Bowl first version

Sometimes it seems like we’re not experiencing real cricket being beamed back to us from down under, what we are seeing/hearing is some kind of scam, we are actually watching the same match over and over again.  No that’s wrong, there are actually two matches, one in which England bat first and the other when we bowl.  But in both versions of this game we are soundly thrashed while Australia crows unbearably.

In Adelaide we had the bowl first version and the actors stuck to the script perfectly.  The bowlers do their jobs well but are let down by piss poor fielding.  As the innings stretches on and on everything goes to shit and the ball is smashed to all parts.  England bat, a couple of quick wickets but then consolidation of sorts for a session or two before the inevitable collapse.  Australia extend their already massive lead and rub our noses in it.  Two days to go, heavy defeat beckons, the only question is day four or day five?

It isn’t as painful as it once was, experience has made me numb.  Predictable isn’t the word, we know what’s going to happen, it’s always the bloody same.

Decisions, decisions

It’s the hope that kills you.  Yesterday morning I’d pressed the cricinfo button score expecting the worst but had to do a wide eyed, smiling double take when I saw England had reached 220-2.  This morning I delayed switching on the radio as ‘not knowing’ would mean my delusions would stay real for a while longer.  When I did tune in the news was no less sickening for being expected.  At least we’d taken it into the fourth day and made them bat again, briefly.  That’s it then, the Ashes are as good as over for another couple of years.  Unless we can win in Adelaide, then it’s game on again…  It’s the hope that kills you.

Decisions, decisions.  Even before hindsight the choices made for England’s bowling attack were just stupid.  Tall, experienced fast bowler with 500+ test wickets left out?  This is the kind of decision that should see people sacked.  Quirky team selections have become a feature of the Silverwood tenure, none of them have worked as far as I can remember.  And why are Bairstow and Overton even there?  If either ends up playing then we really are in the shit.  Looking at the squad almost half could be playing for their test futures.  Now is the time for Burns and Buttler in particular to step up and show us they are match winning test players, up until now they’ve done just enough to keep their places.

You can almost forgive Root for electing to bat, given the grief Nasser gets to this day for his decision in 2002.  It really was a good toss to lose but having won it, given the team selection he was only ever going to bat.  Despite the evidence of the green strip in front of him.  England’s strategy was obviously wrong, decisions made before a ball was bowled or a coin was even tossed.

Most frustrating of all is the lack of preparation.  England have started every recent test series under prepared and have to play catch up.  The management need to stand up for the players and insist on proper preparation, we need to play tough cricket before the start of a test series.  This is fucking obvious and has been so for some time.  If England are to win consistently then they have to give themselves a chance or at least stop handicapping themselves.  Starting at Adelaide on Thursday...

It was somehow inevitable...

Sitting up for the Ashes with TMS as my connection to the Gabba.  There are lots of English accents in the commentary team which is a relief, familiar voices, Aggers and Mann, old friends in conversation again and Jim Maxwell is always welcome.  Its day one in Brisbane, you absolutely have to bat don’t you?  No choice, look what they said about Nasser in 2002…

But the sky is cloudy, the pitch is green and there are storms about, maybe a good day for Broad to rip through them?  But Broad isn’t playing…  That just feels wrong.

1130 GMT  Root wins the toss and elects to bat, half an hour until the start, anticipation mounts, my nerves start to tingle, bloody cricket!  I’m waiting to hear the start of England’s innings, why?  It's the Ashes! But what do I have to gain?  At best we’ll be about 20/0 by the time I switch off and turn in.  But somehow I just know that isn’t going to happen.  What I’m really thinking is ‘how bad will it be?’  I’m staying up to face my fears.

Here we go…  Ashes first day first ball, Burns bowled leg stump.  FFS  It was almost inevitable…

Keep the faith!  Malan and Hameed both pick up boundaries and I start to breathe again… but then Malan is out!  11-2.  Here we fucking go again…  By the time I’ve brushed my teeth Root has gone for a duck, fuck this I’m going to bed.

Awake before the alarm, I need a piss and there’s no point in going back to bed afterwards.  I switch on the radio…  147 all out when rain stopped play.  I expected worse.

I try to be fair on England, their preparation was non existent due to both schedule and weather and the latter may yet save them in this match.  We’ve been in worse positions in recent Ashes then come back to win but that really was a miracle.  And Australia are yet to bat, but we know they’ll make 350 and fucking Warner will score a ton.

But really given the lack of practice, the pitch and the weather surely pick Broad bowl first and ease into the game?  Was Root’s decision influenced by the ghost of Nasser and the choice he made twenty years ago?

Despite everything I’m tempted to stay up again tonight but on the other hand I’m knackered.  Ashes bloody cricket, it’s a love/hate affair on all levels.

Cricket isn't racist

We’re less than a week from another Ashes series down under but we’ve all the shite that’s gone on in the world since the last home series in 2019 even this pinnacle of sporting events holds less significance in my life than it once did.  Once it starts I’ll be willing England to do well, my ‘favourite’ Ashes win is the 2010/11 series down under, oh how I enjoyed that!  On that tour, led by Strauss, England had three tough preparation games against decent state sides which allowed them to become battle hardened.  Unsurprisingly this kind of preparation has not been made available on subsequent tours so this time England opted to play against themselves by including members of the Lions squad.  Unfortunately bad weather meant there was little actual play and England will go into the first test under cooked.

Australia have been disrupted too but they are and always will be difficult to beat at home, England need their best XI on the field at the top of their games if they are to stand a chance.  If Jofra Archer had made the trip I’d be more hopeful.  But I think we do have a better chance than four years ago, we certainly have a better bowling attack with height from Broad and Robinson along with pace from Wood and Stokes,as well as skill and accuracy from Anderson and Woakes.  As usual it won’t matter what the bowlers do if we can’t score 400+ runs regularly, our batting relies too heavily on Joe Root and that could well be the problem if other batsmen can’t stand up and make a name for themselves.

The first test at Brisbane is always crucial, if England lose at the Gabba then I don’t think we can come back even over a five test series.  If we avoid defeat then the pressure of expectation will transfer and we are in with a shout.  The traditional Gabba wicket will be fast and bouncy so England should pick a team that suits which for me would mean leaving out a legend, even if just for this one match.

Burns, Hameed, Malan, Root, Stokes, Pope, Buttler, Wood, Robinson, Broad, Leach.

