Anyway, I started to hatch a plot several years ago – 2018 when at Falkland Palace playing real tennis, to be precise – where Ewan Lee informed me that he was teaching his pupils to play fives on squash courts. The slightly different size and colour can be compensated for with a special ball, he told me. Squash courts are good for fives and vice versa. It occurred to me that Lord’s, with two squash courts, might be a very good place for fives.
Let’s not talk about why it took me three-and-a-half years from idea to actual plan and fruition. Let’s just talk about the fruition.
Early in 2022, I ordered a selection of fives equipment (several sizes of gloves & inners, plus a couple of those special balls) as a donation for players at Lord’s to share. Most of the gloves were “white-labelled” but you can buy, for a few bob extra, gloves labelled for the old school, so I treated myself to a personal Alleyn’s pair.
What would Mr Tindale have done? What would Mr Banson have done?
The equipment arrived 25 February and I had a provisional arrangement to have an initial go with Jack Clifton (one of the real tennis pros) and Janie on Monday 28th February.
What a glorious day it was.
I had arranged to play real tennis at 14:00. Janie and I arrived a little early for that session, enabling me to show her the (very) basics of fives for quarter of an hour or so before my game. It transpires that 10-15 minutes is sufficient for the addiction factor of the compelling game that is fives to kick in. Janie said she’d practice on her own for a while and come and watch the tennis a bit later. She did show up to watch the tennis for quite a while, but not before she’d warmed up her hands a fair bit for fives.
After I’d come a close second (which seems to be my regular placing post-Covid) at tennis, Jack, Janie and I had a good introductory knockabout on the fives court.
Jack took to the game very quickly indeed – I’d suggest that anyone who is a natural sportsperson for hand-eye co-ordination ball sports should be able to pick up fives and find pleasure in it rapidly.
Janie’s new-found addiction was slightly mitigated by her concern for her hands and fingers when playing a hard-ball game. As a podiatrist, she does need fully-functioning hands for work and worries about even the slight bruising that is inevitable (especially at first) even with padded gloves. I remember a similar conversation when she tried wicket-keeping.
Jack and I tried a couple of short games before the former returned to the pros office to do some work. “But for you, this too is work”, I said, but to no avail. Janie and I played for a while longer, while waiting for the next pair of combatants to finish their tennis match, as I had semi-lined up one of them to have a go at fives.
Graham Findlay, an Old Fettesian and increasingly handy real tennis-player, had previously told me that he used to play rugby fives at school. I should have guessed that he would have been very handy at the game; he’s very handy at games.
Both of us were able to boast an interval of 40 to 45 years since we had last played fives.
You can just see Graham in the background checking out the fixture list
Janie volunteered to watch and shoot some hand-held video from the squash court viewing gallery.
The first three clips show the progression of our warm up and refreshing our memories about the rules.
I had remembered the serve rule, but forgotten that lefties normally serve from the other side
Graham claims not to be remotely into it yet, then plays a classic leftie’s winner
Graham practices some serves from the left-hand side of the court
The next three clips show some highlights (or should I call them lowlights?) from our match: A Very Old Fettesian v An Alleyn’s Very Old Boy. Hold on to your hats:
The first rally of the match and Graham is unquestionably “too good”
Graham goes 3-1 up, Janie advises and I somehow scramble a winning rally
At 3-2, Janie advises some more and I pull off a classic shot to confound a leftie
We should draw a veil over the rest of the match. After all, fives is a quintessentially good-natured, sporting, fair-play game. It’s not about the score. It’s not about winning or losing. I’m sure, dear reader, you understand my points…or shortage thereof.
Graham wondered afterwards what Dr Colin Niven (a former teacher of his at Fettes and a former Head at Alleyn’s) would make of it – would he cheer for Fettes, Alleyn’s or just give three cheers for the sport?
Yesterday I finally plucked up the courage to attempt some filming of the half-sized table tennis that Daisy and I have been playing during lockdown.
We had played six games, which had gone: Daisy, Ged, Ged, Ged, Daisy, Daisy. That’s 3-3 (or, if you prefer, I won the first best of three and Daisy won the second best of three).
Nothing else for it, a one game decider.
We haven’t really got the hang of us changing ends mid game, nor of the camera placement, but this epic final is quite a thriller.
It’s also less than 5 minutes long.
