The ultimate catch

Fortunately throughout my life I have never been someone who has given much thought to their age. Why should I? There is nothing I can do about it. There may have been times when I had wished I had been a little bit older, so that I may have enjoyed more of the 60s music scene or younger so that I could still be playing as much sport as I used to do, but overall I am pretty satisfied with the hand that I have been dealt.

That said, a friend and I were recently debating the favourite county cricket matches which we had seen in our teens. I casually mentioned how I was looking forward to spending the odd day or two reliving those times slumped in a deckchair, with thermos and sarnies watching the county games in my retirement. Not only did it dawn on me that retirement is now considerably closer than I had realised but the way the game is going there may very well be no proper county cricket played by the time I do pack up the day job. From delight to despair in a matter of seconds.

It is understandable that the bean counters should want to maximise the revenue from the 20-20 game but the 5 day test match is to my mind the blue riband of cricket and the only way players can learn how to play that type of game is through playing the 3 day game.

I still enjoy the one day game and I can appreciate the 20-20 version as a spectacle but I don't like the pyjamas and razzamattaz that goes with it. Each of the versions of the game has their own set of technical demands and strategies and not every player is capable of adapting their game to suit each discipline. It is a bit like expecting a derby runner to win the Grand National or Usain Bolt to be equally as adept at running the marathon.

In my club cricketing days we used to put a team into the evening knockout tournament which was a 20 over cup competition for clubs in the area. As both player and spectator it was always enjoyable to be play on a beautiful ground on a warm July evening while watching the sunset. Availability apart no club could ever play their full 1^st XI and in our case there were at least 2 players who were deemed ineligible for selection on grounds that the game would be over before they had finished kitting themselves up with their usual array of liniments, bandages and additional padding.

This conversation has played on my mind for several days now and though it has been great to rekindle the memories of watching my boyhood heroes there is a nagging doubt in my mind that there will be a yawning gap in my retirement if I can't perambulate the boundary and sit in the sun listening to the thud of ball on willow. 

 

Where is the love?

May has been a strange month with quite a few stories catching my eye for all sorts of reasons – apart from scratching the head and blinking a couple of times to confirm what I have read the thought has crossed my mind most frequently in the past few weeks has been ‘Where is the love?’.

After one of the most lack-lustre, over-hyped and elongated elections ever the UK now has the government that it deserves. Not that I think that any particular party deserved to win on merit, but someone had to and there is a lot to be said for better the devil you know. The faces may have changed but the key issues are the same as they have always been, no one has come up with any radical solution to tackle any of the problems because any proposal for radical change is tantamount to political suicide.

At least we no longer have the ‘love-in’ between David Cameron and Nick Clegg but doubtless we will witness the tories going out of their way to embrace the SNP following their overwhelming success north of the border. Yes, there are probably a number of things that they could control better in Scotland but  I sense an element of ‘having one’s cake and eating it’. The tail seemingly wants to wag the dog from Scotland in the same way that Cameron wants to wag the European dog from Westminster – neither work for me.

The tories may have scraped in with a small majority but I do not get that cosy feeling of welcoming back an old friend, more a distant relative who has shown up on the doorstep unannounced.

Fall out from the election means that both the Liberal Democrats and Labour will be seeking to appoint new leaders. If you  are not already turned off by politics then you have a Summer of electioneering ahead that will last up to the start of the party conferences in September.

A story that has attracted much press attention is the arrival, and departure, of Kevin Pietersen. The England Cricket team’s dismal performance in the World Cup was followed by a similarly woeful performance in the recent test series in the West Indies. Paul Downton and Peter Moores being the sacrificial scapegoats for underachievement, with Andrew Strauss taking over the mantle of Director of Cricket at the ECB.

Having made clear his desire to return to the England fold Kevin Pietersen was advised by the ECB to get back to playing for a county side and start scoring runs again.  He duly rejoined Surrey instead of going to the lucrative Indian Premier League and announced his return with a career-best unbeaten 335 in a championship game against Leicestershire. Andrew Strauss, who famously fell out with KP then announced that there would be no place for him in the test setup because of ‘Trust issues’. Not surprisingly KP booked the next flight to India only to be ruled out through injury.

In the next few months England have 2 test matches against an in form New Zealand side followed by the Ashes series against Australia. None of the present England team have demonstrated any real consistency this season and devoid of confidence the side will do well to make any headway in either series.

