“No one would have believed, in the last years of the nineteenth century, that human affairs were being watched from the timeless worlds of space.
“No one could have dreamed we were being scrutinised, as someone with a microscope studies creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. Few men even considered the possibility of life on other planets and yet, across the gulf of space, minds immeasurably superior to ours regarded this Earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely, they drew their plans against us.“
When HG Wells penned his novel, The War of the Worlds, he envisaged a threat from without; a Martian invasion bringing mankind low, routing civilisation by use of advanced technology. Ultimately, mankind’s fate rested on an invisible ally, earthly pathogens doing what humanity could not and laying waste to all those Martian plans. HG Wells may well not have envisaged that renowned thespian, rugby fan and bon viveur, Richard Burton, would narrate Wells’ words to Jeff Wayne’s epic music less than a century later, but the suspicion is that he could not have predicted that those same earth-liberating pathogens, filtered through the lens of the humble pangolin and crepuscular bat, would turn their powers against us.
And yet, your humble reporter found himself setting forth to Heidelberg, the foreboding cloud of Covid-19 only beginning to make its presence felt, hindsight allowing that valour was most definitely the better part of discretion on this occasion. We came together, a pack of eight, and though we may not have looked quite the beefy, gnarled and grizzly part that number usually represents – can one grizzle in a scarf? – but over the course of two nights we put in a shift of ale-drinking an international pack would be proud of.
To Vetter’s, and our pack was drawn together in a local brewery serving dunkelbiers and plates of meat and sautéed potatoes stacked perilously high. Serious discussion took place as to what a group of rugby-loving bloggites would do now that two of the three final-day 6 Nations matches were postponed; the news that two postponements were now three only served to harden our resolve: we, the good people of AOD, would have a good time. And that is exactly what your intrepid reporter did – a foray to the Drugstore, a speakeasy where the schnapps was fast and the talk was faster; bonded by our common purpose and strengthened in the face of adversity. This reporter staggered back to his humble abode at a relatively sane hour, leaving an unnamed few to head off to a subterranean nightclub aptly called The Cave, and, much like Joe Marler, they were went on down to see what mischief they could cause, and, again like Marler, they could happily take a ban – it would have little consequence in this day and age.
The dawn of a second day, then, and a stroll along Heidelberg’s Hauptstraße served to emphasise the impact Coronavirus was having – not a single soul was seen for some hours. But as the day drew on and venues opened, this reporter was joined by Meades, emerging from the morning’s Stygian gloom like Roland Bertranne, cutting a dash in Yorkshire brogues and dazzling white trews that even the ranks of Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer. The obligatory cultural touristic opportunities were availed upon; a trip to a wonderful bookstore where this reporter picked up a small piece by Wells contemporary Mark Twain, on his trip through Heidelberg by means of raft; a handy comparator for our own weekend, perhaps. Joined subsequently by Boanova (worryingly sporting a Leinster jersey) and SoYouThinkYou’reaWaffleman (equally worryingly, wearing a Munster top), gelatos were consumed, coffees were discussed and downed, and impressively steep hikes were had.
Sufficiently exercised, and in need of strong libation, we repaired to the venue-that-was-to-be-the-venue, The Dubliner. Joining Thaum and Mr Thaum, talk turned to our common love of rugby, and arms were chanced by suggesting to staff that they avail of YouTube’s wealthy repository of rugby matches for us all to enjoy, given the absence of any matches. Sadly, even Iks’ eloquent pleas fell on deaf ears, and instead we set about reviewing the season that never ended, remarking on standout players (Stuart McCloskey appears to have Thaum on a retainer for PR work*), and into the gap where our attention would have usually fallen, stories were exchanged, witticisms were slung and the occasional train refund form was completed. But that is another story for another time.
As Thaum has already elaborated, we moved on the Bar Centrale and thence to its restaurant neighbour Dorfschaenke, for pleasingly filling food and even more pleasingly outsized wine bottles. As the night began to wind down, several of our pack went separate ways; Thaum and Mr Thaum returned to the Bar Centrale to investigate the gin options, MrsIks went home to rest her weary hosting head, Boa had hit his limits and made good his escape. A round of beer and schnapps, and we remaining few parted ways, handshakes, hugs and backslaps abound.
