“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, mankindās 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 Wellsā words to Jeff Wayneās 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 ā can one grizzle in a scarf? ā but over the course of two nights we put in a shift of ale-drinking an international pack would be proud of.
To Vetterās, and our pack was drawn together in a local brewery serving dunkelbiers and plates of meat and sautĆ©ed 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 ā 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 ā it would have little consequence in this day and age.
The dawn of a second day, then, and a stroll along Heidelbergās HauptstraĆe served to emphasise the impact Coronavirus was having ā 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 morningās 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 SoYouThinkYouāreaWaffleman (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 YouTubeās wealthy repository of rugby matches for us all to enjoy, given the absence of any matches. Sadly, even Iksā 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); SoYouThinkYouāreaWaffleman as Wellsā 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 ThingstƤtte, 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 Ć la recherche du temps perdu, more a case of Ć la prochaĆ®ne.
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 
Morning all.
The NRL are getting imaginative in their quest for corona action. Quarantined tournament a possibility.With playing staff and support staff totally isolated.
In the mean time, you can also cheer yourself up with a Hawaian shirt in you fave teams colours.
Magic.
https://www.nrlshop.com/teams/nrl-hawaiian-shirts/?utm_source=nrl_solus&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=200402_home_ground&utm_content=hawaiian
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“He rejoiced in the name of Preston Dove”
Almost makes me want to bring back my ‘Deeply Hurt, Southern Belle’ witterings.
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‘Almost’.
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My brothers were pretty good trout ticklers, up where the Usk flows between Llangynidr and Talybont.
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I know I was the only one who found joy in those character names scattered in the posts of others.
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Wish I’d kept a list now.
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Eddie Large RIP
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Apologies for the rant, but on the G how does Jenkins( S) manage to get everything so consistently wrong? It’s quite a talent.
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Newcastle to the premiership.
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Jenkins still a choob [1].
[1] alternative spelling chube
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Ticht – I’m a bit of a hop head myself so don’t mind a really bitter beer. Will check out the apa.
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Too much hop is not hip.
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MrIks – the Usk is a great river. Mrs Craig’s took me to a swanky hotel with fishing rights to the river a few times for my birthday.
She used to sit in a deckchair reading a book whilst I fished. Once woke up to be completely surrounded by cows.
Happy days.
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Eddie Large was a talented bloke. Syd Little made Peter Glaze look like Gene Kelly.
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Who woke up surrounded by cows, you at the river or Mrs Craigs in her deckchair?
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For the last couple of weeks we’ve been encouraged by our employers to use Zoom to keep in contact. Now it seems as though somebody in the company has been reading the articles about how Zoom can’t be trusted and how it sells information on to other companies and we’ve been told to stop using it. Just when I’d figured out how to use the bloody thing too.
Still, it means my work colleagues will no longer see my increasingly scruffy face (at least until the ‘bright minds’ at work decide we can use a different video meeting/conferencing programme).
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@bb
The remote working boom has led to the mother of all battles between remote meeting tools. At the moment the leaderboard looks like this:
1. Microsoft Teams
2. Zoom
3. WebEx, trailing by a long distance from the others.
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But I imagine Eddie Large shone brighter because of Syd Little thinking more deeply about it, as one does in lockdown.
BB, pass the Prog list.
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OT, I feel your pain. We, as a small company with almost no budget, decided to do podcasts for our clients. We have one senior exec who seems to have spent every fucking waking moment for the last two weeks finding a different platform every day. I’ve told them to find one and then I’ll participate. This shit is killing me!
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We used WebEx at my last employer, it was better than Skype for Business.
From an edumacation and training perspective, I worry that virtual, online tools create an ‘idiot’s charter’ for managers because you never get to see in reality how they would tackle leadership issues and how they would really talk with and relate to their subordinates and peers.
It’s difficult to prevent virtual and online becoming a one-way street – or narcissist’s paradise – for want of a better way to describe it.
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“But I imagine Eddie Large shone brighter because of Syd Little thinking more deeply about it, as one does in lockdown.”
Arf. Awful punctuation there. Let’s try again:
But I imagine Eddie Large shone brighter because of Syd Little, thinking more deeply about it. As one does in lockdown.