After the decider, we checked out a different camera angle which, with the benefit of hindsight, I think might be better for future matches.
I get a bit arsy at the end of the screen test for this one. It had been a long, hard day.
The arsy ending is worth the price of admission alone in my opinion.
…elicited several amusing items of feedback. One wag suggested that we might stream live events, while another wondered whether we had established our own private gym. Well, on that latter point, I did say in the 23 March piece…
…we’ll need to exercise and play at home for a while. I have ordered some low cost, high value gizmondry for the purpose, which should be wending its way to us as I write…
…and I’m here to tell the world that most of that gizmondry has now arrived. It aims to enhance the stretching, posture, strength and balance work that I normally do at BodyWorksWest , while Daisy of late has been doing this stuff in the comfort of her own home, since she parked her pole ambitions.
So let me talk you through the colourful array of gadgetry, for which I have laid out literally dozens of quid, adding to those items we already had:
Top left: Flossie (long-since resident) demonstrates the stretches we undertake on mats such as the purple rolled-up one (mine) using items such as the green blocks for supporting the lower back and the green eggy thing and wheel for pilates-type groin stretches etc. All of those items, together with the baby weights (pink and black) and the knobbly green pressure point ball thing were already here. Flossie models herself on Lexi from BodyWorksWest, hence the extreme looking stretches which Flossie can quite literally hold all day, if we leave her undisturbed.
So, the italics describe the items we already had here; now to talk you through the newly acquired and repurposed items:
four kilogram weights atop a rather fruity-looking bottle of Rioja. No, the Rioja is not part of the exercise regime. I have been using 4kg weights to strengthen my arms for (mostly real) tennis. I felt that, without that level of weight to play with, my strengthening might go backwards. The weights will always come in handy, even after the pandemic has passed;
atop the purple mat (with it’s additional weight on the floor by the pink doo-dah) is a Senshi forearm wrist curler. This looks like the easiest exercise on earth… until you try it. I have long-since told Lexi, Shaf and anyone else from the BodyWorks team within earshot that I feel like a right weed when doing this exercise – and indeed some of the 4kg weight movements – but they tell me that no-one cares and that no-one is looking. Well, I think I get funny looks from space cadet types at the gym when they see me struggling to do more than three or four cycles of the wrist curler thing. No more! I am wrist curling in the privacy of my own social distancing. Daisy now knows from experience that this is harder than it looks, so she doesn’t give me funny looks…at least, no funnier than usual;
in front of Flossie, a pair of adjustable grip strengtheners. This is a cleverer idea for us than I thought it would be, because Daisy can set them for a weight that suits her – while I can switch to a heavier setting as I strengthen up for the additional grip strength requirements of real tennis;
the pièce de résistance, though, is the wooden item, by Flossies side, propped against the sofa. At BodyWorksWest, my favourite piece of equipment is the “magic stick”, which some ill-informed members and staff imagine simply to be a broom handle. It is absolutely great for some of the standing up stretches. The device shown in the picture is slightly shorter (but long enough) and was originally designed to latch on to the loft entrance hook, to help open the hatch and start to pull down the steps. Absolutely does the job for our stretches; Daisy is enjoying using it as much as I am.
So yes, the living room can now be repurposed as our indoor gym by the simple expedient of moving the furniture around a bit. This we are doing each day.
But it is not all about such gym-like exercise. We are both mad keen on bat and ball sports – the miniature table tennis was only going to get us so far.
So, we have treated ourselves to a compact-but-decent-sized home table tennis table, which, for the time being, while Janie’s surgery is by necessity decommissioned, takes pride of place in that room, which is also (as is usually the case at the weekends) doubling as my music room:
This table will work well in the garage and/or the garden once life gets back to normal. For the time being, suffice it to say that Daisy has come to terms with this size of table far more rapidly than I have.
So will we stream the matches live? Unlikely. For that, we’d need to dress differently and take far more care in our use of language while playing. In any case, I need to get better at the game before the matches would be worth seeing (or gambling upon).
But I might experiment with some video filming and making highlights packages, not immediately but if the partial lockdown goes on for long enough.
When Janie gets a mad on to see something, she tends to want to see it there and then. So although the movie Marianne & Leonard: Words of Love would probably be available to see somewhere long after the bank holiday weekend…
…and although it was carnival weekend and the only slot that might suit us was Sunday evening at the Curzon Victoria…
…off we went. Actually the journey wasn’t too bad.
