“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 
Deebee just wants to understand me better. He’s seeking enlightenment.
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Wtf is anyone doing? The footshake, that’s what
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try this one, Avs. Interesting watch. Scrummaging , and brutal tackling. King Carlos ( possibly my favourite ABs 10) career ended here. Greenwood and Tindall show Umaga and Nonu how to tackle, and Neil Back schools St.Ritchie, and gives him a blueprint on how to play to the edge. Lolly shows up well too.
Brutal.
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Getting worrying here, Avs, How is Colorado?
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Colorado is on an upward curve as well. A friend who is an ICU nurse in Denver said they are gearing up for one nurse to be looking after 5 – 6 patients when normally it is 2 max.
The stay at home order is a little easier to handle in a small town, I think. I can still get out to ride / fish, so cabin fever is manageable so far. What is the situation with you?
And, do I have to watch that game again?
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BoJo’s predicament is a sad example of what happens when you think your experts understand enough about a situation to take a calculated risk when the real risks are much bigger than you think.
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The very up and down Czech deputy health minister Roman Prymula came out the other day that he’s come round to the idea of “herd immunity”. Slapped down by the Prime Minister, but there’s a lot of politics involved in the debate here.
https://www.radio.cz/en/section/news/top-czech-official-proposes-herd-immunity-approach
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Also that Prymula name always makes me giggle and it’s very difficult to explain to Czechs why.
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Just show them this
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The pronunciation is slightly different. For me it’s very very close but a bit further for the Czechs. It’s a frustrating experience.
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Interesting song to start the day with, OT. They look like they’re having fun.
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See the Govester is now self-isolating. It’s all getting set up for Patel to take over, isn’t it?
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I have remarkably little confidence in anyone who will potentially take over.
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What a state. BoJo looking like the least worst option in a crisis.
*sigh*
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Lockdown evening entertainment at the moment is Narcos. Quite a jolly tale innit.
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Makes you wonder what would happen up here if Wee Nikki got ill. Having said, while I don’t think there are a lot of superbrains in the Scottish Government, they don’t give off the same air of complete incompetence that the Westminster lot do.
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I don’t even know who here deputy is BB. John Swinney is in there somewhere?
Opposition up here really is an embarrassment.
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Just all thank your lucky stars you’re not in Brazil. In a sane society Bolsanaro would be tried for treason. I have a client there who is mortified by his attitude and actually quite scared of his supporters and the intimidation from some of them.
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Aye, he’s a right nutjob (beadleklaxon etc.) Deebee. Properly unhinged from my lofty vantage point.
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Editor of The Sun pleading with people to buy newspapers rather than frothy coffee.
Please, drink more coffee.
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Swinney’s the Education Secretary, Chimpie. Someone called Keith Brown is the Deputy up here. Nope, me neither.
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There were rumours the other day that the military have taken over in Brazil.
I met some middle-class Brazilians who were attached to the embassy in Pretoria. Poisonous politics.
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BB – yes, yes it is.
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Who is Therese Coffey? Must admit I’ve never heard of her, but then I try not to ‘hear’ of Tory Government politicians, as I might just start crying at how stupid they are.
Also, apparently Sturgeon herself said that John Swinney IS the Deputy First Minister. So Wikipedia is wrong then….
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Priti Patel PM. In for a penny, in for a pound I reckon.
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Tomp. – please…..just don’t
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I’m sure when I check Therese Coffey’s wikipedia page it’ll show she’s a One Nation Tory who, in the tradition of wets like Ian Gilmour …
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
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‘The man, who was stopped while speeding at 110 mph, had travelled to London from his home in Nottingham. When asked why he was doing the journey during the coronavirus lockdown, he said a loaf was a pound cheaper there.’
Er….
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He was going to buy exactly 200 loaves. He reckoned he’d save himself 210 quid.
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For anyone looking for listening ideas, the Graun are doing a ‘Listener’s Digest’ – looking at the back catalogue of various artistes.
https://www.theguardian.com/music/series/listeners-digest
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George Conway (husband of KellyAnne) on the Trumpster:
“He’s 100% insane, and nobody in the administration has the balls to tell him that.”
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I met some middle-class Brazilians who were attached to the embassy in Pretoria. Poisonous politics.
Yip. We do quite a lot of work for various organs of the Brazilian government, and every election we hold our breath to see if there’s a change, because if there is, everyone attached to the old regime is dumped post haste, with new ‘leadership’ in the civil service. Can be quite troubling. Similar in the Basque region where we do a lot of work – and I won’t mention the UK and the bloodletting in Wales when the Tories took over after Broon.
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It’s almost 3:30pm here. My ‘office’ is the converted garage where I have a fridge full of beer (small fridge). Would be a shame not to merge the work experience with an ice cold Windhoek Lager. Cheers all!
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Quite useful for some prolific artists where you don’t know where to start …can’t say I’ve heard of everyone featured though
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“What a state. BoJo looking like the least worst option in a crisis.”
Are we talking about Brexit or Coronavirus?
Ahhhhh Brexit, how I miss you.
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Trisk – I’ve heard that guy McCartney’s quite good.
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Prefer Lennon.
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No idea what you’re talking about, but I’ll chuck in my 5p worth anyway.
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Well, it’s never stopped you before….
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Magid (Mushrooms).
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I’m a bit suspicious of the George and Kellyanne Conway show. Part of Trump’s and the GOP’s gambit is to confuse and exploit contradictory messages so you can’t find any solid ground to stand on. I just find them both extreme and artificial.
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I’ve been learning a lot about Prime Minister Johnson’s prowess on the tennis court today. Seems as if he could have been another Buster Mottram.
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Trisk – you’ve got mail.
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“Priti Patel PM…”
Don’t have to look far for her theme tune:
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Blues Birthdays, Slight Return.
Billie Holiday born 7th of April 1915.
This band she has here is just the tops, a supergroup, if you will.
Oh and it’s my birthday too
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Happy Birthday Young Ticht! Hope the whisky is flowing, as it should be on your birthday.
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Got a bottle of Talisker 10, BB.
I started the day waiting for the RAC to change my battery, well, the battery in the car, not my battery. Then spent two hours waiting in Asda carpark for others to do the shop. I’ve been downloading films from Netflix for the asda wait. I’ve watched the Miles Davis one (from iplayer), the Ray Charles one, then Nina Simon and today it was a flim about trumpeter Lee Morgan, it’s a really good documentary about a very talented musician who played with Art Blakey and John Coltrane among others before going out on his own. He was shot dead by his wife at age 33, I’m not issuing any spoiler in saying that, but it’s a film I’d recommend watching for fans of the music.
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This came up on my YouTube suggestions. Sums up Glasgow rugby over the last few years – more of a try threat to the opposition when we’re on our OWN line…
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Happy Birthday Ticht!
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