Jupiter and Ganymede

Jupiter, with one of its moons, Ganymede, casting its shadow onto the planet. (30/12/2025)

At last, we had another clear night! The moon was almost full, and I was surprised how much its brightness swamped out the light from stars I had come to know as friends, making navigation around the night sky more difficult. However, there was no mistaking Jupiter, especially as it was nearing opposition. 

Now, this is not the best shot of Jupiter you will ever see, but the exciting thing is that I managed to capture Ganymede and its shadow on the planet. Ganymede (the largest moon in the solar system) is that feint, small blob standing just separate from the disc of the planet in the image's top-left. The shadow is the 'hole' in the disc of the planet.

I'm still learning how to image planets (and everything else, to be honest) but I am nevertheless quite pleased with what I achieved before the cold rendered my fingertips unusable! This image is the result of stacking the best nine frames out of 29 taken with my mobile phone mounted at the eyepiece of my telescope.

Equipment

Telescope: Sky-watcher 130PDS on EQM-35 equatorial mount with SynScan GoTo
Camera: Samsung Galaxy A41 phone.
Processing Software: Siril with Starnet++, GIMP

Exposures

9 out of 29 jpeg auto exposures at ISO 100 

Messier 31 - The Andromeda Galaxy

The Andromeda Galaxy, a mere 2.5 million light-years from my back garden (25/10/2025).

This is my first serious attempt at photographing a deep space object. When your peer into your 'scope, the galaxy is just a fuzzy blur because, unlike a camera, your eye does not integrate what it sees. 

My camera—an entry level DLSR—produces both jpeg and raw images. I was amazed by my first view of a single jpeg image, and by how much I could improve that image just with the editing facilities on my phone. However, processing the raw images with dedicated astrophotography software to remove noise, sensor imperfections and light pollution left me with an image that blew me away.

I had to wait a long time for clear skies (not unusual where I live) but it was well worth it. 

Equipment

Telescope: Sky-watcher 130PDS on EQM-35 equatorial mount with SynScan GoTo
Camera: Nikon D3500 DSLR, controlled with qDslrDashboard running on my Samsung Galaxy A41 phone.
Processing Software: Siril with Starnet++, GIMP

Exposures

Lights: 12 x 2m ISO 800
Darks: 12 x 2m ISO 800
Flats: 12 x 1/500s ISO 800
Dark Flats: 12  x 1/500 ISO 800

 

Revisions in Progress

I've set up a new blog for my music.  You can reach that through the tab above.  The new blog is a work in progress, so you will see it changing from time to time.  I hope that doesn't put you off!  It'll all settle down again soon...

So, this component of my bloggery reverts to being general comment, grumpy old man stuff, amusing observation and all about anything and nothing.

EU Referendum

However you vote on Thursday, make sure your decision is not based on prejudice, hatred, deliberately distorted information, uninformed opinion, or even nostalgia—a faulty faculty at best—or on a whim.  Remember: this choice can't be reversed; it's that serious.

If you are an older person, as I am, remember that what we decide will have much less impact on us than it will on our children and grandchildren.  Ask them, if they are old enough to understand, what they want.  Respect their choice and support them in it.  They are the ones who must live with Thursday's decision.

If you feel aggrieved that you had no opportunity to choose in the previous referendum about Europe, you now have the opportunity to choose but please recognise that you will also be putting the generations that follow in the same predicament.  Make the best choice for them, not just the one that suits you.

Visit the BBC's Reality Check web site for useful information to help you make or even check your decision.  Please keep an open mind to what you read there.

We are collectively responsible for whatever happens next . . .

Cheeky App

I just typed "Why are you so slow?" into Cortana and, I kid you not, it replied, "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."  Shame Microsoft can't put the effort into producing a decent operating system.

Quote of the Century

Nick Clegg: "The Liberal Democrats will add a heart to a Conservative government and a brain to a Labour one."😊

The Eye of the Beholder

The challenge posed by Creation is not so much that the world is beautiful but that I perceive it to be so.