Here’s the movie trailer:
It was a very interesting movie. Janie has long been fascinated by Leonard Cohen, his muse Marianne Ihlen and the interesting lifestyle they (and many others) had on the Greek island of Hydra in the 1960s.
The movie actually spans many decades, right up until the time, in 2016, when both Marianne and Leonard, coincidentally, succumbed to Leukaemia within a few months of each other.
The next day, we were invited next door to Joy’s for drinks and nibbles, where we met a nice Italian family who have just moved in to the neighbourhood. Coincidentally, the Italian gentleman was a huge fan of Leonard Cohen, although Cohen’s work is little known in Italy.
Janie and I look a little “Marianne & Leonard” in the following picture, taken that next afternoon at Joy’s…
…if you are prepared to use your imagination rather a lot.
I very often take in the whole of the first day of the cricket season at Lord’s, most often with Charles “Charley The Gent Malloy” Bartlett, e.g. last year…
…but this year the date didn’t work for either of us – in my case because I needed to be in Westminster until about 14:30 that day.
I thought that Escamillo Escapillo might be able to join me for a couple of hours later that day, not least because his beloved Lancashire would be at play, but he too was committed elsewhere all day.
But I had arranged to play tennis at Lord’s that evening, so I packed a good book along with my tennis kit and work necessities and headed off to the ground as soon as my work commitments allowed me. I got to Lord’s just before 15:00; with some 45 overs still to play, that would be nearly half a day of cricket before my tennis.
Result…
…by which I mean, a result for me.
Not a result in the match, obviously, which is designed to last four days (he says for the less cricket aware who might have stumbled across this piece in search of enlightenment).
I dropped my tennis things in the dressing room and took to the middle balcony for a while, but I was wicked cold in the shade there and enviously eyed up the sunny spot at the junction of the Grandstand and the Compton Stand, where I had re-read The Price Of Fish last season, as reported on King Cricket:
From that very spot, in the bright, chilly-yet-tolerable sunshine, I was able to take a picture of Jimmy Anderson bowling to Eoin Morgan. Not bad, I thought at the time, for a second division fixture in April.
Jimmy Bowling To Eoin
For the uninitiated, I should point out that the pitch was located on the northern side of the square, so the southern stands (pictured) were unpopulated, whereas there was a fair crowd in the Grandstand and its fellow north-side stands.
When the sun cruelly abandoned my sunny spot, it immediately went from feeling bearably chilly to unbearably chilly, so I relocated back to the pavilion, taking up a seat in the unusually but unsurprisingly crowded Writing Room (north side, behind glass).
There I read a bit and bumped into some friends/acquaintances, not least Phil. I would previously have described Phil as an Australian with whom I occasionally play real tennis, but he turns out to be a Lancashire supporter who was born in Jimmy Anderson’s home town of Burnley. Phil went to Australia as a child and relocated to the UK some years ago. Phil kindly bought me a soft drink and we chatted cricket for the first time – our previous conversations having been diverse but, in the matter of sport, solely real tennis related.
Phil will henceforth become known as “The Burnley Bradman” for Ogblog and King Cricket pseudonym purposes.
After stumps, I needed to warm up a bit – we had taken our soft drinks on the balcony of the Bowlers’ Bar. So I read inside for a while and then did a long stretching session before playing tennis.
I had, perhaps foolishly, consented to play an additional hour after my 19:00 scheduled hour, as one of the 20:00 fellows had pulled out at short notice. Two hours of singles is a bit much at my age, especially as the 20:00 dude turned out to be a 29 year-old who had played to a pretty decent level when at University.
Actually the two hour slot worked out pretty well for me. The first hour was against a relative newbie to whom I had to give an infeasibly large handicap. He is clearly very able, just inexperienced, so it made for a fascinating battle which ended up just about even-stevens, with him pipping the first set 6-5 and me just ahead 2-1 in the second when we stopped. The second match, against the youngster, I thought I did surprisingly well, given his age, provenance and the meagre handicap I was allowed; I won 6-2 6-5, the second set being a real nail-biter.
Hopefully my technique has come on since this picture was taken in autumn 2016.
On which day did Middlesex come second twice while Middlesex Seconds came first once?
Now that would be a really good sports quiz question…if it were located somewhere other than this clearly dated blog page.
