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I must say I've been surprised to see how much support there has been for Sir Clive Woodward and his team of world champions on their southern hemisphere tour. Obviously that first game against the All Blacks didn't go exactly as it might have done - largely as a result of Sir Clive's eccentric team selection -but all the same there are still flags of St George flying from every London taxi and radiator repair man's white van. I’m sure the boys down under appreciate the support. I suppose the flags are also there to celebrate the success of Mr Michael Vaughan's cricketers and their three-nil series win over New Zealand at Trent Bridge.
It would be wrong to think that I care very much about sport except for rugby which is, of course, not a sport at all but life. Perhaps the reason I care so little about sport is that I was never very good at it, but am now old enough to pretend that I was - in the certain knowledge that there is no-one around who will remember that it is not true. And anyway at my age sport is not something you do any more. It is a spur to reflection, sometimes to such an extent that, as the saintly Ed always puts it, it becomes more than a mere metaphor for life - except for rugby, see above - and is instead the glass through which we see all of life, darkly. And depending on the vigour of your sport of choice, possibly slightly judderly.
I reflect on this because it was the Today sports' day this week: a highlight of our year.
Even those of us who don't like/don't care about/aren't very good at sport are moved by sports day since there is something essentially de Selincourt about the whole thing. From the early dawn breaking over the expectant lawns of the Blue Peter garden, through mowing the grass and marking out the track to stringing the bunting while the pennants of Sts George, Andrew, David and Ed snap against the poles either side of the finishing line.
None of the presenters are allowed to take part, for a variety of reasons. John, for instance, isn't allowed near any of the field equipment including javelins and hammers and other heavy things because of the court order and anyway can only run the length of his tethers which isn't very far at all; the saintly Ed labours under a life ban because of cheating while at the seminary especially in the steeplechase, high jump and pole vault; Jim brought a note from home but there was some mistake because it was about him not coming to assembly and we tried to say ‘aha you have to do it because this note isn't about sports day’ but he just lolled insolently on the pile of grass cuttings by the pavilion munching a hobnob and none of us felt up to dragging him to the lists. Sarah and Carolyn of course had other things to do which included cooking the hotdogs and the onions in the hand painted caravan we borrowed from 'In Our Time'.
The highlight of the afternoon - and the sporting finale - was the thirty yard sack-race.
It wasn't a bad field and 'Honest' Garry Richardson was kept busy stuffing handfuls of fivers into his hatband while tic-tacing the changing odds to Steve ‘Chancer’ May who chalked them up on the little blackboard by the paddock.
Charlotte Green began well fancied, especially by an emailer from Ashby de la Zouche whose electronic billet doux are now in the hands of the police; Mark Lawson in blinkers and a sheepskin noseband started second favourite but then narrowed to an uninviting 5-4 on, following a big punt from Arts and Features - and I'm told there's a lot more where that punt came from; Brian Perkins threw one of his shoes in the ring and drifted out to 10-1 as a muscular farrier was drafted in from Acton.
In the end it was a tense and at times tetchy race with a huge contrast in styles from the feet-in-the-corners-and-run (Green, Lawson, Bragg) through the ankles-together-and-jump (Perkins) to the sneaky on-all-fours-and-crawl (Lustig). All of which was very amusing but the eventual winner at a staggering 40-1 was Donaldson-of-the-News who eschewed all urgency and made a galleonesque passage down the course unmoved by the slapstick fratricide around him as he sipped languidly at a dry martini without spilling a drop.
Most listeners, especially three year old Frank and five year old Finn who joined our
had other things on their minds this week. Gordon Brown, for instance, who became Britain’s since the 1832 Reform Act and invited comparison with that other Celtic purser, .
And a lot of you were impressed by the dignified anger and concern of Sally Clarke’s father, , on Wednesday’s programme.
He was commenting on the General Medical Council’s rulings on Dr David Southall – one of the country’s principal experts on Munchausen’s Syndrome by Proxy. These are difficult areas; and the following day Harvey Marcovitch of the gave us a contrasting view.
Thursday’s programme provided the most tense moment of the week with the appearance of the one-time US Presidential hopeful, Dr Howard Dean. He was booked to appear at 0810... a couple of hours after his plane was due to land at Heathrow...
Yes, exactly.
But all was ok in the end – .
after a running commentary from his driver as he dodged the traffic jams of Chiswick and Shepherd’s Bush, the man who was once a few steps away from the White House and the nuclear button arrived alone. No outriders, no assistant, no security, no team of speechwriters and we all pondered for a moment on the vicissitudes of political fortune.
And then had one of Sarah’s frothy cappuccinos.
Kevin
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