Time for a brew

It is now official, scientists have determined that drinking tea is better for the body than drinking water. Technically the anti-oxidant benefits of a good brew has greater benefit to the digestive system, which is something I have been arguing for years. My body is a temple to Earl Grey not Highland Spring, a penchant that I inherited from my father who was virtually fed intravenously from the teapot. Even a novice boy scout would have no trouble tracking him down in the house, all they would need to do was follow the trail on discarded half-supped cups of tea, and feel the temperature of the liquid.

Originally recognised in China for its medicinal purposes during the 10^th century BC it was not introduced to the West until the 16^th Century when it was transported by Portuguese priests and merchants. It wasn't really acknowledged in the UK until the 18^th century and remained a luxury up until the tax on tea was removed in the 1780s.

It took until the late 19^th century for it to be accepted as an affordable everyday beverage for the masses in this country.

As of 2004, it remains the most popular manufactured drink in the world, outstripping the global consumption of coffee, chocolate, alcohol and soft drinks combined. The average person drinks around 4 cups of tea per day, while many drink more than 6. Ireland is among the top countries for consumption of tea per capita. Topping the list in 2013 is Turkey, where the average is 10 cups a day! – No wonder they dance the way they do.

You would imagine that such a popular drink would be almost as simple as turning on a tap yet the complexities of such a simple product are astounding.

Tea, from the tea plant, which is a shrub, can be classified into several different grades depending on how it is processed – White, yellow, green, oolong black or post-fermented.

These differing classifications can then be blended to produce a teas with their own individual flavour. In addition to that there are teas with additives of flowers or spices as well as a great number of herbal teas. Strangely, many of these herbal teas, or herbal infusions, do not actually contain any trace of the tea plant.

That is the easy part, things get even more complicated when it comes to how it is packaged, prepared, served and drunk.

Tea can be packaged loose, compressed, in tea bags, instant, in bottles or in cans. It can be drunk at temperatures ranging from boiling to iced. 80% of all the tea consumed in America is served iced – then what would you expect from a nation that used to throw it back into the sea.

Different blends of tea are best served at differing temperatures. Which then leads to the question of how it is prepared and served. What utensil do you prepare it in? What temperature should this vessel be? Should you add the tea first then pour the water, or vice versa? Should you let it stand and ferment, if so, for how long? If you use a kettle should it be metal or plastic? Do you use a teapot or pour straight to a cup? China, plastic, paper or glass cup?

If you are using an additive such as milk, sugar or alcohol should you place this in the cup (or mug) first or last?

Such niceties may seem unimportant when you shuffle into the kitchen bleary-eyed in search of a drink to kick-start your day but they would be essential considerations were you to be attending a formal tea party or high tea.

We may all enjoy a refreshing cuppa while slumped in front of the TV but it is easy to forget the importance often associated with this drink. Rituals in different countries may vary but for some it is a true art form and it is almost universally accepted as a means of greeting.

We may all have our favourite cup or mug and even if we don't have our own set of 'best China' I would suspect that you will know some ageing relative who still keeps a tea service, a set of crockery that is only brought out on special occasions.

A journalist once narrated a story of a time when he was embedded with a British tank regiment during a period of tense international stand-off. While on patrol they found themselves in a narrow alley with their path blocked by an opposition tank. Not wishing to spark an international incident the tank commander opted for a tea break and invited the opposition commander to join them. Thirsts slated the opposing tank crew returned and realised that they had a pressing engagement in the next street leaving the British tank to proceed on its way unhindered.

What you do with your tea leaves / bags once you have finished is equally as individual. Astrologers have been reading the dregs that remain in the cup for almost as long as tea has been around. Some people use the leftovers as fertiliser for their gardens, while others use them to repel mosquitoes. They can also be used as beauty treatment and are purported to eradicate unpleasant odours.

Personally, I don't have a particular favourite though I am partial to the occasional Earl Grey or English Breakfast blend. Since my late teens I have found that my body is incapable of functioning fully until after the second cup of the day has been administered.

It would be a very sad (and difficult) day for me to go without a decent cup of tea so I have specified that a flask and tea bags be placed in my coffin in case I fancy a brew on my trip to the next world. Should I not have need of them and some archaeologist decide to open up my coffin in the distant future then at least they will be able to discern that I was a man of refinement and hopefully the smell will not be too bad.

To infinity and beyond ....

Considering that the space race has been a thread that has run throughout my lifetime I feel a bit of a fraud in so far as I don't feel that I ever fully appreciated the enormity of the achievements. I was 2 when Yuri Gagarin became the first man in space, 11 when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, I followed each Apollo mission, built umpteen kits of rockets, capsules and landing craft, yet I never felt captivated by the potential of the great unexplored. I watched countless episodes of Star Trek and Thunderbirds, yet I never felt the remotest desire to become an astronaut or space scientist.

