Hair today...

I suspect most men will go through a period of wondering whether facial hair suits them or in fact makes them look like a badger. In the past, when I have wondered this, I have allowed my childish stubble to proliferate during November so that most people assume I am doing something for charity rather than completing my own personal experiment in itchiness. Since I don’t get much growth down my cheeks, I always end up with a goatee, which suggests I’m trying to look ‘cool’ or ‘mature’, neither of which are accusations that are frequently levelled at me. Or I get patchy areas that looks like a child has stuck small pieces of felt to my cheeks, a bit like this:

I find it bizarre that I don’t get much growth on my face since my eyebrows have never needed any encouragement. It’s like having a pair of liquorice allsorts permanently glued to my forehead. And worse still, I have one super-long eyebrow hair. It has twice the virility of any of its neighbouring hairs, and shoots forth with remarkable velocity. At the hairdressers recently I was asked if I wanted my eyebrows trimmed, which was a first for me and seemed to be a leading question since they presumably don’t ask people who don’t need a trim?! Undeniably it creating a neat effect and levelled the playing field again by keeping my super-hair in check. My main concern now is if and when I will be asked if I want my nostrils trimmed too!

Irish Jigs

Today I made a discovery; one that was only made possible by a fortunate combination of furniture arrangements and an apathetic attitude towards cleaning. I discovered that it is impossible not to do an Irish jig when standing on a bed hanging curtains whilst listening to ‘Rant’ by Mary McDonald. I suspect that it would be difficult not to jig anywhere to this particular tune, but the bounciness of the bed and the dangerous lean necessitated by the fact that the curtain rail was just out of reach added to the tempo of the jig. I had to stand on the bed as it was just close enough to the window for me to reach the rail to hang the freshly laundered curtains (this is the only time I think they have ever been freshly laundered, and only occurred due to a previous lack of freshness about them). And once I was there, the jig started entirely of its own accord, during which I contemplated that it was only my laundry particulars and the bedroom feng shui that would ever have resulted in this bizarre and wonderful discovery.

The Beautiful Game?

Some of you may have seen my previous rant about how I have successfully quit watching football over the last few years. So imagine my dilemma when I found out there was, apparently, a world cup happening. I was torn. Would I be able to avoid it or would I rush out and purchase stretchy St George's flags to put over my wing mirrors? Even an ex-addict like me would surely find it difficult to stay away from the wall-to-wall coverage and national hype. But if I was going to be dragged in, would I find myself disappointed by all the usual diving, controversy and arrogance, or would I be impressed by quality play, national pride and athletic prowess? As it turns out, I've found both!

The disappointments came thick and fast, beginning with Brazilian diving. Since then I've seen a whole range of acting ability; forwards being shot in the box, defenders play-acting to get opponents booked and waste time, and some peculiar auditions for parts in obscure Shakespeare plays. Then there's been the officiating; continual poor decisions, disallowed goals, excessive use of disappearing foam. Add to that the controversies; fans invading the press room, team buses breaking down, Phil Neville being allowed to speak on national TV. All in all the world cup has, so far, offered up a predictable assortment of disappointing and disgraceful occurrences that make me want to hurl my drink/remote control/sensibilities through the screen.

But I've managed to resist that urge, largely because I've thoroughly enjoyed not caring what happens! Without the usual partisan allegiance or over-inflated sense of national worth I've been able to dip in and out of games without ulterior motive or agenda. It means I can laugh at the inevitable stupidity of it all. It turns out there are few things funnier than watching grown men behaving like school children. If you don't believe me, watch this. And who hasn't chuckled at the bizarre insistence on using the new goal-line technology when the ball has nestled in the bottom corner? Not only has the world cup provided endless amusement, but there's actually been some excellent play too. I've been thoroughly impressed by many of the smaller nations who seem to still understand what it means to represent your country, and who work hard for one another and manage to play as a team. There have been one or two moments of sheer class, like Tim Cahill's volley for Australia. Some of the games have even been exciting!

So I find it hard to care that England are out. We were beaten in two games by two better teams. And we're yet to play Costa Rica, who seem to have played better than anyone else in the group. With half of England praying for Italy to do us a favour in the remaining group games, I found it impossible to support a nation that were so consistently outplayed by the Costa Ricans. I found myself willing the minnows on. I think it is a relief now that England are out and we can just enjoy the good bits without the distractions.

I will be supporting fair play, good attitudes and outrageous skill for the rest of the tournament, but will also continue to enjoy the comedy elements offered up by the world's 'best' players.

Better results for the Spanish

I attended a meeting lately about a particular bird of conservation concern to see what could be done to protect it. This bird has been the subject of several studies in Europe, so the particular experts were flown in to the conference to attend. The world authority appears to be a Spanish lady, who told us all about her work on the species over the last 30 years or so. She gave a very scientific talk in a language that was not her first. Yet she spoke clearly and fluently, even using phrases like ‘all was not rosy’ during the 30-40 minutes she was talking. Indeed she spoke better than most of the gathered English experts. And since she is Spanish, she spoke very quickly, which means her brain must be working even faster to decide what it wants to say, translate it, and deliver it. What a very impressive woman!

