Bear up and steer right onward

"To be blind is not miserable; not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable." - John Milton

The reason for my absence is a rather mundane one: I have broken my glasses. The reserve pair are OK for distance, but not so good for close up; using the computer has to be rationed, and this blog is frankly not much of a priority. I may be gone for some time.

Let me leave you for now with a couple of photos whose quality has definitely not been improved by my not being able to see very well. The Tour de Yorkshire has been through Otley, twice in fact. This is a little bit of the women's race and a lot of the back of the younger Miss Epictetus' head: 

And this is the first of this year's English asparagus to reach the Casa Epictetus, served on buckwheat pancakes with anchovy, garlic and chilli breadcrumbs. For the record I overdid the chilli:

Alors, mes amis, à bientôt.

Vernally yours

"If people did not love one another, I really don't see what use there would be in having any spring." 

- Victor Hugo

As someone once said, there is a world of difference between the first day of spring and the first spring day. I gleaned from somewhere (quite possibly by watching QI) that in these latitudes spring advances north at walking pace; whatever form of transport it used, it has now arrived in the Wharfe Valley. I have also been advancing at walking pace, though in my case it was  over Blubberhouses Moor along the Roman road that ran between Ilkley and Boroughbridge and then across Denton Moor and back down into the Washburn Valley. Anyway, be that as it may, the sun has been shining, buds are on the trees, they are playing bowls in Wharfemeadows Park and lawn mowers are on special offer in Argos. I would have included the appearance of lycra clad cyclists on the roads in that list of the harbingers of spring, but round here they never go away. Indeed the first item for discussion when Peter and I arrive at James' for a game is often just how difficult it has been to see them in the road while driving there, given their inexplicable preference for dark clothing on dark winter nights.

So it was again this week, but I suspect that in the absence of an accident you're not actually that bothered so let's take a look at the game instead. It was fun, as pushing toy soldiers round a table always is. I would normally start with the result, but it's slightly unclear what that was. I conceded defeat after a couple of hours - you will recall from the previous post that I was rather pessimistic going in to the second evening - but was persuaded to play out the next couple of turns by James. Naturally, I then had an exceptional run of dice rolling and my reinforcements from 21st Panzer swept right up on to the escarpment in a manner guaranteed to irritate not just the opposing commander, but also anyone who might have based an earlier decision to give up based on mathematical probabilities. I calculate that the chances of me making those particular command rolls was about 5 in 10,000 which means I think we can all agree that capitulating was the right thing to do even though it was subsequently proved to be the wrong thing to do.

As for the rules, it's too early to pronounce judgement. Apart from anything else we're all playing to different understandings of what's printed in them let alone what they actually mean, although obviously debate does lead to a consensus; that consensus being whatever James says. On top of which even my scanty knowledge of military hardware capabilities in North Africa during the Second World War has necessarily improved after a couple of games. It is therefore time to put it all to one side and do something else.

Allez Lizzie

Stage 2 of le Tour de Yorkshire was in town today, as was a one off women's race. The latter started off at 8:15 in the morning, but still drew a large crowd due to the presence of local heroine (and world champion) Lizzie Armitstead. I'd like to illustrate all this with a brilliant photo of her, but like all bad workmen I was let down by my tools. Instead here's one showing how le Tour respected diversity by making a panda a steward for the day:

The ceremonial roll out passed in front of the Casa Epictetus, but one of the competitors, number 95 in fact, didn't, managing to bust a wheel before they had gone a few hundred metres.

There was plenty of entertainment to keep the crowd occupied during the six (count them: six) hours between the start of the women's and men's races, although frankly most of us just went home, a journey in my case of about ten feet. I did however step out again to check out the excellent Yan Tan Tether peforming outside the Woolpack. Unfortunately for them their performance was interrupted by a huge hailstorm.

Even more unfortunately this resulted in the PA system going bang, in a manner somewhat reminiscent of the recent exploding kettle incident chez Epictetus. Indeed, as with the earlier occurrence, we should be thankful that this ill advised mixing of electricity and water didn't have far worse results. But instead, like the troupers they are, the ladies simply stepped off stage to be nearer their audience and sang unamplified. Admittedly because of the appalling weather the only people still there were their families and me, but nonetheless one must admire such a display of the Dunkirk spirit.