We all have things in our youth that capture our imagination, some will be no more than passing fancies while others will become an obsession that we will pursue throughout our lives. At the age of 11 my career options were to fly an Electric Lightning jet, become a scuba diver (the crew in the Jacques Cousteau documentaries seemed to have a good lifestyle) or drive a number 94 bus.

I have no idea why it had to be the 94 bus, which ran, as I recall, from Lewisham Gaumont to Woolwich – it wasn't even my local route! I do remember spending a disproportionate amount of my youth sitting on the bus parked up in the road next to the cinema. The bus needed to go round the one way system and then turn right at a horrendous junction before turning left towards Blackheath. I used to close my eyes when the driver edged the double-decked Routemaster out into the traffic, and I suspect he did too. The only way to get across that road was to ease out slowly, block as much of the road as you could and wait till someone gave way to you. It was probably the reason the bus drivers never seemed to be in a hurry to get the bus started.

The English Electric Lightning was a supersonic jet that entered service in 1959, I may have seen one at the Biggin Hill Air Show though I suspect it may have been an article I read in one of my father's Flight International magazines that captured my imagination (it must have been raining that day, I can't think why else I would have been reading one of his magazines). I'm not sure whether it was the shape or the speed of the aircraft that appealed but it fascinated me enough to do a project on it at primary school. Thankfully for society I chose to pursue none of these dreams.

This month has seen 2 major space related stories, the sad destruction of the Virgin Galactic Space Ship while on a test flight and the landing of the European Space Agency's Philea Lander space probe on Comet 67P, or Churyumov-Gerasimenko to give it its full name, the culmination of a 15 year mission to land a scientific probe on a comet, both significant leaps into the future of space exploration, so we are led to believe.

It has taken the Rosetta spacecraft, the mother ship, 10 years to travel the 4 billion miles to reach the comet before releasing the probe on the 7.5 hour descent to the comet surface, where it is hoped that a series of experiments will help shed light on the origins of our planet. Scientists originally described the satelite as the size of a washing machine, then amended that to a small fridge – given their leaning towards white goods and the fact that this is a comet, are we to take it that the financially challenged electrical store has been funding this mission?

It takes 38 minutes to beam live pictures from the surface of this 'duck-shaped' lump of ice to Earth, which is about the average waiting time for most call centre helpdesk responses.

I couldn't help noticing that the official press releases document the distance from Earth as 6.4 billion kilometres, which would indicate that the British contribution to the European Space Agency team may have been minimal – we would have certainly managed to break this into the standard British measurements in terms of football pitches or double-decker buses.

Considering that a vast number of the occupants of this planet would view a mile walk to the shops as a mile too far, I can't help feeling that there will be a significant proportion of the country that will be feeling totally underwhelmed by the magnitude of the achievement.

Scientifically I hope that there will be some good to come from this mission, in the same way that many technical breakthroughs resulted from what was learned from the moon landings. Personally, I am not that fussed to learn how this planet was formed, I wasn't here at the time of Big Bang, it wasn't my fault, there isn't much that I can do about it now and I just hope that I am not here for any repeat performance.

Even allowing for the destruction of the Virgin ship few would argue against the probability that there will be a space tourism industry within the next 10 years. I may have spent the odd hour or two gazing at the night sky, not really knowing what I am looking for, other than inspiration, but I certainly won't be one of those willing to fork out in excess of £100,000 to reserve a seat on one of the first available space flights (even if I did have that kind of money).

When you consider it was only 66 years between man's first powered flight and putting a man on the moon, the pace of progress is incredible. The fact that the computing power of an average mobile phone is considerably more advanced than that used to get 2 men to the moon and back seems ridiculous even when you take into consideration that the equipment available in 1969 was cutting edge.

What can the pioneer space tourist expect for their bucks apart from a shed load of air miles? Probably not a lot in the early stages. You may be travelling at a phenomenal speed but given that there is not a lot going on around you would you have any sensation of that speed? Coffee tastes pretty disgusting at 40,000 feet, what will it taste like at the boundary of outer space? I suspect that the buffet trolley may be a trifle understocked and the leg room might be a bit cramped even in business class. The freebie magazine will still be extolling the virtues of exotic places that Virgin would recommend – I have never been sure whether these selections are made because they are secluded luxury destinations or simply because bookings are down in that region. Would their be any need for a safety demonstration? Would assuming the brace position protect me when faced with the inevitability of frying upon re-entry into the Earth's orbit. I would challenge even the most ardent film buff to sit through the entire programme of in-flight entertainment. Personally, I would look forward to seeing how long the cabin crew could maintain their 'perma-tan' and fixed all-purpose smile.