A Tough Nut to Crack

I've had a lovely day with my nine-month old puppy, apart from one event...

She has an unfortunate habit of jumping up to greet people; unfortunate from the human point of view, but from hers she's just being very friendly and very pleased to meet you. It's an issue we're working on but find very distressing, to say the least.

Today, she introduced herself to a gentleman by head-butting him in the, er, nether regions.  The frontal nether regions, that is.  He was visibly stunned . . .  Dogs' heads are quite substantial. 

Fortunately,  as a dog-owner himself, he was very understanding and, even more fortunately from my viewpoint, still standing.

My dog appeared none the worse for the encounter.  Once over my embarrassment,  our day resumed its furry loveliness.

Doesn't Do What It Says on the Box

A couple of weeks ago I bought a new bird table from B&Q.  It said on the box, "Self Assembly Bird Table."  I left it in the corner of the dining room but it completely failed to assemble itself.  So, today, I had to lend it a hand.

The instructions were scant and, at one point, just plain wrong.  I even had to dismantle and reassemble the pre-assembled components to make them fit together properly.  I don't know how anyone unfamiliar with constructing things would have managed to put the thing together and have it look like a bird table that even a sparrow would dare land on! 

Sending the poor thing into the world so ill-prepared was cruel.  I'm not surprised it couldn't fulfil the promise on its box. 

A Heartfelt Plea to Android App Developers

I have to say, I'm a bit miffed with Android app developers.  I'm an Android fan.  I like Android apps.  I appreciate the effort the developers put in.  I also love my Samsung GT-S5830.  But - I'm not happy.

The problem with apps is they keep on being improved.  Nothing wrong with that but they also keep on growing in size.  All those incremental improvements take up a little more space.  Your app may grow by only a small amount but all the other developers are making improvements at the same time as you.  All those little bits of extra memory taken together mean my phone runs out of space.

I think part of the problem lies in the phone; it could do with more on-board memory.  I have oodles of room on the SD card but I am fighting a constant battle with shortness of space.  All the apps that can work from the SD card are stored there but I seem unable to do an update these days without running out of main memory.  The only way I can then get my phone working properly again is to delete an app.  One of these days, it may have to be your app that goes...

Even deleting apps from the SD card can free on-board memory, so they must be starting services just in case.  Bad developer!  Start the services only when I run the app, please.  Another thing: please don't add permissions your application doesn't actually, really, genuinely need.  And do your very best to reduce the size of your app when you next 'improve' it.  Please!  Maybe you could remove a not-very-useful feature or two...

Harry's 'Game'

Much has been made in the news in recent days of Prince Harry's remarks about his time in Afghanistan as a gunner in an Army helicopter.  He has admitted to killing Taliban fighters, and you could hear raised eyebrows in the news reader's tone even if the actual facial expression was successfully suppressed.

Some of Harry's remarks have been seen as glib, if not actually offensive; 'Take a life to save a life,' for example, or '...taking [the enemy] out of the game.'  I really wonder what's wrong with people.

Whatever the rights or wrongs of our troops being deployed in Afghanistan, the fact is they are there.  Not only are they there, they are being attacked by the Taliban with the unmitigated intent to kill as many of them as possible.  What are our troops supposed to do, if not defend themselves?

My grandfather fought in the First World War.  On one of the rare occasions he talked about it, I asked if he had killed any Germans.  He admitted (not confessed) he had in hand-to-hand combat, not just with his Lewis gun from a safe distance.  His explanation was that if he and his comrades had not killed the Germans, the Germans would have killed them; 'It was them or us.'