I am not the greatest KP fan but on his day he can be one of the most destructive batsmen around and no opposing team would relish seeing his name on the team sheet.  He also draws the crowds in a way that few others can, at a time when interest in the game is on the wane.

There have always been mavericks in cricket, sometimes it has been difficult to accommodate them within a team but in this instance the situation should be fairly clear cut – in a stuttering side that has woefully under-performed you need to pick the best players available and for that reason I feel that he should have been given his recall.

Maybe he was misled by the cricketing authorities, maybe he wasn’t, the fact remains that the handling of the whole issue has brought further shame on the ECB when they are already under pressure to turn around performances.

Joking, Pietersen himself suggested he should apply for the vacant position of England coach – now there is a thought.

Elsewhere in sport, Chelsea cruised to the Premiership title, much to the disgust of many football purists while the relegation of Burnley from the league elicited a great deal of sympathy given the high standard of entertainment they brought to the league this season. Statistics would suggest that Chelsea were as productive and entertaining as any of the other clubs in the league, just goes to show that success doesn’t guarantee you popularity.

Possibly feeling the love – 3 of the most respected role models in English football bid their farewells to the Premiership at the end of the season - Frank Lampard and Steven Gerrard depart these shores for America’s MSL while Brad Friedel hangs up his gloves at the age of 43. 

Not feeling the love?   Preston North End fans must be delighted to reach the League One Play-off Final at Wembley against Swindon. 30,000 fans are likely to make the trip to Wembley on 24^th May but unfortunately none of them will be able to travel by train due to scheduled engineering work by Virgin Trains – who by coincidence happen to be the official shirt sponsor of the Lancashire club. 

The emergency aid teams around the world seem to be have had even more responsibility than usual placed upon them. Apart from the ongoing demands for their services in areas of conflict and famine they have struggled to come to terms with the devastating effect of the recent earthquakes in Nepal that has killed more than 9,000 people, injured more than 19,000 and left  millions without shelter.

The month has also seen a horrendous loss of life among refugees fleeing across the Mediterranean  Sea in overcrowded boats, trying to take advantage of the calmer waters at this time of year. The EU is being stretched to breaking point trying to accommodate the influx of people prepared to risk their lives in the hope of finding a better life in an EU country that is ill equipped to care for such numbers or prevent the illegal transportation by people traffickers. Not wanted in their own country, not welcome in a new country – definitely not feeling the love.

Another story that caught my eye was the fact that while the development of cars that drive themselves is progressing at pace it is not permitted to produce records that show the number of incidents involving driverless cars or the extent to which these vehicles have been damaged or caused damage to others. All things considered I should still be around to enjoy being chauffeured around the country in my dotage by a robot. I still believe there is a fair way to go before this can become reality and it doesn’t fill me with confidence when companies are reticent about how efficient or reliable the cars have been. Imagine what the world would be like if humans were not required to report or record their driving indiscretions.

A party political broadcast on behalf of The Unelectables – or Who cares who wins?

So game is on and the election battle is off to a rip roaring yawn. The most closely fought contest since the … the last one.

The fact is that the major issues remain the same, as do the stock answers. The health service, the economy, immigration, education, housing, transport and pensions have always been the key concerns, always have been, always will be. The bottom line is that we all want utopia, there is only so much money in the pot and it all comes down to how the spoils from the pot is divided. Fundamentally there are more problems than there are solutions and it comes down to politicians to put whatever spin and window dressing on the situation they can to make their party look different from the rest. The election run in is not the for radical thinking so my guess is that we are in for another mud-slinging contest.

I would no more wish to be a politician than stick my head in a kitchen blender, far too much finger wringing, back stabbing and baby kissing for my likes, however in the spirit of contention I would like to put forward my own thoughts of what I would like to see in a manifesto. Not that I expect that my proposal would be adopted because it wouldn’t work, proposals seldom do, but at least it would be a more entertaining debate than the usual fodder.

My proposal would be to extend the day from 24 hours to 26 hours which would not only produce a variety of benefits, which I shall outline, but also go a long way to solving some of the unanswered questions to the key concerns listed above.

This may seem like a ludicrous idea though I do believe it does have a number of merits.

It would need to be a 2 hour increase so that you could spilt am and pm into whole numbers.

An additional 10 hours to the working week would bring a boost to the economy through productivity and taxes. Those in employment could see a rise in their income of up to 30%, while this will also be an opportunity to create thousands of new jobs. More money in our pockets with more time to spend it.

Those who like to party will have more time to do so, while those who claim they do not get enough sleep will get longer in bed.