Never fear, I am sure that the good folk at Virgin will have dreamt up some devilishly clever scheme to prize even more money from their passenger's wallets, probably through the sale of their own brand oxygen or enriched oxygen. My only hope is that Ryanair don't try to muscle in on the act otherwise I can see them ripping out the seats on the basis that passengers will be weightless for most of the journey - though I assume the 10 kilogram weight limit would still apply for your hand luggage. Mind you, were the moon ever to become a tourist destination then you could guarantee that Ryanair would find the most remote location on the far side to land.

My great fear would be that the journey into space may be so overwhelming that I would not want to come back. All that time to contemplate the meaning of life and the universe, the realisation of just how small a part we all play within the grand scheme of the cosmos, then to return to my mundane 9 to 5 existence, perhaps I will give space travel a miss, or I might just put myself down for a one way ticket to another galaxy. 

 

Back to the future for the Lilleywhites

This month has simply flown by. Returning to work after 2 weeks on holiday, my deflated mood has been lifted by a book I was recommended to read before my departure to sunnier climes. The book in question is The Bromley Boys by Dave Roberts (Portico books) – available through all good online bookstores (and Amazon).

It is a story of a 15-year old boy's obsession for his local non-league football team, Bromley Football Club, a club with a proud history who in 1969/70 were enduring a season to forget.

I was particularly keen to read the book because not only did I grow up in that area but Bromley Football Club was also part of my life during that period. From the book I have learned that Dave is slightly older than me, we played football in the same local park, but probably have never met.

It was a wonderful trip down memory lane, a reminder of my forgotten youth and some of the joys of living in the borough. It was interesting to read that we both went to private schools – Dave managed to get expelled from his because of his love for Bromley Football Club – How cool is that! Theft, violence, vandalism, arson, insubordination I can understand the need for such a drastic course of action but to be expelled for being obsessed about a football club, and Bromley of all clubs, must have been a first.

The book documents the difficulty of being a fan of a non-league football team at school in great detail. It is not easy living with the taunts and jibes especially when you are at a rugby playing school and everyone around you supports one of the big league teams.

I wish I had thought of getting expelled in the same way because the 1969/70 season was a difficult time for me. I had just moved from primary to a completely different (or should I say indifferent) secondary school. All I wanted to do was play football, morning, noon and night. I'd like to think that at the age of 11 I could run faster with a ball at my feet than without it. I doubt that was true but at that age there is nothing you believe you can't do.

My new school didn't play football, they played rugby – I had been sold out by my parents, a pill I found even harder to swallow when I learned that I had been offered a scholarship to another school in the area that not only played football but had a good reputation for their cricket. From being a promising footballer at primary school I found that because of my height (or lack of it) I was allocated to the lowest tier for my ongoing rugby education, consigned to the group of carthorses, shirkers and asthmatics. Fortunately my form teacher recognised early on that there was little value to be gained from adding my paltry weight to the scrum and I was allowed to play in the backs where I at least had the opportunity of outrunning the carthorses or belting the ball as far as I could before they clattered into me.

In the book Dave talks of his teenage crush on Una Stubbs. I was a bit young to have a crush on anyone but I was very taken with Caroline Munro whose image was being plastered on giant billboards across the country in a series of posters for Lamb's Navy Rum. I seem to recall KP nuts producing a marketing pack with photos of a series of glamorous models on, I think she may have been one of them, but maybe I am mistaken. There were 24 packs of peanuts on each display and as each pack was sold it would reveal a bit more of the hidden photograph. The nuts were always on display in the tea room at Bromley and I made a point of checking to see how many packets had been sold every time I went in for my mug of tea and iced bun.

There is a section in the book about Dave's Christmas wish list which reminded me of my own experiences. Unlike Dave who proudly sported his supporters club badge on his blazer, I wanted my passage through school to be as painless as possible so had already nailed my colours to the mast as an Arsenal supporter (I chose to wear my Bromley pin on the back of my lapel, which gave one kid a nasty surprise when he tried to rough me up in the playground).

In my last year at primary school a friend had been kind enough to lend me his pair of George Best Stylo boots that had the laces at the side. They were dog's doo-dahs and I really felt that they helped my game so this was top of my wish list, along with the familiar red and white Arsenal shirt.

Come Christmas, what did I receive? A red and black striped shirt and a pair of rugby boots! It was definitely not my year. My father told me that I could play as AC Milan – but I didn't want to play as AC Milan, I didn't even know where Milan was (geography was not one of my subjects). As for the rugby boots, what was I to do with a pair of ghastly, ill-fitting lumps of rubber with laces thicker than a washing line. They were probably molded from old tyres, they certainly smelt as if they had been. Part of the Christmas surprise was not letting me know what my parents were buying me, which explains why they didn't fit me properly.

