Highland Bike Extravaganza

Despite various aches and pains I'm delighted that I have finally managed to pull off an epic bike ride I have wanted to do for years. The big Perthshire round of Perth - Loch Tay - Loch Earn - Perth has been tantalisingly out of reach for a long time, but yesterday I completed it.

The first 25 or so miles were fun, as I was in the company of a fellow rider - one of my neighbours, who was on his own epic run from Perth to Inverness (no less!). We got off to a later than planned start, because his daughter who was off Munro-bagging for the day nicked his lunch and water bottles! Nevertheless we hit the cycle path north from Perth by 8AM.

The route follows the River Tay, before curving westwards along the River Almond, then following minor roads through little villages such as Pitcairngreen, before picking up the old A9, all the way into Dunkeld. From Dunkeld, we legged it up the old cycle route up the East side of the Tay, which is fast - despite being a little close to the A9 at times. At Ballinluig we went West, and round to Grandtully, where he went North on the Pitlochry route, and I pressed westwards towards Aberfeldy.

Grandtully to Kenmore, at the head of Loch Tay, is a fantastic run - albeit into a constant Southwesterly wind. Most people who have been to these parts know the fast A-road that skirts the south banks of the River Tay. The cycle route follows tiny unclassified back-roads on the north side of the river, through Dull, Weem and bypassing Aberfeldy, before dropping into the back of Kenmore. At Kenmore I enjoyed a rest, a feed and refilled my water bottles, before pressing on, over the old bridge, through the village square past the hotel - and round to the South Lock Tay Road.

Kenmore to Killin is perhaps the most scenic bike ride I have ever done - it is simply exhilarating despite battling the ongoing southwesterly wind. Truth be told, I didn't mind the headwind at this point, because it meant that the last leg of my long day would be wind-assisted when I turned for home! As the road heads away from Kenmore, and climbs above the dark waters of the loch, the views across to the 'Lawers Group' of Munros are really memorable. As I've climbed all of these and know them quite well, I could chart my progress along the loch in relation to the peaks opposite. Meall Greigh and Meall Garbh are the least distinct - but the sharp tooth of An Stuc (where I was once lashed with hailstones that felt as if they would take the skin from my face!) is as unmistakable as the high point of Ben Lawers itself. Meall nan Tarmachan, is next, with its pointy peak and charming ridge, before the hills at Killin.

Many years ago STV decided to re-run old episodes of Weir's Way in the wee small hours of the night. I loved sitting up watching these, and have visited so many of the places that Tom Weir explored. One of the first shows I saw was about Loch Tay, and he called in with the old Horn Carver who worked on the North side of the loch. Long gone now, he was still there carving when I first followed Tom Weir's advice and explored the Loch Tay hills. Cycling through them, again was both stunning and nostalgic!

At Killin, the Falls of Dochart had drawn a huge crowd - people were all over it. We're not long into the easing of Covid-19 lockdown, and a sunny weekend meant that the cities had emptied into the Highlands. A small amount of main road work is required before the cycle path to Lochearn head turns off the A827 and onto the old railway line. The trackbed isn't too bad for cycling on, and climbs steadily up a couple of hundred metres of ascent, before the blue National Cycle Route Signs (which had been my company all day), turned me left into the forest. I have to say I was really disappointed here as there was no indication that the track would only be suitable for mountain bikes. I managed to get up the tortuous woodland path to the head of Glen Ogle, but really should have been on the road - this "cycle route" was really an MTB trail, and should have been marked as such.

When I met the road at the top of Glen Ogle, I decided not to follow the old railway line down the other side to Lochearnhead, I had had more than enough of sub-standard surfaces by that point - and elected to use the A-road to descend. And what an amazing descent that is! The road plunges down the mountains, with the old railway viaducts to the right and the mighty bulk of Ben Vorlich ahead - it has to be one of the most wonderful downhill runs in this part of Scotland. Driving Glen Ogle is not bad, but it pales into insignificance with the thrill of cycling it. Cycling through a landscape doesn't just make you feel connected to it (every foot of ascent has been hard earned!), but allows you to observe it, to hear it, and smell it in a way that the car does not. All too soon, I was zooming through Lochearnhead, with oodles of momentum, and turning left onto the south Loch Earn road.