England players may have been further distracted by events at home and cricket fans can’t have missed the great furore of recent weeks, it seems true to say that former Yorkshire player Azeem Rafiq was treated badly by his county and with ignorance by some of his colleagues.  But is it fair to brand cricket in this country as racist?  I don’t think so.

The situation at Yorkshire CC looks bad and for the outsider it’s not hard to believe there would be prejudice at a county club that has had internal strife for as long as I can remember.  All the stars of the sixties were renowned for bickering amongst themselves and at least two famous captains left the club to play elsewhere.  The Yorkshire spirit of stubbornness, abrasiveness and blind faith obviously carries on today, Gary Balance in particular comes across as a pig and I wonder if his exclusion from the England set up was based purely on form.  It’s easy to believe in back room wrongdoings and plain racism at Headingly when the number of British Asians who have represented the county is so embarrassingly low.

But as with anything in life when the media gets involved things go to shit and the witch hunt was inevitable.  Somewhere there are faceless mercenary scum in ‘Fleet Street’ trawling reams of historic social media in the hope of finding a tree from which to lynch someone.  The result is many embarrassed players and ex players having to apologise for ignorant utterances that only have meaning when given full context.  These comments are stupid, ignorant, misguided, probably drunken and not remotely funny but not enough to brand these people racist, which in many cases might be unfair.

Michael Vaughan was named by Rafiq and further evidence supported the claims that were made.  Vaughan’s initial response did little to help, it was ill judged and possibly typical of the YCC mentality.  Since then Vaughan has been put on gardening leave by the BBC but has been supported by ex team mates like Monty Panesar and Mark Butcher.  I loved Vaughan the cricketer and captain but I can’t stand his arrogant, deliberately combative and obviously fake media persona.  I won’t miss his smug voice on the BBC but I do feel he’s been treated harshly.  In the meantime, bring back Boycott!  An outspoken Yorkshireman, what could possibly go wrong?

Elsewhere in the English game other players at other clubs have been splattered by flying shit but there doesn’t seem to be anything close to the situation at Yorkshire.  However the whole history of cricket is marked by prejudice in some form.  Historically in this country the batsmen were all amateur ‘gentlemen’ from privileged backgrounds whilst the bowlers were ‘players’of working class stock.  Class prejudice prevented many players from being picked for England as often as they deserved, renowned fast bowler Fred Trueman being one, yet another outspoken Yorkshireman.  It is hard to believe that the annual ‘Gentlemen vs Players’ match was still being held at Lords as recently as the sixties.  

The England team was being selected by gin soaked officials and unsuitable, axe grinding ex players right up until the late nineties, Devon Malcolm for example should have played far more tests for England and Ray Illingworth (another outspoken character from guess where?) should never have been team manager.  It was not until the Duncan Fletcher (Zimbabwean) Nasser Hussein (Indian descent) era did England cricket start picking purely on merit and our team has been competitive against all nations ever since.  Moeen Ali and Adil Rashid were key players in the 2019 world cup winning team; during the celebrations it was noticeable that the Muslim players were given a moment to remove themselves from the scene before the champagne was sprayed.  But in hindsight, should it have been sprayed at all?  Even so there is no evidence of racism amongst the England set up and this has been the case for many years.

It’s a bit embarrassing to admit that Football – the not even remotely cerebral sport of the masses is ahead of Cricket when it comes to dealing with racism.  It was good to see players taking the knee and defying the government earlier this year.  Just a shame racism has yet to be stamped out amongst football supporters.  I’ve been to international and domestic cricket matches at eight grounds in seven cities around the country and have never heard anything remotely racist from the crowds.  (The same can’t be said for Australia vs West Indies at the SCG in 1991, that was like being stuck in the 1970’s.) Cricket may be behind some other sports but that does not make our sport racist and as already said there is no other English county tainted in the same way as Yorkshire.

Now the dust is being allowed to settle there is still one question I’d like to see answered.  When Cricket; administrators, players and pundits are being called to account, how can they be judged when the Prime Minister of this country is yet to be held to account for his own blatant, published racist past?  There’s the real problem, sport isn’t racist and cricket certainly isn’t but sadly society still is.

Farce and future?

What a farcical end to the Test summer, whatever the spokespeople say the series was curtailed so players didn’t have to risk missing their IPL pay days.  Test cricket is less important than T20, in the eyes of the BCCI at least.  It’s frustrating because the series isn’t over; an excellent Indian side has not had the chance to gain a rare series win in England.  They may be leading but cannot claim the series win because the series isn’t over!  When the game is finally played, probably next year, we may well have our strongest team available in which case I’d expect a comfortable home win.  We’ll have to wait and see.

Before that happens there is the small matter of an Ashes series but in light of what’s just happened I’m not going to get too excited, it might not happen after all.  But assuming it goes ahead… This year with its rotations, withdrawals and injuries has given everyone a chance to see what strength England have in depth, or maybe how shallow the pool is.

Joe Root has been our best player all year, brilliant with the bat and has shown that at his best he is one of the modern greats and I think he’s going to get better still.  His bowling is handy at times too and I seem to remember him taking 5 for in India earlier this year.  I’m still not convinced he’s a great captain but he’s improving slowly and in reality there is no one else to do the job. 

This series has been typical of Rory Burns career, it has seen him consistently do just enough to hang onto his place in the team and with nobody knocking on the door he should hang on for a while longer.  At times he looks like he could push on to cement his place but so far he hasn’t done so.  I think he deserves to keep his place at least until there is a credible replacement.

Haseeb Hameed has come back into the team and so far done quite well, especially when compared to more experienced players batting in more friendly positions.  But unfortunately  Lawrence, Crawley and Sibley have all shown that at this moment they are not good enough to play Test cricket.  I think the first two being younger can improve and will get more chances in the future but the older Sibley has serious work to do and some commentators believe he’s reached his level and been found out. 

Dawid Malan currently holds the number three position and probably done just enough to book a ticket to Australia.  Ollie Pope returned after injury and looked pretty good in the one match.  All the pundits say he’s a star of the future so let’s hope they’re right.  If not the cupboard is bare.

Four wicket Keepers have been used this year due to all kinds of excuses.  Bracey had a chance but didn’t take it, you sense he’s better than what his returns suggest but will he ever get another chance?  Ben Foakes is our best gloveman and a joy to watch but is probably down the pecking order behind Buttler who has been indifferent with the bat lately and Jonny Bairstow who consistently proves he’s a decent keeper/batsman but his record with the bat after seventy odd caps is not good enough to play in the top six.  He shouldn’t be in future squads, not even as a reserve, we know what he does so what’s the point?  Great white ball player but thanks Jonny, you’ve played your last test.