My limited understanding of the construction of a standard rugby boot is that the high sides are supposed to give padded protection to the ankle. From painful experience all I can attest to is that I lurched around the field like Coco the clown, the high sides rubbing the skin off my ankles which they were supposed to protect.

Thankfully, my feet grew very quickly and it was not long before I had outgrown these monstrosities. It took 7 more years for the rest of my body to catch up, considerably less for my ankles to heal, but I was at least given the opportunity to choose their replacement, a more sensible pair of Pele Santos football boots.

I never did get my Arsenal shirt, even though they went on to win the double in 1971. Dave Roberts now lives in the States where he writes his books and continues to follow the exploits of his beloved team via the internet. Bromley FC have never achieved the successes that they experienced in the 1940s and 50s, they remain a non-league side, subjecting their supporters to a rollercoaster of emotions that no theme park ride could ever capture.

I never played regular competitive football after leaving school, though I do still carry a pair of boots in my car in case a kick around is in the offing.

A film based on the book is in the planning which I am really looking forward to. In the meantime I am still available should Roy Hodgson wish to give me a call.

Call the Fashion Police!!

In a sport that has an unenviable record of drug abuse clearly the enforcement agency has overlooked the Columbian Cycling Team's wardrobe designer.

What were they thinking of - Beige and Lemon - Yuk!

LoL

Travel Tragedy

There was a time when overseas travel was something very special. Growing up in the 60's, my grandfather had just retired and as a seasoned traveller he and my grandmother embarked on a series of adventures commencing with a round the world tour, followed by a series shorter trips to exotic locations. I would categorise my grandparents as being from the twinset and pearls generation and it seemed as if they were both members of some exclusive club which was all very hush hush. I am sure that my grandfather would have played up to this ideal to please me. Everything was conducted in the utmost secret, and he would tell me that he had to go to a meeting with Mr. Cook in London. I didn't know who P & O or Cunard were then, I supposed them to be spies or some high ranking official in the Foreign Office. Eventually I would be told details of their planned excursion and would look forward to the numerous cards and letters that would be sent from each location along the journey. It is a sign of the times that even the service in those days was part of the grand experience. Each booking seemed to come with its own set of baggage labels, stickers, itinerary and telegrams of confirmation. 

 

Maybe there were local travel agents in the 60's, but I can't recall seeing any, all I can remember is that my grandfather made a big thing of his trips to London to book his holidays. There was no internet in those days, package holidays were just taking off, destinations were limited as were the modes of transport.

In the course of my work I have recently had need to visit one of the hundreds of Thomas Cook outlets and I couldn't help wondering what my grandfather would have made of the experience in their modern stores. The impression I have always held of the company is of one of the elder statesmen of the travel industry, slightly staid and formal with a strong sense of tradition.

I guess I inherited the travel bug from my grandparents and generally use the internet to choose and book trips abroad. On the rare occasions that I have used a travel agent I liked the pictures of palm trees, sandy beaches, exotic locations and cruise ships floating majestically into the sunset. Personally I find that the modern travel agent is rather depressing, less photos of exotic foreign landmarks and cities, more mural displays of cocktails, bikini clad models with unbelievably white teeth, kids on waterslides and empty deckchairs posed by pretentious photographers. Even the Thomas Cook logo has been given a makeover – I think they have tried to copy the heart-shaped symbolism that is the current vogue, unfortunately it looks more like a golden urinal.

Maybe I just have an aversion to shopping, or perhaps it is the sales patter I find irritating, (I am not saying that the travel industry is any better or worse than countless other service industries) nothing raises my hackles more than the predatory approach of some shop staff sizing someone's budget up as soon as they walk through the door, the piped music being drowned out by the whirring of cogs as they try to mentally calculate how much your potential custom would contribute towards their weekly sales target.

You don't have to be a maths professor to realise that a great many of the travel agencies are offering virtually identical packages to the same resorts, which can be annoying when looking for that special deal but can be a godsend if you can only travel on certain days. I happened to be working in Bridgend and there must have been 8 to 10 travel agencies in the small Welsh town, at least 5 within 200 yards of each other. I have nothing against competition but when does this become overkill? Maybe I am mistaken but I was under the impression that Bridgend was one of the most deprived areas of the country, where does all the money come from to support this many travel companies?

Returning to the golden age of travel, even if you had only booked a weekend in Bognor you walked out of the shop feeling as if you had purchased a passage on the Orient Express. Sadly, these days, you can book the most luxurious trip to far flung destinations and come away feeling as if you have booked your place on a cattle transporter. Maybe the popularisation and availability of global travel has taken the sparkle off the process or maybe it is the price we have to pay for cheap travel.

