I am dying to meet Larry. He must be the happiest person in the world. But who was he? Why is it that anyone who appears to be overly content with life is described as being “As happy as…”. Larry Grayson? He used to laugh a lot, but I suspect the saying pre-dated him. Larry Olivier? Unlikely. Larry the Lamb? Even less likely. The prospect of a permanent wave of giggles on the Welsh hillsides seems remote. Larry of Arabia? Only if irony has taken over the world. I’m running out of Larry’s. Answers on a postcard please to…….
I merely bring it up because Woman’s Hour on Radio 4 today ran a feature about breast-feeding and spoke to a number of ladies who have had very different experiences. One was thrilled that she was simultaneously still feeding a three year old as well as her ten monther. She was described as being “as happy as” you know who. A number of the women had experienced awful sagas of not being able to breast-feed despite their very best efforts. Mostly it left them demoralised and guilty, feeling that they were “bad mothers” as a result. There was one mother in particular whose son was losing weight fast so she was taken into hospital to get supervised help. It sounded an absolute nightmare. The various day and night shifts, nurses and midwives all gave her different advice to the point where she left kicking and screaming with a few bottles of Formula. I give eternal thanks to Michael (my Archangel) that Mother and Father aligned the chromosomes in the right order to ensure that I came out with balls. I do know that some women have such pleasurably sensitive nipples that they can almost orgasm when supplying their little darlings with his/her daily ration. I don’t recall whether I had that effect on Mother?
It’s been interesting (well to me anyway) watching, listening to and reading the reports from the Caribbean these past few days. England’s cricketers have apparently been “humiliated” by the West Indies according to the BBC and the Times amongst many others. Is that not a massively arrogant, condescending and probably racist description? The implication being that the all-conquering (predominantly) white English should expect to reign supreme against our former colonial brethren and anything less than a great and glorious victory is “humiliating”. Ok, our brave boys batted like outcasts from the kindergarten third eleven, but maybe we should give credit to a really impressive and resurgent WIndies team who certainly “humbled” the Might of Albion. Having witnessed first hand (well from the Stands anyway) the might of the Holding, Roberts, Richards era it’s been depressing watching their successors struggling to remain in the top flight. It would be lovely to listen to Michael Holding’s wonderfully gravelly tones describing a current speedster who could scare the pants off today’s be-helmeted, padded batters in the way that he did against brave men like Brian Close and David Steel, who stood there without helmets and body armour and withstood the battery of grenades hurled at them with all the venom of a spitting cobra. Cricketers talk about “that was a good Jaffa”. If ever there was anything less like an orange coming at your throat at ninety miles an hour I’d like to know what it is. If it’s not a “Jaffa” it’s a “cherry”. I guess irony is alive and well. It’s probably why Americans generally don’t understand cricket, amongst the many other worldwide pleasures that pass them by.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 