There would be the equivalent of an additional 28 shopping days till Christmas, giving us more time to ponder what to buy our loved ones. If like me you struggle with this task the good news is that we will have fewer Christmases and birthdays in the future.

The extra 2 hours will give the government an opportunity to cram ever more ridiculous demands into an already overcrowded school curriculum and more time for students to complete their homework.

Students staying on longer at school should see an improvement in grades and there should be a welcome decrease in youth unemployment.

With the extra 2 hours even the most inept transport provider should be able to ensure that their buses or trains run to schedule. The potential for staggering journey times should lead to a drop in road congestion. It should also free up slots in the air reducing the need for a new runway at Heathrow Airport.

It will mean that patients will spend fewer days in hospital, freeing up much needed beds. The average pregnancy will be 3 weeks shorter than at present. The number of work days lost due to sickness will drop. Hospital waiting times will be shorter and those on daily tablets will not have to take their medication for so long, reducing the NHS drugs bill.

Those who believe that the legal system is too lenient on criminals can take heart from the fact that sentences will now be longer.

One of the biggest problems that this country faces is that there are more of us living longer lives. Increasing the length of the day addresses this problem by ensuring that life expectancy, which also helps reduce the pensions bill and the demand for home care for the elderly.

Some may view a shorter life expectancy as a negative factor but on the positive side we will not age as quickly, so no one will be worse off.

Assuming that most people will continue to eat 3 meals a day, increasing the length of the day by 2 hours should see no, or minimal, increase in our food bill which would effectively mean that the cost of our weekly shop would go down and this would reduce the effects of obesity in society.

As I see it, there are 2 downsides to this proposal, for the situation to work it would require the rest of the world to adopt the same option and extend their day. This may not be beyond the realm of possibility given that most of the other countries are in a similar financial mess and have just as few ideas of how to get out of a crisis.

The other concern is the impact it would have on nature. This again is possibly not so problematic. Climate changes would be largely unaffected but items such as bird migratory patterns and crop growth may. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your view, modern techniques have already dealt with timing issues for milk, seed and egg production. As for the birds and the flowers, well they are probably already confused by our fickle weather conditions but nature is very dynamic and adaptable so maybe the impact of any change would be minimal.

In the longer term there would be a changing of the seasons which could bring further challenges that may work in our favour. Heatwaves in November might expand the tourism market, removing the bottleneck for July and August breaks. It may also mean that our highly paid golf professionals who seem to play a disproportionate number of tournaments in exotic places where the sun always shine may find themselves on waterlogged or windswept greens in the middle of July. It would be nice to see how they get on in conditions more suited to the enthusiastic amateur.

There might be problems with future Winter Olympics being held in Summer conditions, but if they can hold the Soccer World Cup in Qatar in December then perhaps this will not be an issue. Personally I would look forward to seeing the ski jump turned into a water slide though I suspect that will never happen.

Doubtless there will be detractors who will be argue that it will mean the demise of the traditional clock. We are living in a digital age, changing the watch face should not be too difficult. There will be campaigns to keep the grand time pieces such as ‘Big Ben’ – you mean the ‘Big Ben’ at the crumbling halls of Westminster, the one that would probably disappear if parliament was ever relocated? Decimalisation saw us change from the old £-s-d to new pence yet the value of the pound did not change overnight, why should changing from 24 to 26 hour days be any more difficult?

That just leaves the housing shortage and immigration issues to be tackled, both far too complex for me to contemplate in my lifetime no matter how long the day is.

Cockup on the catering front

The papers over the past week have been dominated by the latest exploits to besmirch the BBC's flagship motoring programme 'Top Gear'. A programme in which 3 middle-aged petrolheads get to play with insanely expensive, fast cars and live out their teenage fantasies by undertaking puerile stunts in exotic locations.

In the latest escapade to hit the headlines Jeremy Clarkson was involved in 'a fracas with a producer' at a North Yorkshire hotel, where the crew had been filming for the latest series.

This may be seen as another welcome opportunity for the BBC bashers to mount an assault on the corporation though I would prefer to view it as a welcome distraction of budget leaks and the preliminary jousting in the run up to the election.

According to witnesses at the North Yorkshire hotel Jeremy Clarkson launched into an expletive-ridden tirade against programme assistant-producer, Oisin Tymon, in which punches were thrown. It would seem that the trigger for the dust-up came when it was learned that there was no hot food prepared for the team upon their returned from a day's filming in Newcastle. To Jeremy's credit he did take the initiative and inform his bosses of the incident but given his previous history of bad behaviour the BBC found they had little option but to suspend him pending an inquiry.