There was a time when a map of the world was a staple fixture in any travel agent, I can't remember the last time I ever saw one on display in any agency, which is a shame. It begs the question, do the staff have any idea where they are sending their customers or are we all just numbers filling vacant slots.

Perhaps the dumbing down in the stores is inevitable, for decades the Summer school holiday period has been the cash cow for the travel industry, so it should not come as a surprise to see plastic inflatable planes, buckets and spades and cutouts of Disney characters given pride of place in these stores. The sad fact is that more often when I visit a stores, irrespective of brand, it is usually populated by a stream of pensioners looking for a winter break or booking trips to see relatives who have relocated abroad and the odd couple who popped in just to get out of the cold.

It is a sign of the times we live in that no business ever has enough staff to satisfy demand, such is the need to keep shareholders satisfied that the paying public is expected to wait for almost everything. Hence I found myself looking along the racks of brochures, playing countdown with 'Reykavik' and wondering where Burkina Faso is. I had to chuckle at one glossy brochure that caught my eye, just because it was so out of keeping with the rest. It was a brochure for a coach travel company with a simple photo of what I imagine is the flagship of their fleet on the front cover. A bright red monster coach with curves in places that would give an aerodynamics tester a seizure. The smiling driver clearly enjoyed the unconventional design though I couldn't imagine anything worse than travelling around Europe on what, to me, looked like a suped-up dust-cart.

Ultimately my days work was enhanced by the thought that it is now a matter of weeks before my wife and I will be off on our annual sojourn to the sun. There is a certain mischievous glee I will be packing in my suitcase this year knowing that there are usually a great many Scots tourists who frequent this country. Over the years there have been a number of late night debates about the perceived injustices throughout history. Having had to suffer the interminable blow-by-blow debate regarding the independence of Scotland for the past year or more I will be able to sit on the sidelines and listen to the jingoistic slurs in the knowledge that the Scots will in future get what they voted for (whichever way it goes) not that it will stop them from moaning about something or other.

Sport's Summer of sultry, soggy, shocks and success

By nature the British are a stoic and cautious breed which has earned them an international reputation for unpredictability. Nowhere is this better demonstrated than in the skies and on our playing fields. The weather in and around this small island is notoriously fickle and over recent years the gods have made reigned havoc over the Summer months. Equally unpredictable have been the performances of our sporting elite.

2014 has been a busy year of sport with the Soccer World Cup, the Commonwealth Games, Wimbledon, a long season of international cricket, the Twenty20 World Cup, Golf and a wealth of rugby international fixtures.

As Roy Hodgson says, we are not very good with the ball at our feet and we are not very good with the ball in the air – Now I may not have taken my FA coaching badges but in my understanding that does rather limit our options given the objectives of the game.

Things were going so well up to the point that the team got on the plane. Roy looked very much at home on his fact finding mission to Manaus (in that 'Bemused pensioner abroad' guise - must have really put the fear into the opposition). By and large no one was expecting the side to do brilliantly in this tournament so there should have been no surprises when the overall performance can at best be described as 'understated'. What I did not expect to read were so many people saying afterwards that we should have achieved more. Yes, on our day the team should have done better but based on the performances on the pitch I don't see how we deserved any more. Some of the less fancied teams turned up and raised their game, sadly we did not.

It was an interesting competition, that had its share of great moments, touches of individual brilliance and outstanding games but overall you could not say that any of the teams was in the same bracket as some of the great sides of the past.

The tennis came hard on the back of the soccer which helped the healing process. Andy Murray once more carried the British hopes but never looked at ease following his back problems. The fact that the tournament was played in largely glorious weather was an added bonus and the overall standard was pretty high.

Golf always has been a great leveller and with Tiger Woods returning from injury and Rory McIlroy's form wavering it has been an interesting Summer which opened the door for other players to step up to the mark. Though Tiger has already ruled himself out through injury it should be an interesting Ryder Cup at Gleneagles in September.

England's cricketing woes continued throughout most of the Summer. Apart from the last 3 test matches, which were the first we had won in 11 tests, the majority of the performances were way below expected. Alastair Cook and Ian Bell couldn't buy a run, the bowling was average and the middle order batting was unable to step up to the plate with any consistency.

What has been intriguing to me is the number of records that have been set by lower order batsmen. I'm not sure that it tells us much about the standard of batting or bowling, but it has made several of the matches far more entertaining than they deserved to be.

