Early blossom decorates spartan trees, grass grows faster than Jack’s beanstalk and there is enough light at 5pm to face Joel Garner on a lively wicket. Ok, I concede I never faced Joel Garner on any sort of wicket but hopefully you get my point. The days are lengthening and nature is being suckered into believing that winter has thrown all its spears. The scene is set for Spring to step forward and offer its golden beauty for inspection. HA! Alas poor Nature I know it well. Lurking around the corner, hell, fire and brimstone are preparing to unleash their venom; not on an unsuspecting public though, because ever since the Met Office failed to warn of the impending hurricane in 1987, that devastated great swathes of the southern counties, they have been over-cautious in forewarning of any likely trouble, for days in advance. We should, apparently, be battening down the hatches on Saturday night for a fearsome assault upon our sensibilities with eighty mph winds and torrential rain that will demand a re-branding of Sunday. Whilst we will no doubt experience something slightly uncomfortable for awhile, it will be totally unsurprising if the storm isn’t somewhat disappointing in its intensity. The combination of our modern blame culture and “Elf and Safety” require that we “listen out for forecasts”, as if that’s going to make a blind bit of difference. For the most part our noble meteorologists struggle to report what’s already happened, never mind what’s coming up in three days time.
A significant amount of print and air-time has been expended today on whether the Nation should fly the Union Flag to celebrate Prince Andrew’s 60th birthday. I am a royalist. I am the proud owner of two commissioning warrants, signed personally by Elizabeth R, having sworn allegiance to the crown on two separate occasions, once when joining the Royal Air Force and seven years later when I transferred to the Army Air Corps. I have commentated on many royal and state occasions for the BBC. I am a traditionalist. I have met and talked to The Duke of York on a number of occasions on golf courses around the world. But bluntly, I couldn’t give a damn about him or his wretched birthday. He has let the “Firm” down badly and frankly has become an irrelevance. So many more issues of substance and import furrow our brows. I suspect the vast majority of folk in Britain really couldn’t give a damn about him, other than to know that he is facing the music for past indiscretions.
The weather may well have an impact on England’s Six Nations match against Scotland at Murrayfield tomorrow afternoon. The Princess Royal, Andrew’s older sister, has been Patron of the Scottish RFU for thirty years. If anyone deserves a flag to be flown it is surely her. She is undoubtedly her Mother’s daughter. Hopefully, she will witness a Scottish side humbled by a rampaging England, intent on avenging the past two years of ignominy inflicted by the tartan warriors. I am not overwhelmed with confidence though, after a Parisian performance worthy of shopkeepers.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 