Sunday 8 February 2015

Unbridled joy at Villa Park





 


A walk in silence



Atmosphere

 by Joy Division
 
Walk in silence,
Don't walk away, in silence.
See the danger,
Always danger,
Endless talking,
Life rebuilding,
Don't walk away.

Walk in silence,
Don't turn away, in silence.
Your confusion,
My illusion,
Worn like a mask of self-hate,
Confronts and then dies.
Don't walk away.

People like you find it easy,
Naked to see,
Walking on air.
Hunting by the rivers,
Through the streets,
Every corner abandoned too soon,
Set down with due care.
Don't walk away, in silence,
Don't walk away.  

Ian Curtis (15th July 1956 – 18 May 1980)





 














Thursday 5 February 2015

Kicking back the pricks of darkness

We speed out into road-worked carnage, picking our way between the jams and crushes of the rain-soaked night. Speeding out as lovers. Not Mum and Dad, not Nanny and Bumps .. but two arthritic lovers kicking back the pricks of approaching darkness.

My birthday. Another year past.

The evening is cold, sharp frost chiseled into the back-streets of Stratford upon Avon as we park up and retrieve our bags from the boot of the car.  The hotel is warm and welcoming.  A climb up the back stairs to our room. A huge mirrored chaise-longue in the ceiling to floor ambiance of a black and white tiled floor that leads, oak-beamed to a roll-top bath and the delicious sinful prospect of pleasured shared water to come.

We gorge in the restaurant below on rich food, listening to the passing chatter of actors and plebiscites, rich and spoiled in this warm-candled room.

Morning brings rain and breakfast. Barry the Butcher and succulent sausages from a shop just fifty yards down the way. We do not fit together in the roll-top! Our corpulent unbending forms yield to one bath, one shower and a fit of giggles.

Venturing out we find the ancient streets closed in grey clouds. We stumble upon Shakespeare's birthplace and venture in, untrammelled by nothing more than the passing presence of the odd tourist. A musician plays new melodies on an ancient stringed instrument and we look up to the loft where gay apprentices have bedded down above the rancid smell of urine-dunged skins in the backyard beyond.

The rain bears down once more and we return to the soft, silent pleasures of two books and a passing afternoon.  A presage to an evening of Jacobean drama in the Swan, hugging the skirt of the stage-floor as it plays out before us.

Our last day and sun shines as we look out from our breakfast feast upon the school where Shakespeare grasped slate and chalk.  A short walk and the elevator to the top of the theatre's observatory tower and views of the town below. Time for one last walk.

We visit the church which holds the last bones of the Bard. I mentored the Rector here some time ago and as we pass to the back and catch sight of a blu-tacked poster I smile. A mission statement is fastened to the unyielding stonework, a statement I remember taking shape in my offices all those years ago. It reads, 'Bridge-builders'.

The journey is complete and we return home in quiet contemplation. Two arthritic lovers kicking back the pricks of darkness as we seek bridge-building once more.

Sunday 11 January 2015

More memories ...





A very special Christmas present





Christmas photos are always magical because they carry special memories, but the photos above are even more magical for my family.  Let me explain ...

The young man dressed in the Santa suit is my son. He's twenty eight years old and learning disabled.  Twenty years ago I took him to his very first football match at Villa Park.  At the time he had a concentration span barely thirty seconds long, but he was absolutely enthralled!!  I took him to a few more matches that season and before very long we became season-ticket holders.

My son has learned so much from his regular Saturday outings. When we first started going to the Villa we parked about a mile away and often it would take me thirty minutes or more to steer him safely to the ground. The walks did him so much good, though. They helped strengthen his legs and correct his sense of balance, so much so that now I can barely keep up with him.  My son learned too the value of money. Much of his savings over the last two decades have been spent in the Villa shop!

And my son has learned something else as well ... the passion of sharing a football match in the presence of so many friends we've made at Villa Park.  You see, when he goes to the game he's just part of the crowd in the Trinity Road stand, cheering along with the rest like any other supporter.

This Christmas our son had a very special present. Villa kicked off their season at Stoke and came away one nil winners thanks to another blistering goal from Andreas Weimann.  A few days later I entered the weekly draw on the AVTV site and blow me down when I discovered I had won the very shirt Andreas had worn that day!

I don't suppose Aston Villa players are regular visitors to this somewhat meandering blog, but if any of them ever do please pass on this message ...

Thank you so much Andreas for your shirt - it made a very special gift for a very special young man this Christmas and when you come out to play at Villa Park just know he will be cheering your name!!

Family Fun