On Sunday morning (24th May) I went to St Margaret’s Church in Crick. The reason for my trip was to attend a service delivered in part by the marvellous, and increasingly famous, Neil “Nello” Baldwin. I have written about this chap on my website a few times before (please read this post too – it saves me having to repeat myself) and so when the chance came to meet him, I had to take it.

Indeed the chance came about by chance because the marvellous Mrs Baldwin chanced upon a small space article on page five of the Daventry Express (from May 21st) – image shared below.

The service was due to start at 11:15; I left with plenty of time to get to Crick, which was fortunate because there was an accident on the A5 that had closed the road at the turning I needed to take – the necessary detour meant I got to the church just minutes before worship commenced.

I met Neil at entrance of the church, was able say hello, spend a few moments chatting and get him to sign my copy of the Marvellous DVD.

The service included five hymns of Neil’s choice, including “O Lord my God when I in awesome wonder” which was the background hymn played by all the musicians gathered together at various points in the Marvellous drama.

As part of the proceedings, Neil delivered a sermon from the pulpit and mentioned that he has an upcoming appointment to meet the Archbishop of Canterbury to receive an award for faith broadcasting (or something similar anyway).

That recognition comes hot on the heels of BAFTA success and gaining the freedom of the city of Stoke On Trent. My view, shared by many others, is that a knighthood for Nello ought to be the next agenda item. Sir Neil Baldwin has a nice ring to it.

During the church service there was an elderly lady behind me that had an incredible singing voice, in fact I was impressed enough to mention it to her when proceedings allowed. I said something along the lines of “God didn’t bless me with the ability to sing but you have the voice of an angel”. A bit cheesy in hindsight, but I meant it and I am sure she appreciated the compliment.

In turns out that this lady was a long term choir member who had a stroke and, though recovered, was less mobile than ideal for strolling up and down the aisle; her qualification for the choir – she had been an opera singer. I was not even surprised, she really was that good.

Having struck up a rapport, I subsequently lent her my arm for the trip down the length of the church to take communion.

At the end of the ceremonies, hot food had been laid on by the Reverend Lake for the entire congregation. After Neil had eaten, I had my opportunity to speak to him and sort out the photographs shared in this post.

It was a pleasure to meet Neil Baldwin, he was/is a good sport. Equally it was marvellous to be welcomed into a church despite not being a member of the congregation or the immediate community. I had a nice time and am really pleased that I went.     

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http://www.adrianbaldwin.net/blog/marvellous

Having made a real effort to avoid hearing the result beforehand, I watched the Monaco Grand Prix highlights yesterday evening. Hamilton was imperious and his victory looked like a forgone conclusion…

...before his team ruined everything.

With only a handful of laps left, safety cars (virtual and actual) were deployed and Hamilton’s team called him in for a totally unnecessary tyre change. Rosberg and Vettel stayed out and Hamilton re-joined in third, which is the position he finished the race in (given that overtaking in Monaco is so hard).

I was so cross that I was out of my chair and actually shouting at the telly and the Mercedes team.

Hamilton himself was clearly angrier than me but he handled the situation with a maturity that was commendable.

Rosberg was gifted the win by the Mercedes team; watching him celebrating a victory that he simply didn’t deserve rubbed it in for me. I found myself wondering if there was some kind of conspiracy at play rather than a genuine cock-up.

It’s the depth of my frustration that has surprised me because I was properly angry, in fact I still am; enough to write this post and share my angst. It was only a race and yet to me the result felt like a genuine injustice.

Niki Lauder was bluntly critical of his team and rightly so. I hope that Mercedes pay Hamilton the race win bonus that he deserved – that wouldn’t actually make Hamilton any happier, but at least there would be some kind of justice served.

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News on the BBC this week has filled me with joy because it would appear that blokes with a bit of a belly are now considered hot by chicks.

Here are some links for you to follow if you don’t believe me.

http://theodysseyonline.com/clemson/dad-bod/97484
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-32816933

Having written a few weeks ago about chubbiness being good for you in the fight against dementia, having what is now known as a ‘Dad Bod’ apparently makes a chap more real, more interesting, more cuddly and therefore more attractive to women.

There are grey areas, one can’t be fat per se; ideally there needs to be evidence that one was once fit and strong and has allowed the fitness to take second place to enjoying life – the dad bod is a physique that is mellowing with age and starting to go to seed.     

The great news is that, having been a keen long distance runner and a karate kid up until relatively recently, I totally fit this bill!

Maybe I should get myself the Tinder app and get out there before “young and ripped” reclaims the desirability crown…

…or maybe not because the social media storm hasn’t made it clear if being an ugly bastard negates the benefits of the dad bod.

