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Flotsam and Jetsam

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Having threatened a few posts back to bore everyone rigid with rugby related updates the gentle reader will be no doubt wondering what could possibly have happened to that eagerly awaited content. (No – no, he or she is almost certainly wondering no such thing!).

Previous experience might suggest that should I not be forthcoming on such (important) topics it is most likely because the subject is just too painful to mention. Well – I don’t know about that, but it must be said that the fortunes of the sides that I follow have of late been rather – er – mixed!

The Scots have really not got going at all in this Six Nations. They warmed up against the Italians well enough but then let current champions, Ireland, get the better of them at home. The trip to Paris – even given the current woes of the French side – was never going to be easy. That the Scots were suffering from a surfeit of injuries didn’t help and the bravehearts are thus no further forward. They now face the cocky Welsh – who last week outsmarted an English side that had won its first two games convincingly. The final game is against the English themselves in their fortress at Twickenham. Hmmm!

Bath Rugby are busy doing that thing that all evidence suggests they are currently the kings of – namely all but winning games only to throw them away at the death. For the last two weeks now they have lost the match on the final play deep into overtime. Given that they have done this three times this season already it is no surprise that they are beginning to get themselves a reputation.

The Girl and I have ventured twice in as many weeks to Westhills to catch Canada playing their home fixtures in the Americas Championship. As I reported in the aforementioned post Canada started their championship run also by losing at the death to Uruguay and they repeated the feat the following week away to Brazil (of all people!). What is it with the teams I follow not being able to go the whole eighty minutes?!

Anyway – last week they entertained Chile at home on a night which was distinctly – er- chilly! It certainly was for the visitors who didn’t get a look-in, as Canada wreaked revenge (of a sort) by trampling them 56 – 0. This week they faced the Argentinians – albeit only the Pumas second string (the first team being far too busy losing to the All Blacks to worry about small fry like Canada!).

Even the Argentine second strand is a very dangerous prospect and the Canadians were expected to lose handsomely. It was, as it turned out, a most exciting game. Having given the Pumas a head-start by gifting them a charge-down try in the first minute the Canadians did well to stay in touch until near the interval. Unfortunately they then gave up a couple of soft-ish tries. Whatever was said during half time certainly had an effect because after the break the Canadians threw themselves at the Argentinians with a ferocity that I don’t recall seeing from them before. With fifteen minutes to go it was a two point game. Sadly the superior fitness of the Pumas – assisted by some dubious decisions by the officials (including a frankly ridiculous penalty try to wrap up proceedings) – told in the end and the Argentinians won the game 39 – 23 and the championship with a match to spare.

Oh well – there is still time for all concerned to furnish us with outrageous feats of derring-do – to win those David/Goliath battles against all odds and to bring unlooked for joy to us long-suffering supporters…

…and because we are optimists we believe that it will indeed be so!

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidOn Sunday evening – just as the storm winds from the weekend were beginning to slacken but also as the first of the serious snowstorms was starting to dump its icy load all over Victoria and the peninsula – I was on my way downtown to pick up the three members of a Halifax-based theatre company who had been performing the previous night as part of Intrepid Theatre’s OutStages festival. My task was to run them to the airport so that they could start their long journey (three hops) back to Halifax.

As we started back up the Pat Bay highway the snow really set in and the residual winds whipped it horizontally across the carriageway, reducing visibility quite dramatically. It was shortly after five o’clock and the temperature had dipped below zero. The compacted snow that had already fallen began to freeze into ice and – though snowploughs had clearly been up the highway at some point – there was no sign of them nor of gritting trucks at this juncture.

The airport is at the top of the peninsula, about five minutes drive from us but around twelve miles out of the City. The road climbs steadily from Downtown and there are long stretches with gentle but persistent inclines – both up and down – as one heads north.

It rapidly became clear that most of the vehicles on the highway (which was quite busy with people trying to get home) were not equipped with winter tyres. As a result there was much lateral sliding as they fought for grip on the slippery slopes. We began to see accidents as cars and other vehicles slid into one another or off the carriageway entirely. We could see places where the traffic coming south had stopped completely.

The Lexus – with permanent four-wheel drive and fitted with a practically new set of snow tyres – sailed serenely through, though dodging other uncontrollable vehicles proved a challenge.

Slowly but steadily we made our way to the airport. The grateful thespists were decanted at the departure lounge and I headed for home. We had been checking continually as we progressed that the flight was still scheduled to depart on-time, but when I got home I thought I would check once more. The news was bad. The flight had been cancelled – as had all others by this point. Furthermore the Pat Bay highway had also been closed shortly after our transit thereof.

