Showing posts from August, 2014


Never was a holiday so indulgently welcomed. Tenerife, an island that has revealed its layered charms to Family Atkinson time after time, again restored spirits as well as sangria and suntan levels.     This was a hastily re-arranged trip. Granny’s deep resistance to the insidious cancer wracking her body was sadly overwhelmed at the end of July. The end to her tungsten struggle came with dignity and respect, and with grief and loss. It also came the week before our planned holiday with Auntie Sue in the Canaries. In the circumstances, we considered simply binning aspirations for a holiday this Summer. Ultimately though, we felt returning with Sue after the funeral for a week of family-focused relaxation might just be the boost our collective serotonin levels would need. The funeral was an epic of its kind. As befits a life full of love, friendship, selflessness and good humour, Granny’s final appearance at the Church she adored was played out before a packed house. He

High Summer

Summertime rolls, as Jane’s Addiction sharply observed back in 1988. I don’t think they were talking about picnic provisions. The season always seems to kick on with haste, leaving moments, events and experiences struggling for attention in its dusty trail. Already the glittering World Cup in Brazil seems like a distant memory as the papers revert to transfer gossip and manager mind-game-mongering. In football terms, the tournament will be remembered as a success. We enjoyed more goals scored than in any of the previous Finals; witnessed some electrifying skill (Van Persie’s arched back header will live long in the memory); confirmed a new generation of talent (Rodriguez looks sublime) and marvelled at vibrant, emotional, spine tingling support from the home nation. And the best team won. RVP makes his mark Brazil’s problems won’t go away because of this success. The controversial investment in this World Cup and 2016’s Olympic Games at the perceived expense of local job

August Roster

No update since June. This is a disgrace and entirely accounted for by the pasting my gang took at Royal Ascot. Gubbed, if we are to borrow some Commonwealth Games vernacular. Only Mind of Madness and Telescope troubled the scoresheet. The former in a place capacity only, after a tame earlier effort in the Windsor Castle; the latter, in tremendous style, in the Hardwicke. I had a decent bet so some ground was reclaimed. Without him I’d have been close to 40 points down. As it was I ran away with a 15 point deficit overall, thinking I’d absconded with the Crown Jewels. The Royal meeting is so tough. The losers included Aljamaheer, Roudee, Es Que Love (twice), Toofi, Cock Of The North and Tiggy Wiggy. Only the last named could really claim a hard luck story. After this, some new blood was sought. Roudee was scratched. Euro Charline, Nafaqa, American Hope and Ray Ward were added on the basis of decent efforts over the Ascot jamboree. Smidge of aftertiming here as all six have