Confused? Let me explain.
I arranged to go to Radlett with Charley “The Gent” Malloy to see Middlesex v Essex. Long overdue, was our joint visit to Radlett – we had planned to go together to a second team match about four years ago but the rain put paid to that plan, although I did write up our replacement culinary gathering for King Cricket – click here or below:
Tempting the rain gods yet further, I contacted Fran to find out whether she and Simon intended to visit Radlett that day. Our previous attempt to watch cricket together at Uxbridge had been well soggy – click here or below:
Anyway, Fran and Simon were planning on showing up at Radlett, so we planned to all sit together.
Then Richard Goatley (Middlesex CCC’s Chief Executive) asked me if I could join him and some others that evening at the Oval for a London Playing Fields Foundation Sports Quiz Fundraiser. Not really my cup of tea, but given the functional connection with the nascent London Cricket Trust charity, for which I am a Trustee – more on that anon – I thought I should go. Richard promised me a lift from Radlett to the Oval if I wanted to help save the planet by limiting the number of cars criss-crossing London that day – I eagerly accepted that offer of a lift.
In fact, getting to Radlett by train was a doddle…
…certainly compared with Chas’s ludicrous hike across from Malloy Manor, which should have taken him 40 minutes and took more like an hour-and-40. I managed it door to door in not much more than an hour.
That enabled me to nab a few decent seats at the front, with Fran’s vertical challenges in mind. I also thought best to avoid the relentless sun, although I didn’t realise quite how cold the shade would be.
The night before the big day, I had a memory flash that Fran had written to me while I was in Mauritius in 1979 and that I still had the letter. She had…I did…I scanned & printed same and took the incriminating evidence with me to Radlett. Click here or below to see the letter and how all that went down:
Anyway, that correspondence proved an interesting conversation piece for the middle part of the Middlesex innings, during which time Middlesex turned a very promising start into a potential disaster.
While Middlesex rebuilt the innings to something approaching respectability (only 30-40 runs short, rather than the 60-70 runs short that the innings at one point threatened), Fran and Simon observed the Chas and Ged picnic much as a pair of field anthropologists might observe a remote tribe. They had read of such picnics on King Cricket and Ogblog of course, but never actually witnessed anything quite like it.
Not really picnickers themselves, Fran and Simon did bring some cashew nuts, enabling us to share and test the relative merits of Marks & Spencer, Tesco and Lidl in the cashew department. Result: little distinction in flavour, but the more expensive M&S ones are larger and would look posher served up in a bowl.
Unfortunately, just before the end of the Middlesex innings, Fran’s mum, who has been poorly of late, called with a minor emergency which Fran and Simon, kindly and dutifully, went off to attend. I hope I’ll be able to catch up with them again soon – e.g. at Merchant Taylor’s School.
Meanwhile I tried to convince Chas (and myself) that 250 might just prove to be enough runs (ha ha) while Essex set out to prove that even the 280-290 par score might not have been enough if Middlesex kept insisting on dropping catches all afternoon.
Mercifully I had to leave before suffering the indignity of the final nails being driven into Middlesex’s coffin by Essex – click here to see the scorecard and details – in short, Middlesex came second.
Then the drive across London, starring James Keightley behind the wheel, Bob Baxter (Chair of Middlesex Cricket Board) in the front seat, with the back seat navigators being Richard Goatley & me…especially me once we hit traffic and I figured that Waze might solve our navigation problems for us.
We got to the Oval in good time.
The opening overs of the charity event were stunning – it was a glorious sunny evening and we took drinks on that OCS sun deck.
Our team/table also comprised William Frewen (like James, from Teddington CC), Ed Griffiths, his nephew Alex (Richmond CC) and a young gentleman named Bruce (I think).
It soon dawned on me that everyone on our table, apart from me, was bringing quite a lot to the sports quizzing party. It also dawned on me that Richard and the others had sort-of assumed that I might be a useful addition to a sports quiz team. Oh dear.
Oh well, I am what I am, an’ I’m not ashamed.
Strangely, I was able to make a few useful contributions, more through general knowledge questions and sort-of knowing how quizzing works than through sports knowledge itself.
Example: as we were going in to the meal/quiz, James mentioned to me that the master of ceremonies/quizmaster/former Rugby Union international, Martin Bayfield, has appeared as Hagrid’s body in the Harry Potter movies. “Park that piece of trivia at the front of your brain, James,” I said, “that’s bound to come up in one of the questions.” It did.