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@deebee
The appallingicity of webex came to the fore last Monday. I’d had an urgent phone call over the weekend from someone at the top of the ventilator consortium desperately looking for someone with a particuar expertise and experience to help them. If they couldn’t get that capability in place there would be a massive bottleneck and production could not start towards the end of last week. So I sent a few messages round over the weekend and we found someone who could help late on Sunday, and we set a webex up for 9.30 Monday morning. Bear in mind the guy from the consortium was basically working 24/7 on this and we had 30 mins to make the introductions, for everyone to have their say, for me to translate between the 2 different worlds being brought together so we could help solve the bottleneck problem. So at about 9.29 we all logged onto webex and it promptly crashed, not to be recovered. The guy with the tight deadline sent me a message saying “shall I just set up a zoom call?” So we did that instead, and it worked fine, and the first 30 ventilators will be delivered this weekend/early next week.
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Webex: sucks
Skype for business: better but still sucky
Teams: better again but still getting used to it
Can’t comment on the others
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Iks – Mrs Craig’s did. I laughed.
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OT, it sounds similar to what we’re seeing daily!
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Mrs Craigās did. I laughed.
You monster! How did she hurt herself?
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@Iks – I preferred the first version with Syd Little doing the thinking. It was kind of filthy though.
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@OT – where does the rather brilliant description come from?
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@cmw
Clive James circa 1978
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Should have guessed.
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Of course James wouldn’t have realised that Little was thinking about it as one does in lockdown. Mostly because he would have been too busy thinking about it himself.
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Although not in a way to make Eddie shine brighter.
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I only discovered Clive James a few months ago. A delight.
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Long live the Republic!
“The final survivor of La Nueve, the company of Spanish Republican soldiers who were the first to enter Paris in 1944, has died aftering having contracted the coronavirus. Rafael GĆ³mez Nieto was aged 99”
https://www.euronews.com/2019/08/24/liberation-of-paris-75-years-on-the-forgotten-story-of-the-spaniards-who-freed-the-city
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………the day before deGaulle…………………something correct history something
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Good old Charles de Gaulle. Never in human history has someone hated his friends more than his enemies.
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Like him or not – I think his uncompromising approach was the best approach for a future France.
When he arrived in London France’s future looked pretty bleak.
Of course, he irritated the hell out of UK and USA but he was more in touch with the character of his countrymen.
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@slade
I don’t think he was 100% wrong about the UK and USA either. He seemed to predict some of the incompatibility between the UK and the rest of Europe and the history of our presence in the EEC/EC/EU tends to prove him right.
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For me, de Gaulle is best known for failing to be killed by Edward Fox.
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I detest Zooom, and not only for the name. Also for the proselytizing of the acolytes as if “discovering” a lesser known software that is shit
Skype just sucks massive ass
google hangouts is the product of the devil, but actually works ok in its limited fashion
Facetime is the product of the devil, but doesnt even work ok in its limited fashion
No idea about Webex
I am old enough to remember the introduction of email and the resultant ” we want face to face”. Now its we dont want the written word, but want our BS to be etheral and unaccountable
Yes, Tomp, post the Waldorf & sadtler
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@utna
I actually spoke to someone on the phone this week. It was like a reminder of a simpler, more effective age.
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utna,
Solo you”re more like:
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Oh for the days when business was done by letter that would take 6 months to arrive.
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Robert Peston not happy that the Deputy Chief Medical Officer was ferocious in his response to his line of questioning:
Here is that response. My thoughts are with Robert Peston and his poor hurt feelings at this difficult time:
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How do you turn a duck into a famous soul singer?
Put it in the microwave till its Bill Withers
RIP Bill Withers
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Deebs – she wasn’t hurt!
Just surprised and a little perturbed by waking up in proximity to some fairly large animals.
I was wading upstream so couldn’t offer any assistance.
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Peston is a very terrible journalist. But with a good contact list, which seems to be how it works as long as you don’t question what you’re being told as that’d fuck up your access.
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Bill Withers, thank you for the great music. A marvellous artist.
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If you’ve got a spare hour, have a watch of this:
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