What happened? I’ve lost a week – and, no, I have not been ‘holidaying’ at His Majesty’s Pleasure, as yet! Do not jest … Make no mistake, our world is being enforceably shrunk; our freedoms curtailed, one by one. For now, though, back to me! So unlike me – the OCD me – to miss a post. I suppose there was a lot going on and negativity overload took its toll. What to write anymore, other than doom and gloom? How does one keep one’s head above it all, let alone preserve one’s sanity? Answers on a postage stamp – even that has a barcode, now. Let’s face it, those who voted Labour, handing our fate for the next five years to the sly, heartless, autocratic Keir Starmer, have all but sounded the death knell for this country. We have to leave Austria tonight … I, for one, now have a deeper understanding of those words.
Irregular migration. There, there. Only 20,000 migrants have crossed the channel, so far, this year. The Rwanda deterrent scrapped instantly, it seems Starmer has no plans for anything in its place. All the bravado, pre-election, that he was going to stop the gangs … no more. Let them eat cake, for goodness sake! Meanwhile, concentrate on control and the infliction of misery. Freeze to death any pensioners who have survived, to date, the experimental vaccination programme – and the surprise DNR instruction in their notes, for that matter – by eradicating the Winter Fuel Allowance. With luck, most will understand that appeasing the unions and succumbing to the pay demands of junior doctors takes precedence. What’s that? Knife crime, the profusion of, in this country, and the rising fatalities? Nothing to do with a lawless society, two-tier policing and an infiltration of thousands. Nothing to do with the spectacular failure of multi-culturalism and the ensuing anger and unrest. Starmer has got this. After all, the blame rests wholly at the feet of those terrible Conservatives. He is just trying to rectify their wrongs! Change the record. Engage, for once. A vacuous control freak is a terrifying prospect. To be honest, I cannot bear to watch or listen. Seemingly incapable of delivering a speech without constantly looking down and reading from ‘his ‘notes, one has to question whether he is, in fact, the embodiment of the second AI robot – Biden, obviously, being the prototype? Clearly, he is devoid of a heart. A brain? Courage? Rhetorical. Once, there was no place like home. Sadly, that ‘home’ no longer exists. Ironically, I left a comment on Instagram, some time ago (in response), about needing Maggie, now, more than ever. Hundreds agreed. As for Starmer having her portrait removed from the Thatcher Room as he finds it unsettling … No blooming wonder! Her legacy dwarfs him, serving, only, to highlight his narcissistic agenda.
Oasis. Help! Pure, orchestrated genius – and, moreover, proof that the world has moved on. How the hell does one have any hope of securing tickets? In my day, at most, one had to be poised to phone Ticketmaster – on a landline – by 8.55am, pressing re-dial on repeat until, panicking, one got through. To a human! Now, it’s akin to filling in the 243-page application for the Winter Fuel Allowance … It’s degree-worthy! For my part, I understood tickets went on sale tomorrow (Sat) morning at 9am. Don’t be ridiculous. That would be far too simple. In fact, one was expected to register/open an account by Wednesday past – who knew? – in the hope of being emailed a code by 5pm today enabling one to join the pre-sale melée. Excellent. If there happen to be any tickets left – unlikely – 9am tomorrow it is, requiring of logistics more suited to the SOE (Special Operations Executive)! What hope? Must I face the fact that I can never buy tickets to a concert again? Does anyone even call these events concerts anymore?! Defeatist? No, it’s just that I refuse to subscribe to the elevated difficulty of this digital age when, once, it was all so simple. Lose the human touch, lose everything. As for Liam and Noel … masterful! If the rumours are to be believed, they are set to make in the realms of £400 million. Yet further confirmation of a mad world. £400 million. Nothing more than a number on a screen. What could one possibly do with all that?!
Ask Madonna! She celebrated her 66th Birthday with private access to the ancient site of Pompeii, courtesy of the site Director, Gabriel Zuchtriegel, late in the evening of Friday, 16th August. Madonna, her latest toyboy, two of her daughters and her entourage. No words. Given a private tour, she, then, enjoyed an elaborate candlelit dinner party in the actual theatre … I have stood, humbled, in that ancient theatre, endeavouring to imagine the vibrancy of another world almost two thousand years ago. Its story, one of loss and tragedy. Its bid for respect all encompassing. Somehow, the presence of Madonna et al – enabled as the benefactor of a youth initiative whose goal is to involve the local community in the cultural life of the world heritage site – effects a collision too incongruous to contemplate. As oil repels water, so, too, the trivial has no place amidst the revered …
The power of great wealth, no matter its acquisition. Neither health, nor happiness within its remit, however … Toppings had an event last week remembering the magic that was Seve Ballesteros. The venue was packed, testament to the enduring love for a character whose appeal stretched far beyond his genius on the golf course. He was only fifty-four when he died from brain cancer on the 7th May, 2011. A life half-lived. Forever, though, in our hearts and minds, he will remain the charismatic, swashbuckling twenty-seven-year-old, beaming as he fist-pumped the air having birdied the 18th to win The Open at St Andrews in 1984. The most beautiful of summer days, it was truly a moment in time.
At the heart of Kenny Reid’s new book on Seve – Touch of Class – is that iconic victory, forty years ago now. ‘This was the happiest moment of my whole sporting life’, Seve wrote in his own autobiography. It was written all over his face! An image which is deemed to stand out above all others over the entire century and a half of The Open, it was to become the logo for his foundation and all future business ventures. The book, however, in charting his golf journey, inevitably, explores the man. So it was that, at the start of the event, the words ‘difficult’, ‘complex’ were mentioned. Seve did not suffer fools gladly; was slow to forgive … I couldn’t help but smile. He was a character. He was unique. He was charismatic. He oozed charm! For Seve Ballesteros was his own man and that pervaded every part of his game. Never boring, he was unpredictable; capable of magic. That is why, forty years on from that sunny day in 1984, he is still beloved; why the church was packed, last week, and why that iconic image will never fade. Real characters are like diamonds in the sand these days. Little wonder his legend lives on.
‘For Trish, who loved Seve’. The inscription in my book …
‘Everything was fine until I walked onto the first tee!’
Seve Ballesteros
This is Trish, signing off.