As I nudged my heavy, elderly, comfortable - and much loved F.W. Evans Tourer de Luxe, round the corner into the easterly run home, I could feel the wind at my back for the first time in the day - and clicked up a couple of gears. I flew along to Ardvorlich where I got snarled up in an incredible deluge of cars, people, walkers, campers, fishermen, campervans, all vying for lochside parking. Progress was repeatedly impeded by the volume of traffic, the insane parking, and the difficulties of negotiating passing places. I was also very sad to see the amount of litter, damage to the shoreline and mess left all along this beauty spot - which is supposed to be in the Loch Lomond National Park controlled camping zone..... hmmm. It doesn't seem to be working.

St Fillans to Comrie is a lovely fast, flat run, and I opted to duck away from the A-85, and use the backroad as much as possible, which I did again from Comrie to Crieff. The Crieff to Perth run, via the Gloagburn Farm road is a fast, undulating road, on which I toiled. 100miles is the longest ride I have done in many years, and by this stage everything was starting to hurt - not least my right ankle which I sprained badly last year, Running into the back of Perth through 'Noah's' and the western edge - I was home by 4-ish.

My neighbour, who was doing a far longer run than me, was by that stage heroically battling Slochd summit - before his triumphant run into Inverness.

For me, it was the fulfilment of three long-standing ambitions. I had wanted to do this big-round of Perthshire lochs, mountains and rivers. Secondly I had wanted to see if I could do a 100miler again. Thirdly I managed to complete my 1000Km cycle challenge that I was doing for the International Justice Mission. A truly memorable day!

 

Abernethy New Year Houseparty

Our whole family is just back from a great few days at Nethybridge Outdoor Centre, where we joined their New Year Houseparty. I've never been to anything like it before, but really enjoyed it. We were there from Sat-Weds, and had access to all their on-site activities like tennis, table tennis, swimming, dry-ski-slope, walks, games, etc; as well as joined in the Hogmanay Party, with ceilidh and fireworks. The centre in situated in beautiful woodland in the Cairngorms National Park, and and so has an abundance of mountains, rivers, lochs, climbs and bike trails on its doorstep. Alongside this there was a programme of evening meetings with light-hearted entertainment, as well as the Christian worship and teaching that the Abernethy Trust offers. It was this last aspect that I was able to contribute a bit too as well.

The accommodation was  basic but comfortable, and the food regular, plentiful and good value! It's a while since we have all piled into a family room together, and snored and coped with each other's irritating habits, but it was fun. One of the highlights for me was getting to know some of the staff a bit. Because I was helping with the meetings, I worked closely with them; putting the programme together. Abernethy seem to have managed to create a nice balance between professionalism and friendliness which makes working for them a joy.

The other guests were fascinating too. I enjoyed some really intriguing discussions with people from a huge variety of backgrounds; and opinions! There were Scots, English and Northern Irish folks to start with, and others who had lived all over the world. There were people from High-Church, Low-Church and No-Church, full-time parents, farmers, engineers, academics, charity-sector workers, teachers, physios, psychiatrists, retired folks, and youngsters, toddlers, a Cathedral verger and many more! I don't think I have ever encountered such an eclectic mixture of interesting people in one place before.

In the meetings we looked at the lessons from some of the Bible's more overlooked characters. These were Barabbas the convict, Bathsheba, King Omri, Hezekiah and Barnabas. The centre has a great band, made up of staff past and present, and they led us in worship every night too - which was really encouraging. I got to speak in the local CofS at Nethybridge too. I had suspected before I went that it might be a small or sleepy affair; but that just exposes the folly of my prejudices! The beautiful country kirk was crammed to the gunnels with people, with extra chairs in the aisles to accommodate them.