There follows a polite request to my lady readers: help me here, am I an attractive proposition to you, my marital status aside – would you otherwise think me hot date material? I am sure there are enough photos on this site for you to make a call.

Or, am I demented?

I suspect that I can guess the answer to my question; on the subject of dementia (which my belly is hopefully protecting me from) that reminds me to mention that I watched a lovely film this week. “Robot and Frank”, shown on BBC1, about the relationship between a man with dementia and his robot carer/friend, was a joy to watch and I recommend it to you all.

I have since ordered the DVD so that if I find myself getting a bit forgetful in my old age, I can watch it again, and again and again.

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I spent a few hours in Rugby on Sunday (17th May) attending the second annual Rugby BikeFest (read last year’s review). This year was bigger and better with approximately 1,000 motorbikes on show all over town as well as merchandise stalls, a concert area and food concessions.

This year, because of the increased volume of attendees, bikes were parked all over Sheep Street, High Street, North Street, Regent Street, outside the council offices and around the bend of Hillmorton Road near to Drury Lane. 

I was standing outside the Lawrence Sheriff pub in time to watch the legion of riders roar into Sheep Street following the organised, mass ride in from NT Services truck stop on the A5 (Clifton Upon Dunsmore). There was a palpable sense of drama around the arrival of this steel cavalry unit with its black leather clad riders and police escort – think localised thunder storm (without the rain) and you’ll have a good idea about the volume of noise and vibration.

By mid-morning Rugby was heaving with people; more shops were open than last year to cater to the influx and the local bars were doing a great trade. I wandered around taking photos and enjoying the event – I share a selection of my favourite motorcycle porn for your private consumption.

Just about every type of motorbike was on show somewhere and motorcycle clubs from various walks of life were represented from the Outlaws at one end of the spectrum to the Christian Motorcyclists Association (CMA) at the other. The Outlaws were parked up outside the Town Hall and I couldn’t decide if that was ironic or perfect. One Outlaw’s Harley had a sticker on it that said something along the lines of “Support the Outlaws - guarantee your place in Hell”; the CMA – whose bikes (Harleys included) were lined up outside St. Andrew’s Church, had Bikers’ Bibles on their seats. The juxtaposition, wonderful.

Unlike Waco's Cossacks and Bandidos, our rival biker gangs didn't end up killing each other - no doubt much to the relief of Warwickshire Constabulary. To be fair, during my time in Rugby, I didn't see anyone exchange even as much as a cross word.

Rugby BikeFest is a professionally organised event managed on behalf of Rugby Borough Council and Rugby First and supported by Warwickshire Police. It was certainly successful in bringing in a significant number of visitors and no doubt the local traders were grateful. Rugby was an exciting place on Sunday when normally it would have been quietly dull. Roll on next year.    

In the meantime, the Daventry Motorcycle Festival takes place on 13th June, I’ll be there, why not put the date in your diary too.

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If you want a higher resolution version of any of the pictures below, just get in touch.

Last Thursday night (14th May) I watched a documentary on Channel 4 called “The Secret World of Tinder”. The world of mobile phone, app-based dating is one I have never been exposed to, having been married for a lot longer than smartphone technology has existed.

I have been vaguely aware of Tinder’s existence because some of my twenty something work colleagues, have used the app quite successfully for dating and, putting it bluntly, shagging.

Tinder involves automated match making, messaging, photo sharing and geographic location detecting.

In my field-playing days, you had to work at the dating game to have any hope of success; you had to go to worthwhile places; you had to be prepared to get on the dance floor; you had to be brave enough to strike up a conversation with a woman who was inevitably surrounded by her mates; you had to accept that you were in competition with other hopefuls and you had to be prepared for rejection.

In these Tinder times, one’s phone/tablet will do the legwork for you (share photos, suggest matches and put you in touch with potential partners). What’s even more valuable is that one can be quite specific about what one is looking for - and it’s apparently okay to be frank if it’s no ties sex that appeals.

Arguably, Tinder is awe inspiring, it’s efficient, it’s effective and it’s cheap. It puts like-minded people in touch with each other, it offers opportunity in quality and volumetric terms. One chap, whose name I can’t remember was my age, recently divorced and using Tinder to reduce his bed post to sawdust.

For those that want extra marital affairs, Tinder has Nirvana-like qualities. Nights away from home have more fling potential than ever before.

I found myself watching and feeling slightly frustrated that this world of instant gratification wasn’t available at a point when I would have valued it greatly. Then again, I have found that the thrill of the chase is better than the catch in so many aspects of life – with Tinder there is no chase at all.