It was a reasonably relaxed atmosphere on our table, at first. But as we started to do better and better on the leaderboard, the competitive spirit on the Middlesex table started to really take hold.
Heading up the Middlesex competitive spirit big time was Ed Griffiths. I have got to know Ed quite well over the last few months, as he is leading on our London Cricket Trust initiative, to put cricket facilities into parks and commons across London. I have a huge amount of admiration for the way Ed is gently but relentlessly driving our initiative forward. I’ll be writing a fair bit more about the London Cricket Trust in the coming months.
So I suppose it should come as no surprise that Ed is a very competitive chap. But his response to the conclusion of the sports quiz, when it was announced that we had come second (out of sixteen), had to be seen to be believed.
At first I thought Ed was joking, as I might have done, melodramatically bemoaning our “close but no cigar” outcome. But when he nearly smashed a glass in frustration and then went to the quiz adjudication table in order to audit and question the results, several of us realised that Ed really was a ball of combative anger.
Ed returned to our table with the news that we had lost by a mere two points, which, given the charitable circumstances, was news that would satisfy less driven individuals (e.g. me) to conclude that we had done really well and that it was for charity after all and that, but for fortune, we might even have won.
Yet the closeness of the defeat seemed to anger and frustrate Ed yet further. He nearly smashed a wine glass again. Writing this up five days later, I think Ed Griffiths might just about be over the disappointment now…but perhaps not. Middlesex had come second again. Albeit this time in a field of 16 rather than a field of two.
Coincidentally, sitting at the next table to us, was a lady who kept looking across at us and who eventually came over to introduce herself; Tom Lace’s mum. Tom is one of our up and coming second team players who, as the coincidence grows, also plays for Teddington CC. Tom’s mum went on to take selfie photos of herself with William and James from Teddington. I am absolutely sure that breakfast time in the Lace household the next morning will have thrilled young Tom, when mum showed him the evidence of her fun evening with the Middlesex CCC/Teddington CC great and good. In my (limited) experience, youngsters love that sort of thing.
On the evening, I chose not to mention that Tom Lace is (the coincidence simply grows to bonkers proportions) my long-form kit sponsorship player this year. I surmised that such news would have been a relative sub-plot to what was already a bit of a sub-plot, so I kept schtum about that.
But I don’t suppose anyone at that fundraiser was left in any doubt that Middlesex had attended and contributed to the evening big time. Not only did we come second in the quiz (I will get over it eventually, really I will) but two of our number bid very generously in the auction. Ed Griffiths bought tickets to a show he didn’t even know existed (until he was bidding for it), while William Frewen procured one of Harry Kane’s football boots.
As William lives quite near me, I offered to cab him and his new boot home on my way. But I signally failed to find a cab or Uber at the end of the evening…
South of the river? Do me a favour!
…so William and I walked to Vauxhall together and journeyed by tube, with William carrying an unfeasibly expensive soccer boot in a presentation box that had been cunningly disguised, through the use of a simple cardboard box exterior as…
…any old cardboard box. Fiendish.
William and I sat on the Victoria Line train discussing the finer details of Middlesex Cricket Board governance and its integration into Middlesex Cricket…like you do.
How can I win England the World Cup with only one soccer boot?It was a fitting end to an odd but hugely memorable day.
Janie, tiring of hearing all about my new yet ancient hobbies of baroq-ulele and real tennis playing, has decided to take up a new hobby of her own; pole dancing.
Today was her fourth lesson. As we had arranged a day off, I thought I would have a relatively light day of exercise, taking advantage of the studio where Janie was having her lesson to do half an hour of stretches and abs before hunkering down for an hour with my Economist.
This photo was taken at the end of Janie’s second lesson
I kept up with Janie and her teacher, Lana, for the first couple of minutes of stretching, before they went off into the stratosphere of stretching and I reverted to the gentle, safe stuff I do regularly in the gym.
I was still doing my clams when Janie and Lana started working through some pole routines.
This picture was taken at the end of Janie’s third lesson
I was about five minutes into my Economist reading when my phone rang. Chris from Lord’s. Could I possibly help out and cover for a last minute drop out at 17:00 today.
I realised that I could, instead of reading the Economist and watching Janie up a pole, trundle over to the flat and pick up some kit, enabling me to help Chris out.