Beryl

And so to the theatre. I missed 'Beryl' at the West Yorkshire Playhouse during it's first run last year - timed to coincide with the Tour de France - and came within a whisker of missing it again on its revival this year, but just managed to get a ticket for the penultimate performance. As an aside I somehow ended up with a discounted senior citizen ticket. Upon picking it up I tried to pay the extra, but the box office clearly thought I was fantasising about my lost youth and wouldn't take the money.

The play itself is simply wonderful. Given the relative lack of media coverage that Burton got during her life (although I for one had actually heard of her prior to the play being mounted) there was a lot of exposition, but it never dragged or became too much. The four person cast moved as effortlessly through the moods as our heroine moved through the gears; humour was ever-present, but so was a recognition of the impacts on others of her driven personality.  The staging was extremely well done as was the physical theatre. There was a round of applause only ten minutes in for one effect which marked her marriage. The fourth wall was broken a number of times, mostly scripted but also on one occasion to allow a member of the sell out audience to display his knowledge of the main crop produced in the triangle between Wakefield, Morley and Rothwell. Anyway, I am not ashamed to say that I left the theatre with a tear in my eye.

Le Cirque Arrive et Puis S'en Va

Otley has been preparing for the Tour de France for weeks now, with yellow bicycles popping up everywhere and even the pubs being renamed in French. Nonetheless I was somewhat taken aback when I stepped out of my front door at 7am on the day of le Grand Depart to go to buy the papers and found a group of people on the pavement outside sitting on camping chairs and drinking coffee from Thermos flasks a good five hours before the peloton was due to pass. It steadily grew from there and I doubt if Otley has seen so many people since Cromwell's troops drank dry Le Taureau Noir on their way to fight at Marston Moor.

My house or, as we now say in Yorkshire, chez moi lies directly on the route and so I had a good view of the whole thing, or at least I would have done if it hadn't been for all the other people selfishly blocking my bit of pavement. The main event of the day may be the race, but it rushes past so quickly that there's not much to say about it, and anyway I for one am somewhat cynical about, how can I put this, whether the professional athletes involved have fully embraced the Corinthian spirit. The publicity caravan on the other hand is a spectacle and doesn't pretend to be anything other than grubby and money-making. For some reason watching cars full of grinning and waving young men speeding past followed by police cars with sirens blaring called to mind an amusing episode from many years ago involving an altercation with the special branch bodyguard of then Northern Ireland Secretary Merlyn Rees, only this time with a lot more free promotional merchandise being thrown into the crowd.

The publicity caravan attacks the accessible viewing area with Otley Chevin in the background

In any event, and until I get round to writing up that story, back to le Tour. The spectators weren't entirely sure what to make of the mobile adverts rolling past and some of them didn't get much of a cheer; 'boucherie de veau' anyone? Having said that, a series of floats promoting McCains frozen chips was met with complete indifference as well and they're a Yorkshire company. My own personal favourite was the enormous Robinson's Fruitshoot which resembled nothing so much as the giant tit that escaped in Woody Allen's 'Everything You Wanted To Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask'.

fin de course

So, that was it then. Someone remind me what happens after the Lord Mayor's Show? How about some Johnny Cash.

It's coming home

In the unlikely event that you bothered to think about it you may have been anticipating that cycling would soon feature in this blog. Well here it is a bit early; although don't worry, it will be back at the weekend.

Britain's first medallist at the 2012 Olympics

So last night was the Otley Town Centre Races featuring a 2.5 km circuit notable for a steep climb and an equally steep descent, as well as what was billed as the world's largest ice cream van. I could only catch the Women's Elite Race myself because I had an appointment as Scipio Africanus outside the walls of Carthage, of which more in due course. That race resulted in a popular victory for local heroine Lizzie Armistead and was highly entertaining if difficult to photograph.

(A bit of) the grupetto

The sight of so much blood following various crashes reinforced my opinion that actually getting on a bike is not for me, but it's got to be a good thing for other people to do.

"When I see an adult on a bike I do not despair for the future of the human race." - H.G.Wells