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Doddie Weir
1970 – 2022
RIP


Very sad to report that the much loved Scottish and British and Irish Lions lock forward, Doddie Weir, passed away at the end of last week at the age of 52. Doddie was a fixture in the Scottish squad at around the time that Rugby turned professional in the 1990s and was a fan-favourite with the Murrayfield crowd. He turned out sixty one times for his country, played for the Barbarians six times and went on the 1997 British and Irish Lions tour to South Africa.

Weir is known just as much, however, for the time after his retirement from the game. It was announced in 2017 that he had been diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease (MND), with the prediction that he would be unable to walk within a year. Instead of sitting back to await the inevitable Weir threw himself into campaigning and fundraising to help find a cure for MND, setting up the “My Name’5 Doddie” foundation which had, by June 2022, raised in excess of £8 million.

The “My Name’5 Doddie” foundation website obituary includes the following:

“Since making his condition known, Doddie has championed the campaign for more to be done for sufferers of the disease, both in terms of finding a possible cure, and with the treatment and welfare of patients and their carers.

Doddie’s work over the past five years saw him recognised with several honours and accolades, including an OBE, presented by Queen Elizabeth II for his services to rugby, MND research and the Borders community. He also collected Honorary Doctorates from both Glasgow Caledonian and Abertay Universities, as well as becoming a recipient of the prestigious Edinburgh Award. Within sport, a trophy named after him is now contested between Scotland and Wales, and he became recipient of the Helen Rollason Award at the BBC Sports Personality of the Year ceremony in 2019.

He also became a best-selling and nominated author, oversaw the design of his own distinctive tartan, and was captured on canvas by artist Gerard Burns, the painting now hung in the National Portrait Gallery in Edinburgh.”

A giant of a man in every sense and a Rugby legend, Doddie Weir will be sadly missed.

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…from a lost season (see previous post).

Whatever I personally feel about this time of year (and of the month of November in particular) there is no denying that there are some pretty images to be captured. Being a sharing kind of guy I always like to pass such things on to the gentle reader (or viewer!).

These are quite seasonal:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid…and that mountain is still visible (though by no means so every day!)…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidThere is good, if somewhat nippy, walking to be done – in Centennial Park for instance:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidTwo of us wearing raincoats
Standing solo in the sun
You and me chasing paper
Getting nowhere
On our way back home

Lennon/MacCartney
Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe other day I was in Sidney, engaged upon the purchase of some comestibles. On returning to the Lexus – the which I had parked under a small tree at the far extent of the car park – I observed that a murder was in progress. A murder of crows, that is…

No sooner than I had mounted the vehicle and fired up the big V8 than one of their number flapped lazily down and took up residence on the bonnet (hood!). He looked me in the eye as a sort of challenge and let it be known that he felt disinclined to move even when I revved the engine a little. Had I not started to reverse gently out of the parking bay I think he might well just have stayed there.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

Cheeky bu**er!

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidIt is a pretty extraordinary thing – particularly here on the west coast of Canada – but we do seem to have skipped a season this year.

Completely…!

I know…! With climate change so much of the world’s weather seems to have lost track of what were once familiar patterns. It has become the norm to read of unprecedented weather cycles or events. The ‘new normal’ is clearly that there is now nothing normal about anything.

What a strange and unsettling time to be alive.

Regular readers of this journal will already have picked up references throughout this particular year of weather patterns not occurring as expected. The spring here on Vancouver Island was wet and cold and dank – and seemed to be stuck in that state for ever, instead of flowering into spring and early summer as is usual.

It wasn’t until we packed our bags and  set off to Europe in July that the weather here in BC really picked up. One result of this was that exposure to the heatwaves that afflicted Europe throughout the middle of the year came as a considerable shock to the system for travelers like us.

When we returned to Canada summer seemed finally to have arrived. At the southern tip of Vancouver Island the season is usually warm and dry – with little or no rainfall for the three summer months. It was good, finally, to be able to get out into the garden to do some barbecuing and entertaining.

