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2020

You are currently browsing the yearly archive for 2020.

My reluctance of but a few weeks back to talk at all about this year’s rugby has magically dissipated. Naturally this has come about because the teams that I support have had a good weekend. Had Bath not been schooled quite so comprehensively and to quite such an embarrassing degree by Exeter at Sandy Park it might even have been a great rugby weekend.

England were far too much for Wales at Twickenham, rediscovering their form from the World Cup at just the right point. The final scores were, frankly, closer than the game merited, as a result of England being down to thirteen men for the final ten minutes (through their own fault it must be said). On the run of the play overall they should have won convincingly.

Scotland – having come close but failed to register a win in their first two encounters – had finally done the business two weeks ago in Rome. Now they needed to beat the resurgent (and Grand Slam hopefuls) France at Murrayfield. The unbeaten French have started each game in the championship thus far at a gallop and have successfully hung on to the ensuing leads. Scotland, however, rather surprisingly find themselves flaunting this year’s best defensive record in the Six Nations – their parsimony with the points almost living up to the national stereotype. This promised to be a good contest…

…and close it was for the first forty minutes. Then – in classic French style – one of their young and hot-headed forwards reacted to a bit of the customary pushing and shoving by landing a hay-maker on James Ritchie’s jaw. Now, Ritchie is the sort of man for whom the term ‘nuggety’ was coined and he simply shook it off. The Frenchman, however, was duly dispatched for the remainder of the game and the Scots turned in an admirably ruthless performance to beat their Gallic opponents comfortably.

Joy!

The tournament itself, however, is now affected badly by COVID-19. Next week’s ‘Super Saturday’ (when all three matches are normally played one after another) has been reduced to just the first game – the Scotland/Wales fixture in Cardiff. The other matches will be played at some future date (probably in the Autumn – if at all) which means that there will be no actual tournament winner anytime soon.

The situation certainly does lend perspective to what is – and the end of the day – just a sport, but it is a great shame nonetheless. Our very great sympathies to all those who have been and will be affected by the virus.

 

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Winter lingered so long in the lap of Spring that it occasioned a great deal of talk.

Bill Nye

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid
It has, of late, been particularly wet here on the west coast coast of Canada. Not in the catastrophic flooding/exceptional weather kind of way that some other regions of the world have been suffering, but just a constant and relentless dampness from day to day. The aquifers are doubtless happy – as are the ducks – but as for the rest of us… not so much!

Further, even on days such as today – when the sun has decided to peep through the murk and the temperature has climbed to something approaching acceptability for human life – come eventide it will have again plummeted towards the red (or should that be blue) zone and the nights remain consistently chilly.

As a result our early spring flowers have been caught in two minds as to whether or not to grace us with their bloomin’ presence. The snowdrops have done their thing regardless – but then, that is what snowdrops do.

The daffodils and tulips – on the other hand – have poked their heads out, formed buds and then just stopped… unwilling to burst fully into bloom until the sun comes out in a more meaningful way to provide some proper spring warmth. My worry is that they will just eventually give up without ever bursting properly into flower.

The glorious magnolia featured in these photos is at the college at which I teach. Hopefully this will act as an exemplar to our own rather more timid flora.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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“Happiness is not a horse, you cannot harness it.”

Russian Proverb

A glance at the postings to this journal containing the tag “February” will reveal but two entries – one on the subject of rugby (unsurprisingly) and one – from when we were still resident in the UK – which bemoans the grim nature of said month at a point at which I was obliged to travel a considerable distance to and from work in the dark each and every day.

This latter post contained this observation:

“February is definitely not my favourite month. To those who – like me – are struggling to rid themselves of their ‘winter overcoats’ in this post-Christmas period it will come as no surprise that February took its name from the Latin ‘februum’ – which means ‘purification’. The Roman purification ritual ‘Februa’ – a form of spring-cleaning for the body – was held on February 15 (full moon) in the old lunar Roman calendar. In my case there is still rather too much purification to be done, I fear.”

Well – the good news is that for this year February is done… over… gone! Here we are at the start of March, the blossom is starting to appear and there is a distinct whiff of spring in the air. “Hoo-bloomin’-rah for that”, I hear you exclaim. Given all of the other ills that currently beset the world a little hint of the positive can be no bad thing!