So I did, missing out on Janie’s further improvement in lesson four:
Janie towards the end of lesson four
Lana assured me that Janie is a natural at this sport and I must say that her progress in such a short time looks quite remarkable to my untrained eyes…
…which is more than can be said for my slow but relentless progress at real tennis.
I did have time to drop Janie at home after her lesson but she said she’d like to watch me play, as she hasn’t seen it for a good few months.
Action shot
I asked Janie to put some energy into putting my opponent off while she watched, but she signally failed to do that.
Janie did take a few pictures, though, plus a couple of short vids, one of which, remarkably, shows me landing a chase of half-a-yard on the return…
…which is a pretty good shot. I’d like to assert that I land half yard chases with some regularity, but that wouldn’t be true. Still, please invest 8 seconds in the vid below and you’ll see how it’s done:
We’d both had fun and we’d both enjoyed following each other’s hobbies. That’s a good day off.
When I get deep enough into Ogblog there will be some patches of my playing bridge over the years.
My schooldays were my heydays for bridge; it has been a very patchy bridge career since then.
I did have a regular/occasional game for many years with a somewhat fluid group, with Andrea Dean, Marianne Tudor-Craig and me forming the core. We’d play a few times a year and not get much worse each time we played. That ground to a halt, I’m pretty sure on 25 June 2009. I can be precise about the date because I’m pretty sure it was that last time we played, at Maz’s place, that I learnt of Michael Jackson’s death on the news while driving home.
Anyway, one thing led to another and I got invited to join Stephen’s impromptu, occasional Monday night gang. This seems to be even more occasional than my old troupe, or at least my invitations to play are! This gang all seem to play quite a lot of bridge and take it quite seriously, although I think they see these Monday evening gatherings as a relaxing, social game.
Unlike my old kitchen table crowd, the food and drink side is very much secondary, although there is always a bit of a high tea-type spread at half time. That set up works pretty well.
They are a very pleasant and interesting crowd, as I’d expect with Stephen’s friends. It’s a fluid group, but the core seems to comprise Stephen, Michael, Graham and Irene. The first time I played with them, 19 October 2015 at Irene’s place, all five of us were there; we played a rotating Chicago with one person sitting out each of five rounds. They like to play Standard American, but tolerated my old 1970’s school Acol for that first gig only.
So I mugged up on the Standard American stuff, but we then didn’t get a group together until March 2016, playing twice that month, 7th and 21st, both times at Michael’s house. Four of us minus Irene both times, if I remember correctly. I stuttered through the bidding that time, making only a few bloopers but playing the cards reasonably, if rustily.
Then another long interval, until a gig at Stephen’s place on 31 October 2016. No Graham and no Irene; Lindy (Stephen’s wife) making up the four. Despite not finding time to mug up again, I played a bit better that night.
The next gig was at Irene’s place on 16 January 2017, Graham wasn’t there. Just the odd blooper. Similarly at Stephen’s place the next week, 23 January, with Peter making up the four in the absence of Graham and Irene.
Unfortunately my proper blooper of the night came on the very last hand – total brain fade once I’d worked out how I could slam dunk the contract, messing it up prodigiously.
So that’s probably the end of my bridge career again for a good while, until Stephen’s memory of the trauma fades and/or until his group is desperate once again for someone to make up the numbers.
Michael, poor chap, had his motorbike stolen from the street near Stephen’s house, while we were playing on this most recent occasion. Edgy neighbourhood, Chelsea. I drove round the corner after collecting Dumbo to see (as I imagined it) Michael having his collar felt by the fuzz – until Michael explained what had happened.
The copper must have been on the beat on that street, as only two or three minutes had passed since we had said goodbye at Stephen’s door. Anyway, I was able to wait for Michael while he gave his statement and then give him a lift home.
Volleyball was possibly the most watchable of the sports we saw
Following our three days at the Olympic games for badminton, tennis and hockey, Janie and I were well up for our Monday at the Paralympic Games a few weeks later.
I booked a day at the ExCel Centre, as we hadn’t got to see any Olympic events there and I liked the spec. for such tickets, which was basically a confirmed booking for one sport at one time, with an open ticket to see any other sport that day, on a walk-up basis, if there were seats available.
