Thursday 26th June 2014

Mulder rolled in some seven hours later than is usual. By this time we had taken the other two to the cattery, and I had come back an settled into some more waiting. I walked down the garden yet again, and I swear I head his high pitched meow. And when I went insde, there was Jools wresting the poor lad into the box.

So it was a quick runround of collecting our stuff, packing the car and off we went, via the cattery again, and then onto Mike’s to collect Bradey, his step-son. We had agreed to take him along, or rather he had agreed to put up with us.

We loaded the car, and off we set, to Folkestone, Ashford, Maidstone, Dartford, Harlow, Cambridge and on further north. Thanks to Mulder we were some six hours late, thus heading under the Thames into Kent just before rush hour, but meaning we would be heading round Cambridge at 5. The traffic was horrendous, but we made steady time, and then onto the A1, and so we switched on the radio to listen to the build up of the England game.

A blockage on the A1 meant the journey took even longer, but we were back on track, or at least on course. As the sun sank, we headed into the East Riding, along the M18 towards Hull, and then branching off across country through pretty little villages until, as dusk settled we headed into Beverly, where our rooms for the night were booked.

By now I was shattered, the jet lag coupled with early mornings before work, and the full on nature of arranging the road tri for when I return to work had caught up with me. My eyes itched from the lack of sleep, I just wanted to get to the hotel and have a drink. In the end even heading to the pub would be too much, and I would sit on the bed with a cuppa watching the football.

As planned, the guest house was beside the Minster, but our mood was down, as on the radio England had endured a poor first half and were one down. We unloaded the car and went to our room and so I was sitting down in time for the second half to begin. England were, if anything, even worse, and it took half an hour for them to recover and in the end equalise.

But, in the game’s death-throws, Suarez, broke through and pounced to win the game and almost certainly send England home. In all honesty, it doesn’t really matter. We are a mid-ranking team with limited skills, and were found out, losing both games and, although you could say it was an improvement on South Africa, that isn’t saying much. At the end of the game, I switched the TV off and had a shower. As I lay in bed, the mister chimed the quarter hours away, and I slipped into a deep sleep.

Friday.

I posed the question the night before, that I wondered if the bells of the Minster would chime all night, and so would they be made silent after, say, eleven? I can now reveal that the bells did chime all night. I would like to say it was kind of re-assuring, but the ringing, not only of the hours but an attractive peal before the hours were chimed, was loud, loud enough to wake me from my slumber on a few occasions.

We arranged to meet Bradey at eight for breakfast, and in an unusual move we had to exit the guesthouse and go in the front door for the breakfast room. It worked, and soon we were tucking into toast, cereal and a huge cup of coffee or two.

Before breakfast, Jools and I walked round the minster, and saw that it opened at nine, so we hoped to load the car and be at the doors at the final stroke of nine so we could hit toe road as soon as we, or rather, I had my shots. And this is what happened. The car loaded, we walked to the minster to find the door unlocked, but the church deserted. So, I rushed round getting my shots, it is always wonderful to have a building to oneself, but one as grand and as special as Beverly Minster was a rare treat.

Outside the clouds were clearing, and so once we made it to the car, the sun was breaking through, and it was turning into a very nice day indeed. We headed back to the A1 the way we had come the night before, over free land and picturesque villages before it was back onto the motorway and back to the modern world of the thundering lorries and traffic jams.

Apart from getting to our cabin in the evening, the only other plan was to find a very secial site (aren’t they all?) for orchids, and hopefully see a rarity, Dark Red Helleborones, if they were in flower. Up the great north road to Durham, and then along increasingly narrow lanes until we came to a quarry. Not the one we wanted as this was a working one!

We turned round, headed through the village, asked a local where the reserve was, then along another narrow lane, and there it was.

After a pleasant walk through an ancient forest, it opened out into an old quarry, now being taken over by nature. Everywhere were Common Spotted Orchids, even a couple of pure white ones, as well as what looked like maybe a Heath Spotted or two. Bradey spotted a Bee, and nearby there were another couple of spikes, one with three blooms on, a real treat. And as I found out from a local, very rare for Durham.