The only real disappointment was the complete lack of snow all week. When the snow comes, the centre runs a bus to and from the Lecht every day, and my kids were desperately hoping to fill their days on the slopes. Alas, twas not to be! I felt a bit sorry for them, as the possibility of snow had been a major draw for them coming up there with me. However they seemed quite happy flinging their Mum around at the Hogmanay Ceilidh, as 2019.

Abernethy is a great place. I hope I can go back one day.

"Defined" - Jonny's Story

"Defined" - Jonny's Story from Aaron Koch on Vimeo.

This guy is a friend of a friend, his amazing story of the triumph over adversity - which takes him all the way to the paralympics - is well worth watch.

Glen Shee

A lot of people talk about how beautiful Glen Shee is, especially in winter. My family are all skiers, and so I joined them on Saturday and did some walking from the ski-centre. I think I must be alone in thinking that the thousands of cars and assorted ironmongery all over the hills, and the concentration of vast numbers of people into one small patch of landscape; is actually rather horrible. I think that next time I'll drop them in this Highlands-meets-Disneyland playpark, and drive somewhere else - to walk in peace, calm and solitude away from the noise, crowds, cafe's, machinery, over-sized cars, and over-projected pretentious accents. I don't think I'd have to go far; I'm sure in adjacent Glens Ey, or Callater the mountains are still lurking, without looking like a vast branch of Macdonalds has enveloped them. Rant over. Thanks.

In The Great Ben Alder Forest: Carn Dearg, Geal-Charn, Aonach Baeg and Beinn Eibhinn

2014 has been up until now a year off from climbing new Munros. The reasons for that are many, but start in January with the death of the friend with whom I had climbed so many of them. There was busyness too, especially with church commitments at weekends; but the underlying issue was that in January my desire to be out in the hills had been sapped. Something changed a fortnight ago though. I was invited to take part in a charity ascent of Ben Nevis, in memory of my friend. It was organised by his wife and family; and we all donned our "Climb for Kevin" T-shirts, and went to the very top of Scotland - raising money for the Highland Hospice who had cared for him so magnificently. It was not only a matter of being back out in the hills which re-intoxicated me with their beauty; but also being there with his family and reminiscing about his exploits somehow helped me to get over whatever had been holding me back. 

With a day-free and a great forecast, wearing that same "Climb for Kevin" T-shirt, I threw my mountain bike onto the car and drove up the A9 to Dalwhinnie. Drivers through the pass of Drumochter will be familiar with the mountains to the left of the road as they head Northwards. Hidden behind those is the exquisite silver ribbon of water called Loch Ericht, running SW/NE for mile after mile. In his Munro guide, Cameron 'Indyref' Macneish talks about the the glimpse of Ben Alder down Ericht-side from Dalwhinnie making it look closer than it really is. He is absolutely right; Loch Ericht is an extremely long loch, and Alder a vast bulk. 

Ben Alder is the largest mountain in a group of hills to which it gives its name; and from the North there is one point of access to them all; a ten-mile bike ride down Loch Ericht. The miles might be long, but the track is good; built by the bllionaire estate owner to access the various luxury properties which now dot the estate, and which facilitate shooting parties. Although this is the middle of the stalking season, a quick phone call to the estate office had assured me that there was no stalking taking place and so no restrictions on which routes I could take. I was actually undecided about what I would do until I arrived at Culra bothy and parked the bike; (Culra is the bothy which was recently shut because of an asbestos warning).

I began by following the feint track westwards/northwards towards Carn Dearg. While the sketch-map in Macneish's book indicates making the ridge to the west of the summit and bearing right up to the cairn; it seemed to me a more natural line of ascent to hit the ridge to the east, and curve leftwards up the steep pull to the rocky summit.