Much telephoning ensued on the part of the Intrepid Production Manager, to try to find an hotel near the airport that could put up our performers for the night. I headed back to the terminal so that I could transport them wherever they heeded to go. Naturally everyone else with cancelled flights was doing exactly the same thing and no rooms were be found. Thus it was that I brought a weary troupe of thesps and their equipment back to our now snowbound house, where we entertained them, fed them and put them up for the night.

When we struggled from our cosy beds the next morning (Monday) to be faced by a veritable winter wonderland outside, the first order of the day was to hit the phones again. We heard a sniff of a flight leaving within the next hour and a half so we rushed to get ready, dug out the Lexus and headed once more to the airport. After much frazzled to-ing and fro-ing it was determined that no seats were to be had after all and that many other flights were once again being cancelled. This time Intrepid managed to find our new friends a room at an Inn in Sidney and having deposited them there I headed for home as it once again started to snow in earnest.

They were now scheduled to leave on the Tuesday mid-morning. At around nine o’clock I received an urgent text telling me that they were struggling to locate a taxi. Once more I set to work digging the Lexus out of the snow. Fortunately word was received of a suitable conveyance having been found and I didn’t need to venture forth again. We anxiously watched the flight status online and traded texts with our new theatre-buddies as other flights were again being cancelled, before breathing a sigh of relief as theirs finally took to the air.

We heard later that the storms had extended all across Canada, that their flight had been diverted to Fredericton and that they had been put into a taxi for a four hour drive through the night to get back to Halifax very early this morning (Wednesday). Blimey!

The real hero of this whole adventure was a Lexus called Lorelei. I am completely in awe of this incredible machine which – equipped with the right tyres – is simply unstoppable. It goes about its work with the minimum of fuss, simply floating over anything that gets in its way. A fabulous piece of design and engineering!

A grateful thanks – say I!

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Field Grass Rugby Sport Water Ball“Rugby is great. The players don’t wear helmets or padding; they just beat the living daylights out of each other and then go for a beer. I love that.”

Joe Theismann

Long term followers of these scribblings (and I know for a fact that some such there be) will not be surprised should one or more of the postings that will appear over the next six weeks take as its subject the very ‘ruffian’s game’ of the post title. Indeed, a brief scroll through the archive of this blog will reveal this to be something of a theme at this time of the year.

Now, this is at least in part because it is February – in the Northern Hemisphere! Nothing much else really happens in February except that we all sit tight and wait for the winter storms to blow themselves out – or at least to get bored enough of the whole winter business that they decide to kick back and to give spring a go.

I say that nothing much happens. The exception is of course – rugby!

This very weekend in Europe the 2019 Six Nations Championship has kicked off. Here in North America the 2019 Americas Rugby Championship has done likewise – though since this latter tournament includes Brazil, Chile, Uruguay and Argentina (2nds) there are at least some matches played in other than arctic conditions.

As if that weren’t excitement enough this year is Rugby World Cup year and all of the matches take on extra significance as pointers to how our favoured squads might perform in Japan come September and October.

So – how did the first weekend go?

Well, Wales and France – in Paris on Friday evening – both seemed reluctant to take the honours in the first game up. Wales were terrible in the first period – trailing at half time by 16 – 0. In the second half the French decided to help the Welsh out and gifted them a brace of tries. Wales finally squeaked through and narrowly won the match.

Scotland hosted Italy at Murrayfield and for the first seventy minutes did what was expected and ran in five tries. Unfortunately they then decided to take their collective feet off the pedal and allowed Italy to help themselves to three late scores. Scotland still won comfortably enough but – given that they next face pre-tournament favourites, Ireland – there is clearly much room for improvement.

Speaking of Ireland – their status as bookies favourites was a result of their stellar year last year, during which they won the Grand Slam and beat the fearsome All Blacks at home for the first time to elevate themselves to the number two slot in the world rankings. This weekend they faced England in Dublin (never an easy place to win away) with the visitors themselves having endured a difficult year in 2018. To everyone’s surprise England proved to have recovered their mojo. They not only beat the Irish but they gave them a serious schooling. It looks as though the championship might be more open than previously expected.

Sadly, though leading Uruguay in Montevideo by 17 – 13 to well past the eighty minute mark Canada yielded to the hosts’ pressure under the posts at the death and lost the game 20 -17. Let us hope that the Canadians have pulled their socks up by the time we see them in Langford later in the championship.