And, in it all, Wells prose kept returning to my mind; MisterIks as the astronomer Ogilvy, assuring us that the chances of anyone getting a fine, were a million to one; only to then explain that for feeding ducks, he was served a 55 euro penalty notice (he still has no regrets and post-lockdown will continue his campaign in the face of teutonic adversity); SoYouThinkYou’reaWaffleman as Wells’ artilleryman, slowly losing his sanity as his left-handed passing fell to pieces and suggesting that a return to that subterranean life in The Cave may be the best solution for humanity; and the sight of Boa stood atop the Thingstätte, an arena built in Nazi-era Germany, dressed all in black whilst wearing a Leinster jersey, is one which will live long in the memory, if only for the nexus of humorous corollaries it brings together. And through it all, through the fantastic hosts, the pints, the ball-throwing and the brilliant company, there was the sense that from the madness, something beautiful had grown, or rather, something we had all known had been reinforced; that our blog-meets are something to be cherished. Not so much a case of à la recherche du temps perdu, more a case of à la prochaîne.
But the boss don’t like these dizzy heights
We’re busted in the blinding lights
Of closing time
As experienced by DropTheClaw.
Ovally Balls 
Superb Mr Claw! Here’s hoping you’ll get a chance to write another excellent summary for next year’s meet at Chimpie’s Hoose.
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Stunning ATL! Claw, your siren call will surely be answered by all on the good dinghy OB next year! And without Thaum’s indulgence, we’d never have read those words. Cheers to you both!
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Nice one, Claw.
Looking forward to Iksy’s take on it next.
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Lovely Claw, as always.
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How goes Colorado, AVS? A friend of ours is from there and has just gone home to be with his folks. Sent some seriously stunning pics of their farm. Not a bad spot to lock down!
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Tomorrow I’m attempting pot stickers. Basically chicken or pork dumplings with a crisped base. Anyone got any suggestions? *
* Fuck off or punch yourself are not useful in this context, Craigs.
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I’d suggest using chicken. Or pork
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Luvverly stuff. Want to go to heidelberg.
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Cooked only on one side, obviously.
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I’d get a takeaway
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Great stuff, Claw.
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Well, you know, it’s good, but it’s not Nornia.
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Nice to see you back Claw.
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“Cooked only on one side, obviously.”
Well yes. Otherwise it would have a crispy top as well as a crispy base.
Potsticker 101 or somesuch.
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“All potstickers are dumplings, but not all dumplings are potstickers.”
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“Fuck off or punch yourself are not useful in this context”
Piss off or knee yourself in the face?
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How goes Colorado, AVS? A friend of ours is from there and has just gone home to be with his folks. Sent some seriously stunning pics of their farm. Not a bad spot to lock down!
For a place to be under a stay at home order, I can’t complain. Can still ride my bike and fish at my leisure. Work situation looking dodgy for the next few months, but I am not alone there. Two things concern me: I have a friend who is an ICU nurse in Denver, and she is in the thick of the virus scene. The other is the great malignant orange fuckwit, totally bereft of compassion, empathy or a basic human decency, who is in charge of the country at the moment. Seriously, I’d feel more confident with Bubbles the Chimp at the helm.
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Who is at the helm is not important Avs, so don’t fret. Who is at the coalface is. Had a long overdue beer with a friend locally tonite, he drives a garbage truck, and says noone gives a shit that he has to pick up spilled garbage without safety gear. His missus works in a care home, same , no protective gear. Essential workers , both of them, with six kids in the house.
Cuomo is looking like a coming political force, standing up when needed,AND a motorcycling enthusiast.
Got any tips on fly fishing ? Season opens for trout tomorrow, but Lamont opened it early last week. I have only ever fished where I can catch dinner easily,( NZ, Tas, Galicia) but a fishing license allows me to get out and about. Maybe its time to learn? The Housatonic has good sized trout, catch and release only. Tips appreciated.
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Lovely words Claw.
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SBT – the obvious things first:
The correct rod and reel are key. Too many people use rods they’re not suited to and reels that don’t give the correct sensitivity to the type of fish and resistance that can be expected. Hence why so many catches are lost.
Bait: obviously for trout you’re using lures, not powerbait (dough) and they should be larger ones in order to catch the larger trout – not flies, mayflies and the like, but critters (I believe they’re called in the States), tubes and swimbaits, that larger trout would ordinarily feed on.
Location, I’ll leave up to you and assuming if it’s catch and release that you’re fishing for wild trout, not bred ones (hence the choice of bait as well). If you’re fishing in the wild, be aware of other wild animals in the vicinity so as not to scare them or have an unpleasant confrontation.
Critical stuff now: Once you’ve got your location sorted, prepped the rod, hooked up the line and found your rhythm, toss the whole lot aside, crack a beer and read Ovally Balls instead.
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Just to say, for some reason – I can “like” a comment but not the post.
