Tiger Woods’ 82 yesterday is being compared with his second worst score as a pro, his 81 at Muirfield. It shouldn’t be.
I was there when Tiger shot that earlier round . . . well, to be accurate I was there when he finished it by birdieing 17 and parring the last. When I saw the storm coming I did the local thing and went home till it passed over, because I knew how bad it was going to be. Tiger couldn’t; he had to play on through the unplayable, in waterproof gear that looked hopelessly unfit for the task in hand. His 81 was probably a couple under par for the conditions and next day he went round in 15 fewer shots.
What I saw in telly last night as he shot his 82 was a man who has lost it beyond redemption. Around the greens he chipped like me; that’s not pretty, and I’m not kidding.
If he ever wins another golf tournament it will be a miracle. Thanks for the memories, Tiger.
I’ve just watched the fantastic last-ball finish of the final of Australian cricket’s fourth Big Bash League. I’m sorry it’s over for another year, but at the same time, I’m pleased to have my mornings back.
All the English players who’ve been in Australia taking part have come home saying the same thing; that domestic cricket has to adopt the franchise system and organise its T20 competition along the same lines as the model that has proved so popular there and in India. As far as I can discern, none of the decision-makers are listening. They’d rather play four-day county games all summer before empty grounds.
News from the front: my political satire, ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow‘, published by Portador Books and available from Amazon and CampbellReadBooks.com, is currently inside the top twenty of the Kindle political fiction list.
Thanks to those who put it there and thanks in advance to those who’ll help push it higher. All it takes is a couple of clicks; links to the right, on this page.
I drove through Figueras the other day, behind the biggest bull-dozer cum excavator I have ever seen on any public highway. Overtaking was impossible; it took up a full lane and part of another, with its driver sitting on top, encased in a perspex box.
It must have been bloody difficult to drive, even more so since the guy was on the phone all the way.
In Scotland, BT is my internet provider. I run my email though a separate Gmail account, but the BT package comes with a built in email address. I have never used it, and yet it has been hacked three times, and used to send spam mail. ‘How can this be?’ you ask. Well, it seems that the BT account automatically copies my Gmail contacts, and uses them.
After the first incident I deleted all contacts from the account, but the damn thing went and did it again.
Finally after the third hacking, I went into the BT system and closed the email account; I took the address out of play altogether. Or so I thought. This morning, that deleted account was hacked again. I don’t know what to do any more, and I’m stuck with the infuriating problem, since I’ve just renewed with them for another year.
So here’s my message. Be as entranced as you like by Simon and all the other twats in the BT tv ads. Be as sold as you like on the Superfast, To Infinity and Beyond service that they offer. But never forget this. BT Internet security is bloody useless.
My thanks to everyone on the staff of the the CAP in L’Escala, and the ER in Figueras Hospital who dealt so well and so swiftly with the consequences of Eileen’s accident yesterday. Now she has a plaster on her broken foot and will be on crutches until it’s time to go back to Scotland, but compared to last year it’s minor.
Anyone who hasn’t seen it but has the opportunity to watch the replay today’s Australian Big Bash League game should put everything else aside. Tightest finish I’ve ever seen to a game of cricket, and maybe the tightest ever.
The BBC (Health warning; it’s Nick Robinson) is reporting that David Cameron is refusing to participate in TV debates during the General Election unless the Green Party is given a place also.
I have two comments to make about that.
One, Cameron is trying to sabotage the debates because it has finally dawned on the simpleton that he has absolutely nothing to gain from them and everything to lose.
Two, the Green Parties in England and Wales and in Scotland are separate entities, under separate leadership. Since you can bet that DC does not envisage both Natalie Bennett and Patrick Harvie (especially not Patrick Harvie) taking part, his reported stance undermines completely the cosy consensus that has been cobbled together by the Tories, Labour, and Lib Dems to exclude Nicola Sturgeon from the TV line-up.
There are few certainties about May 7, but one is that the SNP will wind up with many more seats than the Greens. In all probability it will form a larger parliamentary bloc than UKIP. Even my fair-minded friends on the No side of the independence question might agree with me that something stinks about the whole proposition.
I’ve been following the Ched Evans case, and I can’t help feeling that somewhere the legal process has got it wrong. There are some professions from which a rape conviction would mean an automatic life ban, but in most it’s left to society to sort out what is acceptable and what is not. The way things stand, Evans is free to pursue employment, but doors are being slammed in his face, largely by potential employers’ commercial sponsors.
That’s fair enough, but should it have been left to them? Couldn’t the sentencing judge have imposed a penalty that included a fixed term ban from working in any profession with or alongside any person under 21? That would have been devious but effective.
Echoes of the Outlaw Roadshow – Counting Crows. I’m back in Spain for a few weeks, working, and at the stage where I have a lunch break, then start again. Today’s interval choice as I sat in the sun, (sorry) was the most recent live album by my favourite still-working American band, but here’s how disciplined I was. I only allowed myself the first three tracks.
Watching Jools. What am I missing about Paloma Faith?
Happy New Year, hope mine is as good as yours.
I’m open to suggestions as to what should be done with Katie Hopkins, the more colourful the better.
This from the Football Association in the Dave Whelan case:
The FA Commission said in a statement: “We are satisfied on the evidence before us that Mr Whelan is not a racist.
“We are equally satisfied on the evidence before us that Mr Whelan did not intend to cause any offence by his comments.”
But the commission added that it had to “view the comments objectively and Mr Whelan’s subjective intentions were irrelevant as far the ruling was concerned”.
Okay. Now can anyone explain to me what it means? The way I read it, they’re saying, ‘He isn’t guilty, but we’re still throwing him to the wolves to satisfy the PC brigade.‘
One downer this season; I’m sorry if anyone finds this upsetting but it needs to be told.
There is a story doing the rounds where I live about a house-breaking in a neighbouring village, in the course of which the felons took the family puppy from its cage and killed it.
I find this tale particularly heinous since it comes at a time when Police Scotland seems to be devoting unlimited man-hours to enforcing the new 50mg blood alcohol driving limit.
I am in no way in favour of drunk, or even mildly impaired, driving, but any study will show that victims of housebreakings far outnumber those affected by motorists who are mildly over the limit. In that event, it seems to me that policing priorities are in need of a reappraisal and that the public would be better served by a higher profile in at risk areas, even if it does some at the expense of the breathalyser stats
The unlamented (in my house) departure of the former Justice Secretary gives the Scottish Government an opportunity for a fresh look at crime and punishment. As a first step, and as a matter of urgency, I would like to see the introduction of a mandatory minimum five year no parole tariff for first offender housebreakers, with stepped-up penalties for recidivists.
Happy family Christmas at Chez QJ, enlivened by Rex and his visiting cousin Benjamin, both wondering where all the paper came from but enjoying tearing it apart. I hope all yours went as well as mine.
Does the Scottish Football Association have a secret stash of gold somewhere that enables it to snub a man who is willing to invest millions in its impoverished game? Or is its board just plain crackers? I suspect the latter.