 

 

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWay back in the early 1990s (long before, of course, I had the slightest notion of even knowing anyone from the west coast of Canada, let alone of emigrating to this blessed spot) I came across a newly published and really quite extraordinary book – in the form of what I later came to know to be an epistolary novel – by artist, illustrator and writer, Nick Bantock.

Griffin & Sabine was the first in what evolved into a set of seven books which document the extraordinary correspondence between Griffin Moss – a London-based designer of postcards – and Sabine Strohem – a mysterious woman who resides on an island in the South Pacific. This communication commences with an exotic card from the southern seas.

Griffin

It’s good to get in touch with you at last. Could I have one of your fish postcards? I think you were right – the wine glass has more impact than the cup.

Sabine

But Griffin had never met a woman named Sabine. How did she know him? How did she know his artwork? Who is she?

The novels are exclusively in the form of exquisite and exotically illustrated postcards and of letters which are tucked into their envelopes affixed to the pages.

I think I was drawn to the original book not only by the sheer beauty of its design and artwork, but also by the magical and mysterious quality of its premise. I purchased a copy shortly after its publication, appreciated its allure and then tucked it away in one of my bookcases where it has languished ever since.

What I did not know then – or indeed discover until recently – was that though Nick Bantock grew up around London and in Kent, in the late 1980s he moved to Saltspring Island, British Columbia (scarcely a stone’s throw from our home on the Saanich peninsula) where he has lived ever since. I might not have discovered this fact even now had not Mr Bantock teamed up with Michael Shamata – the Artistic Director of The Belfry Theatre here in Victoria – to adapt the series of novels for the stage. On receiving The Belfry’s programme for the year and observing upon it notice of this premiere we naturally purchased tickets forthwith for the last show of the run, two days before Christmas.

With some difficulty (in the finding) I dug my copy of the book from our library. I was intrigued to know how this highly unusual graphical novel could possibly be adapted successfully for the stage. It is a challenge that I, frankly, would not myself have dared attempt (even had I the talent so to do!). I am therefore delighted to report that The Girl and I both found the production to be magical and moving and that it somehow managed to avoid all of the most obvious pitfalls that usually befall attempts at the marriage of two such wildly different forms. Let us hope that the production now travels further.

Bravo to Mr Bantock and to all concerned – say we!

 

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…of the year!

Edward Pola and George Wyle

Yes – it’s that time of year again…

…to friends, acquaintances and gentle readers…

from the Kickass Canada Girl and the Imperceptible Immigrant.

Have a wonderful Christmas and a splendid Hogmany!

 

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A necessary adjunct to my last posting:

Photo 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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Where do Christmas Trees come from?

Well – in our case from the Saanichton Christmas Tree Farm!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidAs you can see they don’t just do Christmas Trees – but that is a big part of their annual turnover.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWe chose our Christmas Tree some three or four weeks ago. Here it is growing happily in a rather boggy paddock – with our tag on it.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe farm lends the eager customer a saw and the latter sets forth for the far reaches of the estate to try to locate the chosen tree. There he or she appropriates a lumberjack stereotype for a brief period, being careful to cut the tree at least a foot (two branches) above ground level so that it can regrow for future plaid-clad wannabees. Unlike our days back in Buckinghamshire, when I used to collect our Christmas Tree in Pearl (our classic Mercedes convertible – with the top down!) here in BC it is unceremoniously lashed on top of the Lexus. Not terribly dignified, but ’tis but a short run home!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid…and here is it in our drawing room waiting to be ‘dressed’.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

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Whilst on the theme of music…

Around this time last year I just happened upon a BBC transmission (which I know was also shown in other parts of the world on different networks) which featured U2 accompanied by a full orchestra and choir performing a mixture of old and new tracks at Abbey Road studios in London.

Now – I am a long-time U2 fan, though my enthusiasm for them has varied from all-out ecstasy (Joshua Tree et al) to solid respect and admiration (throughout more recent years). They have written some of my favourite ever songs – those to which I return again and again. I am a massive fan of The Edge as a guitarist and of Bono both for his wonderful voice and for his passion.

I have also  – as you might expect – a great deal of time and respect for my fellow countrymen (and women!) but if there is one trait that I deplore – and which seems to me to have become more pronounced throughout the sceptered isles in recent decades – it is that eagerness to express dislike – contempt – loathing even – for those who have somehow had the nerve to become successful. The level of vitriol directed at sporting heroes such as Andy Murray and Lewis Hamilton seems to me beyond all reasonable measure. U2 – and especially Bono – have been marked men from the point at which they were first dubbed “The biggest band in the world”.

