Some 59 years ago, someone had the idea of arranging an annual celebration of sport, with the Sports Personality of the Year awarded at the end of the transmission. Those of you with a keen eye might notice the emphasis was on personality. Now, I don’t know that many keen sportsmen or women, but my guess that the majority of them are pretty single-minded and that leaves little room for personality. If you look over the years, there have been some very dubious people honoured, elite sportspeople for sure, put for the most part, a personality vacuum.
Take last year’s winner; Mark Cavendish. Nice bloke, great cyclist. Thinks only of getting to the head of the pack 50m from the end get the win. Not that there is anything wrong in that, he is the best sprinter in the world of pro-cycling. But listen to him talk. Talk? Drone more like. Anyway, lets got onto this year……
2012 has been a vintage, if not golden year, for British sport. The glittering centrepiece was the Olympics and Paralympic Games held in London. Then we had a Brit being the top golfer in the world, a Brit winning the US open in tennis, a Brit winning the Tour de France for the first time. Not just winning it, but dominating it.
So the choice was for 11 Olympians or Paralympians and a golfer. Andy Murray and Bradley Wiggins not only won big, they also won their Olympic titles too. Some Olympians won for the forth games in a row, other won double gold, triple gold, quadruple gold. And so on.
So, in this golden year, who would you choose? Bradley? Andy? Mo? Jess? Them and dozens of others deserved to win and yet were not in the 12 strong shortlist. For me there was just winner; 5 years ago cycling was something people did when the tube was on strike. Some went to France in July to see them riders climb a mountain, sometimes a Brit or two took part. In the past decade, we have had stage winners, jersey winners, but the thought of someone from these shore winning…..
Bradley Wiggins is a great cyclist; of that there is no doubt, but he is a student of his sport, he knows the history and those in whose tyretracks he now rides in. He also has a personality and a sense of humour, showed his sense of fun when on the Champs-Élysées having been presented with the trophy, he suggested the massed crowds should now get their raffle tickets out.
The Brits laughed. A lot.
Bradley is also a mod, friends with Paul Weller and loves the music and dresses in a dapper style. Andy Murray, in contrast, sometimes does not cut his hair for six months, and when being interviewed after winning the US Open sounded like his cat had just died.
Bradley won, I think by a landslide, as we seem to know a top bloke when we see one. Jess came second and Andy, third. This is the third successive year that a cyclist won, after Chris Hoy in 2010 and Cav last year. On top of that Dave Brailsford won coach of the year for his work with team Sky and Team GB cycling. And all this after, 5 years ago, Dave persuaded the authorities that if cycling was funded he would deliver a British winner of the Tour in 5 years or less.
Hello and welcome to Denmark. Again.
It is Monday evening, and outside the world is white and grey with a mix of week old snow and fog. Driving up from the airport was interesting, with most of us being sensible, whilst other driving like they could see for miles and miles….
So, this is the last week at work before Christmas, and I have meetings, more travelling and an audit to do on a island between two huge bridges in the strait of Sprogo. But that is for Wednesday and I have to get through security on the island first, which judging by the visitors information could be tricky. Still, I like a challenge…….
I hope to fly back home on Thursday night, on Friday I’m back at the hospital, then one more meeting and then I am free. Maybe even snapping another steam railtour later in the afternoon.
But, back to the weekend.
Saturday was a day filled with trains. Or would have been if there had been more daylight. A steam tour leaving from Ashford heading to Norwich at eight in the morning, and a diesel railtour heading along both the Dungeness and Grain branches. The latter so late in the afternoon meaning the hour or so it would take to get there would be wasted by poor light. But, I thought I would see how I felt after snapping it at Lydd.
In a surprise move, Jools thought that a who day train-chasing might not be fun, and so decided to go to London in the search of shiny beads. We were up at half five and out of the door so I could drop Jools off to catch the quarter to seven train and give me time to get to Pluckley to snap Tornado steaming past.
Pluckley is easy to find, and there was me thinking the station would be in the village. I should have known better, I had been there before and not seen a station. So, I head off up the M20 and then along the A20 from Ashford. Down the road to Pluckley, it still being dark at the point, and once in the village follow the sign to the station. Only there was no sign at the next junction.
I turn left, then right, see another sign, follow that and as I’m crossing a bridge see the lights of the station below. I turned round and found my way to the station car park, then had to wait for 20 minutes until it was train time. So I sat there and watched the rain run down the windscreen. Did I mention it was raining? It was pouring.
And it was dark; did I mention that?
