I've Not Been Well You Know

Sunday night Mr Farmer called.... Ha! not for me the philanthropic gent from the fire escape trade, or any other of Mr Gabriel's mid 70's flights of fancy. No, my visitors were small, very small, infact microscopic. The satan bug had entered my body and soon my misery was to be long, painful and mainly spent in a small room. If the last of the Aztec Kings really intended such terrible revenge, then his wrath must have indeed been great.

Monday was a wash out (no pun intended) and Tuesday found me crawling in front of the TV to watch England play Pakistan in the first test at Dubai - which unfortunately for England, was not a wash out. Wednesday and Thursday continued in similar vein as the Pakistan bowling ran through England's batting at the same pace as anything ingested into my system. By Thursday afternoon the misery for both of us was over, England had capitulated and yours truly was on the mend.

Ignoring the quality of the cricket for a moment one thing that did strike me was the non-sensical situation regarding the number of people watching the game. In a magnificent ground capable of holding what I would guess to be 20 thousand or so spectators the total number watching must have numbered around 200. Whilst understanding the reasons for Pakistan not being able to play their home games at home, it is very sad that test matchs should be played in front of so few (but knowledgeable) fans.

Talking of which, is it just me, or has rugby union become the fashionable place to be seen these days? Having played a little and watched a lot of RU over the last 40+ years it seems to me, that club games have gone from small/medium sized crowds of ex players and true devotees of the game, to large, even huge audiences of people who seem to think they are attending Simon Cowell's latest reality extravaganca. Having never played the game they are eminently qualified to question every refereeing decision and declare foul play at every instance of the opposition carrying out a tackle or making contact with a home player.

Internationals at Twickenham are even worse. If its not bad enough having to jump through hoops and take out a small mortgage to buy a ticket you then find yourself sitting next to Barbie and Ken who talk incessantly throughout the match about everything under the sun, other than whats happening in front of them. Thats when they're not squeezing in front of you to buy drinks, food or go to the loo. Why do they bother - stay in the pub and let the real rugby fans get the tickets!

Nature spoting this week has, as you will have guessed, been a non event, but all this talk of people watching other people has reminded me of the number of occassions this winter when Robins have joined me in the hides to either satisfy their curiosity, or more often, beg a little food. Several of them are now so bold, that they will sit on you hand to peck some seed - its a wonderful feeling to share a few moments contact with something so light and fragile and yet so trusting, cock-sure and brave.

I've not been well you know.