Come the dog days, however, when the temperatures usually fall away and the summer drought is broken by the first welcome showers of  the advancing fall, the temperatures remained stubbornly in the mid twenties Celsius and there was no rain in sight. Serious concerns about the lack of rainfall were voiced and gardens and agricultural lands alike began to shows signs of stress. An Indian Summer can be a wonderful surprise at the end of a disappointing season, but when one follows an already extensive dry period farmers and gardeners start to worry.

Naturally, when the weather finally broke in late-October it did so in true ‘wet’ coast style – with yet another Atmospheric River providing us with many days rainfall in a few hours, accompanied closely by the autumn’s first wind storm.

Then, as we crossed into November, the temperatures dropped abruptly – as did the first snowfall of winter. I know that some gentle readers will still – even after all this time – cling to the notion that the whole of Canada is a snowy wasteland for much of the year. There are indeed some good reasons for so doing. Here on the west coast, however, that is not the norm; winters in Victoria are not unlike those in the south east of the UK for most years.

So – we seem to have skipped autumn (fall) this year and gone directly from late-summer to winter. I’m not sure what Mother Nature will make of all this, but I have a feeling she will adapt to it with rather more sang-froid than do we.

Brrrrr!

 

 

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…surely some mistake! How could such a thing be possible?

It has been sometime since I last mentioned the noble game of Rugby Union within these scribblings. ‘Too long!‘ – I hear you cry – and you are absolutely correct; a great deal has been going on in the sport and I am remiss not to have made mention of at least some of it.

The Girl and I have been greatly enjoying the Women’s Rugby World Cup – the which is about to arrive at its climax down in the Land of the Long White Cloud. The standard has been exhilaratingly high and the matches have for the most part been gratifyingly exciting. It also helps that the time difference means that live coverage (thanks TSN!) has been primarily in the evenings here in the Pacific Northwest. Jolly good show.

We found ourselves in something of a quandary with regard to our support last weekend when England went up against Canada in the first of the semi-finals. The winner would face either France or the hosts – the Black Ferns – in next weekend’s final and all four sides were in with a very good shout. Canada put up a terrific performance against the Old Country and pushed them to the last – losing only narrowly… though – it has to be said – not as narrowly as New Zealand, who won at the last gasp by a single point.

The mouth-watering final thus pits the Red Roses (currently ranked no: 1 in the world and on an unprecedented winning run of 30 victories) against the Black Ferns (current World Champions).

We can’t wait!

Where the rugby surfeit comes in is that the Men’s Autumn Internationals are now also under way. Since they are not being shown on the BBC this year (boo!) we have had to subscribe to DAZN to see any coverage. Having paid up we are determined to get value for money – and the schedule last weekend made that possible.

Having watched the Women’s World Cup semi finals on Friday evening – through to 1:30am PST – I was back in action for the second half of the Scotland/Fiji game (Scotland took a somewhat unconvincing win) which started at 6:15am on the Saturday. This was followed by Wales/All Blacks at 8:15 (back to school for Wales) – Ireland/South Africa (yet another famous win for the Irish) at 10:30 and France/Australia (the French – but again by a single point) at 1:00pm.

That’s a lot of rugby in 24 hours!

I didn’t have the energy to watch the England/Argentina game on Sunday (again at 6:15am!) and it sounds as though the England side felt much the same way.

I should also mention the English Premiership. Sad to see both Worcester and Wasps forced into administration and relegated this season. I feel sure that both will be back where they belong, though there are clearly financial questions to be answered across the whole of the Premiership. Rugby Union only relatively recently joined the ranks of professional sports and there is still much to be done to make things work reliably.

On the other hand, Bath Rugby (our team!) having been terrible last season (finishing bottom!) have now won a couple of games on the trot. I do so hope that this is the start of a major turnaround.

 

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“Certification from one source or another seems to be the most important thing to people all over the world. A piece of paper from a school that says you’re smart, a pat on the head from your parents that says you’re good or some reinforcement from your peers that makes you think what you’re doing is worthwhile. People are just waiting around to get certified.” 

Frank Zappa

Well – Frank may be right in general, but in my case at least I am no longer ‘waiting around’.

A couple of posts ago I detailed my online Citizenship Ceremony, the which I ‘attended’ on Zoom about a week and a half back. It was a delight to finally have achieved Canadian citizenship and to be welcomed into the community.