So, Prince Harry has killed Taliban fighters.  I am sure this young man does not take pleasure in the taking of life.  I deplore war and its consequences but the equation is an easy one to understand: if he did not fire his machine gun at the enemy and 'take them out of the game', you can be sure that the Taliban would be taking the Prince's comrades out of the game.  The killing of the Prince himself would be seen by them as an illustrious triumph.  It is either British troops who die or Taliban fighters; it is British mothers who must grieve or those of the Taliban.  Would it were neither but fanatics such as the Taliban are not in the least offended by the death of their enemies.

Nor should we take offence at the expression 'taking them out of the game.'  This is not a sign that our Prince is a jingoistic warmonger.  I think of World War Two fighter pilots who talked of fallen comrades as having 'Gone for a Burton' (Burton's being a brewery).  These men were not being facetious in the face of tragedy, they were putting a psychological distance between themselves and the horror of their losses and what must have seemed, for some of them at least, their own inevitable demise.  I wonder how closely those who are critical of Harry would hold the realities of war were they in his shoes . . .

Prince Harry is a soldier.  He is doing a dangerous job in a dangerous place.  Many of our front line troops have killed Taliban fighters; in that respect, Harry is but one of the many.  How many people would complain if Harry had not done his job and allowed British troops to be killed?

Prince Harry is a soldier.  What do you expect him to do?  Really?

'Harry's Game', by the way, is the title of a Gerald Seymour novel: an excellent read — but then, most of his novels are.

Yuletide Meanderings of a Humbug

Well, that's all my bah-humbugging done for another year.  Christmas is packed away, the New Year has swept the old aside and replaced it with something surprisingly similar.

I have enjoyed a multi-centre holiday.  First I went to Birmingham to visit my Dad and meet up with my brother and his family and my cousin and her Husband.  We enjoyed a splendid curry at the Shabar on the Coventry Road in Sheldon.  This is blatant advertising but I make no apologies: the food is superb and the portions generous.  Less enjoyable were the two nights I spent sleeping on cushions on Dad's floor.

On Christmas Eve, I drove to Worthing to be reunited with my Beloved who had been there for the previous five weeks to provide post-operative care for her Mum. 

Christmas Day always has a certain ambivalence to it.  On the one hand, there is anticipation of things wrapped up and, on the other, disappointment at things unwrapped.  We do well to remember the real meaning of Christmas, which is never a let-down. Nevertheless, we enjoyed a good family time at my brother-in-law's.

I seem unable to escape DIY (or, from my father-in-law's perspective, GYSTDIFY - Get Your Son-in-law To Do It For You).  The spring-loaded arm of my Outlaws' loft ladder was flapping about loose and I was asked if I could fix it.  Of course I could.  The platform it had been attached to had fallen apart and been re-assembled in a very strange and ineffective way.  I had to dismantle and reconstruct it using screws instead of nails and the oldest set of tools known to man.  Anyway, it now works perfectly.

My father-in-law had a couple of toilet problems ...  'Do I want to know,' you ask?  I'm going to tell you anyway.

The first problem occurred after a short walk on Boxing Day and a visit to a public house to use the facilities.  He went in and failed to come out for a considerable time.  Since he is elderly and somewhat infirm, I went in to check he was still alive.  There was no sign of him in the loo but my finely-honed skills of detection noticed that the WC door was closed;  my enquiry into his well being brought a response that both confirmed my suspicions of his whereabouts and reassured me that all was well.  I returned to the car and continued to wait ...  Eventually, he emerged with the news that he had had a mishap (I will persist in telling you this story).  The chain had come off in his hand and most of his absence had been spent trying (successfully, good for him) to reattach it.

The second problem arose later that day.  After a visit to the bathroom back at home, he announced that the toilet seat had broken when he sat on it.  More GYSTDIFY.  As soon as B&Q re-opened, it fell to me to reupholster the Parental Throne.

My mother-in-law continued to make a good recovery from her heart surgery.  We could measure her progress by the level of annoyance she expressed (and caused).  When a woman is well enough to reassert herself in her own kitchen, she is well enough.