At a quarter to eight, I make my way onto the station, looking at the poor ‘light’ I decide that only the 50mm would do. I stand beneath the footbridge, which offered some shelter, it was getting a bit lighter, but still gloomy. One other photographer came down, he decided to stay by the footbridge, whilst I headed beneath the roadbridge, the view from which meant that the lights from both platforms would offer most illumination.
Ten minutes late we saw the column of smoke, the light at the front of the locomotive. Pluckley stands on one of the longest straights on BR, and so we saw it for a minute before we could hear her working hard. I raised the camera and pressed the shutter. The camera whirred as the engine powered through the station, surprising a couple of old ladies waiting on the platform unaware that a living steam engine was to pass. I got shots, so me good, some not. But under the conditions, I was happy.
I consulted the map for churches, and set off looking for more to snap, even if it wasn’t yet fully light. I ended up in Smarden, which was just waking up. The church was locked, but I snapped the church and a few of the wonderful buildings.
I decided to head to the scene of the second train rendezvous, Lydd in the Romney Marshes. I realised I had not snapped the church their, and I though parking spaces might be of a premium.
Ha!
I say ha, because there was just the two of down by the level crossing waiting for the tour. But anyway, onto the church:
The church is massive, has a huge tower and has the longest naïve in Kent at 199 feet. And I had it to myself. I snap it from every angle, then set off to snap the pubs in the town before heading down to the bridge and level crossing where I hoped to snap the train. I had checked the view on GSV and decided that was the one I wanted with the new freight locomotive and the abandoned station in the background. What I realised was that we could see the locomotive approaching from over a mile away, we could stand on the track, behind the level crossing and see it get closer and closer.
In time we saw the headlights come into view, and then gradually get larger as the train trundled over the tracks. The line is used now only for the transportation of flasks from the two nuclear power stations at Dungeness, one train each way each week. So, a railtour with a dozen carriages was a red letter day. It just seemed that no one knew about it and so we were all along as the train got closer.
As the train drew to a stop the other side of the bridge from us, a local man ran up to us; That’s a passenger train he correctly pointed out.
Yes, we both said.
Are they starting services again?
No, we both said again.
What’s the special occasion?
None, just a forgotten tracks railtour.
We stood there with his young son as the gates were opened and the huge locomotive and carriages inched their way through it, stopping so the man could lock the gates again before setting off towards Dungeness again. And that was it.
I headed back to the car and decided to find a crossing somewhere on the marsh and wait to snap it. The rain began to fall again, so I waited in the car with the tracks in my rear view mirror. As it came into view, I got out and snapped like crazy, as it approached the corssing, corssed it, and headed off into the distance. I was if not soaked, I was damp from the rain, so I thought a pint might warm me up.
I set off for New Romney and called in at The Warren and found, to my joy, they had porter on; a opint of that and a ham sandwich please!
Nom
Nom
Nom
And that was just the beer.
I got to Dover just as Jools got in from London, and so we went back home and decided to cut one of the Christmas cake and have a slice each ‘because we could’. It was wonderful. On the radio Norwich beat Wigan to move up to 7th with 25 points, and apparent safety. Dangerous to think like that, but it’s true.
Sunday, we got up late, had a lazy late breakfast then went out to snap birds down by the castle, we met our friend Brian who was also there; it was he who began to feed the birds there so their tameness is all down to him. Just time to visit more friends, Gary and Julie who have just moved from the village to River, and into town to buy some Christmas cards, and back home for lunch and more cake.
Cake.
And that is how you can make a weekend vanish like a vanishy thing.
Tuesday 18th December 2012.
Hello and welcome to the town of Kosor here in Denmark. I cannot tell you what the town is like, other than a sprawl of modern offices and this modern hotel. The rest was lost in the dark, as was the ten mile long bridge which spans the great belt joining the two parkes of Denmark together with two grand suspension bridges.
I arrived here at about five, and it had been dark for nearly two hours, or as near dark it don’t matter a jot. I drove over from Randers after a morning of meetings and struggling with various IT problems. For the last 70 miles here, I drove along roads that were new to me, and in truth the landscape was just the same, rolling farmland with the occasional scattered towns and villages, all sprinkled with month old grey snow. It could be worse, as I believe I have said on many occasions.
So, I am staying in a nice room in a wing of this massive hotel, all apparently staffed by one woman on the desk. The service is good, and the food was good too. I had lobster soup followed by aged steak and rounded off with cheese. All washed down by two bottles of Fur; a local brew made on some nearby island. It did it for me anyway.
And I am now back in my room, listing to a podcast of yesterday’s Radcliffe and Maconie show on the i-player. Isn’t the modern world wonderful?