Creative Genius

There are times when I get an overwhelming urge to be creative. I blame that urge for the videos I post on here, for the unsuccessful tricks I try at hockey, for the fact that I have a blog. But every now and then I see something so utterly inspirational that I feel both humbled in the world of creativity and encouraged to go further, be bolder and try harder than I had before. This man deserves great credit. Click here to be amused and inspired. 

Travel Snacks

Today I saw a very large child on a very small bike. He was both large in the sense of being too tall for the bike, but also a little bit too wide. As he was riding along he was trying to eat M&Ms by pouring them one-handed into his mouth while steering with the other hand. This worked well until he came to the curb, but instead of stopping he just ploughed on over it, spilling M&Ms in every direction as he went. This reminded me of two instances that I recall fondly from my childhood.

The first was a cinema experience I had when I was about 12. Having stopped at the shops to purchase sweets, including M&Ms, on the way to the cinema, we arrived late to the showing and had to enter the auditorium in the dark. One of our number had nipped to the loo and said he would find us, so obviously we all ducked down so that he could not see us. In this awkward contorted position my sister elected to open a large bag of M&Ms, but lacked the necessary strength and leverage to do so easily. Applying more might than sense to the process resulted in the bag flying open and an explosion of M&Ms into the air. As they hit the floor, they sounded like a thousand raindrops on a corrugated iron roof, and the noise grew into a crescendo as they hit the slope and started rolling towards the front in unison. This went on for a surprisingly long time, during which several people sitting nearby began to pick stray M&Ms from their hair and clothing, and mutter with disgust at the rowdy teenagers causing mischief. Our friend had arrived in the dark just in time to witness the chocolate fountain and had known instantly where we were.   

The second recollection was from a younger age. I used to cycle over to a street where a few mates lived, and we would play games in the street or in someone’s house. On this particular day we wanted to play monopoly at someone’s house, but the game was at someone else’s house at the other end of the road. Being lazy teenagers, we cycled up the road to get it, but having procured the game we faced the difficult decision of how to get it back down the street with all of us on bikes. I offered to lay it across my arms as I cycled, which solved the problem for about 30 seconds. As I picked up speed, the current of air passing over me lifted the lid of the game up into my face. Temporarily blinded by the cardboard box, but still travelling forward, I swayed merrily from side to side, during which time I was faintly aware of a stream of monopoly money flying out to either side of me. Finally I crashed into a wall, spilling the remaining contents into the road. Obviously we all found this hilarious, but we spent longer picking cash out of people’s front gardens than we did playing the game.

Rarely has a rotund teenager caused me such nostalgia.

A Big Night Out

Friday Night: The end of a long week. A chance to unwind, let your hair down and catch up with some mates. Many favour the nocturnal lure of bars and clubs, the pumping beats and free-flowing alcohol, the staggering home clutching on for dear life to your kebab and what's left of your dignity. While there's certainly a time and place for that, this Friday I opted for something a little different.


Peppered Moth

 

Cinnabar Moth

 

I went camping. Not the rugged sort of tramping where you hike 26 miles into remote territory surviving on nothing but a cereal bar and lucozade tablets. Instead a genteel, easy-going sort of thing where we drove our tents, chairs and table into a field and pitched up. We brought food, camping stoves, some beers and cider, seats and a table, and of course marshmallows, all in the hopes of spending a little time chatting and relaxing in peaceful surroundings, and indulging in a little night-time wildlife extravaganza.


Scorched Wing Moth

 

Burnished Brass Moth 

In the last light of day we spotted red kites drifting lazily overhead, a woodpecker flying back and forth, the swifts screaming past. As darkness fell we could hear the eerie call of the stone-curlew and plaintive lapwing dialogue in the adjacent field. As we walked for an hour in the dark there was unidentified shrieking, scuffling and scratching from the undergrowth near by. In the night I heard footsteps of small animals and arose to a bright morning filled with birdsong: skylarks announcing the new day, yellowhammer rattling atop the nearest hedge, and whitethroat scratching along the scrub behind the tent. The moth trap had worked wonders, with a huge array of sizes and shapes, colours and contrasts. Some moths were plain, others patterned, some furry and others holding delicate antennae out before them. A few rogue spiders and a large beetle infested with mites had joined them. A small blue butterfly flew past, briefly distracting us from the myriad moth collection, and whites and brimstone were on the wing too.

White Ermine Moth

 

Buff Ermine Moth



All of this was there to see without any effort, hiding in plain site. The accessibility of nature and the sheer diversity of life that passes us by when we don't stop to look is astonishing. Yes a moth trap is useful, and a tent and a field, but spend a night outside anywhere and see what happens. We rely so much on our eyes but the night takes that from us, leaving our other senses heightened and adrenaline pumping harder than any beat could induce. Take a walk without a torch and let your eyes grow accustomed. Sit and listen to the sounds close at hand. Delve into the undergrowth for all the mini-beasts that would ordinarily pass you by.

Small Elephant Hawkmoth

 

Buff-Tip Moth

Whether with friends of family, or even on your own, the experience of sleeping out among nature is open to all of us, and now is a great time to do it. The RSPB is organising a 'Big Wild Sleep Out' with events across the country. But even without that, get out in your garden for the night and see what you can find. You will experience something new, something different, and get a huge buzz from it without waking up with a headache next to a half-eaten burger.