My Beloved and I saw in the New Year with a bottle of champagne (the Outlaws having gone to bed before midnight) and the London fireworks on the telly.  New Year's resolutions?  Nah.  That would break the last one I ever made many years ago, which was never to make New Year's resolutions.

We packed up our car on Wednesday and headed back up-country to spend another night on Dad's floor and to eat all his delicious, home-made mince pies and seriously to deplete his sherry and whisky supplies by way of compensation for our lack of a proper bed.  Then, on Thursday, it was home via Leeds.

During our time away, the neighbour who was keeping an eye on our house had called to tell us there had been a  three-and-a-half hour power-cut on Christmas Day, and the internal sounder of our burglar alarm had been going off.  It did so repeatedly, needing to be reset several times until our return.  So, our New Year at home began with yet more DIY to rectify the fault, assisted by advice from my brother and a very good friend with a ladder.

We finished off our holiday with a trip to the cinema on Friday (The Life of Pi, in 3D) and an outing to the theatre in Keswick on Saturday (The Railway Children, at the end of which I almost blubbed).

And now I'm back at work and the holiday is drifting into the distant recesses of my memory.  Oh well, only fifteen months to retirement ...

Two are Better than One

I am knackered.  Positively cream-crackered.

For the last four-and-a-half weeks I have been home alone because my Beloved has been on 'Looking After the Parents Duty' at the other end of the country.  My mother-in-law has had major cardiac surgery which has rendered her unable to function at her normal, slightly-less-than-obsessive level. Since my father-in-law knows how to boil an egg and open a tin of beans, my Beloved has had no option but to be there for them.  I am sincerely happy that we are in a position to be able to provide the support needed to our ageing parents but it has necessitated my, albeit temporary, return to bachelorhood.

Great, you might think.  Time to do exactly what you want, or even to not do exactly what you don't want.

Well, it's not quite that simple.  Apart from the DIY described in the previous post,  I still had to go work five days a week, leaving me with just the weekend to do all the chores usually done by my Beloved during the week.  It's funny how the sock- and knicker-drawer fairies always seem to take their holidays when my Beloved is away.  They, and the cleaning-, washing- and ironing-fairies, always seem to go away as a group.

Added to that, we are in the run-up to Christmas, that time of year when we make ourselves so busy we have no time to think about what the season is really about.  For me, that has meant rehearsals for choral concerts, additional rehearsals because we were not otherwise going to be ready, singing in two concerts, learning music for the village carol service, and getting myself ready for our annual scratch workplace choir's carol singing to raise money for the Charlie Bear Childrens' Cancer Charity (Gary Malone, we did it first!).

Then there are jobs like taking my Beloved's car to be serviced, bagging up a gardenful of leaves and taking them to the tip, remembering to order new gas bottles, working late to do things that can only be done after hours, and a whole pile of other small things like keeping up with Strictly, Merlin and Coronation Street.

Honestly, with all that going on, I have been rushed off my feet.

My Beloved had Christmas wrapped before she went away, leaving me with very little to do on that score.  Actually, this suits me very well because, when it comes to Christmas presents, you wouldn't want me as the 'Ideas Man' in your team.  She also made life for me in her absence as easy as she could by filling the freezer with food.  It still takes time to prepare the evening meal, though, and to clear up the total devastation afterwards.

Life has been full-on busy. 

If I hadn't already realised, this episode has given me cause to reflect on all the benefits my Beloved brings to my life.  It certainly is easier when there are two of us on duty.  If I ever did take her for granted, and I hope I didn't, I have to say she is wonderful and I'm looking forward to having her back.

There were so many things had I hoped to do ....

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Trouble with Holes

Well, it's been a long time since writing.  Again.  This time, I've been distracted with musical pursuits, plagued with writer's block and, no surprise, engaged in plenty of DIY.

Breaking my left wrist and right hand at the same time does not appear to have given me an excuse for not doing DIY.  All that happened was it got delayed.  That's the thing about DIY: it isn't DIY if someone else does it...

