Olympic Opening

What I loved, for future record: the rising of the chimneys, complete with steeplejacks; the forging of the  five rings; the Glastonbury Tor; Artic Monkeys and the winged cyclists; the nods to Barrie, Brunel and Berners-Lee; NHS centre stage; Team GB coming out to Bowie’s Heroes (though this will always remind me of a now-deleted Miracle of Istanbul clip); the music (GB tops the medal table in this category); the moment just before the Queen turned round; the moment the Queen turned round; the idea and execution of the petals/cauldron; youth lighting the flame, rather than one historical figure. It was brilliant.

Closer to home, Rae was asleep by 7.30pm and slept in her own bed (no cot sides) for the very first time.

 

 

 

 

 

Chipping & Clitheroe

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To Clitheroe for the Sunday car boot and a stroll around the town. Nice place. Then to lunch at the Sun Inn, Chipping, with a one hour wait for lunch. No biggie, the sun was shining. The new chef might be getting fired, says the lad behind the bar. Escape to the Country thoughts lead to a browse of Rightmove, which throws up a detached, four-bed former Mill manager’s place. Very nice.

A good day.

Links In

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Royal North Devon, St Enedoc, and both courses at Saunton. The annual Golf Tour in 3 weeks; can’t wait. Plus, swimming at Westward Ho! and the gravestone of Sir John Betjeman. His poem, Seaside Golf, was inspired by a birdie on the 13th at St Enedoc:

How straight it flew, how long it flew,
It clear’d the rutty track
And soaring, disappeared from view
Beyond the bunker’s back –
A glorious, sailing, bounding drive
That made me glad I was alive.

And down the fairway, far along
It glowed a lonely white;
I played an iron sure and strong
And clipp’d it out of sight,
And spite of grassy banks between
I knew I’d find it on the green.

And so I did. It lay content
Two paces from the pin;
A steady putt and then it went
Oh, most securely in.
The very turf rejoiced to see
That quite unprecedented three.

Ah! Seaweed smells from sandy caves
And thyme and mist in whiffs,
In-coming tide, Atlantic waves
Slapping the sunny cliffs,
Lark song and sea sounds in the air
And splendour, splendour everywhere.