We have seemed blessed with all-rounders in recent seasons but now I’m not so sure; a fit Stokes would walk into any team in the world and Chris Woakes would get into most, especially when the ball moves around.  Unfortunately Sam Curran is simply not test class with either bat or ball.  I’ve said that since the beginning and for a while he seemed able to prove me wrong but not anymore.  Bye Sam, close the door on your way out. Then there’s Moeen Ali who is as frustrating as he is loveable.  At times he looks world class but he has never been consistent and his impact seems to be waning.  His was an understandable selection in the circumstances this year but enough is enough.  He is still worth his squad place in Asian conditions though.

Our best spinner is undoubtedly Jack Leach who the selectors seem reluctant to pick lately but must be in our first choice team for the Ashes, whenever that series takes place.  Dom Bess has potential if he can get his mind on track but on recent form I imagine him getting hammered down under.

Our best bowler is still the great James Anderson but he can’t go on forever, nor can his partner Stuart Broad who has suffered injury this year.  The future may well be Jofra Archer but he too is injured and unlikely to play in Australia.  Find of the season has been the tall, controversial figure of Ollie Robinson (c’mon, who didn’t act like a twat when they were a teenager?) who may be a long term fixture in the side and has out bowled the more experienced Craig Overton who looks set to remain just a squad member.  Mark Wood has been injured too but could have played at the Oval and his extra pace may have made a difference.  Then we have another fast bowler with both injury and potential, Ollie Stone has looked good when given the chance.

Squad for Australia if everyone is fit and available.

Root first name on the sheet and captains the side. 

The batting line up - Burns, Hameed, Malan and Pope all start.  Buttler keeps wicket (Pope for spare keeper) and in reserve I’ll have Crawley.

Stokes is obviously our all rounder with Woakes as cover.                            

The seam bowlers should be picked as a squad and rotated to suit conditions; Anderson, Broad, Robinson, Archer, Wood, Stone.                  

Leach is the best English spinner and I’ll pick Parkinson in reserve, unless someone has a word in Simon Harmer’s ear as I believe he’s now eligible to play for England.  (Poaching another Saffer import isn’t really cricket but Australia started it, England have done it for years and the Kiwis are virtually a bi-lingual team now.)

India 2, England 1

Four tests gone and India lead 2-1, a fair reflection of the series so far I think.  Not that I’ve been able to follow it as closely as I normally would, life and mostly work is getting in the way and to be honest I’ve missed two full days play this summer because I’ve actually forgotten about the match!  What’s going on?  I must be ill?  Sick of seeing England lose for sure, sick of one step forward and two leaps back.  Though to be fair this is one of the best Indian teams I’ve seen, it may not have the batting stars of the previous generation but it does have strength in depth and a bowling attack capable of winning in any conditions, anywhere around the world.  That England still has a chance of squaring this series doesn’t really seem right.  We one eyed England supporters are already squinting forward to the Ashes and despite the very real threat that we could lose two home series in the same summer, I think we still have a shout of winning down under.  Yes I must be ill.  On the other hand I make the valid points that we’ve played the best two teams in the world and at no time this summer have we been able to field our best team and our star player has been unavailable.

At least this means that fringe players have been given a decent amount of games and we have been able to learn a little more about our squad.  One or two have shown potential and give cause for optimism while a couple of others have been given chances they didn’t really deserve and their test careers should really be coming to an end.  The final match of the summer starts Friday and if England find a way to square the series then everything will seem much brighter again.

Bomb Disneyland

Saturday, early afternoon Mr H’s big car trundles south on the hideously inadequate A12 which is just lines of queuing traffic.  “It just doesn’t work…” says Mr G, referring to our countries road system.  His words were prophetic.  The journey south could have been torturous if the craic wasn’t so good, we have loads in common to chat and laugh about, not least music, which was our reason for braving the counties south of the Stour.  The lure today was a mini festival at Crystal Palace called ‘South Facing’, part of a series of gigs of various different genres, todays had a distinctly punky vibe.

We crawled south, the car interior a literal haze and lashings of Mr G’s home brew were shared.  Eventually two lanes of madness became three or four, the M fucking 25.  The sign said Dartford crossing seven miles but already we were queuing still this didn’t matter, the chat flowed, autumn isn’t far away, it will soon be Pike time…  Then the big bridge loomed and we were crawling to its summit.  Fuck this thing is seriously high, I don’t like it.  We soon returned to earth and shortly after left the motorway, once we were heading into London traffic flowed quicker…  Fuck, London.  I’ve just remembered I don’t like London, after eighteen months coming back here is a culture shock.  Thankfully(?) this part of the city is much cleaner and more affluent than many places we’ve passed through over the years.  Soon we pulled up and spilled out of the car into a leafy avenue in a nice suburban area, the journey had been a laugh, despite taking three fucking hours.

We spent a few minutes spent getting ourselves upright and onto our legs, orientating ourselves with the surroundings and forgetting things,  then we set off towards Crystal Palace park.  Or so we hoped, the direction was dictated by some kind of GPS type app thingy on Mr G’s phone.  Despite my initial scepticism this new fangled invention was actually accurate and we soon found ourselves walking through the park following the sound of music!  There were strange squawks coming from the foliage, apparently Parakeets are common in this part of London and something parrot shaped definitely flew over at one point.   We made it to the gates, showed our tickets and the useless Covid app thingy and were allowed entry to a small natural arena, fringed by bars and food stalls, surrounded by tall trees.  It all looked very nice but before we could really take it all in we needed to find the fourth punk piker, our friend from the west.  After a few minutes of scanning the crowd blindly and being distracted by potentially far more attractive humans I spied our pal.  Mr S was leaning on a bin rolling a fag, about five metres in front of us.

We spent time stood at the top of the bowl, just catching up, Mr S lives on the other side of the country but we share passions, music being just one of them, when was the last time we’d all been in the same place was?  The autumn of 2019 for ‘Fucked up’ in Islington.  The laughs continued and the chat whirled but meanwhile there was music on the stage.  This was someone called Jane Weaver (I think) but she pretty much passed me by, all I can remember is she wasn’t shit.  In fact the first part of the afternoon is quite hazy, Mr H was designated driver as he is always happy to be but Mr G and I had been imbibing steadily, as things turned out a little too steadily.