The first thing I had to do, once signed off the sick, was put in three new fence posts.  At least I got to buy a new tool for the job: a narrow-bladed spade so the holes I dug didn't need a lorry-load of concrete.  They were quite deep, however.  Their narrowness made getting the final bit of dirt out difficult and I had to resort to lying on the ground, thrusting my arm down the hole and scooping out the soil with my hand.  It occurred to me that in that position I had an entire planet in my armpit!  Actually the soil was very sandy down there.  It made me wonder what my house is built on...  I thought my wrist would be bad the next day but my efforts seem to have done it some good.  No more excuses then.

The next job was to put a new spur from the socket in our dining room through to the lounge. To gain the necessary access for drilling the holes needed, I had to knock out the wall at the back of the cupboard under the stairs.  That part of our house was built in 1898 or thereabouts and all the walls are lath and plaster.  I am still amazed how much dust can be generated from a piece of wall about 50cm square.  Much to my Beloved's annoyance, I managed to fill every room on the ground floor with the stuff.  Of course, the simple expedient of shutting the cupboard door whilst working would have avoided the problem but then I would have had to do the job in my scuba gear and that's not what it's for.  Anyway,  My Beloved wanted a socket and a socket she got.  I have yet to see her use it...

The next task was beyond my abilities.  We had talked a long time about restyling the lounge and getting rid of the ugly brick fireplace.  We wanted to open up the hole and recess our log-burner. Chimneys are not something I know much about so we decided to employ a builder whose work we had seen in a neighbour's house.  We vacated the lounge and camped in the dining room for three weeks. Our builder did a great job in the first of those, solving some very knotty problems along the way and also fitting a new radiator and yet another socket (!).

Then it was over to me.  I had to fit a couple of skirting boards and paint everything in sight in time for our new carpet to be fitted.  Of course, we had to let new plaster dry out before we could paint it, which is why we spent so long living in the dining room.

We had a new curtain pole to fit.  I was quite surprised when my drill seemed to hit a space behind the plaster.  I don't know what I was thinking about but I prodded the drill more firmly into hole, all the time wondering what was in the wall that could be so springy.  At this point, my Beloved, who has an NVQ level I in Passing Screwdrivers, walked into the room and said, 'There aren't any wires to avoid there, are there?  Only you're drilling right above the socket.'

Indeed I was.  My drill was even plugged in at that socket.  How my heart sank.  I shone a light into the hole and discovered what was in the wall that was so springy.  I saw a neat red circle with a neat copper-coloured bullseye.  I hadn't gone right through the cable but I knew I would have to do something about it soon and it was likely to involve a lot of mess.  In our pristine new lounge.  Which would have a new carpet the next day.  Bummer.

On the basis that we didn't run any high current devices on the ring main, I took the decision to leave the remedial work until my Beloved was away and would never have to see the mess.

Today was the day...  I was hopeful that I could pull a new cable behind the plastic sheath in the wall but was worried I might have to channel out the wall, patch and repaint it all without wrecking the rest of the room.

Last night, my brother phoned.  Now, it must be said, my brother is a excellent DIY-er and knows a lot more about it than I.  Basically, he explained how to do the job.  I am delighted to report his advice worked perfectly.  There was one complication when I couldn't draw the cable down.  I looked up at the wall and saw a line of damage about five inches long where the plaster had been broken off from the inside.  I lifted the loose plaster away and found a large pimple in the sheath.  I cut out a small area to reveal a lump of Polyfilla about the size of a (Bird's Eye) pea which was binding the cable.  Once I removed that, the rest of the job was a doddle.  I had made no mess, and only a small amount of patching with Polyfilla was needed.  In the end, it took longer to reconnect the socket and join the cables in a junction box than it had to pull the cable through.

Thanks Bro. Respect.

Time, I think, for a celebratory single malt.  Cheers!

