Fun in the Sun!

I guess when it comes to holidays people take a variety of views. Understandable. We don't all think in the same way. Personally, I don't get the default holiday that a lot of people choose - the beach holiday.

What's the point of the beach holiday where people lie in the sun all day exposing their skin to electromagnetic, ultra violet energy in an attempt to turn it a colour that it cannot possibly sustain (well, certainly not sustainable f you possess northern hemisphere genes) for more than a week; a holiday where you lie down all day long telling yourself that you are relaxing when in fact you are actually just about tolerating the effort it takes to keep smothering your body in oily chemicals and removing sand from places it shouldn't be (there are hospital patients who have to lie down all day and would give their eye teeth to be mobile); a holiday where you put on weight, following a sustained effort pre trip to actually lose it, so that you will look good on the beach in swim wear – look good, that is, whilst resembling someone who has just been rescued from an oil slick; a holiday where you don't really sleep at night because, having been singed severely by our nearest star, you feel the need to go out until the early hours with as few clothes on (usually in white) as you can get away with without breaking public decency laws, so you can show off just how tanned (burnt) you are to everyone else who is doing precisely the same thing - wouldn't it be a bit different to go out looking paler than Miss Havisham, thus confounding everyone's great expectations? At least you'd stand out as different; a holiday where you are surrounded by people you wouldn't otherwise give the time of day to (e.g. blokes with tattoos dressed like toddlers) but find yourself joining them, clapping yet another stupid fire-eating act. 

Anyway, it's a view (that's the equivalent of 'just saying', a popular social media phrase).

What's the alternative?

Go skiing! You'll be fast asleep at 9:45pm, and wake up the same colour as when you went to bed – that's proper relaxing! 😏

Oh, and you won't need to spend a small fortune on skin products post trip in a desperate attempt to hang on to that tan that actually starts to fade the moment you exit customs. 

Partner in Crime

It said she was seeking a ‘partner in crime.’ Better than the usual ‘soul mate’ tag, I thought, or ‘sole mate’ as the illiterate and those who live by the sea tend to put.

So I showed up on the date. You never know what to expect, and when I’d asked if she had anything in mind for the evening, she’d simply said, “Perhaps I’ll surprise you.”
I wasn’t quite prepared for the actual surprise. I’d just delivered two glasses of the finest Chianti Classico Il Grigio Gran Selezione 2010 to the wine bar table and had barely had a sip, when she pulled out a mask, a black and white striped t-shirt and a bag with the letters ‘SWAG’ emblazoned across it.
“Put these on,” she said, pushing the mask and shirt across the table.
I stared at the items and, lost for words, I took a swig of my wine (I note now, some while after this episode, that experts say one should never ‘swig’ a Chianti Classico Il Grigio Gran Selezione 2010, but, rather, should sip it gently in order to appreciate its aromatic deep cherry, liquorice tones, hints of leather and spice, and thus savour its rich, sweet fruit, vibrant acidity, and long finish.)
Fortified by my ‘swig’ I tried to hide my surprise. “You’re taking this ‘partner in crime’ thing a bit far,” I said. “What we robbing?”
“Robbing?” she queried, her right eyebrow arched as if she had deliberately chosen to add additional emphasis to her question. “I’ve been invited to a fancy dress bash this evening. I thought you might like to accompany me.”

I necked the remainder of the Chianti Classico Il Grigio Gran Selezione 2010. Who cares what the critics think?! 🍷

Paranoia

I stayed in a hotel recently, just a weekend break. I'd been looking forward to it; an escape from the everyday routine. So the first night involved a bit of social indulgence at the bar.

The next morning I came down from my room, heading for breakfast. A staff member approached me as I walked into the dining area.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you going to breakfast?” she asked.
I stopped and said, “Yes.”
She looked at me. “I need to tick you off.”
Slightly perturbed, I said, “Tick me off?” 
“Yes,” she said.
I mentally scanned the number of Jack Daniels I’d had the night before. “Uh, what have I done?”
“Done? Sorry?” she said.
“Uh, yes. The … err, ticking off thing.” I checked around me. There was a queue forming.
She raised an eyebrow. “Your room, I –”
“My room? It’s fine.” I did a quick mental flit through the room I had just left. Okay, I’d left a towel on the bed, but it seemed fine to me. The room wasn’t trashed. I might want to live like a rock star but I don’t behave like one! I shot a quick glance at the queue to see if I recognised anyone from the previous night, leaned in and whispered, “Yup, it’s all good.”
The staff member raised the other eyebrow. Now they were both parallel. “Good to hear, glad you enjoyed it, sir. Anyway, I just need your room number so I can tick it off to say you’ve attended breakfast.”

Food Hygiene

You know that food hygiene classification that restaurants and bars stick on their doors … the one that rates them between one and five, with five being super duper, you could eat off the frigging floor, and one being ‘even rats won’t dine here.’ Yeah, so, what’s the point of sticking it on your restaurant door unless you get a 5?

