Rutland columnist Allan Grey shares his Sunday
How do you start your day? asks Rutland columnist Allan Grey.
How do you get the next 24 hours off to the best possible start? No, the answer is not to lay in bed until midday contemplating your navel, no matter how tempting that might be.
My day begins at 7.30am, bedcovers off and then a polite conversation with my bathroom scales which goes something like this: “now then Sophie, please be kind Sophie.” Yes, Sophie Scales, sweet or what? “I really fancy a full English breakfast, complete with fried bread and black pudding and some carrot cake for elevenses today, what do you think.” The reply is usually: “Ouch, one at a time please, can’t you see the numbers down below, or are they still obscured by that rather rotund anatomical feature of yours, you know, the one midway between your eyes and your feet, unfortunately today we recommend a few goji berries and a teaspoon full of low fat kefir yoghurt and then a five mile run, off you go.” That’s the trouble with all these smart devices, no empathy, no kindness, straight to the nub of the matter, a real punch in that anatomical feature, welcome to the world of AI.
Seven days a week, following Sophie’s daily lecture on the benefits of health and wellbeing, and once in the kitchen, it’s a coffee, instant coffee, barista oat milk, sorry oat drink, can’t call it milk any more because the supercilious gradgrinds that control our speech and increasingly our thoughts have decreed that if it doesn’t come from the breast of a lactating animal, it cannot be called milk, and has to be known as a drink. The good news is that it still tastes the same, I still buy it and it still doesn’t upset my stomach, so up yours, or down yours, whichever the case may be!
Sundays during the football season are a special day as mostly the piping hot coffee is enjoyed watching a recording of Saturday night’s Match of the Day. Now, the beauty of watching MOTD as a recording on a Sunday morning is being able to admire the consummate skill of the players, the nail-biting tension during the protracted time it takes VAR to decide whether a player’s little finger was marginally offside and consequently if a goal has been scored, or not, and then to be amused by the players’ and managers’ post match interviews, many struggling to explain in their second language, i.e. English, why they lost a match that was theirs for the taking. However, the real satisfaction of the recording is being able to fast forward past Gary, Alan and Danny’s totally tedious analysis, and consequently it’s all done in half the time, always enjoyed, and generally leaving more time to write this tosh.
Last Sunday was different however, my WhatsApp pinged at 7am to say that three young grandchildren would be doing the Junior Parkrun at Normanton at 9am. Wow, no time for navel contemplation, just get up, get dressed, grab a probiotic to wash down the medication and off to Edith Weston. Where shall I park? I bet the car park will be rammed, I’ll park at the edge of the village and walk in, get some steps in. As I eventually arrive in the virtually empty car park, having got lost around the back roads of the village, I meet the rest of the family, with three excited little ones all geared up for a 2k dash from the famous church and back.
A quick diversion into the Waterside café, for personal comfort reasons you understand, and I bump into my boss, Lion president Paul chatting to High Sheriff Richard and the organisers of the parkrun. President Paul is here to receive recognition of Rutland Lions’ contribution toward a defibrillator for use during the weekly parkruns. I suspect however, that should it ever need using in anger, it’s much more likely to be to resuscitate an excessively excited elderly grandparent cheering their grandchild on, rather than one of the spritely young participants.
My three granddaughters run home in respectable times, puffing, but also smiling and have their barcodes read, a happy, healthy start to a Sunday for all of us, Sophie will be suitably impressed I hope, we’ll find out tomorrow morning.
Talking of starts to the day, the one thing I am immensely grateful for is that I no longer have to drive anywhere to start my day. My daughter however has to leave Oakham and negotiate the southbound A1 between Stamford and Peterborough, down to one lane at Water Newton following damage to a bridge by a lorry before Christmas last year, turning her 45 minute journey into a 90 minute journey if she is lucky. If she’s exceptionally lucky, she might even see a couple of blokes in high vis jackets leaning on their shovels and supping their morning cup of tea.
National Highways say a temporary repair will take place this summer, but full repairs could take until 2027 given the environmental and archaeological constraints that need taking into consideration. Forgive me if I don’t fully understand the priorities here, but it seems clear that the utter misery of many thousands of motorists on a daily basis for getting on for three years, takes second place to environmental and archaeological niceties. National Highways have clearly learnt from the Brooke Road experiment and are elevating the disregard of the public’s sensitivities to an altogether higher level, thank heaven for retirement. Maybe I’ll have a lay in tomorrow.