And, indeed, some things are looking up – and for that let us be grateful. The Girl is well on the way to full recovery from the sinus infection that did its best to take the shine off our recent Mexican sojourn – and has rejoined the world of work. My sniffles and snuffles have decided not to develop into a full-blown ‘thing‘ and if we are both fortunate neither of us will have passed anything unpleasant on to anyone else (washes hands yet again to strains of ‘Happy Birthday’! – not the Stevie Wonder version).

In other positive news The Chanteuse, the Studio and I have been reunited for the first time since last August and work of a musical variety has been carried out. She is still going through some tough times but hopefully this will prove at least a little bit therapeutic. It will hopefully also provide us shortly with some sparkly new tracks to upload to our Bandcamp site, to which the gentle reader could subscribe should he or she care to be notified when said new songs are available.

Anyway – for all our sakes let us hope that the spring is not long coming, that plagues and pestilence are taken on and defeated in short order, that those of all persuasions who would simply ravage this poor planet for their own selfish ends are taken outside and given a damned good thrashing – and that the rest of us get on with making the world a better, more peaceful and more pleasant place to live.

See you there!

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The Girl is slowly getting over her sinus infection. I am fighting off a mild attack of the sniffles (no comparison!). Let us cheer ourselves up with a quick miscellany of jolly images of sun-drenched Zihuatanejo (where the maximum temperature varies by less than 5 degrees C – across the whole year!)…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

Newton’s third law of motion

There are some – particularly amongst those who feel compelled to seek correspondence between their understanding of science (such as it maybe) and their religious beliefs – to seize upon the encapsulation of scientific principles and – by treating them as apothegms – to claim that therein lies the justification/basis for some scarcely connected spiritual practice.

Such folk take – for example – Newton’s third law of motion (“For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”) and find a parallel with the Hindu and Buddhist concepts of ‘karma’ – and in particular the idea that one’s fate or destiny is shaped by one’s previous actions.

Now – I have no truck with such notions… except where they afford me with a cheap headline for a blog post.

Such as the one above…

Naturally I also vigorously reject any suggestion that – in The Girl’s case – our cheeky week in sunny Zihuatanejo was repaid by the universe by her going down with a sinus infection the very second that our feet hit the ground back at Victoria International (YJJ). I am sure that all gentle readers out there in InterWebNetLand will join me in saying a heartfelt “There, there” and sending empathetic and positive vibes for a speedy recovery.

Falling ill on immediate return from a holiday is a double edged sword. Not only does one feel terrible – with the contrast to the recent relaxing and sun-drenched delights only rendering the agony yet more palpable – but being off work the moment that one has returned tends to increase the antipathy of one’s colleagues – particularly those that did not themselves recently get away somewhere lovely and warm. Hardly fair given the fact that one is not simply swanning around at home having a gay old time of it!

Of course, the fact that spring has not yet fully sprung here in BC and that this particularly wet start to the year shows no signs of being any less so in the immediate future does little to help.

It is frankly about time that things perked up here!

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“ANDY: Think you’ll ever get out of here?

RED: Sure. When I got a long white beard and about three marbles left rolling around upstairs.

ANDY: Tell you where I’d go. Zihuatanejo.

RED: Zihuatanejo?

ANDY: Mexico. Little place right on the Pacific. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific? They say it has no memory. That’s where I’d like to finish out my life, Red. A warm place with no memory. Open a little hotel right on the beach. Buy some worthless old boat and fix it up like new. Take my guests out charter fishing.”

The Shawshank Redemption – by Frank Darabont
Based upon the story – ‘Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption’ – by Stephen King

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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“I’m Mexican. I eat salsa with everything.”

Anjelah Johnson

I believe that I have mentioned previously within these musings that The Girl and I were going to take advantage of the College having a ‘reading week’ this February to run away to Mexico for a little R & R – not to mention some much needed sunshine and warmth.

And here we are – in a rather lovely and luxuriously verdant resort near Xtapa – which is itself but a stone’s throw from Zihuatenajo. As ever I cannot travel without taking pictures. Herewith a random introductory selection:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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“Absence weakens mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind blows out candles and kindles fires.