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Great words Claw. Outstanding.
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Bait: obviously for trout you’re using lures, not powerbait (dough) and they should be larger ones in order to catch the larger trout – not flies, mayflies and the like, but critters (I believe they’re called in the States), tubes and swimbaits, that larger trout would ordinarily feed on.
So much wrongness here. So much wrongness.
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I see the responses to my pleas for help were as useful as ever. The biggest issue I’ve got right now is that I don’t have fresh coriander. And I think it would pretty irresponsible to go shopping just for that. Listening to Blackfoot’s Marauder at the moment – I’d forgotten about the particularly Thauma pleasing intro to Rattlesnake Rock ‘n Roller. Give it a whirl!
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Got any parsley deebs. Not the same but needs must etc.
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Got parsley toffee from a mate of ours? Oh, not that parsley.
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So much wrongness here. So much wrongness.
Got almost all of the actual fishing advice from an American trout fishing guide. The bit about drinking the beer and reading OB was mine though.
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Onto Uriah Heep’s Sweet Freedom. I’m starting to like this idea of working from home, with my garage man cave office! My ‘desk’ is perilously positioned equidistant from the booze fridge and the booze cabinet though. My very own Scylla and Charybdis experience, especially as I keep wanting to have a little sip of the Grappa I brought back from Italy in December in solidarity with my Milanese colleagues.
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Corona capture! Or steal, as it were. How many do you need in lockdown?
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Deebs – I’m being fairly pedantic but bait is not the same lures. There’re some lure fishermen who scorn bait anglers because they view lure or fly fishing as somehow more pure than sticking the fishes food on a hook. I straddle both camps so don’t mind.
Also, small flies/lures catch big fish and vice versa. I’m pretty sure about that one.
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Wishbone Ash, meet stylus – stylus, Wishbone Ash.
Did not know that Ted Turner played the Lap-Steel, 12-string, acoustic and electric guitars on this. And vocals.
Time is hurtling towards midday and self-declared acceptability for a beer. Except I have a telecon later, which I should be alert for. Not easy working from home.
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I’m being fairly pedantic
No shit – meet Sherlock, Sherlock – meet No shit.
Craigs, I’m possibly the world’s worst fisherman, with the biggest thing I’ve ever caught being a shoe. Struggled like hell to land it too! I literally googled ‘trout fishing for beginners’ or something and clicked on the first site that seemed to match. Snobbery amongst fishermen over how to catch the blighters? That’s a new angle for me.
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Snobbery amongst fishermen
In general, humans are always on the hunt for new and more innovative ways to be arseholes deebs.
I do all types of fishing and as much as possible but I’ve been getting more and more into my lure fishing recently. Unfortunately it is not in a great river, in the middle of nowhere surrounded by the Rocky Mountains. More in a drainage channel into a river, surrounded by the Weald.
OK, could be worse.
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Pfft.
Contract expired yesterday, and they haven’t got the new one issued yet, so can’t work. Bored.
Think I might follow Deebee’s example and have some wine with lunch.
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Unfortunately it is not in a great river, in the middle of nowhere surrounded by the Rocky Mountains. More in a drainage channel into a river, surrounded by the Weald.
So what’s the allure?
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‘So what’s the allure?’
Killing of living organisms in an isolated environment.
Needs watching, that craigs.
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“So what’s the allure”
Fox shad, orange trout pattern works well.
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Nobody’s taking the bait, sadly.
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Boa-ed it.
I don’t want an acolyte.
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Cheers for the comments, all! Not quite a Not Eddie, but there or thereabouts. A grand time had by all, despite the weirdness.
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TBEU gets more coverage: https://www.footballtodaypodcast.com/podcast/episode/325cc008/everything-or-nothing-streatham-rovers
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Tomp – showing your CJ envy again.
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Is ‘CJ’ short (ahem) for something else?
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Ye-es.
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Everyone needs this. Especially after smashing all the wine by his TV during self isolation.
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Everyone off doing their exercises then ?
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I’m getting my exercise by watching Mrs BB putting up a curtain rail.
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Christ, people are saying ‘isolated’ a lot on the news. They might not be Squeaky, but you have to drink anyway.
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Pot stickers were awesome. Pork and coriander, chicken and ginger. Also tempura prawns. Having a glass of vinho verde with it, which is lovely. Normally I’m up at 5am and get home between 6:30 and 7pm, meaning I seldom get the opportunity to cook. The lockdown is shitty, but it’s given me the chance to have fun in the kitchen and Mrs Deebee the chance to relax for a couple of hours whilst I do. Making the most of it.
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