As I explained in that post: as part of the ceremony I was obliged to cut up the Permanent Resident card which until then had enabled me to return to the country should I have to leave it for any reason. I now need to apply for a Canadian passport, so that I can once again come and go without let nor hindrance.

Before that could be done, however, there was one more occurrence for which to wait – the arrival of the all important Citizenship Certificate. Prior to the pandemic – when the Citizenship ceremonies had been conducted face to face – the certificates were presented as soon as the oath had been taken. Now that the ceremony is carried out online the certificate is send via Canada Post subsequent to the event – and one is warned that it may take two to four weeks to arrive.

Considering how long the whole process had taken to that point you can imagine my surprise when last Wednesday – just six days after the ceremony – my certificate and other documentation popped into our post box.

This has been by far the quickest part of the whole process which – considering that Canada Post are involved – is nothing short of a miracle!

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…no – not actually!

So – a couple (or more) of posts back I mentioned that we had finally plucked up the courage to return to the theatre here in Victoria for the first time since the start of the pandemic. On the very day of The Girl’s birthday we had tickets booked once again for a matinee at The Belfry.

I further mentioned in that post that we had had a phone call from the theatre – on the morning of the performance – informing us regretfully that as a result of an unspecified illness (not Covid – or so they said) that day’s performance would be cancelled.

After a little too-ing and fro-ing we managed to get our tickets rebooked for the following weekend and on the anointed day duly trundled our way into town to see the show.

We eschewed the refreshments in the foyer cafe – eager to keep our masks firmly on – and took our seats for the performance. A short while after the stated start time the Front of House manager appeared to make an announcement. There would be a short delay – she declared – because of a technical issue. We were welcome to retreat back to the foyer for ten to fifteen minutes whilst things were sorted out.

Ten to fifteen minutes later we were back in our seats and hoping to see the house lights go down.

Instead we were again treated to the presence of the Front of House manager. This time she admitted that there was yet again an unspecified illness (again – not Covid related, supposedly) and the show would not be able to go ahead. Ticket refunds through the box office etc, etc…

Well! This was – frankly – bizarre. I have never before – in all my years of theatre-going – been bumped out of a theatre after the advertised curtain-up time. It would have been nice to have received a proper explanation.

Sadly, we really wanted to see that show but were unable to get tickets for any of the subsequent performances since they were all already sold out.

Hmmm!

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Yesterday was a momentous day – and not just because the tory government that has afflicted the UK for longer than I have been keeping this journal appears finally to have plunged itself into a death spiral… though that is indeed a very splendid thing!

Should – incidentally – you want chapter and verse on just how momentously this epochal event will undoubtedly go down in the annals of history once the dust settles, I commend to you Jonathan Freedland’s excellent piece in the Guardian, the which can be found here. Freedland draws the connection all the way from the Suez crisis in 1956, through the joining of the Common Market, the decline of Britain through the 70s, 80s and 90s, to Brexit and on to the current attempts by the free-market zealots from the right wing who have taken over the nasty party… to buck the very markets that they espouse!

I did but a single unit in economics at college way back in the very early 70s – but even I could see that this was never going to work.

Anyway – exciting as this all undoubtedly is, for The Girl and I (yes – I know… ‘me’!) the day had a different import. Finally – at the end of a process that has taken nearly as long as the unraveling of the tory project in the UK – I have become a Citizen of Canada (as trailed in this previous posting)… the which I proudly add to my treasured British citizenship.

Hooray indeed!

The citizenship Oath Taking ceremony itself was carried out – as in the way in these frangible times – on Zoom. This naturally lent proceedings a slightly strange atmosphere though – as with most things Zoom related – it all seemed work out reasonably well without ever coming close to that which a proper face to face ceremony would have afforded. The slightly unreal symbolic cutting up of my Permanent Residency card (rendering me temporarily unable to return to Canada should I have to leave it for any reason) and the strange twist of having to swear allegiance to the monarch (something that as a Brit I have never been called upon to do – as is also the case for native Canadians) was followed by the somewhat forced singing by the massed Zoom ranks of ‘O Canada‘ in a mixture of English and French.