Rochefoucauld

Those gentle readers who pay attention to such things will be wondering why this journal has not thus far this season featured its usual pithy observations on the great sport of Rugby Union – this, after all, being the time of year that the fabulous Six Nations tournament takes place in Europe.

Of course, those who not only subscribe to these musings but also follow the sport themselves will be very aware of one of the reasons for my silence on the subject – that being the abject performance – both on and off the field – of the Scots.

Actually – that is unfair. To be certain the Finn Russell affair shows everyone involved in a poor light and to lose one’s star player in such a manner goes way beyond careless, but on the field the Scots have actually looked considerably more competitive than they sometimes do. There is no getting round the fact that, however unluckily, they lost to the Irish in Dublin and then had the misfortune of coming up against both the English and storm Ciara at Murrayfield. The English handled the atrocious conditions marginally better than did the Scots and deserved to win, but it was not the game that either side – nor the partisan crowd – wanted to see.

The Scots absolutely must win well in Rome against the Azzuri next time out or things will look really grim. The French seem to have been re-invigorated this year and the final game against a smarting Wales at the Principality is no-one’s idea of a stroll in the park.

The other reason for the relative quiet on the Rugby front this year is that the Americas Rugby Championship – the North and South American loose equivalent of the Six Nations – has been moved from its now customary berth in February to the summer months. This year the tournament will be played in August and September. It will certainly be good not to have to sit on the cold aluminium bench seating at Westhills, nor to have to watch the players struggling with the snow covered pitch, but it remains to be seen how this traditionally winter sport transfers to the summer months.

I will let you know.

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Gowlland Tod

Five years (nearly) down the line and we visit a local beauty spot (within a couple of miles of us) for the first time (well – first time for me anyway).

To be fair I have visited this particular Shangri La before – from the water-side – and have even posted photos thereof to this very journal. It is also immediately adjacent to Butchart’s Gardens, the which is a regular hunting ground, but this was my first time exploring the approach from the east – along Tod Creek.

Any-which-way… here be ‘phurthur’ photographs!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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‘Aging’ has been bad ever since we figured out it led to dying.

Erin McKean

Yup – growing old is no fun at all… as the saying goes.

Actually – it doesn’t, since if you sell your soul to Google in (pretty poor) exchange for some gobbets of insight all you will find on the subject are remorselessly positive platitudes… as though the ‘quoterati’ run scared of being seen to be ageing anything other than gracefully and with an abundance of hard-earned wisdom – rather than having the tough time of it that some of them undoubtedly are…

…but I really mustn’t sound bitter – because I am not. I am in fact surfing the age-wave like a… like a… surfer ‘dude’!

Hmmm! That didn’t turn out so well, did it?

Anyway – ageing does actually have much to recommend it and I am not complaining… except for the physical aspects. There is sadly no denying that – whatever one does – as the body ages bits of it work less well than once they did.

This is currently foremost in my mind because I have just restarted the fitness class that I have been attending pretty much ever since we came to Canada some four and a half years ago. The class is very popular and I could not get a place for the December or January sessions. What with the Christmas celebrations falling in the interim it has been a while since I put the old ‘bod’ under this degree of stress… and it shows. I have – if I am being honest – never much enjoyed the business of exercise itself – not being one of those odd folk that relishes pain – but I do like the feeling of being reasonably fit. It will take a good few weeks to get back to that point.

There is no avoiding the fact that my body now has a few weaknesses. My right knee starts to complain under repeated stress; my doctor thinking that arthritis is the most likely cause. My right shoulder gives up earlier than my left when working with weights; I know from previous explorations that the shoulder joint does have some bone impingement, which doesn’t help.

I am fortunate in that my hands are not too bad. In the winter I do wake up to find them uncomfortably stiff and it takes a while for things to loosen up, but I guess that just comes with age. I need to be able to continue playing both bass and keyboards for as long as possible, so I am keeping my fingers (ever so slightly painfully) crossed.

No grumbles though. This is just the way the cookie crumbles as one maneuvers oneself into the second half of one’s seventh decade.

There are many far worse off than am I – and I am most grateful not to be in their shoes.

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