A Lesson in Ballistics

Well, I've not written anything for a good while now.  At least some of that is because my most recent encounter with gravity.

On Friday 22 June, at the end of a hard day's work, it was time to head off to the pub (please note: to the pub, not from the pub) to have a farewell drink with a colleague who was leaving for another job.  I went down a flight of stairs and then spun through 180 degrees to head down the next flight.  As I stepped off, I caught my heal on the top stair and before I knew it I was airborne, head first.  In my dreams I can fly but I realised that, since I was awake, that particular skill would not be available to me.

My recollection of the next brief interval lends weight to the idea that time appears to slow down in extremis.  Apart from shouting very loudly (something along the lines of, "Aaaaaarggggghhhh!!!!!!") as I travelled, I remember taking in my surroundings (hard, tiled stairs with a hard, tiled floor at the bottom) and realising that I was about to hurt myself seriously.  I noticed that my arms were extended in front of me in an instinctive attempt to stop the fall.  I had time, it seemed, to realise that this classic reaction usually ended with broken wrists and so I lifted my hands to avoid serious damage to my arms but retain some protection for my face and head.  Unfortunately, I was turning a slow somersault as I went, which meant that my forearms hit the second or third step from the bottom at exactly the wrong angle.

My landing was hard and painful.

I picked myself up from the crumpled heap I had formed at the foot of the stairs with acute pain in my right hand and left wrist.  I flexed my fingers and, relieved to find everything worked, assumed that nothing was broken.  Remarkably, I seemed otherwise intact.  I had been very lucky.

By the time I reached my car, my hand and wrist were very sore.  In an adrenalin-induced state of confusion, I decided that the best thing to do was to drive home(!), a journey of about 14 miles, and then get my Beloved to take me to the A&E department of our local general hospital.  By the time I got home, my left wrist had swollen and become even more sore.

To cut a long story short, I came home from casualty four and a half hours later with my left wrist in a splint, my right forearm bandaged and two fingers strapped together, and with an appointment for Monday's trauma clinic.  I had broken my 5th metacarpal, right hand, and left radius styloid.

To cut an already-shortened story shorter, I ended up being off work for four weeks.  I was unable to drive, could not type, manage buttons, pick my nose or scratch inside my ears, could not push or pull doors, or put my socks on.  I was relieved to discover that the functioning two fingers and thumb of my right hand enabled me to perform essential toilet functions ...

I am now back at work, after five weeks off (the final week because of a bereavement).  My right hand still aches by the end of the day, and I do not yet have full and pain-free movement in my wrist but I'm getting there.

I have revisited the scene and I was very surprised to see how short the flight of stairs was.  It has eleven steps but, at the time, it seemed like twenty.

Gravity has tried to get my twice before (see the other 'Gravity' posts).  Third time lucky.  Still, I needed a break;  unfortunately, I got two.

I Can See Clearly Now

My Dad told me the other day about his window cleaner's use of deionised water, and how clear the windows were after washing.

He thought I might be impressed but all I could do was point out the folly of it: while thousands die every day for want of uncontaminated water, we use the purest for cleaning our windows.  What a sick world we live in.

On Foaming Toilet Blocks

No one likes to find skid marks in the toilet. Even worse is the discovery of something floating (or sunk), and worse still of something that was floating (or sunk) but is now thoroughly disintegrated.

Everyone likes to find a toilet devoid of any evidence of prior use and in a sanitised condition. To this end, mankind has developed a number of means to render our WC bowls acceptable in both appearance and odour.

There are various devices for hanging disinfecting blocks from the rim. There are disinfecting blocks that can be dropped into the cistern, where they slowly dissolve rendering the water in your pan after flushing a pleasing blue. Then there is, of course, the all-important bog-brush.