Another band appeared.  These were called The Orielles making decent sounding indi rock sounds.  We stood staring dumbly before Mr G and I decided had we not been really caned we would be down amongst the crowds already, so off we set.  The band was okay, didn’t move me much but the sound was pretty good, the girl singing needed a bit of help though.  When they finished we went off wandering aimlessly in the guise of searching for food, everyone seemed to have lost the ability to make a decision so I found a stall with a short queue and ordered what I though was a burger.  It was actually a plastic tray of chips and strips of steak, doused in thick garlic butter.  It tasted okay despite the garlic but the cost of twelve quid was highly unpalatable.  I suppose these businesses are trying to claw back over a year’s worth of lost revenue but that’s just a fucking rip off.  A captive audience has no choice.

Back to the bottom of the bowl, elbowing our way through a growing crowd, we wanted to get in amongst it for the next band.  Fat White Family was the main reason I was here, this band sounds very average on record but live they have a great sound that envelopes the senses and enchants the feet.  Tonight they ripped through a set of punky anthems with energy, enthusiasm and much shedding of clothes.  These are one of my favourite live bands at the moment, I hope to see them again soon.  

Next up was someone I’d never encountered, Baxter Dury (yes son of Ian) who resembles his father but is definitely taller.  The show started slowly and for the first couple of tunes I wasn’t getting it but the longer it went the more I enjoyed the show.  I’d definitely give him another look.  Finally it was the headliner; I like Sleaford Mods and what they do live really works but it’s all too samey on record.  By the time they came on stage a long day of arduous toil was catching up with me and I was feeling decidedly ropey.  I still managed to enjoy Sleaford Mods but the experience would have been much better if I had not made the amateurish mistake of forgetting to pace myself.  For the best part of the evening I was more weary than any point during the Latitude weekend.

The music ended, we limped back up the slope, said our goodbyes to Mr S then pointed our aching feet in the direction we guessed the car might be.  In the end we’d got it right and the yomp back was brightened by two skinny foxes both of which seemed totally unfazed by us invading their streets.  After about seven hours without a sit down the car seat was like a curvaceous embrace and just as welcome.  On the way back the roads were clear and the journey much quicker though I didn’t see much of it.  My brain was awake but my eyes tired and yes I definitely did doze off towards the end.  But it had been another good day, after so long without live music I’ve been spoiled lately.

Rain stopped play.

 I didn't really follow the start of the test match, my work schedule will be unpredictable for the rest of the summer so this may be the case for the whole series?  But as the game went on I was gradually pulled back into the kind of life I lead when England play test cricket.  This involves doing all the things I would normally be doing but engineering openings to catch up with the game and sitting by the radio as often as possible.

So England's collapse in the first innings was not too painful for me, the blows softened by distance and the predictability of it all.  I lauded the young England batsmen last year but ever since they've seemed determined to prove me wrong.  But Indian teams never find run scoring easy in England so I always felt we were still in the game if barely clinging on.  Sir Jimmy done what he does and Robinson is looking exciting, the kind of tall bowler who will do will down under, if we ever get there.  India had a lead but game on.  I was on the road on Saturday so could barely dip in to the game but our only batsman stepped up with a century and at least England are making a game of this!  Sunday seemed set up for a great day of cricket, India on top but with our bowlers at Trent Bridge... but when I tuned the radio in my heart sank.

India had the better of the game and would have started day five as favourites but all results were still possible.  From here they look like the team most likely to win the series unless England's batsmen, whoever they pick next, manage to score good runs in the first innings.  Changes seem likely for the next test and I'd certainly shake things up a bit; Crawley out for Hameed, Pope replaces Lawrence and we need to find room for a spinner. 

Probably the most frustrating thing for me is whatever team we put out, it wont be our best XI and we haven't managed to field our best team since the world went mad.  Until our best eleven players are on the field it's hard to judge just how good a side we are, or not.  We could lose this series against India yet still be competitive in Australia, if we can play our best team and if the series actually takes place.

Latitude 2021 - Dancing in the Dark

Even though the line-up looked exciting it had been hard to find enthusiasm for Latitude 2021.  In the weeks leading up to it we were wondering if it would ever actually happen and if it does, should we really go?  Sharing an event with forty thousand people while a pandemic still grips the country, it’s a disaster waiting to happen isn’t it?  Are we just guinea pigs for the Covid world; “it’s here, it’s not going away, we’re just going to have to learn to live with it”.  Great British common sense is being put to the test, what could possibly go wrong?  Should I fear infection?  Will this festival go down in history for the wrong reasons?  Is it a coincidence that the first festival to be allowed is the one that the posh people go to?

We’d rolled our tickets over from the event cancelled in 2020, we’d had faith in the vaccinations and just kept rolling right up to the event.  We didn’t really have much time to think about the rights and wrongs of Latitude because life had intervened and thrown our world off its orbit.  Things have been emotional; Latitude week began with my Mum’s funeral.  Mum liked music and I think she would have enjoyed the festival but just for a day, the whole weekend would have been too much.  We didn’t have much in common musically but she did like James, who have been brilliant both times I’ve seen them at the festival.

So the implications of Latitude didn’t really dawn on me until I stopped the car in a rapidly filling car field and was suddenly surrounded by people.  We, the Purple Princess and I, waited in the car for a couple of minutes to let the humans disperse a bit.  This was not through any fear of infection, I just can’t be arsed with people.  I thought we might have avoided the begging monks but no.  Where do they come from?  Do they sprout out of the ground when our backs are turned?  Are they even real monks or just part of a cheeky con?  We give them money so they fuck off.  One day I’ll explain that I don’t do charity because I think its bollocks that I’m being asked to donate when there are billionaires going to space for a thrill ride.

The lie of the Latitude land had changed once more which meant the big barrow push was not as exhausting as usual even under the noonday sun but we had to camp further out so we’d put more miles on our legs through the weekend.  We got lucky with our spot, close enough to the main highway to mean there’ll be no need to negotiate a guy rope minefield in the dark.  Also as the canvas city built up around us there were no obvious groups of Lunateens too close for comfort.  With the tent up we made a brew then burnt some ceremonial incense to bless the festival, we kept the candle burning all weekend.