We planned to get to the ExCel via North Greenwich Tube and then the Emirates Air Line Cable Car across the Thames. This was mostly an excuse to take a quick look at the O2 (at that point neither of us had been) and to try out the cable car.
Weightlifting isn’t really my cup of tea in either its Olympic or Paralympic form, but this was fascinating to see
When planning our day at the ExCel, Janie had marked off several sports on the schedule which she hoped to see. I suggested that we manage our expectations, as I knew the days had all sold out, so I thought that the “walk up” element might be very limited.
As it turned out, the days had clearly been sold with a view to most people moving around and watching several sports. The stewarding was of the very highest standard, so that each time we asked a steward for advice, along the lines of “we’ve already seen volleyball and are firmly booked to see boccia later, we quite fancy…what do you suggest we do next?” you’d get a sensible answer and help to find a good event to watch at that time.
Very cleverly planned and executed by the organisers and stewards respectively. The upshot was that visitors all seemed to be getting loads to see and every event had a large crowd. By that stage of that summer, believe me, the London crowds knew how to make noise and enjoy watching sport; any sport.
Boccia; in truth not very watchable but clearly very skillful
So, we started off with the seated volleyball, which was very exciting indeed to watch – I’d certainly volunteer to watch that again.
Then weightlifting, which frankly doesn’t float my boat in any format but was fascinating to see in its Paralympic form.
In truth, the boccia was the least watchable of the sports we saw, but it is a sport that severely disabled people can play. Or elderly people; indeed a few months later my mother proudly showed me a boccia certificate that she had won at Nightingale, although she didn’t quite remember what she had played or whether she had enjoyed playing it.
Table tennis, or, as Boris would have it, wiff-waff
We rounded off our day with the table tennis, which was very exciting and watchable. In effect we sort-of got to see two sports in this event, as some of the matches were wheelchair while others were standing. As with lawn tennis, the wheelchair version of the game is quite different from the standing version of the game; both good to watch, just differently so. We watched the table tennis for quite a while before heading home, very satisfied indeed.
We loved this day; it is one of our favourite memories of that summer.
Strolling and snapping in the park before the hockey
Janie and I were fortunate (or skilled) enough to get three sets of tickets in our Olympic Games application; badminton, tennis and hockey. We were thrilled with that. Add to it a day at the Paralympic games a few weeks later and that makes four really memorable days.
Our day at the Olympic Park to see women’s hockey was our only opportunity to see the park itself, so we needed no further invitation than the suggestion in the spectator guide that we ensure we arrive at the park plenty early. We indeed wanted a good amount of time to take in the atmosphere and enjoy a whole day.
We timed our journey and arrival to be outside any rush hours (business or Olympic) but early enough for a good stroll around the park before our afternoon of hockey started (at lunchtime).
Security, the stewarding, the atmosphere around the park was all wonderful, as was widely reported at the time. We’d had great experiences at Wembley Arena (badminton) and Wimbledon (tennis) by then, so expected nothing less. But all of that character together with the sheer size and scale of the park was something to behold and remember.
It was the second match, between South Korea and Belgium, that was especially memorable. Directly behind us, between the matches, had arrived a large contingent of Korean Buddhist monks. Had this been a cricket match in, say, the Eric Hollies Stand at Edgbaston, I would be talking about a bunch of beer-swilling Brummies in fancy dress, looking vaguely like monks.
But this was a sizeable posse of real Buddhist monks, with South Korean flags and prayer drums. As the game commenced they started to chant, “Dae Han Min Guk” very slowly and then beat out this phrase as five beats on their prayer drums.
Now there are several places where you can read about and see video of Korean soccer crowds making this chant rather rapidly – click here for but one (quite good) example – or alternatively try clicking here for a more percussive but less sporty outburst – but I cannot find examples anywhere of monks dispensing this chant and rhythm in a dignified, Buddhist stylee. So you’ll just have to take my word for it that the monks slow, profound version was an amazing, hypnotic sound.
So, naturally, Janie and I started joining in with the monks. Soon lots of people were joining in. Even children waving Belgian flags started joining in, only to meet reproach from their parents and then, in some cases, to ignore the reproach and continue to join in anyway. You get the idea.
We strolled a little more after the matches – we didn’t really want our day to end, but it was purposeful strolling really towards the best exit for our journey home. As was the way for just those few weeks of that summer, there was a friendly atmosphere amongst strangers on the tube home.
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