The humble bog-brush is the single most important artifact for preserving WC etiquette. Its usefulness in removing offensive marks from the bowl is inestimable. It is also invaluable for persuading stubbornly bouyant or excessively dense objects to venture into the zone beyond the bend from whence they can be carried away by the ensuing flush—essential to guarantee no reappearances.

Of all the inventions of man, the worst, on a par with income tax and thermonuclear war, is the foaming toilet block. Its dual purposes are, of course, to disinfect your bowl and to leave it with a pleasant appearance ready for the next visitor. It may well achieve the former of these functions better than other long-acting devices. The latter however it most certainly fails abysmally and entirely to do.

After the flush, all you can see is foam. True, skid-marks, floaters and sinkers are obscured from view but this fact holds no comfort for the seasoned user, who is only too aware of what may lurk unseen beneath all those shiny bubbles. This creates a dilemma for those about to vacate the smallest room ...

One could be tempted to deploy the bog-brush just to make sure that nothing comes to light once the bubbles have burst but it is difficult to clean away what cannot be seen. And, if something more than mere evidence of transit is present, the wielder of the brush could be overcome with deep pangs of regret on withdrawing it from the suds...

The foaming toilet block is a dastardly device that should be removed from the shelves of shops throughout the universe.

What is to be done if you find yourself confronted with the dilemma of the satanic suds? To brush or not to brush? That is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outraged loved ones or to take up brush against a sea of bubbles and, by opposing, end them ... or make them worse.

My strategy has been to suffer the slings and arrows, and to point out the short-comings of the foaming toilet block, especially when the offence was not caused by me...

I suspect that, once the current foaming toilet block has expired, alternative sanitisation devices may appear.

Six Nations 2012

Well, I never did finish off my intended series of posts on this year's Six Nations tournament.  I got rather distracted by I can't remember what and never found the time to write anything.  Anyway, I can't just move on without finding some sort of closure...

As it happens, things turned out pretty much as I expected.  I'm made up for Wales, by far the best team of the tournament and well deserving the Grand Slam.  At the other end of the table, Scotland managed to acquire the wooden spurtle without actually playing bad rugby.  Italy continue their gradual improvement, their main shortcoming being an inability to play for a full 80 minutes; perhaps someone should tell them that the game is not only an hour long.  Ireland, O Ireland: I had great hopes for you but you never quite clicked.  France were beaten by England and I need say no more about them.

And that brings me to England.  I am so pleased to see that we seem at last to be emerging from our Dark Ages.  We started to look like a team, and beating France (did I already mention that?) was the icing on the cake.

I want to say two things about Stuart Lancaster.  First, I applaud his bravery in handling the team the way he did as a stop-gap senior coach.  His efforts to restructure the team paid off beautifully.  Second, I am thrilled that he got appointed to the job officially.  I look forward to seeing the team go on from strength to strength under his leadership.

As a final note, I think England needs a new anthem for sporting events.  Much as I respect Her Majesty (and I do), we could do with something rousing about England, something that inspires teams and supporters to be their best (and I guess we could do with a GB sports anthem for events such as the Olympics, when England does not put in an appearance).  Our anthem is not quite the worst.  Flower of Scotland is dreary, and the Italian anthem doesn't know whether to be military or operatic.  Land of My Fathers is a good one.  Ireland has two anthems, both of which I like.  I'm desperately sorry to say this but The Marseillaise is the best one of the lot.  Shame it doesn't work for them...

Six Nations 2012 - Round 2

So, Charlie Hodgson does it again!  Apparently, they practice charge-downs a lot at his club, so maybe his tries have been more than the opportunism I rated them as.  The Italy v England game was far from the usual whitewash we have come to expect.  Italy has grown in stature year upon year, and I thought their showing very good this weekend.  The alternative view is that England were poor and made Italy look good but, no, I want to recognise that England under Stuart Lancaster is a still-developing side and give the Azzuri credit for a good performance.  If they hadn't substituted their kicker they could well have won, the replacement having squandered six points in risable manner.