Not only has his suspension been raised in the House of Commons but there is a 900,000+ names petition calling from the BBC to re-instate the 54 year-old.

The Top Gear programme is worth an estimated £50m thanks to the show and DVD rights which presents the BBC, who own the rights to the programme, with something of a dilemma. Rumour is that he set to walk away from the BBC, to set up a similar programme with a rival broadcaster.

In most walks of life throwing a punch at a fellow worker is a disciplinary offence, if not grounds for instant dismissal for gross misconduct.

Equally, you don't need to be boardroom material to know that it is wrong to reprimand a colleague in public.

Maybe there had been a 'cockup on the catering front' but publicly lambasting the person delegated responsibility for such arrangements will not get you a hearty meal any quicker. Perhaps if he had channeled his frustration into finding an alternative eaterie then all this stupidity could have been avoided.

In the words of the Chinese proverb 'Hungry man who stands in field with mouth open must wait many moons for Peking duck to fly in'.

In one aspect I do have a certain sympathy for Jeremy Clarkson; whatever medication the observer who compared this latest indiscretion to the Jimmy Savile scandal is on should have it removed post haste as it is clearly is not working. About the only thing that these 2 stories have in common is that they are both embarrassing to the BBC.

For all the corporations faults it remains one of the greatest shop windows for creative talent. To be part of a successful show opens the doors to so many other opportunities – book deals, merchandising, repeat fees, guest appearances and future projects, to name but a few. There are few companies or other professions that offer such rewards or allow their employees to pursue their own career path with such diversity.

To work for any broadcaster is a privilege that should be treated with respect. History is littered with 'stars' who considered their individual contribution to be greater than the needs of their employer and have paid the price for their behaviour.

There is talk that there could be no Top Gear without Jeremy Clarkson – You mean, just as there could be no 'Strictly' or 'Generation Game' without Bruce Forsyth or no 'Have I got news for you' without Angus Deayton – rest assured, no star is bigger than the show, in the same way that no footballer is bigger than the club they play for. Performers may have a valid reason for leaving a successful show but to have to leave a show because of unsavoury behaviour, having worked so hard to achieve that success is sheer lunacy.

Jeremy Clarkson is no fool and should be well aware that he has crossed the line on this occasion. Would he have become the multimillionaire he is without the exposure presented to him by the BBC, I very much doubt it. Will other stations welcome him? Almost certainly, he is still a big draw, some may even see his 'edginess' as a benefit to a programme. 

 

He may have wanted some humble pie on the night, he may not get a chance to eat it at this stage. If it all does go wrong for him he could always go and work for Dave, they may well have big gaps in their schedules to fill, then they may just as easily fill them with repeats of their repeats.

Bemused, bewildered and befuddled.

Having reached a stage in life where I have had to come to terms with hair growing in places that have hitherto served no other purpose than lend a certain symmetry to my face. It would seem that the growth of hair from ears and nostrils is inversely proportional to the recession on my scalp. This in itself has come as no great shock though I am more perplexed by the transformation on my legs. In my youth I fear I could have been mistaken for a hobbit, such was the abundance of hair on my feet and shins but just as the years have crept up on me so has the hair on my lower extremities. I guess it is one more of life's great imponderables of which there seems to be an abundance at the moment.

Britain has announced this week that it is at the forefront of technology in trialling driverless cars which probably signifies that we will be at the bottom of the league within 15 years having sold off the rights to any breakthroughs we may make to foreign competitors. This caught my eye because I am toying with the idea of replacing my car. It may be many years away but the thought of being able to drive from London to Edinburgh and sleep most of the way is quite appealing though I am not sure that I would be too confident relying on computer technology alone to control the vehicle. Perhaps it is not such a bad idea given that 70% of all road accidents are attributed at least partially to human error. To all intents and purposes there is no real need for a pilot to fly a plane, then there is not so much traffic in the air and it will be a brave airline that would wish to be the first to dispense with their flight crew.

Quite apart from the technology is the way in which this form of transport may be used. In this age of litigation the ramifications for the insurance industry would be huge. Who would be to blame? Who would you sue? By the time you have finished reading this article I would imagine that there is some embryonic business ready to target those who have been injured by these vehicles or mis-sold such insurance. It would be nice to see this technology used for public transport but considering that the technology would be designed to avoid pedestrians how would a vehicle know whether a pedestrian was an obstacle or waiting for a 'bus'?