Let's face it, as a bowler James Anderson is one of the best swing-bowlers around, but with bat in hand he is a 'ferret' (the guy they send in after the 'rabbits'). For him to score 95 runs in a test match, at number 11! - It must have been a full moon.

In the 2^nd test England managed to conjure defeat from a winning position and in the remaining 3 tests India capitulated through a mixture of strange team selection, poor bowling and weak batting. A great pity since several of their top order batsmen are very capable run scorers though, Dhoni apart, they were all going through the same turmoil that has thwarted Alastair Cook for much of the past 18 months.

So now we are back to the football season and it would seem that the heat has already made some of the club chairmen tetchy. One manager in the championship was sacked after just one game, and Crystal Palace parted company with their manager, Tony Pulis, 2 days before the start of the season.

The usual frenzy of the transfer market distracts the attention from what is happening on the pitch. Personally, I think it is to the detriment of the game to have a transfer window that stretches into the season. It is hard enough to get a new team of players to gel on the pitch and it can't help not knowing whether you are going have the same squad from one day to the next.

While most clubs are forced to rummage around in the bargain basement it would seem that the present trend is for the rich clubs to buy up any player they deem to be a potential threat to them and loan them out to a team from a league as far removed from their own as possible.

A lot of money appears to have changed hands but it is hard to see that any Premier League side has greatly strengthened their squad. I would love someone to explain what is going on at Southampton. Having overachieved last year they have sold the backbone of the team and consequently find themselves favourites for the drop this season. Liverpool have splashed the cash in the expectation of a run in the Champions League, Manchester United, Manchester City,Tottenham, Arsenal and Everton seem to be chasing every player with a world cup pedigree who is unsettled or only has a year left on their contract.

The fact so many of the top clubs have been looking to offload some of their fringe or surplus players (and largely failing) would indicate how the market has been driven by over-priced prima donnas. The number of clubs competing for the top players is increasing as the game increases it global foothold. Transfer fees may continue to rise but you really have to question what you are getting for your money.

Are the likes of Messi, Ronaldo, Bale really worth £80m? Eyebrows were raised when Torres was sold to Chelsea for £50m. Given some of the fees paid of late it is a wonder eyes have not popped out of their sockets.

This time last season I was warming to the transfer of Mehmet Ozil to Arsenal for £42m as shrewd business (the sight of Wenger opening his wallet always raises an eyebrow). Up until Christmas he looked like a man on a mission, since then he looks like a man who has gone missing. A world class player who has lost the 'cl'. Players with the talent of a Torres or an Ozil do not lose their ability overnight, all players go through bad spells, but usually the confidence returns and they bounce back. With the pressures of the game today and the money being spent on the top performing players it remains to be seen how long clubs will wait for players to re-discover their form once it has deserted them.

No sooner has Liverpool's Bad Boy, Luis Suarez, left these shores than they replace him with another bad boy, Mario Balotelli. He might be good for the telly, not so sure what damage he might bring to the dressing-room. And, in what appears to have a whiff of desperation Manchester United have forked out nearly £60m for Argentine winger, Angel Di Maria, taking their spending in the past 2 years to over £200m. Personally, I did not think that Di Maria had a particularly great world cup. Yes, he has a certain talent but I feel his valuation has been boosted by the unavailability of many of the other top players.

Not sure what was going through Arsene Wenger's mind when he allowed Cesc Fabregas to move to Chelsea for £27m. Maybe Arsenal do have a surfeit of midfielders on the payroll but most of them have season tickets for the treatment room, none are natural leaders and allowing a player of his class to go to one of your main competitors, when you have 1^st option would seem contrary to what most other clubs would have done.

 

Clearly the Summer sun has gone to some of the manager's heads, or is it just the heat of the battle.

Bongos at the ready – it's samba time! Let's go Brazil nuts.

With the World Cup, Commonwealth Games, Wimbledon, Sri Lanka and India test matches in this country and some tasty rugby tours taking place in the southern hemisphere I have been really looking forward to a great Summer of sport in the safe knowledge that my heart-rate would not be put placed under too much pressure during any of England's performances.

Never having been a fan of pyjama cricket I can't say that I paid much attention to the Twenty20 World Cup but I did enjoy the test matches against Sri Lanka which were made far more entertaining than they should have been largely due to England's ineptitude with both bat and ball. That both Stuart Broad and James Anderson failed to perform on pitches that were 'tailored' to suit them only served to highlight the lack of a quality spinner. Fine bowlers as they are on their day, neither seemed capable of bowling a consistent length that would put pressure on the Sri Lankan batsmen.

The roof on Centre Court at Wimbledon has improved the spectacle considerably. I watched the match between Eugenie Bouchard and Alize Cornet yesterday and was impressed not only with both performances but the fact that they could hit the ball without squealing like a stuck pig.