After having a long relaxing afternoon chilling out in the sun and watching people as if the doors of our tent were a television screen we eventually booted up and headed off to explore.  There’s never much going on Thursdays that excite us but sometimes we stumble upon something interesting so we done what we always do and made a slow circuit of the arenas to take everything in.  The area we usually camp in is now the site for luxury loos, we’ve been displaced so the posh people can take a crap in relative comfort away from riff raff like me.  But there is still loads of space here that could be used and would mean general camping would be less like a shanty town.

Inside the arenas were as we expected with the notable exception of the Lake stage which just isn't there anymore, I hope this isn't permanent.  This stage usually hosts young, new or obscure music by day but at night there’s always be DJ’s and the latter is what we’ll miss most.  We went for a walk in the woods, checked out the trippy lights and paid our respects to the pink sheep.  We heard sounds from a few places but nothing tempted us in until the Trailer park, where we were enticed by the Mighty Flux who banged out some silly, fun pop tunes but as this was the first live music I’d seen since Feb’20 (Jade Hairpins – some pub in Kilburn?), I soaked it up and enjoyed being immersed in live music after 15 months!  After that we decided to keep miles in the legs and head back to the tent.

I must confess to feeling uncomfortable being surrounded by people.  This had nothing to do with Covid and everything to do with me being an anti social bastard.  Yes I know the world is full of genuinely nice people and I meet new, pleasant people every day but the trouble is the other 95% are wankers.  Back at the tent watching the world go by, the crowd seems to be made up of the wrong tribes.  The new campsite layout has more room for families and camper vans which means general camping gets squeezed into a smaller space every year, if they carry on the time will come when we feel squeezed out altogether.  Money is the key here, to enjoy the best festival experience you have to pay for the added extras, festi-taxis are one thing but at the price of a ticket I don’t expect to have to pay extra to take a civilised shit.  Festival republic is all about making profit, fair enough I get that but if they allow the SS to take over then it will cease to be a festival, these people are not music fans, they are here because Latitude has become part of their world like Henley, Ascot or Saturday at Lords.  Of all the infections to fear the spread of the SS through festival society may continue unchecked.

Festival Tribes.  1 - The Southwold Set, aka the SS.  These are the people who run the country, they work in the city, have a home in the countryside and if they don’t have a holiday home in Southwold they know someone who does.  Middle aged couples, either he looks uncomfortable or she does while the other looks like he/she is having a great time.  They have smart clothes, are trim and manicured and they have plenty of cash.  The biggest inconvenience Latitude causes them is finding someone to look after the horses.  They are easy to identify and the biggest give away is a total lack of any kind of regional accent.  They all speak like BBC newsreaders in the seventies.  Warning, tribe 1 holds very few actual music fans and does not understand festival etiquette (although they can spell it at least), these are the people who take in rigid chairs and picnic blankets and make camp in front of the entrances.  And they bring their children, this is the first sub tribe 1A – The Posh kids.  This is the future elite who are all privately educated and have names like Jago, Barnaby, Florence and Annabel.  Their surnames sound like short sentences.  They think they own this festival and for all I know some of them may.

Our tent was pitched facing the campervans, we were segregated by a six foot high metal fence, it’s festival apartheid.  We will be cramped but on the other side the vans are parked with plenty of space.  We watched groups who having parked up then explored their surroundings, when faced with this barrier many stand bemused staring as if they can’t quite understand why something stands in their way, they’re really not used to this.  Then they set off probing the perimeter for access to the wrong side of the tracks, disappearing never to be seen again.  It didn’t take long before people started to dismantle the fence, creating gaps they could sneak through and not be so inconvenienced, this carried on throughout the weekend.  High irony, the fence is there to keep us out!  What would have happened had we gone through and started pitching our tents in all that space?

The Lunateens are dressed right up like it’s fucking prom night or something.  Hair perfect, make up perfect, skirts ironed and shoes clean.  The girls make an effort too.  When they return from the arena the lads are wearing bandanas and the girls have flowers in their hair.  A nice festival purchase that won’t undo all of their hairdresser’s hard work.

Festival tribe 2 – The Lunateens.  The age can vary slightly but this tribe consists of any young person that is at their first (sometimes second and really hopeless cases do it three times) festival alone, i.e. without parental supervision.  They are never actually alone as they tend to cling together in flocks and move at high speeds consuming any liquids in their path and they like to mark their territory with vomit.  They can be hazardous if encountered after dark as they become blind and often crash into objects and other people.  NB At times there can be fraternisation between tribe 2 and tribe 1A.  These encounters are very rarely permanent and any resulting pregnancy is unlikely to go full term if the mother is of tribe 1A.

 

We woke up on Friday to find two tents, one pitched either side of our porch.  The two gents were apologetic but we didn’t mind.  If anything their tents closed us in and gave us a little privacy.  It was a relaxing morning watching the ebb and flow of festival people, the place seemed to be crawling with SS.  Eventually I couldn’t put it off any longer, I had to make a sit down visit to the festival toilet, just a short walk away.  How do I describe them?  Made almost entirely from metal really they look like something you’d start a greyhound race from.  These are the same crap traps that they’ve used at every Latitude I’ve been to and in this time they seem to have undergone very little maintenance, we should at least expect the fucking things to have a working lock.  Mine didn’t but it was clean, dry and stocked so I took a chance and all was well but doing the paperwork one handed whilst gripping the door frame did test my agility. 

Into the arena…  We needed food and a truck selling squid took our fancy for some reason.  The squid tasted OK but the chips were great, the whole thing over priced but what do you expect at a festival?  Squid and chips proved highly prophetic…  Then up the hill to the big arena where we sat in the sun and waited for some live music, any live music.  We didn’t know and we didn’t care.  When it arrived it was someone called JC Stewart, for a moment I was in horror as the name had a cuntry vibe but it was actually cheesy crotch pop aimed at young girls.  In his defence the band played real instruments and he seemed very good at what he does but what he does isn’t our thing so after about twenty minutes, off we fucked.

Into the comedy arena where the compere made me do a double take to make sure she wasn’t Matt Lucas in character, we got seated just in time for Shazia Mirza who either needed to spend more time rehearsing or less time in the bar.  Next was Maisie Adam who has a stupid hair cut but is bright, silly and funny.  More so than when I’ve seen her on tele.  After that our arses were numb so we hiked back to the campsite for a siesta.

