Jaqui's Daily Blog

This Spectacular Summer

It has been a truly spectacular summer of sport. Or, should you not be the sporty type, it has been a truly spectacular summer. Full stop.

 

Opening the curtains each and every morning reminds me of those summer holidays in Days of Yore, when the sight of the sun shining on the beach / pool / sea outside made my little heart sing. These days we are enjoying Holidays at Home in glorious weather. Okay, we may be grumbling a bit about the heat and how it makes us feel a tad lethargic - but then what else do we have to grumble about as the month of July stretches before us in unremitting sunshine.

 

However, let’s get back to the sport for a moment. Mr B has been in Seventh Heaven. The World Cup, Wimbledon, cricket galore and - so he tells me - the Open Golf is starting on Thursday...

 

I remember some decades ago when I was a Working Gal, I was a member of the Public Relations team at Kent County Council one year when the Open was staged at Sandwich. This required considerable input from a designated member of the PR team - subject to certain requirements, neither of which I could meet. For a start, the designated PR officer was required to hold his own in the round of golf which always followed the morning planning meeting and he had to be a “he”. Only one of our number met both criteria. Obviously I don’t bear a grudge. Well, only a little bit...

 

Mr B, as I have explained before, is a Sport Spectator sans pareil. Whatever the sport, he will watch it and pontificate upon it. I have often said that if Tiddleywinks were to become an Olympic sport, he would be found watching every tiddle and every wink. As his Partner for Life, I have found it easier to join him, rather than try to compete for his attention with cricketers, footballers, tennis players, marathon runners and the like. I mean, I am not one to shy away from competition but there is such a thing as a Level Playing Field.

 

Today I have had to remove our World Cup wall-chart from the wall, trying very carefully to make sure that I didn’t pull any wallpaper off the wall along with the sellotape. Regular readers may recall that I had secured it at wheelchair height above the radiator so that Mr B could fill in the results as each match reached its conclusion. In the end it turned out that I had to do all the marking up, Mr B employing one of his favourite sayings: “why have a dog and bark yourself?” I am, to be fair, quite proud of my efforts and have realised, for the first time, what a difference it makes having a wall-chart. It really does, you know. It’s the equivalent, I suppose, of the Reward Charts which the Middle of the Darling Daughters creates for the Trio of Rampaging Rascals when she wants to encourage them either to do something or desist from doing something. They work a treat, I am told, especially when the inducement for completing the chart is Dinosaur Related...

 

There was no reward for completing the World Cup wall-chart, aside from the warm glow at a Job Well Done. Now that I have removed it from the wall, I need to decide what to do with it - no, please don’t tell me to put it in the recycling bin, not after all the time and effort I have expended on it. I think I shall have to find a place for it in my 2018 Memories Box - where at some time in the future I will find it and wonder what on earth I was thinking about. I mean, England didn’t even win, did they...?

 

Having won my spurs, so to speak, watching the World Cup, Mr B is now expecting me to devote at least as much time and attention to the Open Golf when it starts. As you can probably imagine, I am hedging my bets.

 

I mean, will there be a wall-chart? I think I need to know...

 

 

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Latest comments

24.09 | 18:00

I’m glad you liked it, Sally. Jaqui x

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24.09 | 08:25

Beautiful piece. Thank you. Sally

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30.08 | 19:32

P.s. I absolutely adored Gipsy Tart, and, yes, my son has his work cut out!!

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30.08 | 19:26

I too went to school in Kent where my Aunt worked as a dinner-lady. I got seconds sometimes thirds of my favourite pud, the said Gipsy Tart. My son’s a dentist!

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