Now – it would seem to be in Bono’s nature to make himself – however inadvertently – a target for such abuse. Yes – he wears his heart on his sleeve and is not afraid to say and write things that others may feel to be pretentious. Yes – his worthy activism might seem at odds with some of his more commercial decisions and anyone who has made a great deal of money is almost bound to upset those who feel that the taxman might not be getting his fair whack… but, please – respect where respect is due. Though it may be acceptable to voice opinions regarding perceived errors of judgement, through the decades since the 80s Bono and U2 have been – and continue to be – a source of great joy and pleasure for millions of people. In other parts of the world huge numbers delight at any opportunity to express their enthusiasm and gratitude and I am happy to join them.

The BBC Abbey Road TV special was lambasted by some who seemed outraged that the BBC – a public service broadcaster – had provided U2 with a platform at a time when they were promoting a new album. I just saw a wondrous and exquisite musical event that reconnected me personally to an act that I had not looked at closely for a couple of years – and no – I didn’t buy the album! What I actually wanted to purchase – but couldn’t because it has not been released – was a DVD of that Abbey Road performance.

It seemed to me that U2, the orchestra – with John Metcalfe (who worked of late with Peter Gabriel’s ‘New Blood’ orchestra) arranging and conducting – and the choir complemented each other perfectly. The chosen songs – old and new – were revealed afresh and the performance in an intimate setting was really very touching. I was in particular moved to tears by renditions of “Every Breaking Wave” and “13 (There is a Light)”, but the whole concert was in my opinion simply wonderful.

Though you cannot purchase a DVD or CD of this excellent event you can, fortunately, locate all of the component parts of the show on YouTube and I encourage those with open minds and open hearts to indulge themselves thereon.

 

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I have written precious little of late about rugby!

In part this is because my team – Bath – are having one of those seasons in which they simply cannot get anything right. They are – miraculously – still mid-table in the Premiership, but looking at their losses to some of the perhaps less well equipped clubs in the league it is a considerable mystery that they are not doing even worse than they are.

Scotland are also keeping us all on tenterhooks. At a time when the Irish have finally beaten the All Blacks at home for the first time, when Wales have scraped wins over the Aussies and the Saffers and the English are finally starting to rediscover their swagger – Scotland remain worryingly tentative. Their game is certainly in a considerably better place than it was a few years back, but the Rugby World Cup in Japan in 2019 is rapidly bearing down on us and there is still a great deal to be done if the Scots are to be in a position to compete.

There is at last – however – good news in one quarter at least. Canada have themselves finally qualified for the 2019 World Cup (in which they now will compete for the ninth time in a row). Like the Scots the Canadians seemed determined to do everything the hard way. They eschewed both of the more conventional routes to qualification, ending up in the last chance saloon – a three week/four way repêchage competition in Marseilles facing Hong Kong, Germany(!) and Kenya – all of whom they had to beat to be sure of a place.

That Canada came through at the last gasp and finally booked their passage to Japan is indeed almost Scots-like in terms of gritty determination in the face of seemingly insuperable odds and they are to be hugely congratulated.

Well done! Go Canada!

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Image from Pixabay“The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest”.

Rabindranath Tagore

“Wild is the music of autumnal winds amongst the faded woods.”

William Wordsworth

Why should it be, I wonder, that I associate the autumn – the fall – with music?

Is it because – even though the summers are full of music, as we enjoy such delights as the Wednesday evening concerts in the park at Brentwood Bay – there is something particular about the long journey into winter that makes me long to be indoors, being comforted and moved – and that music is one of the greatest balms that I know.

Or perhaps I don’t really make that association at all! Perhaps I associate every season with music and it just happens to be autumn now. Or perhaps it’s just that – as they say north of the (Scottish!) border – “Ma bum’s oot the windae”!

Either way – last weekend we enjoyed once again one of the treats that the season routinely bestows upon us… the annual visit to the Mary Winspear Centre of Barney Bentall’s Caribou Express. Yes – I have waxed lyrical in the past on the subject of the delights extended by this hardened band of musical desperadoes and I have no doubt that I shall do so again.

There were eleven of them this year but the numbers matter not a jot. These boys – and girls – were at the Mary Winspear for three nights on the trot and they were enjoying not having to travel. This was their last night and they were clearly determined to enjoy it even more than the preceding two. They certainly need have had little fear that the packed crowd would do anything less than back them to the hilt… which is just what they – we! – did. The sound was great – the vibe fantastic. The joint was hopping and our hands and voices were sore the morning after!

So great to find something in these tempestuous times on which one can utterly rely.

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