While the princess dozed I made pungent brews and watched the festival people.  Less than twenty four hours into the weekend I have made a shocking discovery, something thought long extinct is not only back from the dead, it seems to be multiplying.  Young men around the country and the world could yet be infected with another sinister plague, the Mullet has returned!  At the moment these are mostly mini mullets and have not attained the length and spike of the eighties, (guilty as charged, I’ve had the counselling…)  The current twenty first century Mullet looks like a large slug has fallen asleep on the stairs but these things take time (and to be fair don’t look quite as shit as the originals).  I’m not worried about this infection as I probably have immunity but I have a son!  At this point the mullets are exclusively part of tribe 2.

The mullets are just a distraction, the biggest fear is the influx of SS, they’re squeezing us aging hippies out…  You can tell this is a middle class audience as there are far less tattooed limbs than you would see in the real world.  For once I side with the SS, where Tats are concerned, for me less is more and none is preferable.  Why do some young, beautiful people pay good money to let a tattoo ‘artist’ scar them for life?  Holy shit, is this a middle class attitude?  Have I been infected?

It’s only day two so the tribes are still making an effort on their appearances.  Where make up won’t hide the damage, festivals allow the use of glitter stuck to cheeks.  I wonder, when people buy a quirky festival hat are they thinking ‘I’ll look really cool in this…’ Or are they thinking ‘Yes!  I’ll look a right cunt in this!’  If I was kind I might think it was a bit of both, if. 

The tribes are restless, moving towards the arenas at impressive speed but thankfully they are very predictable.  Mabel is playing in the big arena and Wolf Alice are headlining, the Lunateens have heard of them and the SS will go because the Telegraph gave their album five stars.  But this is not the reason we had other plans.

Suitably refuelled we wandered up to the big stage and saw a bit of Mabel who was very good if you like that kind of thing but it’s not for us so three songs was enough.  We diverted to the big tent and saw Squid who I can’t really describe but there were people playing proper instruments with passion and making an agreeable noise which I quite liked.  I’ll look out for these in the future as all the Musos have been telling me I should.  This was also convenient because Hot Chip were on in the tent next.  The only complaint I have about this show was it was half an hour too short.  Hot Chip were great, they played loads of classics and a few new tunes then finished with an inspired cover of Springsteen’s “Dancing in the dark” which was perfect for the moment, it’s what we are all doing in more ways than are obvious.  When this melded into LCD Soundsystem’s “All my friends” I nearly cried.  Festivals are hard work but this is why we do it!  The crowd was great too, the other tribes were elsewhere and the party people came out of nowhere and took occupation of the big tent, we all danced.  I couldn’t help notice the tension between a couple in front of us; he’d obviously had chemical assistance while she obviously hadn’t and wasn’t happy.  That I found this amusing may say something about me.  Every year it takes something a bit special to kick us into full festival setting and most years it’s Friday night in the big tent. 

Festival Tribe 3 – The party people.  These were the people who tripped in the nineties but are now greatly outnumbered by younger people who have taken the same path since.  They often use camouflage to blend in but may dress weird and smell weird, they often look intense but are only here to bang on the doors of perception and dance.  They are generally a peaceful tribe who live in small, tight groups but they come together in great numbers to rave after dark.  They welcome members of other tribes cautiously.  Harmless until provoked but do not get in their way when they want to dance.  The party people never watch the show through a phone.

So the day in the arena started how it finished, Squid and Chips with long walks before and after. Hot Chip smashed down the wall; I feel we’ve been allowed in; we’re part of something now.  I feel comfortable in festival land where I am amongst the elders.  Back to the tent to watch the exodus.  The SS are marching back to base but the lunateens are still rampant.  The party people are mostly still dancing, we are knackered and have to rest and heal.

 

And then it was Saturday.  Somehow we were out of the tent at a reasonable hour and wandered down in time to have a really good cheese burger for brunch. (Brunch?  WTF?  The poshness is infective!  Help!!!)  We arrived at the big stage with a few minutes to spare before Supergrass opened up for the day.  This was fun in the sun, the hits sounded great although the unfamiliar tunes didn’t really carry me.  The Saturday audience was a real mixture of tribes, the party people have infiltrated early.

After this the ice cream van called to us and we ambled to the comedy tent licking vanilla off our faces without a clue as to who would be appearing.  We got in to see enough of Rich Hall to laugh loudly and wish we’d got there earlier.  Next was musical girly comedy from Flo and Joan.  This amused me but the princess dozed off.  The next act was a brilliant surprise; seen for the fourth time at Latitude Mark Watson was excellent.  What a really nice, natural bloke who vibes with the audience and always makes us laugh.

We returned to camp for a siesta and I sat watching people and enjoying familiar Latitude signatures; the metallic crash of toilet doors, clouds of dust, random bubbles, groups of Lunateens singing really badly, lone staggerers looking like something from a zombie film.  There was a man with shocking white hair and a bright red face, he looked like a bowl of strawberries and cream.  An enormous permed, ginger mullet on someone old enough to know better!  Squabbling amongst the group of 1A girls camped behind us.

I watched the SS carefully, suspiciously even.  After a while I noticed two distinct strains; the majority group are handsome, chiselled, toned, tanned and beautiful.  They march confidently with shoulders back and chin jutting, their clothes are crisp and wallets fat, the world belongs to them.  The other group look like the results of cousins fucking.

As our siesta came to a conclusion so our perception of festival land altered radically.  The reasons for this are not entirely unexplainable. The result was as if we’d opened a door and found ourselves in a Murakami novel.

With renewed vigour we made our way to the big arena to find an enormous crowd.  The Lunateens were out on masse, the SS looked around uncomfortably, the Party people were streaming in from all directions.  Rudimental hit the stage with an explosion of energy, the party roared.  Rudimental aren’t really my thing but I’ve enjoyed seeing them twice before and tonight they were very entertaining.  Unfortunately the tribes 1A and 2 can’t seem to grasp that being packed in like sardines is not fun for anyone, including themselves.  It got better when the spotty urchins fucked off and we had room to dance.  Yes I did feel the love!

The crowd thinned briefly, tribes one and two went to the bar and the third tribe slipped into the vacuum. Then it was time.  The main event, a bucket list band playing in my favourite big arena.  Only the fucking Chemical Brothers!  They started with ‘Hey boy…’ (what else?) and finished with ‘Block Rockin’ beats’.  In between was an hour of dance, pounding rhythm ebbed and flowed, they simmered us down then brought us up to boil again.  All the tribes were here, even the Musos have to give credit when it can’t be ignored.  The party people pounded the earth, something mystical was happening.  When lightning flashed to the south we roared and when rain fell we didn’t give a fuck. The visuals were perfect and giant robots for fuck sake?  It was over too soon.  I love live music and have experienced musical euphoria across all genres and all types of crowd, for me the party people do it best.

