4th July 2023

In years gone by, our small band of ex-rugby comrades, who still meet every Thursday evening to play pool, share a few beers, and revel in each other’s company, used to extend the camaraderie once a month with a group meal. That tradition, however, had quietly faded over time. But on the 21st of June, we revived it in fitting style, returning to the Bull’s Head in Clipstone, the very venue where our first-ever group meal had taken place, for Pie Night.

Despite the wide selection on offer, we proved ourselves creatures of habit (or perhaps simply men of good taste), all opting for the same indulgent choice: steak, ale, and Stilton pie. These pies are no small feat, generous in both size and richness. Not everyone in the group managed to conquer their plate, a far cry from our younger, sportier days when leftovers would have been unthinkable. Starters and desserts were firmly ruled out. Instead, we relied on a steady flow of beer to help us ease the juggernaut of pastry and filling on its way.

It was a fine evening of laughter, stories, and groaning waistbands, proof that old traditions, like old friends, are worth reviving now and then.

As is so often the case, when schools brace themselves for exam season, the weather witches play their usual trick, casting spells of sunshine and warmth just as students are confined to stuffy halls. I remember it well. Back in the sixties, when Sue and I sat our ‘O’ and ‘A’ levels, I spent many an exam paper staring wistfully through high windows at cloudless skies, my mind tangled in facts and figures while my heart longed for the cricket pitch, and my soul drifted somewhere around Woodstock. It never seemed fair.

Today, of course, ‘O’ levels are a thing of the past, replaced by the rather more intense GCSEs. Whereas I sat through 9 exams, poor Lucas has recently endured an astonishing 29. He’s been revising for months, diligently giving up a good portion of his teenage summer in preparation to sit at a lonely desk and regurgitate the best the curriculum had to offer.

To mark the end of his exams, to honour his dedication, and to let him know how proud we already are, whatever the results, Sue and I took him out for a celebratory meal. His choice: Mexican. So off we went to Rio Bravo in Harborough. The food was spicy and full of flavour, and it was a real pleasure to spend a couple of relaxed hours in the company of a young man who, I’m sure, will go on to make his mark in the world.

Earlier in the week, Ellis and Lucas had another treat, a day at the Imperial War Museum Duxford’s annual airshow. As well as enjoying the thrilling aerial displays, they had the rare chance to step aboard the iconic Concorde. What a remarkable aircraft it was, so far ahead of its time, and sadly now grounded, a glimpse of a future that never quite came to pass.

On a more mundane note, I’ve recently found myself in the less-than-thrilling world of painting. It all began innocently enough while addressing a small leak on the flat roof that separates the two parts of the house. Once repaired, I decided to repaint the fresh bitumen surface with silver aluminium paint, used to reflect the summer heat. So far, so sensible.

But then, for reasons known only to some reckless inner decorator, I extended this most uninspiring of tasks by tackling the roof of the Garden Room. Let me offer this as advice to my future self (and anyone else tempted): kneeling on a black surface on a sunny afternoon, in shorts and a T-shirt, whilst applying reflective silver paint is not to be recommended. It’s a hot, sticky, slightly shimmering form of torture.

Nevertheless, I seemed to have caught the painting bug. The following day, I moved on to the gas and electric meter doors, the garage door, and even the decking on the bedroom balcony. All now bear a fresh coat and a faint whiff of aluminium triumph.

Meanwhile, on the 26th of June, Ellis headed off on a school residential trip to France. Although he’d visited most of the sites before with his parents, and despite the trip being eye-wateringly expensive, it was a valuable experience and a great chance to bond with schoolmates. Predictably, he returned five days later, utterly exhausted and spent much of the next day in a horizontal and largely unconscious state. An educational adventure followed by the sacred teenage ritual of recovery.

Due to Covid and our Madagascar adventure last year, it had been three long years since I last volunteered at a charitable event to raise funds for St. Joseph’s Catholic School. So, on the 29th of June, I donned my DJ once more and, along with Sean Perry and David Thomlinson, travelled to Marston Trussel Hall to wait on tables for a ladies’ lunch. Jim Crawford and a few other stalwarts had also volunteered. We started service at 11 a.m. and didn’t leave until after 7 p.m.

After a torrential downpour during the night, the weather smiled kindly on us, and the rain clouds mercifully stayed away. The 86 women of all ages ate well, drank well, and splashed the cash magnificently in the obligatory raffle. Gluttons for punishment, the four of us later reconvened in Willow Bank’s Garden Room to play pool, sample refreshments, and devour the surplus cheese and crackers from the feast earlier in the day.

Comment: The other day, I watched a two-hour documentary on PBS, a publicly funded nonprofit known for educational programming in the United States, about Donald Trump: his election, presidency, and subsequent impeachment. It is baffling that so many Americans continue to support this divisive figure, apparently choosing to ignore the lies and falsehoods of the last six years, his cosy relationship with Putin and oligarchs, and his blatant attempts to undermine the Constitution and erode democracy.

Such ignorance or apathy is what props up tyrants like Putin, Xi Jinping, and Kim Jong Un. The slogan “Make America Great Again,” originally coined by Alexander Wiley in 1940 and later used by Barry Goldwater, Ronald Reagan, and Bill Clinton, has now been hijacked by Trump, not to improve the lives of Americans or bolster the country’s standing in the world, but simply to avoid his comeuppance. Shame on those who back this wannabe dictator.

Equally shameful is the compliance of many Russian citizens with the lies of Putin’s regime. Their indifference has already led to the slaughter and imprisonment of hundreds of thousands of their fellow countrymen and countless Ukrainians. This unjust war on a peaceful neighbour has been accompanied by ever more oppressive laws, designed solely to deflect blame, suppress opposition, and protect one man.

The recent dramatic episode involving the Wagner Group, an illegal private mercenary force in Russia, was a chilling reminder of the regime’s fragility. When Yevgeny Prigozhin ordered his troops to march on Moscow in pursuit of “revenge” after accusing the military leadership of betraying his forces, the capital faced an extraordinary threat.

Could this be the beginning of the end for Vladimir Putin’s tyranny? For the sake of the youth of Russia and Ukraine, one can only hope so.