On the men's game, the top 4 looked to be in ominous form until the 19 year-old wild card from Australia, Nick Kyrgios, blasted Rafa Nadel out of the competition with an impeccable display of thunderous serving that never allowed the world number 1 to get into his rhythm. It remains to be seen whether the youngster can maintain the quality and focus but with a 133 mph first serve (and a 2^nd serve of not much less) he could cause the other big boys a few headaches.

As for the Soccer World Cup, love the atmosphere in Brazil which has certainly lived up to expectations. I always thought that this would be a particularly open tournament in terms of team performance. The difference in climate around the country has definitely had an influence on some of the games but it has not spoiled the enjoyment of what has so far been a wonderful spectacle, with goals and incidents aplenty.

The climate I believe favours the South American sides yet I don't think there is any stand out team that you could say is a shoe-in for the final.

Teams seem to fall into distinctive styles, Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay build the teams around their big names (Neymar, Messi and Suarez respectively) while others have made an impact through a collective performance. Then there is England – who fall into neither category.

Anyone who has taken the remotest interest in the game that is played on the playgrounds and pitches in this country (rather than the hype that is played out on the back pages of the tabloids) will realise the futility of placing any expectations on our national team. Yes, they were poor but I don't think they played as badly as some would have us believe. Would the results have been different if Suarez had been available for the Costa Rica game? What if we had not played Italy in Manaus, or the fixtures had been in reverse order?

Personally I would have liked to see John Terry and Ashley Cole playing. Both have the experience and unlike Steve Gerrard (good player as he is) John Terry is capable of marshalling the back 4, which is where we are particularly weak. Other than those 2, it is hard to say that the squad was not the strongest we could pick for this tournament.

It is frustrating looking at the performances of the likes of Iran, Nigeria and Algeria who have called upon players from lower leagues but still managed to piece together a unit capable of stringing more than half a dozen passes without giving the ball away.

It has always been an irritation to me that so many players at the top level are incapable of kicking the ball with either foot. What I find hard to understand is how often players fail to make a 6 yard pass with their good foot, even when they are under no pressure. Maybe the England team are very good at 'keepie-uppie' but you will never build a cohesive team if you don't have a strategy, can't pass the ball and most importantly can't keep hold of the ball effectively.

Of equal concern is the disappointing quality of heading displayed throughout the tournament. A lot of this is due to poor technique but I think there may be other factors to explain why so many balls bounced tamely off expensively coiffured bonces and ballooned into the arms of a delighted goalkeeper. As an aging man with a receding hairline I know that I am on thin ice when it comes to comments on hairstyles - A lot of players seem to have been sporting a  semi-shaved cut that I can only imagine is a homage to 'the Brazilian' bikini wax. It takes guts to go onto the pitch looking like a tosser, even worse if you play like one - I guess that in years to come they will look back at the footage and cringe in the same way as we all do when confronted by the folly of our youth.

Unfortunately the off field scandals have rumbled on throughout the tournament, fortunately the quality of the football has temporarily diverted the attention from them, but there are still a great many issues that football's governing body needs to address. The awarding of the 2022 tournament to Qatar, corruption within FIFA, match fixing allegations and the cost of staging the tournament. Is it any wonder that Sepp Blatter is roundly booed at every game he chooses to attend. How can he stand up and say that FIFA will investigate the corruption within its own organisation? That surely has to be done by an independent body.

I'm not sure about the conundrum that is Luis Suarez, a great player, compelling to watch but a total liability. This is the 3^rd biting incident during his playing career and I really wonder if the fine and ban imposed on him would have been different if the perpetrator had not had such a high profile in the game. I can't help feeling that a player from the 4^th tier of football would have been banned from game for life while, had the biting occurred anywhere other than on a football field he would have faced criminal charges.

Could Suarez now be come the first footballer to have his teeth ensured for more than his feet? Maybe some enterprising promoter could set up a battle 'Suarez v Tyson – Winner eats all'.

Away from the TV I have been following the World Cup via the BBC website and one particular element did get me thinking. Picking your favourite all-time World Cup XI from a pool selected by experts. It was a lot harder than I had thought because there are several ways that you could approach this. The most effective; the most pleasing to watch; the best balance and I dare say you could think of other criteria to take into consideration.

I have tried to pick a team that from players that I have enjoyed watching over the years and that I believe could play as a cohesive unit. This inevitably has meant that I have been unable to find a place for several of my favourite players but, for posterity, here is my selection for the All-time World Cup XI as well as a Team of the tournament based on the performances that I have seen so far in this World Cup.

