full, but I was determined to enjoy myself. Newcastle, though, did not seem to be up for the affair and went behind in the 13th minute to one of the softest goals I’ve ever seem them concede, gifted to Josico. Keith was most amused, of course, and began to pay close attention to the field of play. I was somewhat relieved when Ameobi powered a quite exquisite header into the top-right corner of the Leazes net on twenty-two minutes to level the score, but this feeling did not last long. Villareal were not to be denied and went in at the half leading two-one after more defensive dithering allowed Pires to net. The half-time pie was most excellent, far better they ever used to be, which almost put me in a better mood. Surely Glenn Roeder had something up his sleeve to turn the tide?
If he had, he kept it up there because we were floundering again just after the hour when Rodriguez rose unmarked in the Leazes penalty area to plant an unstoppable header past the helpless Shay Given. I began to question my sanity in forking over hard-earned specie to be ‘entertained’ in this manner but Keith was having the time of his life, chuckling away in a manner not seen for years. It all looked black for us until 15 minutes from the end when Roeder made an inspired substitution, bringing on Nicky Butt for the lacklustre Babayaro. Somehow Butty snatched respectability from a rout, by scoring twice in 2 minutes in front of the ecstatic Gallowgate crowd. The last ten minutes were almost worth the price of admission as both teams went for the kill, bringing fine saves at both ends of the pitch, but all-square was how it ended after the ninety minutes were up. Even Keith had good words to say, even though he had been denied the ammunition to bait me with for years to come. Funny old game is football...
One good thing about being at home on holiday without my immediate family was that I got to spend more time with my own mother and father than is usually possible. We had a couple of really good days out, even though the weather didn’t really play its part. One of these days was a trip across the Tees borderline into North Yorkshire, with the aim of catching a glimpse of the restored A4 Pacific class locomotive Sir Nigel Gresley in its new role pulling passenger trains on the scenic 18-mile route between Grosmont and Pickering. The A4 Pacific class with its streamlined bodywork is generally reckoned to be one of the most beautiful steam locomotives ever built, whether you are interested in them or not. One of my earliest memories is waking up with a sore throat after a tonsillectomy in Durham General Hospital. As the nurse threw back the curtains, one of these locomotives came hissing into Durham station across the viaduct, all billowing steam, polished brass and gorgeous green livery. Fantastic it was. I think it was the Mallard but I’m not sure. In 1937, the hundredth such locomotive to be built was named after its designer, honouring him before his death in 1941.
This gorgeous piece of kit was rescued from the knackers yard in 1966 and underwent extensive restoration work over many years, at great expense. When the website of the North Yorkshire Moors Railway informed me where Sir Nigel could be observed in 2006 my interest was fired up and we duly set off on the pilgrimage. The weather was fine as we left but it rapidly deteriorated and as we crossed the Tees into Yorkshire the whole countryside was thoroughly shrouded in grey gloom and drizzle. It was very nostalgic for me to be honest, Yorkshire is really like that most of the time which is why it is such a green county. We had decided to try and view the locomotive from the hamlet of Beck Hole in the valley of the River Murk Esk. Beck Hole was a popular spot with Victorian and Edwardian visitors and is halfway up one of the the steepest inclines on the rail network. The one in forty-nine gradient means the locomotives are really labouring at low revs, providing the deep, satisfying CHUFF - CHUFF- CHUFF sound so beloved of live steam enthusiasts.
As it happened we had some time to kill before the next scheduled Pickering - Grosmont run of Sir Nigel so we went for refreshment in one of the smallest pubs I have ever been in.
The bar was full of smokers so we went in the lounge, my mother, father and I, meaning that it was really crowded. The man in charge entertained us with some ancient photographs of Beck Hole and the pub in days gone by. A nice pint of Theakston’s for me and a pot of tea for Mam & Dad had us suitably fortified and about half an hour later we drove the car up to the arch bridge to wait for our rendezvous.
When Sir Nigel arrived (late--some things never change) I was a little dismayed to find the tender was leading with the loco pulling the train in reverse, so the shot I had been anticipating did not quite materialize.
What I had been hoping for was something like this:
The best-laid schemes of mice and men, gang aft a-gley, as I’ve noted before. Never mind. The NYMR do put on a Sunday lunch service on the trains which sounds like a good idea for our 2007 excursion, though we would need better weather to make it worthwhile.
On return to Japan, I was almost immediately whisked off to the island of Shikoku, to the city of Marugame in Kagawa Prefecture. The reason for this was that my youngest son, Genki, was representing Hyogo Prefecture in the All-Japan Track & Field Championships, taking part in the shot-put event. In the end he managed a very creditable 4th place, but there was a considerable distance between the top 3 and his best effort. Shot-put involves body-weight above all and he simply does not have the bulky frame to excel at it. Nevertheless we were very pleased and very proud of his efforts, all the while hoping he would heed the advice of his coach and concentrate on discus. Two months later all dreams came true when on October 27th he took the gold medal in the discus event of the so-called ‘Junior Olympics’ at Yokohama International Stadium.
Wow. Dat’s ma boy! Numero Uno! At first he looked a bit wobbly as his first practice throw nearly hit the line-judge, while the second almost landed on the running track. Fortunately, there was no race in progress at the time. When time came for his first throw proper it flew far and straight in a perfect spinning arc, to touch down at 54.70 metres, fully 2 metres further than his previous best and bettering his great rival from Kyoto by a metre and a half. I swear I could feel the latter’s ego deflating as he contemplated the mountain he had to climb. At close of play, no-one had bettered 54.70 and so he stood proud on the podium like a dog with two tails, his previous rival taking the bronze.
One of the first entries in this blog was a report on the 2005 Ashes Test series victory by England, which was most gratifying to write. 14 months later, the series is taking place in Australia and England trail by 2 matches to nil, after a second innings batting collapse in the 2nd Test deflated our hopes of a come-back. We were beaten out of sight in the 1st Test, no mistake about it. It doesn’t bode well for a retention of the odd little urn that is the trophy, which allegedly contains the ashes of the cremated bats, balls and stumps from the first time Australia beat England at cricket, in the late 19th century. However, all is not over till the Fat Lady sings and the Third Test begins on December 14th in Perth at 02.30 GMT. I’m hoping the Three Lions on a shirt can prevail, otherwise it’ll be a pretty gloomy end to 2006.
I hope 2007 will see me blogging a bit more regularly. All the best for the season!
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