Usually when I walk through that door all I want to do is follow the party people and dance but tonight when the music stopped so did my feet.  The princess felt the same, we could have danced but for some reason we just didn’t feel compelled.  But this was fine, there were still loads of fascinations in the world which at this point consisted of a small wooded vale in north Suffolk and nothing else.  So instead we just ambled around giggling and exploring and having really profound conversations.  We must have been surrounded by humans but for us they didn’t exist.  Nothing was as it seemed.  At some point we found ourselves back at the tent drinking tea watching people.  We actually went to bed while it was still dark.

Festival tribe 4 – The Musos.  I realised I haven’t described the fourth tribe.  A small group often consisting of individuals shunned by the other tribes, these are the obsessive music fans who live for nothing else.  They move at incredible speed in order to get from one stage to another, at times they can move so fast they can actually watch two acts at the same time.  Even when static Musos are mostly able to blend in but often give themselves away by gathering in twos and threes to give orgasmic endorsements to bands you’ve never heard of who have just finished playing on a stage you never knew existed. Mostly harmless unless you find yourself trapped in conversation.

 

Sunday already?  Fuck, we’re just getting into our stride, or are we?  Wide awake in a tent sauna listening to campsite voices, it’s not weird when you have no choice.  At least two separate voices announced a surprise set by Vaccines in the big tent, if this was true I didn’t want to miss it.  I hauled myself into a sitting position, drinking tea in the tent porch as whole regiments of the SS goose stepped down to the arena where Bill Bailey was doing some musical comedy stuff.  I like Bill but there was no way we were going to make it for a lunch time performance.  Nor did we make it for Tim Burgess but we did get to the tent for Vaccines who we both love.  I’ve seen all of their Latitude performances and they really are a perfect festival band.  You can dance, you can singalong, you can hug or you can thrash around.  It all works.  The band look like they’re having as much fun as the audience.  I want to be here when they headline the big stage.  The only trouble with today was the tent was just so fucking hot!

After that we wandered up to the comedy tent, with no idea of the bill, as was the custom for us this year.  We were a bit dismayed when Joel Dommett walked on stage.  What I like about JD, he is happy to be the butt of his own jokes.  What I don’t like about JD, everything else.  However we were glad we’d stayed when Reginald D. Hunter walked on stage.  I like Reggie but sometimes his stand up doesn’t work, today he was on form and it absolutely clicked.  He loved shocking the SS with jokes that pushed the boundaries of offence, he does have an advantage of being able to use language that most comedians daren’t use but he doesn’t push it too far.  Then there was someone called Helen, (Baur, apparently…) I think? Who didn’t float my boat.  We were thinking of leaving but Jo Brand came on, she was funny but seemed out of practice, after half an hour we had numb arses and needed to eat so left.

Dinner was BBQ chicken noodles, I felt famished and ate like a savage.  It barely touched the sides but seemed to taste alright.  Then we hurried up to the big stage to see Kaiser Chiefs a band that I should like in theory but somehow they’ve never really infiltrated my head.  We saw them and they were very good, Ricky Wilson is a star and the hits went down a scream.  The SS was out in force and I loved the irony of them singing “We are the angry mob, we read the papers every day, we like who we like and hate who we hate but we’re all so easily swayed”.

After that we were totally knackered and had to make a decision.  If we went back to the tent we knew it would probably be permanent, did we have the energy to stay out?  We found ourselves at the sunrise arena where we chatted to some friendly souls and tried to rest under the trees while BDRMM played.  This is another group I’m unfamiliar with but also one the Musos are in love with.  The band sounded good but we were fucked and couldn’t get comfortable, we just needed to rest. 

A slow, reluctant amble took us out of the arenas for the last time, arriving back at the tent we just sat and unravelled.  A festival puts loads of miles into 53 year old legs and having to camp further out has obviously increased the load, we ignore the pain for as long as we can.  Mixed feelings; the festival is ending without us which doesn’t sit right but we wouldn’t have swapped seeing the Vaccines for any of the Sunday headliners. 

The princess was shattered, her back giving her grief so she crashed out early.  I sat in a chair, drinking tea, burning incense and watching the world walk by.  We weren’t in the arena but there is still much entertainment to be enjoyed in the campsite.  I spent several hypnotic hours watching the human flow pass the tent. 

Early on a tide ripped through carrying mobs of Lunateens and squads of SS towards the arena, where they will be treated to the likes of Bombay Bicycle Club and Bastille.  The SS are going so they have another band to bore colleagues about next week, the youth are ending their festival with a bang, a final night of fun, madness and regrets. 

Random Sunday night festival thoughts - This year we camped on the very edge of the shanty town which made things more chilled out than some previous festivals but we have heard less hilarious festival philosophy.  Nor have we heard too much youth soap opera this weekend but have been well aware of the tribe 1A princesses camped behind us.  Someone called Anne Marie seemed to be the centre of most drama.

I realised I hadn’t remembered to take a single photograph this weekend, this is mostly because I was too busy enjoying the magic moments, I didn’t have time for a camera.  Maybe subconsciously it’s because I prefer capturing memories with words?  I don’t understand why people like to watch these things through the screen of a phone but I’m glad they do sometimes, unfortunately not too much has made it onto youtube yet.

The human flow had receded for a while but by 2200 there was an outgoing tide carrying increasing numbers of SS who march stiffly, still carrying their folding chairs.  Half an hour later the flow has become a torrent, either the SS have been vanquished or Bastille aren’t going down very well on the big stage.  Either way they are going at a mighty impressive speed, I can’t believe anything without an engine can move this fast on festival Sunday.  The marching legs hypnotize me, two girls wearing matching trainers are in perfect step, the Converse logos on the ankles glide in unison.  But they’re going the other way, as are very many younger feet. 

So what tribe are we then?  It’s complicated, of course it is.  I stayed too long with tribe 2 before learning to pace myself and now I have to be careful what I wear so as not to be mistaken for tribe 1 but as I am a scruffy sod and generally skint this really isn’t much of a problem.  We try to hang on to the tails of the party people but we’re not as dedicated as they are.  Also I have to confess to a touch of the muso from time to time.  Just to confuse things further, as much as I enjoy tent life I look at the camper vans with envy.  We just love this festival.  It’s close to home and the setting is perfect.  Once we are on the right longitude we feel totally free and at ease here, we embrace a lifestyle we couldn’t manage for the other fifty one weeks of the year. 