Stepping over the Carn Dearg summit rocks, I was startled to find myself face-to-face with a large, lone stag. It stared at me, and I back. What a day not to be carrying a decent camera just this little iPhone4! Never having been this close to a stag before, and being somewhat wary of its bulk, and antlers, I cautiously climbed away from it - giving it a wide berth. For its part, I was a subject of general disinterest. Perhaps it didn't take the beast long to realise that I just didn't smell rich enough to be liable to shoot it.... and once that had been established it merely observed me on my way.

In the "Alder Group" there are three clusters of Munros. To the North, accessible from the Laggan Road, lie Creag Pitridh, another Geal Charn, and Beinn a Chlachair. The Southern side of the group, adjacent to Loch Ericht has Ben Alder and Beinn Bheoil, its little sibling. Right in the centre of this, and thus hemmed in from roads on all sides by other peaks, sit four mountains - running NE/SW, parallel with the line of Loch Ericht. Despite being so far South, these mountains are truly remote; they are as far from towns and tarmac as virtually any hill in the far North. The maintained stalkers paths which penetrate the glens are perhaps the giveaway to the truth that this is a landscape which while feeling remote and untouched, is in fact highly influenced by human activity; and has been for a very long time.

During the course of the long, hot day I worked my away along the ridges, and over all four of these splendid hills. Having looked at them from more easily accessible hills in previous years, they not only looked graceful and enticing but seemed to be dangled in my sight like a distant prize. It was then, exhilarating to stride across these perfectly sculpted mountains. Overblown expectations disappoint, but these hills did not. The vast views of far peaks, great lochs stretching away into the horizon, tight ridges, steep ascents, stunning lochans cusped beneath scalloped corries, all spread over great distances fired my enthusiasm again and again. 

Certainly some of the navigation, which was obvious on glorious summer day like this, could have been quite tricky in fog. Some of the narrow ridges connecting wide, flat summits would not have been obvious. As it was, I think I checked the map three times all day!

I picked my way down the steep Southeastern shoulder of Beinn Eibhinn to the floor of the glen, before climbing the southside of it, up to the stalkers path leading up to the Meall an t-Slugain. This is the high-point in the lonely mountain pass between these hills and Ben Alder itself; a silent watershed - and magnificent viewpoint back over Loch Ossian and out over the vastness of Rannoch Moor. This is not far from where my sister was taken safely off the hills by Mountain Rescue some twenty years ago - which is perhaps a story for another time. 

As the views Southeastwards were so impressive, I wondered if the Northwestwards view from the col would be equally grand. Most of all, by this stage in the day with sore legs after a big descent, and not much water left, I was hoping for a distant sight of Loch Pattack, and the bothy where my bike was parked. As can be seen in the photo above, my targets were too far to the left, hidden from view behind the lower slopes of Sgor Iutharn, and its' soaring Lancet Edge. Looking back along my route, this next photo is of Alder to the left, and the Lancet Edge of Sgor Iutharn to the right.

The path soon plunges in amongst a series hummocky moraines, left here by some long-distant ice movement; and then dives in by the Allt a Chaoil-reidhe river. Longing to know how far I still had to walk, I ploughed on, hoping for a distant glimpse of the bothy. I passed the place in the river where on my last outing to these parts I had fallen in trying to get across. I will always remember my walking companion (step forward, one Mr T. Pickering!) sitting on the bank chuckling like Muttley at my Dastardly floundering...

The bothy suddenly appeared in my view, closer than I had expected. I could just see my bike leaning up against the wall of it - awaiting my return. I had saved my final drink for this moment, and threw it down my neck with immense relief; packaged up my walking-poles and pedalled for Dalwhinnie, the car and home. The route in total was about 50km, with almost 30km of that being on the cycled section - while most of the ascent was in the walking. 

Best of all - a day off from all contact (there's no mobile reception out there), and a chance to think, pray, have space, and forget about the Scottish referendum; at least for a few hours! 