You get a 1 rating, game over, it’s bottom of the league by a long shot (see aforementioned rat view). So, you ain’t sticking that on your door. What about a 2? Well, that ain’t happening either ‘cos it suggests that if Sam and Ella booked a table they’d be right at home. Okay, then there's a 3 - hmmm, three is tooo middle of the road, it’s neither Arthur nor Martha (with apologies to the ‘offended’ who might read stuff into that expression that ain’t there). You get a 3, you kind of feel that you could stick the rating label on your door, probably ‘cos your clientele are usually the type that, having downed fourteen pints of 'Stella Act a Twat', show up at 3:00am in the morning after failing to pull in a shit club, and will never complain ‘cos at that time of the morning, they know they have consumed enough alcohol to neutralise viruses, bugs, germs and maybe even Sam and Ella! But, the thing is, YOU know a 3 is not going to get you the clientele your aspirations wanted when you decided to take the pain of the catering trade and opened your food establishment. 

Now we’re on 4s. What do you do? 4 … it ain’t bad but some knobhead is gonna ask why you ain’t a 5. Trust me. They will. You know you gotta step up but you look at your staff and you know they are never gonna get you to a 5. They're going through the motions, clock watchers, corner cutters, don’t see the detail that those who know about ‘surprise and delight’ just get!

So, where does that leave you? Yeah, you know it, only one conclusion - it’s all about about a 5, as a basic. Nothing else matters. Therefore, the whole ‘stick it on your door’ to show your achievements is pointless. If you don’t have a 5 you might as well shut your doors … or open a late night, drunks' takeaway.

Ali v Liston 2

For boxing fans it's a topic that comes up periodically even though the original fight is long past and just a distant memory in the history of heavyweight title fights - the Muhammad Ali versus Charles 'Sonny' Liston, fight 2, on May 25, 1965, in Lewiston, Maine.

This was the rematch following Ali's defeat of the then heavyweight Champion, Liston, almost fifteen months earlier in Miami Beach. That fight sets the context for the second one. Ali, then known as Cassius Clay, was the underdog that nobody expected to defeat the fearsome and intimidating Liston who was the George Foreman/Mike Tyson invincible 'beast' of his day. The fact that Clay stopped Liston in six rounds, Sonny failing to emerge for the seventh, was a shock to the boxing world who thought that Clay was all mouth with no traditional boxing defence and was sure to get a brutal beating. A shock that is to all but Clay himself and his trainer Angelo Dundee. Clay outclassed and mesmerised Liston in that first fight with his speed, reflexes, fast hands, sharp jab and confidence. 

So the stage was set for the rematch. 

Perhaps it was the expectation that had developed over the build up to the first fight that led people to believe the second would be an even contest and consequently the abrupt end in the first round when Ali knocked out Liston after only one minute and forty-four seconds led to the ongoing debate that Sonny Liston took ‘a dive’ and the fight was 'fixed.'

A lot has been said and written about why it could have been fixed and, it seems, many fail to engage in any attempt to analyse the fight action and make the case for a legitimate knockout. So, let's attempt to do just that.

Ali was taller, younger and quicker than Liston and his style was always going to have Sonny chasing the fight whilst getting peppered in the face with shots which is exactly what happened in their first bout. If you imagine yourself in Liston’s boots, that would have been totally discouraging round after round and deplete, not only his energy but also his motivation and willpower. It also dismantled Liston’s aura of monstrous invincibility. So Sonny was probably on the mental backfoot against Ali going into the return bout and the initial postponement, after Ali had to have a hernia operation, probably didn’t help his motivation either.

So, a couple of observations about the second fight. At the opening bell, the same pattern as the first fight was unfolding with Sonny having to go looking for Ali. Then about 40 seconds before the final punch that ended it in round one, Ali caught Liston with a solid overhand right that stopped him moving forward. As for the punch that stopped Liston, the knockout shot, if you compare it to the punch that Andy Ruiz caught Anthony Joshua with on the temple in round 3 of their first fight in 2019, some logic can be applied. Joshua was disorientated by that blow and struggled thereafter. In modern HD viewing it is plain to see, a surprising shot that Joshua did not see coming and one that ‘discombobulated’ him. Joshua went on to lose that fight in seven rounds. Ali’s final overhand right (harder to analyse given TV clarity in the 60s) that caught Liston in more or less the same place on the head, may have had that exact same effect. Liston, coming forward, didn’t see the punch. It struck him in a sensitive part of the head (remember, he’d already been caught with an earlier right to the head that shook him) with devastating impact. So, again, if you put yourself in Liston’s boots, it is interesting. Your focus is on running down an elusive opponent and on working out how to close the gap between you to land a meaningful shot, in Liston’s case, a big 'bomb' that might slow his opponent down and weaken him. So with all that going on, it’s reasonable to assume he didn’t see the fast overhand right (which was thrown with some forward momentum from Ali). 

Another factor often not discussed is that because of some confusion about the count, Ali and Liston continued to fight on for a few moments after the knock down. If Liston was throwing the fight, why attempt to fight on? Also, it would have been more realistic and believable to throw the fight after two or three rounds, but that would also assume that Sonny was in control of the outcome. The pattern of the first fight and the same indications in that brief phase of round one in the second, suggests that Liston was never in control or ever would be against Ali.