When I’m tired of watching I zip up the tent and retreat to bed to listen to the madness, my feet hurt and my legs are heavy.  Will there be other consequences apart from the physical toll?  Have we been literally dancing in the dark?  I’ll take a test next week… For now my mind is at ease, a weekend of indulgence with the real world locked out was just what the doctor ordered.  It’s okay to feel joyous.  Do the things you love and cherish the moments, don’t try to stay sane in a mad world.  Tomorrow morning we will pack up our camp and drag it an exhausting distance back to the car.

When everything is over we are physically shattered, a festival is a feat of endurance but we do it for the magic moments; Hot Chip turning the big tent into the church of euphoria, Chemical Brothers enchanting a massive crowd and making us dance as one.  In festival land these are the rewards, what goes before and after is welcomed as karma.  “It was all worth it, to be here now…”

 

Campsite classics

“Louis’ got his tits out already…”

“He’s a bit useless and very expensive but comes highly recommended…”

“Mate, do you watch Rick and Morty?”

“I think like, you and me like, should stick together like…”

 “HA ha ha ha HA!!  You’re not getting any sleep!”

Heard from walkie talkie – “static – We’ve got suspicious males going through tents…”

“Ew!  There’s wee!  Right where I want to sleep!”

“I done that yesterday, in the toilets.  Some guy screamed at me…”

 “Hey did you see Ned’s massive cock?”

To tune of ‘7 nation army’ – “Kate’s vagina is awesome”

“My brother wouldn’t even give me some Ket, what a cunt!”

“Fuck sake.  I’ve spent loads of money getting pissed when I could just do this!”

“Where’s Dan? …  Why’s he in the medical tent?”

How it should be done

Second Test

It’s lunch on day three and New Zealand have a first innings lead with wickets to come, they are well on top.  England haven’t helped themselves by dropping chances and not picking a spinner but mostly they didn’t get enough runs first up.  Burns, Sibley and Lawrence can hold their heads up and Wood smacked a few too but Crawley and Pope were out to poor shots and you just have to feel sorry for Bracey, the most unlikely selection who still seems in a state of shock.

Both teams seem to be treating this short series as a warm up for more prestigious matches in the near future.  Of the two teams New Zealand have greater excuse for doing so and from here seem to have greater strength in depth, which is hard to believe.  I get that there are injuries and I get that players need rest but Test cricket is the ultimate and leaving out star players should not be a talking point.  The game deserves the best players as does respect for the opposition.

I wrote the above at what in theory should have been the half way point of the match and after England’s bowlers had kept us in it, I looked forward to the batting fightback…  It never came and there was an air of inevitability about the collapse.  England were very poor, the pundits are saying the modern trend for quirky techniques is to blame but whatever the reason, the batting line up that I felt was coming together to be something special is making my words seem foolish, the inconsistent England is back.  Sibley, Crawley, Pope and Lawrence must all get runs or get off the team bus.  Bracey has had a dream chance handed to him, fill in your own cliché here.  New Zealand have given England a lesson in how to play test cricket and were superior in all aspects.  True we have major players out for all sorts of reasons but on the evidence of these two test matches New Zealand’s best XI beats our best XI and fair play to them. 

Now the Kiwis are in Southampton, facing India for the world test championship and at the end of a rain affected couple of days the match is evenly poised.  Either team would make a worthy winner of the new trophy and both have recently shown England how the game should be played.

Test Cricket!!!

 The test match summer sneaked up on me again this year, England vs New Zealand for two test matches but both teams have their eyes on over fixtures this summer.  But England should never under estimate the Kiwis who are certainly one of the best sides in the world and not playing the test championship final by accident.  England picked a strange team but they often do that these days, even without rotation, resting and injuries.  The batting line up was pretty much as you'd expect in these circumstances but someone called Bracey came in behind the stumps for the poor injured Foakes and someone called Robinson (yet another Ollie which I find confusing...) had managed to get a bowling spot.

New Zealand won the toss and obviously elected to bat, their debutant Devon Conway opened then dominated the next couple of days finishing with 200.  Nicholls also chipped in but no one else did and a strange looking card saw them reach 378.  For England Jimmy and mad Mark took a few wickets but the most noise was created by Ollie Robinson who took four, but that was only part of the story.

England batted and as was the norm in India, wickets fell at regular intervals and by the end there were four ducks on the sheet.  Root passed forty as did that man Robinson but the star was Rory Burns who returned to test form with 132 and held the whole thing together.  England all out for 275 with the excellent Southee taking six wickets.

Somewhere amongst all that a day was lost to rain which probably ruined what could have been a good test match.  New Zealand thrashed a lead then declared on the last afternoon setting England a target they never tried to chase.  Root got out in thye forties again but Sibley scored a much needed 60 so will hopefully carry some confidence forward.

Also during the match it transpired that Ollie Robinson had sent racist/sexist/homophobic tweets when a teenager, for which he apologised.  All of us men are dickheads when we are teenagers but you'd expect someone growing up in this millennium to know better.  I expect Robinson will get left out as some kind of punishment but he does deserve another chance.  If he talks any more bigoted bollocks then kick him far into the long grass please.

On the face of things New Zealand had the better of this match but not by much and I did find it annoying to hear English pundits moaning about us not having a go at a tempting target.  The next match starts on Thursday, We've now got our traditional poor first test of the summer over with, England are capable of playing much better but I suspect the Kiwis are too.   If we put out a full strength side then I really don't believe New Zealand could live with us on home soil but these two teams look evenly matched and the series could go either way.

The Lizard's Soap Opera

I tried to avoid it but others in the house were interested and lets be fair, it’s been every fucking where and impossible to ignore.  Some thoughts. 

1-      1 - Entitled/rich people airing their personal grievances on international television is the same as stupid people having public rows on Facebook.

2-     2 -  Worried about your personal security/safety?  It’s obvious, move to a country where every mad fucker has a gun.

3-    3 -   Concerned about institutional racism in the UK, the solution – move to Trump’s USA because black lives really do matter over there.

4-     4 -  Why the fuck does anybody give a monkey’s about any of this ridiculous shit show?