All-Time World Cup XI

Dino Zoff (Italy)
Roberto Carlos (Brazil)
Paulo Maldini (Italy)
Franz Beckenbauer (Germany)
Bobby Moore (England)
Jairzinho (Brazil)
Garrincha (Brazil)
Zinedine Zidane (France)
Miroslav Klose (Germany)
Johan Cruyff (Netherlands)
Pele ((Brazil)

Cafu was ruled out for the worst piece of theatricals, Maradona for cheating; Miroslav Klose gets the nod ahead of Gerd Muller on the basis that I can't remember seeing Muller moving anywhere other than inside the penalty box and Cristiano Ronaldo is omitted on grounds that he has never really brought his right boots to the World Cup. 
 

It would have been nice to have found a place for Eusebio and Zico but I would probably go with Platini as reserve, if it was only possible to play with 1 substitute.

2014 World Cup XI

Ochoa (Mexico)
Omeruo (Nigeria)
Hummels (Germany)
Marquez (Mexico)
Zabaleta (Argentina)
James (Columbia)
Valbuena (France)
Pirlo (Italy)
Robben (Netherlands)

Van Persie (Netherlands)
Messi (Argentina)


Substitutes:

Howard (USA)
Beasley (USA)
Cuadrado (Columbia)
Feghouli (Algeria)
Musa (Nigeria)

Muller (Germany)

Who would I pick to go on and win the cup? As I mentioned I don't think any team is playing particularly well at present, but the usual suspect have managed to force their way through to the quarter-final stage. For the sake of the tournament I would like to see Brazil make it to the final; I am not convinced that the Dutch have the temperament to go all the way and could well 'bottle it' under pressure. The romantic in me would like to see Columbia or Costa Rica take the title but I think the Germans have the experience that could see them sneak through and win it, even if they are playing poorly.

Separated at birth

Eurovision Song Competition

I was surprised to read this week one erstwhile commentator  state that the Eurovision Song Contest has evolved; I’m not sure on what premise they base this observation. As far as I can see it is still as safe, staid and homogenised as the monarchy. The only thing that intrigues me is that it still has the ability to attract such a huge viewing audience in days when there are so many alternative sources of entertainment.

I grew up during a period when the competition was still in its infancy. I was never a fan of the music but since when has the competition ever been about the music. Perhaps part of the success stemmed from the naive belief that anything foreign was seen to be exotic, and I question whether it would ever have attracted such interest were it not for the fact that there were only two  television channels in this country at the time.

It is surprising just how little has changed over the years, albeit that there are more countries than ever taking part.  The show’s presenters still have that pained expression of ‘what the heck do I do next’ and ‘how can I be spontaneously witty in 20 different languages’. There is still a lot of chiffon, dry ice, pyrotechnics and enough makeup to keep Boots stocked for a week. By and large the songs still follow the same formulaic pattern of plinky-plink catchy or folksy ballads. Then  there is the proud procession of musical arrangers / conductors who queue up for their 15 minutes of fame with optimistic (smug) grins before the annual farce of political point scoring that is supposed to produce a worthy winner. 

If one was to be kind you would have to say that the judging is about the only thing in the competition that has evolved, mainly due to changes in the political climate and the expansion to include more countries. These days it is little more than an opportunity for allies to exchange favours no matter what quality the performance, or settle old scores with enemies that have lasted for centuries.

Each year seems to throw up one  or two oddities where some brave country  tries to step away from convention by entering  a gimmick rather than a song. In the past we have had mime artists, jugglers, punks, dancers,  groups of old ladies and a band that looked like they had come straight from the set of a ‘Mad Max’ movie.   This year  we are to be treated to  a bearded lady from Austria and a boy band on a trampoline from Greece.

Maybe it is a sign of age that I quite liked the unpredictability of the early years, the fact that  it was in black and white with cameras a fair old distance from the stage and the uncertainty of telecommunication links. I can’t say that I am a great fan of modern camera techniques and I don’t really want to see an artist’s nasal hair in high definition on my TV screen.

 I remember back in the 70s and 80s when contestants needed to release versions of their entry in several languages in order to benefit from international sales following the competition. Nowadays a great number of the entries choose to perform their songs in English, which seems to be the lingua franca. This I feel is a pity because I quite liked it when there were so many other languages to listen to. Part of the appeal to me was not understanding the language and having  to create my own words to the song based purely on intonation and facial expressions. I would have loved to have seen the ‘’Finnish’ entry win with what I took to be  a durgy ode to a lettuce or the ‘Turkish’ duo whose ‘ballad of their lost dog’ would have received my vote.

As far as I can see the greatest evolution in the 60 years of this competition has been the level of hype. Though this may increase year on year sadly the quality of the entertainment  has not improved significantly and I for one will be reaching for a good book and giving the TV a wide berth tonight.