Another story in the public eye that has perplexed me is the trial of Dominique Strauss-Kahn, former chief of the International Monetary Fund and one-time potential candidate for the French Presidency who is on trial in Lille accused of helping to procure sex workers for a hotel prostitution ring. He told the court 'I am one of the world's most powerful men. Many people wanted to please me. Women have offered themselves to me ten times. It is nothing unusual to me'. What I can't understand is how he can claim that he was unaware that these girls were being paid to provide services at these parties. What did he think they were doing, tagging along for the champagne and Ferrero Rocher? They may have been there to bonk a banker but it would seem from the trial that the bankers were too busy doing what they normally do, shaft everyone else.

Someone else paying the price for abusing their power this week is Heather Cho, the daughter of Korean Air boss, Cho Yang-ho, who has been jailed for a year having forced one of the South Korean national airline jets to return to the gate at New York last December and offloaded a steward because she was unhappy with the way he served her nuts in the first class section of the plane.

She was prosecuted on charges of breaking aviation law, assault and interfering in an investigation.

There is a great deal of unease in South Korea about the power wielded by a number of family-owned and run conglomerates. It may be that the humiliation is a bigger penalty than the prison sentence.

Sadly all too often power, money and corruption seem to go hand in hand. No chance for me then, money and me are no more than passing acquaintances and even the cat ignores what little authority I claim to have.

Sorry to read that the Fire Service are bracing themselves for an epidemic of 999 calls following the release of the '50 shades of Grey', the film version of the erotic best seller. Funny that, one minute they are wanting to strike over changes to their pension package then suddenly they have no problem filling shifts when it comes to freeing couples who have had unfortunate accidents with handcuffs or vacuum cleaners.

2 other wonderful pieces of disjointed government thinking – the tories want reduce benefit payments to those who claim they are too overweight or dependent on drink/drugs to leave the house. Trying to force them into work through poverty isn't going to work, especially for those who are so overweight that the only way that they can physically get out of the house is with emergency services assistance. And in another piece of inspired thinking it has been suggested that schools should be including 'happiness classes' in their overstretched curriculum. Maybe if they put more emphasis on teaching pupils their multiplication tables in year 1 instead of by year 6 then they wouldn't be so stressed out and in need of 'happiness classes'.

While I continue to ponder the perplexities and injustices that punctuate our strange existence it is worth remembering that not every cloud has a silver lining and there will always be someone worse off than you – somebody out there is going to have to live with the knowledge that the first record they ever bought was 'Mr. Blobby'. Now that was a crime against humanity. 

 

What a shower!

So, a group of boneheads have deduced from their research that over half of school children do not take a shower after PE lessons. How many hours and countless pounds of taxpayers money has gone into that wonderful piece of science? You do not have to be a parent to know that most kids have a natural aversion to soap and water. Maybe their time would have been better spent assessing the eyesight and maths skills of the PE instructors. My old teacher was the doggie's doodahs with a stopwatch but the doggie's doodoos when it came to reading the time. Consequently most classes were only ever allotted 3 to 5 minutes to shower, change and get to the next class. Even if there had been time to shower we would still have needed to run the length of the building plus 4 flights of stairs just to reach the next classroom, where we would collapse in a pool of sweat. Usually our class numbered 24 (less 3 or 4 on sick notes or who had forgotten their gym kit), a shower area that could accommodate 8 pupils – you do the maths. Even allowing for the fact that none of us would be lingering in a freezing cold shower there was never enough time to remove the grime from bodies.

I don't think it was that the school boiler was rubbish I just don't believe that the school had thought about connecting it to the gymnasium, though given the close proximity of the gym to the plant room this may have been a conscious decision by the school governors.

It wasn't the stale sweat that irritated it was the particles of dust that were kicked up by our exercise which glued themselves to our scrawny bodies like sandpaper. For a group of testosterone filled kids we were quite tolerant of the collective stench as we sat scratching throughout the next 40 minutes of the lesson. Many of the teachers had served in the trenches so they were pretty much immune to our discomfort.

Ours was not the modern high tech equipment that schools have these days, the mats were usually damp, the ropes worn smooth and greasy, the pommel horse threadbear and the medicine balls may have once been used by Hippocrates. The principle aim was to make us all fitter, not sure that running around filling our lungs with copious amounts of rancid dust really achieved anything.

I can't remember any of us being ordered to 'do' gym in our underpants though there were occasions when the loan of kit between friends threw up some interesting spectacles.