It should be noted too that if you look at Ali's career he often threw that overhand right, even when moving backwards, although by positioning his right foot behind the left to pivot on he was able to create stability to 'ground' the shot. (Check out the fight with Zora Foley, for example). 

My point is, it’s too easy to call ‘fix’ (something never proven) without considering other possibilities. Not everything is a conspiracy!

Comms - Keep it Simple.

I was watching an episode of Star Trek (the original TV series) and got to thinking about the communication devices that the crew had. These were the equivalent of our modern day mobile telephones (cell phones, if you are translating this into American) and  depicted in the series long before society had ‘mobiles.’ But it was interesting that these devices, 'Communicators', only had a single function - communication. The creators knew that it was sensible to stick with that one function.

Hence you don’t see Kirk, Spock, Bones, Scotty, Chekov, Uhura or any of the other crew members wandering around constantly looking at their communicators to check for information, stopping to take selfies on the bridge or absentmindedly almost walking into things, or other crew members, whilst they update their status. So these guys were way ahead of their time, creating a communication device that did only that - no photography, banking, bookings, social media, emails... no, just communication. They could not have navigated the many ‘universes’ out there or sought out ‘brave new worlds’ had they been constantly fixated on their communicators, seeking attention for their status. The only status on the Enterprise was the 'status report' often requested by Captain Kirk from Mr Spock.

But in today's self-obsessed world the mobile and the individual's status, or even the status of others, is a fixation. Witness the immediacy with which people grab their mobile phones after an aircraft taxis to a halt just so they can check what they've missed for the past two hours! You might say it's harmless but only yesterday I saw a guy walk out in front of my car just because his attention was entirely on his phone, instead of the potential hazards involved in crossing the road. As I braked sharply to a halt to avoid hitting him I thought of the wisdom of Star Trek's communicator device creators. 

N.B. In not hitting the distracted pedestrian I realise that I deprived him of a selfie moment and a potential FaceBook status update opportunity whilst lying in the road: “Got run over today, lol.”

Back to the Future Past.

People often muse about where they might go or what they might do if they could travel back in time. You get the usual stuff ... you know, shoot Hitler; tip Catherine of Aragon the wink that Henry was having a little mumble with some bint called Anne Boleyn; show up at Wembley Stadium at about 5pm on 30th July 1966 with VAR; have a word with Jackie Kennedy to tell her husband, ‘it’s definitely going to rain later, darling, so let’s put the bubble top on the limo before we do Dealy Plaza,’ and maybe tell the driver to put his foot down as he passes the grassy knoll. 

All good stuff, I guess, but me, I’d go back to 31AD to the Sea of Galilee. Once I was there I’d ask where I could find this Jesus geezer. As soon as I’d been pointed in the right direction I’d introduce myself ...

“Hi. My name's Paddy. I’m not from around these parts ... I’m from, uh ... the future. But I guess you knew that. Phew, warm here, ain't it? I wish I hadn't worn these jeans. Anyway, look, sorry to interrupt your mission. I can see you're busy with these ... err ... multitudes, but I wanted to see if I could get five minutes ... I mean, a chat that is. Sorry, I know you and these twelve good guys don’t have watches ’cos they ain’t been invented yet. Anyway, it’s important.”

Now, Jesus, being the good geezer he was who made everyone welcome, would give me the time of day, so then I’d say ...

“Mate, I’m right on your programme. I agree with everything you say including that camel and eye of a needle thing, which probably confuses some – it had me puzzled for a while, I must admit. As for the love thy neighbour thing, yeah, I get that. I s’pose I’m more used to saying ‘your’ but I get thy mumble. And the poor will enter the kingdom of heaven, I get that too. And I know you’re not dissing the rich when you say that, not like they do back in ... I mean, ahead, in my time. I guess they got just as much chance as the poor to getting in if they, you know, lead a decent life. But, look, sorry, I digress, what I really came for is to ask a favour ... please.”

I am sure Jesus, with his incredible patience would allow me to make my request and I would. So, I'd say my piece ...

“Look, for Christ’s sake ... shit, sorry ... I didn’t mean anyth ... hang on, maybe that’s right ... for your sake, don’t ask Pete over there to start a frigging church! Trust me, they'll create all sort of power dynamics with priests, bishops and all types of charlatans making out they speak in your name. And ... and you know what, they’ll take everything you said and twist it and use it to control people and, frankly, take their money off them in return for doing bugger all! They will threaten people with damnation, indoctrinating little kids, making them fearful. A guilt trip. Making out that your ... your, erm ... well, God will punish them and cast them aside for eternity if they don't do what they say. That’s what’s happened to your message. These people have taken it and used it for their own ends, for power and to control the poor suckers that you're trying to remind about fundamental basic human decency. That’s not what you wanted, is it?”

Then I’d take a breath, worried that I’d hijacked a sermon on the mount or something and then I’d say ...

“Another favour, my friend, if you will. See this bottle of water? You couldn’t dish it up as a nice Chablis, could you? I could use a drink after that lot.”