All the times I travel over to Denmark, I don’t have any local money as I can charge everything to the company credit card. That is all very well until I have to pay road tolls, which has not happened. Until today. Despite being assured that the tolls on the bridge took cards, I had a crisis of confidence and began to stop of at service areas to try to find a cash machine; no dice. So, I thought I would risk it.
Despite being the main road to Copenhagen, an me expecting it to be like the M25 at rush hour, there were no queues, and I pulled in at the kiosk, put in the card and all was fine. Sadly, being dark I could see nothing of the Grand Belt, just lots of dark. Maybe more luck tomorrow…..
Other than that, the US debates whether there is a place in the family home for assault rifles. The clue is in the name, guys. An interesting point is that the British Armed Forces didn’t have an automatic weapon until the introduction of the L85 in the mid-90s. It’s predecessor, the SLR had the automatic option was disabled. So quite why civilians need one other than to shoot other civilians is beyond me. But other than that I will say nothing on the gun control issue. This all came about because on Friday 20 plus 6-10 year olds were killed after a teen shot his Mom then went to where she worked and run amok with an assault rifle.
*sigh*
I wish I could leave it on a brighter note, but sometimes life can just leave you lost for words………
Wednesday 19th December 2012
Two days until the end of the world.
Or not.
Mostly not, I would say.
Today was the day of the great audit, and I was due to head over the huge bridge to island and audit the windfarm which has its office there. Sprogo is a protected island, houses the remains of a 12th century castle, a 19th century lighthouse and a 20th century hostel for promiscuous women. Honestly. That has now closed down, and we are told that the ghosts of some of the women imprisoned wander the corridors of the buildings.
I saw no ghosts, just a painter and decorator who took me to the right office. Maybe he was a ghost decorator, using ghost paint and paintbrushes? OK, no to that, then.I woke up this morning to find it still dark outside yet the clocks showing it gone half six. I showered and went down to breakfast, when I went to the car it was just getting light, so I set out for the island. Now, there is a poorly marked exit off the motorway, but if I missed it there would a 16 mile round trip back to the mainland and back out again.
I did find the exit, and at the barrier called security who let me in. I won’t bore you with the details, but it went well. My boss and the other auditor arrived just before nine and we got down to the audit. I did get the chance to go outside to take some shots of the lighthouse and suspension bridge. The island is 8 km from either shore, so it must have been a grim place to be interred. It is now home to a very rare frog that is found nowhere else. I did not see them as they were hibernating. Lazy buggers.
Afterwards we went to the eastern bank for lunch at the service station (the food is better there than in UK ones) before we all went our separate ways. Time then to drive back across the bridge to the hotel, and now I have the evening in which to write my report, drink some more super-strength Christmas beer and maybe have dinner….
Thursday 20th December 2012
What have the Danes given to the world?
I give you stupid strength beer. Don’t get me wrong, I like beer, and the thought of beer at 9.2% seems like a good one, it will have flavour unlike piss-poor American Bud or Miller Draft. But less than one bottle in you feel like you should really have a lay down and a couple of hours shut-eye.
Its what happened yesterday afternoon; I got in from work, passed the bar on the way to my room and picked up a bottle of beer. I had a bottle of the Christmas beer the night before, and at aboyt 6.5% wasn’t bad. But this other Christmas beer was 9.2, and even after the burger and fries from lunch I found myself snoozing for at least a couple of hours whilst listening to Radcliffe and Maconie on the i-player.
Which does explain why I was working up to half ten last night, refining a method statement for our next project.
Anyway, I am here at Billund Airport, having had a nice bottle of Ale, chickening out of another Double IPA as that is 9.4% or something, and 6.5 sound almost sensible.
I woke up this morning at half six, and decided to just lie there and relax. And why not?
I went down for breakfast and was presented with a small fruit salad, a selection of breads, a litre of orange juice and a litre of coffee. As there were just the 5 guests in the hotel they decided to skip the buffet thing and just give us lots each.
I paid the bill and headed out with some eight hours to kill before my flight home. I headed into the town to see if there was so little there as had been suggested.
Korsor will not win any beauty competitions. It is a fishing town, and still smells of sish; fresh and fried. Its buildings are pretty ugly, but functional. I wandered round, took some shots before leaving. I headed back to the bridge and crossed it for the last time and I was in no way taking photographs as I was driving along.
Oh no.
I stopped to look at the view on the other side, but the steady drizzle meant that I ended up driving east to Billund. The traffic was light and the sun even came out for a while, so the drive was pleasant and I found myself here at about one, with just the 5 hours before my flight. I had lunch and a beer, checked in, went through security and had another beer whilst I read some.
And that is where you find me, it is four, there are dark clouds overhead and the rain is falling once again. I have about 90 minutes before boarding and I think that maybe another beer would help…
What could go wrong?
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