Somehow – in these strange and perplexing times – this ceremony felt not only appropriate but also unexpectedly touching. I am most happy now to add being a citizen of ‘here’ to my armoury.

The Girl is and has always been – of course – the entire reason and rationale for this long and unforeseeable journey. To her – as ever – my endless gratitude and thanks.

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“London is a riddle, Paris is an explanation.”

G.K. Chesterton

High time to put to bed – once and for all – the trickle of images that I have been slowly posting of our trip across the pond back in July.

On our last full day in Paris we visited the Musée de Montmartre, the which is located – as you might expect – in Montmartre, a little to the north of the Basilica of the Sacré-Cœur. The museum was founded in 1960 and was classified as a “Museum of France” in 2003. The buildings in which it is housed were formerly the home of several famous artists, including Pierre-Auguste Renoir and Suzanne Valadon.

Here are some photographs of our day:

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

In the late 19th century, the lower section of Montmartre was home to many cabarets, such as le Chat Noir, le Lapin Agile and le Moulin Rouge. Many posters, stage designs and the reknown Shadow Theatre at le Chat Noir were created by the artists who lived in this Bohemian quarter of the city.

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

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A mixed bag

…random ramblings on a recent rag-bag of topics from the Pacific northwest…

First things first… ‘Tis once again the time of year to wish The Girl a very happy – if slightly belated (in real world, if not in blog-world terms) birthday! Yay! Happy B-day!

Life here on the west coast of Canada trundles along in its usual way. We are both busy and things are returning to some semblance of order now that the western world has decided that COVID is over and done with (even if it isn’t!). Secure in the knowledge that our multiple vaccine boosters and immunity from having had a dose of the lurgy make us a little more protected than we were before, we have on occasion stepped out to eat and to attend other public social events.

We even decided that it was safe enough to go back to the theatre – a least for a few months until the ‘immunity’ wears off. We had tickets for a play at The Belfry for The Girl’s birthday but the performance was cancelled at the last minute due to ‘illness’ (now, what could that be?). Our tickets have been rescheduled for this coming weekend, so let’s see how that goes.

Following the grim (as in cold and wet) spring and early summer, concerning which I posted at length earlier this year, the weather finally got its act together and we are enjoying a most pleasant Indian Summer. Temperatures remain in the 20s C and we have had no rain to speak of for several months. The garden could really do with some to be honest, but I guess it will come soon enough.

Apropos of very little, I feel that I should extend my commiserations to those who yet reside in the UK. Though I try not to comment on politics in these dark days it would not be – I believe – controversial to describe the UK political establishment since 2016 a a complete sh*tshow. However, even by such measures the new incumbents of 10 Downing Street might just prove be the worst and most dangerous yet.

Why do I care? Well – last week’s shenanigans wiped a considerable chunk off my monthly pension income as the chancellor carelessly crashed sterling and sent exchange rates plummeting (or soaring! – depends which end of the chain one is at). The subsequent recovery has been encouraging, but the knowledge that this ruling cabal’s dangerous ideology might well cause permanent damage is chilling to those of us who have no say in the matter.

In a strange Hitchcock-ian coda: yesterday I was out in the garden, underneath our deck (the which forms a sort of veranda across the whole width of the back of the house). It was impossible to miss the fact that – out in the stand of trees that border our property to the east – a huge and raucous convocation of birds had gathered. I could not actually see most of them, as the trees are tall and there is plenty of foliage. They were making sufficient noise, however, that it was impossible to ignore them. Quite startlingly so, in fact.

I took one step out from the cover of the deck and immediately the whole gathering took off. There must have been thousands of them (clearly of more than one species). Their parting darkened the skies for a moment or two and then they were gone – and a sudden and total silence descended.

Now – I wonder what this portends?

 

 

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I have been completely remiss in leaving unfinished my posting of images from our wanderings abroad during the summer – for which I heartily apologise. I shall remedy immediately…

Whilst in Paris we took a day trip to Fontainebleau to visit the Château, a residence for French monarchs from Louis VII to Napoleon III. Neither I nor The Girl had previously visited Fontainebleau but – given that I have a long-standing interest with Bonaparte – we were both very pleased to be able to rectify that situation. The palace is spectacular!

Anyway – here be pictures:

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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