I reserve final judgement on the new England squad as, so far, they have played only the teams who usually occupy the bottom two positions of the Six Nations table.  Neither win was unexpected but neither performance was particulary impressive.

As for France v Ireland, I can only say that cancelling the game 10 minutes before the start was what you might call a faux pas.  They had had all week to make the decision.  Clearly, the safety of the players must be paramount so the decision was right—just too late.  I feel sorry for the Irish, who are likely to receive much poorer support when the game is eventually played.  Their fans have already made their journey, had their weekend in Paris, and spent all their money. 

I was hoping to have a better understanding of how good the French side is, how many gears they have to go.  I would like to have seen Ireland demonstrate just how good they can be.  It would have been a belter of a game.  Hopefully, it still will be. 

The French seem to have developed a taste for cancellation.  In Wales v Scotland, the French referee disallowed a perfectly good Scottish try!  For the second week running, Wales have given us a spectacle.  In fact, both sides played some excellent rugby.  It was great to see a flowing game.  I love Wales's open style; maybe having a Kiwi for coach contributes to that ...  Scotland's discipline let them down, of course, rather as England's used to when Scotland's coach worked south of the border ...

Were I a gambling man, my money would still be on Wales to win, with the Grand Slam still distinctly possible.  It all depends on the French ...

Six Nations 2012 - Round 1

This year's Six Nations competition is under way, and the first weekend has given us something to reflect on in the wake of the recent World Cup.

The France v Italy game reached its expected conclusion with France winning comfortably (although by fewer than the 20 points the bookies had suggested...).  The game began well for Italy, and France did not exactly shine even though they edged ahead.  Italy, a much-improved side in comparison with years gone by, may well have been looking to repeat their defeat of France in last year's competition.  To do that, they needed to show up with more stamina.  I give them credit for their determination but they ran out of steam in the second half, allowing France to pile on the points. 

France are, of course, the most frustratingly inconsistent side on the planet.  Their World Cup progress was awful, including defeat in the group stages.  Somehow they muddled through to the final and gave the All Blacks a shock by turning up to play.  Maybe they were holding back against Italy.  Maybe they were just being France.

The Calcutta Cup match presented Scotland with as good an opportunity as they have ever had of beating England.  England's performances have been disappointing, to say the least, and the side being fielded on the day was somewhat inexperienced.  I think Lancaster (the new England coach) did exactly the right thing; the Johnson formula was clearly not working, and a new approach was needed.  Martin Johnson was, let's not forget, a formidable captain but even outstanding ability in that department is no guarantee of coaching prowess.

I was surprised to see Charlie Hodgson back in the side, his international career having been somewhat patchy.  He did not have a bad game and did score the only try, albeit an opportunistic one.

To me, the game was lost by Scotland rather than won by England.  England showed much-improved discipline and strong defence.  Still lacking, or at least not yet displayed, is the creative flair that opens up the opposition and scores tries.  This is a new England side, and it was not bad for a first outing.  When they have played together a few times, we may see some exciting attacking play.

Wales v Ireland was a corker of a game.  These two teams, and there was little to separate them, put up a fantastic show, much more exciting than many a World Cup match, with the lead changing at various times throughout the game.  It looked like curtains for Wales when they were reduced to 14 men for 10 minutes and leaked the expected try.  However, they did well to score their own try before that period was over.  The game was lost on an Irish error that resulted in a sin-binning and a penalty kick directly in front of goal.  Hard luck, Ireland, nice one Wales, and thanks to both teams for such a superb spectacle.  I look forward to your subsequent games with relish.

So, who will win the competition?  On last weekend's showings, it has to be Wales or Ireland.  Wales, of course, could win in style with a Grand Slam. Unless the England side changes up a gear, the only team that could stop them doing that is France on a Good Day but not the plain old France of last weekend ...

As for the Wooden Spoon, well perhaps it should be a Wooden Spaghetti Hook!