I saw a few Pyramidal spikes about to open, and then we realised the tall dark green plants we see unravelling were the helleborines. I guess we are about a week too early to see any open blooms, so maybe if the weather is kind on the way back south we will call in? We shall see.

Back in the car, back to the A1 and head north to Sunderland and Newcastle, and into the real heavy traffic of a Friday afternoon. We headed west on the A69, and soon the houses thinned out, and we were in the Tyne Valley in glorious sunshine. Thoughts turned to lunch, even though it was two in the afternoon, we were pretty hungry.

We came to a farm shop which said it had tearooms. We went in and sure enough they did tea and had rooms. But they had a glorious selection of cream cakes, savouries and salads. We ordered something each, me choosing the tradition cream tea. And we sat down to wait delivery.

Also there was a farm shop, so I bought some supplies for dinner, it seemed we were going to be having pasta. I bought some black pudding flavoured sausages, which I fried u to add to the pasta sauce. But before dinner, we had to head into the wilds of north Northumberland. Up our favourite road, the A68, all straight roads, sharp corners and multiple blind summits. We tore up the road, leaping over the blind summits, at one point the front wheels lifting off the road. Quite an achievement as the car was so fully loaded.

We headed off across the open moorland, the sunshine dappling the landscape with glorious sunshine, make it seem so special. It was all rather wonderful as we headed down into valleys and then up again as we neared our destination, Kielder Water, Europe’s largest artificial lake. And we had a cabin booked on its shores.

We drove round the lake until we came to the ark, Jools collected the key from the office, and we trundled round to cabin #7. We were here.

After unloading the car, I made coffee, and then fried the sausages up, added them to the sauce before finishing off the pasta. I missed the lot up, served it u, sprinkled grated cheese on top, served with a bottle of red and a bottle of rose wine. Simple but delicious.

Outside swallows and Martins swooped and dived hunting for insects on the wing, our own air display. On the grass rabbits came out to have supper, and all of this set in front of the backdrop of the ancient mountains and moorlands rising to the sky in the distance. As the sun set the greens turned to inks and reds, and the sky seemed to catch fine. And so England’s world cup adventure came to an end, relying on Italy beating Costa Rica, then having to beat CR themselves next week. As it turned out, Italy could not do England a favour, CR running out 1-0 winners, and that was that. What could be said this time round, is that it wasn’t as bad as in South Africa, but then it could hardly be worse. Four years after Bloemfontein, and the hammering we received from Germany, in the minds of the team, players and FA, nothing has changed, the same players, playing the same way.

Nothing has changed, and nothing will change, we will stumble into the major competition every two years, hoping against hope that this time it will be different, but it never is. So, until football admits to itself that there is something wrong, and the FA actually does something about it, it will not change. I was so angry after South Africa, and yet, the FA did nothing. And so this time round, I’m not angry, just disappointed that four wasted years, no real change has happened, nor has any change been put into motion.

The likes of “Super” Frank and Stevie “G” will now being closing their international careers, each two years there has been nothing but optimism followed by failure. The players say they are sorry for letting the fans down, let the FA say something similar, saying how sorry they are at the failure of getting out of the group stages for the first time since 1958.

So, while the rest of the world celebrates and looks forward to the next stage of the competition, England’s layers will be either on the beach soaking u the rays, or getting ready for pre-season. The really sad thing is eight weeks from now, the league season will be under way, and all this failure at international level will be forgotten, and the media will be telling us how great the Premier League is. And nothing will change.

Quite how English football has sunk so low, and we are so happy for it to be this way is a tale of money, money and more money. And how the incompetent FA allowed the Premier League to be set up, and failed to put in controls and so the league bloated and became the foremost football organisation in the country, and the success of the national team is of no concern to the PL, just how the billions keep rolling in from TV companies from around the world.

Eight years ago, Germany were horrified by only reaching the quarter finals, and so reorganised the game in their country, and four years later, a youthful German team took England apart en route to the semi finals. Oh, if only the FA would take such actions after this shocker, but things will not change, the same players for the most part, will be laying the same tactics and we will endure failure once again in Russia in 2018.

It is, after all, just a game, and gives us something to talk and moan about, those 52 year of hurt.