I really wish that someone would explain to me the necessity of participating in gym in just a pair of skimpy shorts in deepest winter is obligatory when from April onwards singlets or t-shirts are required.

As you may have already discerned I attended a single sex private school at a time when shower gel had not been invented and soap, like the showers, came in blocks. No warm cubicles, hairdriers, aloe vera scented soaps, lockers or mirrors. Combs were simply sticks of pliable plastic to be used for flicking the unsuspecting behind the ear or grinding the teeth into blackboards.

Being a private school we also had playing fields which gave the staff an excuse to force us to make use of them by participating in a variety of sports. The Winter sport was rugby, a game on which I was keen though hampered by a diminutive stature and lack of any propensity to violence. Consequently I found myself assigned to the group of misfits who got to play on the worst pitch, which was invariably little more than a lake of mud. One of my school reports made mention of me possessing 'a cultured left foot', a plaudit I happily accept on the basis that no other part of my body or persona has ever been described as 'cultured'. Sadly, the pitch was not designed for the kicking game. No matter how hard or well I punted the ball it would simply plop meekly into the mud and stay there, usually to be followed by 20 or more guys who would similarly plop into the mud and stay there until one of them managed to drag or kick it out.

My mum was convinced that the school kit was selected for maximum absorption, I would come off the pitch a stone and a half heavier than I had walked on, weighed down by the extra mud. It is no laughing matter when you are only 7^1/₂ stone and you have to carry your sodden kit and your schoolbag back on a crowded train.

The only good thing to be said for the grading based on ability was that the worst group were normally the first to be allowed to leave which meant we were the first to get to the shower block, a distinct advantage given the shortage of space and the temperamental water supply.

Usually by the time I reached the showers I was too caked in mud to care about what other people were up to. Generally there was at least one teacher hovering around though they were usually too sensible to come anywhere near the great unwashed. Who knows what was going on in their tiny minds, cloaked behind their perceived mask of indifference. Occasionally there would be a bellow that someone had chosen to depart the scene before fully removing the mud from their body and they would be ordered to return (by now we were thinking 'Home Time' and one needed to take train times into consideration). Maybe the masters were sizing up a suitable buttock for a future caning or maybe they were checking for any incriminating scarring that might be picked up by an alert parent but I would like to think that most of the time the teachers were there simply to umpire the numerous wet towel fights that invariably broke out as pupils waited their turn to use the showers.

One game I recall, which never really appealed to me, stemmed from the fact that the floor of the shower block was flat, smooth and very wet – ideal for skimming along on your backside. It has to be said that those who seemed to throw themselves fully into this extra-curricular activity were usually the same boys who would slide down the studded bannisters. For me, the risks of injury to my nether region outweighed any possible gratification but each to their own.

Invariably I would pick up several cuts during the game where people had tried to kick lumps out of me (a favour I would generally return). It always seemed to take forever to wash the mud out of the cuts and usually hurt a lot. You also needed to be wary of where you got changed in the first instance. Being a creature of habit I had my favourite place to sit, something I have tried to maintain throughout my sporting career. Partly this is down to superstition but equally important is the routine of psyching myself up before whatever game it is I am playing. At school though there are were other concerns to be addressed. Too close to one end of the hall and you would get the full benefit of the draft of icy cold air whenever anyone entered or exited the room, at the other end you would be soaked as people trudged back from the shower. The hall relied a lot on skylight so there were certain parts of the room that were quite dark come late afternoon. In most of the places the wooden benches had seen better days and were to be avoided at all costs. You learned very quickly where and where not to sit. I wouldn't ask my mum to remove a splinter from my backside let alone one of my schoolmates so it was quite normal for boys to stand on the benches, away from the mass of muddy clothing that littered the floor and hope they got no more than a splinter in their foot while dressing.

Judging from the actions of many of the exhibitionists at the school I don't think there were too many of them with body image issues. I may have been one of the quiet ones, and yes it would have been nice to be a few inches taller at that age but I never felt that my childhood suffered for not having danced naked on top of the changing racks with my pants on my head.

I feel fortunate that I grew up in an era before the powers that be decided that it would be a good idea to sell off school playing fields; It would have been nice to have had time to wash and dress properly after PE lessons but I don't think I would have been any more inclined to do so had there been free shower gel provided and hot water. It is sad to see that despite all the technological innovations at gyms the school curriculum still makes no provision for logistics. Lessons are of a preset length and no account is taken of the specific needs of individual lessons or the distance between classrooms.

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.