But downloading the app could be the equivalent of opening Pandora’s box because Tinder has its downsides too; it devalues courtship (how old am I to use that word), it gives too much choice/temptation and therefore devalues commitment, it creates a world of half-truths (or less), it is patrolled by predators and it can be decidedly seedy (e.g. matched people exchanging photos of their genitals before even sharing a cup of coffee).

Personally, I found myself increasingly irritated by the shallow characters bragging about their conquests, the deceit routinely practised by men and women alike and the naïve beliefs seemingly shared that by trying the many, you would inevitably find the ‘one’.

But then who knows, one day I might be back in the game and delighted that such a tool exists.

If you didn’t watch the documentary, you can always catch up with it on 4OD. If you are easily offended or of a sensitive disposition - avoid it.

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Two news stories today have prompted this post. The first concerns Kevin Pietersen and Andrew Strauss and the public airing of some very dirty and smelly linen. I have to be honest, I normally find cricket extremely dull and I don’t think that the sport has ever been mentioned on this site in its three and a half year existence.

Today though, the furore around two of the sport’s leading lights and their treacheries has captured my imagination; though the character assassinations won’t do either protagonist any favours. 

I have to state that the whole sorry saga doesn’t feel very English at all

But, and thank God, it doesn’t feel North Korean either.

Just read this article from the BBC today - http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-32716749

Kim Jong-un has apparently executed his defence minister Hyon Yong-chol in front of an audience of guests. The unfortunate minister who, catastrophically as it turns out, fell asleep during an event attended by his glorious leader, was apparently obliterated with an anti-aircraft gun.

The whole thing sounds like something out of a gory computer game rather than reality.

Now of course, the reports may or may not be accurate, but, if true, you have to feel sorry for poor old Hyon. The chap nods off only to wake up in a nightmare that no one in their right mind could even dream of.

The well-known expression of distaste, oft used in judgement of inappropriate behaviour, springs to mind.

“Well it’s just not cricket”

Whilst Hyon has (probably) been reduced to ashes, at least Pietersen may get another innings – his cock-before-wicket dismissal only affects his national game as opposed to his existence.

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I am seriously starting to think that I should set aside a pot of cash to have an occasional flutter with. Mrs Baldwin regularly stakes her coin on the National Lottery - her view is that it’s buying into the dream; that it creates a little bit of hope and excitement every week (and that’s worth £2). I have always considered it a bit of a waste of money, which I am sure makes me dull!

There have however been a few instances over the last few weeks where I have been so certain of a particular outcome that I should have put my money on it.

The general election for starters. Back in May 2014 I predicted that the Conservatives would nail it and that the Liberals would get eradicated. I even went as far as stating my money was on the blues. Stupidly, I didn’t actually gamble some cash and rather rued it later - when it became apparent that my predictions were more accurate than the official polls.

Next; the BAFTAs recently took place and I was certain that “Marvellous” would win an award or two. I wrote about the drama back in Sept. 2014 and thought then that it was brilliant - I even own the DVD. Did I put my money on the BAFTAs though…

…of course I didn’t and lo and behold, if I did, I would have won too.

Finally the name for the Duke and Duchesses of Cambridge’s daughter. Once I knew Charlotte was on the list, I was sure that was the name that would be picked. It is after all a terrific name and one I allocated to my own beloved female offspring. Once again though I failed to make the journey to Ladbrokes and must therefore accept that another opportunity to be richer has been missed.

So I am asking myself what I should do next.

For example, I am pretty certain that Lewis Hamilton will win his third F1 drivers’ championship in 2015. Should I gamble £50 on it right now?

The thing is I am not sure because that act of faith could single-handedly wreck Hamilton’s run and then I would feel guilty. If I wasted £50 as well, that would be even worse.

Here’s another prediction – Yvette Cooper will be chosen to lead the labour party. I’ll bet a couple of quid on that just because I would feel some genuine pleasure to see her elected when her boorish, brutish husband, Ed Balls lost his seat altogether.

I am certain that the irony would not be lost on the nation and that having a woman at the reigns might be the ticket to the Labour Party successfully reinventing itself.

And sticking with politics; hearing people moaning about UKIP gaining almost 12.6% of the vote and only one seat in parliament, or the fact that 4.7% of the vote gained the SNP 56 seats in London, just annoys the heck out of me.

The only decent thing the LibDems achieved in the coalition was to get a referendum on changing the voting system in the UK. I bet ‘yes’ in that instance only to find that the majority of the British public wasn’t prepared to take the gamble. More fool all of you that didn’t vote for change then and yet hoped that Farage and his cronies would have some power now.    

So to end this post, my questions for myself are:

• Where is my local bookie?
  
• Is there any etiquette to be observed in entering one of these institutions?
  
• Will I actually get around to placing my stake re Hamilton or Cooper?
  

I wouldn’t bet on it!

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