Book Notes: Fibber in the Heat by Miles Jupp

Whether he likes it or not (he doesn't, by the way), to those of us who had children in the late 1990s/early 2000's, "Miles Jupp" will only ever be the new comic character devised by Archie the Inventor of Ballamory fame. "Fibber in the Heat", however has nothing to do with a cast of colourful characters in a Glasgow TV studio pretending to be on the Isle of Mull. Rather it is the highly amusing tale of Jupp's attempt to enter the world of cricket journalism by pretending to be a cricket journalist, and joining England's tour of India under somewhat dubious pretence and highly suspect paperwork.

This is a hugely entertaining book, in which Jupp declares open-season on his own dignity and allows himself the freedom to indulge his whimsical self-deprecation to its full extent. As the story unfolds, you can't help but want the hapless Jupp to succeed, as he bluffs his way past security guards, files his speculative copy to BBCScotland, and manages to sit in the press box, travel with the commentators and meet the sporting stars.

What is also amusing is reading his impressions of, and anecdotes about the well-known cricket commentators and former players with whom he travelled. I was interested to see if they came across in real life as they do on the TV and radio - and to a great extent they did, Atherton was polite but diffident, Gower amiable and pleasant, Boycott loud and abrasive.

The bulk of the book is about the daily struggle to integrate himself into the world of cricket journalism - coupled with funny anecdotes about his attempts to navigate his way around the complexities of India. Rickshaws, conmen, impossible road-crossings, impenetrable bureaucracy, and of course stomach-bugs which erupt within him like Mount Vesuvius. All of this is wrapped around the story of England's Test series against India, during Andrew Flintoff's brief reign as England captain. Despite Jupp's best efforts to derail the cricket journalism element of the book, the reader gets a good feel for the events on the field during that series, every bit as much as the personal dramas going on in the press-box.

This book will appeal to anyone who has appreciated Miles Jupp's various forays onto Radio4, (or anyone who just wonders what Archie the Inventor is up to these days) - although both might be a little surprised at the florid use of expletives, which is a bit much at times. Cricket lovers will enjoy this too, as it is a cricket book like no other, giving an oblique and amusing angle on a much-described subject. Cricket in Britain has developed an idiosyncratic culture around it, in which the goings-on in the various press boxes (such as BBC Radio's Test Match Special) have become intrinsic to many people's enjoyment of the game. Fibber in the Heat gives a hilarious insight into the world of these sports journalists and what happens on tour. Fibber in the Heat is Miles Jupp's invitation for you to join him as he laughs at himself in his madcap cricket adventure.  An invitation well worth accepting!

Book Notes: Cairngorm John by John Allen

Being in the mountains; walking them, climbing them, skiing them, painting or photographing them seems to drive people to write about them. Any book or gift shop in the Highlands of Scotland has a shelf or two devoted soley to the genre. Not that I am in a position to complain about this, of course - a click on the words "hills" on the "labels" menu on the right hand side of this page will reveal that I am subject to the same forces I describe and have spewed forth words on the subject at regular intervals since this blog begun. A high proportion of such books are written by 'extremists' who have accomplished extraordinary moutaineering feats - and presumably need to recover the costs of their months in the mountains, and so take to publishing. John Allen's "Cairngorm John" is a quite different sort of book - because from 1972 - 2007, he was a member (and for most of that time, the leader) of the Cairngorm Mountain Rescue Team. The book is subtitled, "A Life in Mountain Rescue" - which nicely summarises what makes this book both unusual and fascinating.

Two images spring to mind when a book about mountain rescue is considered; the first is of macho-posturing and adjective-busting narratives of daredevil rescue ("Thunderbirds are go!") and the second is of tutting and moaning about idiots who get into trouble in the hills, and the bother they cause. John Allen's book is neither of these, but is in fact a thoughtful and realistic memoir packed full of discussion about the practicalities and challenges of safely removing the stranded from all manner of situations - in varying medical states. While one or two of the rescued are criticised (the ill-equipped teacher who led more than thirty ill-equipped kids up onto the plateau); Allen is usually remarkably respectful of the people he has rescued - and notes that the well-equipped, and highly experienced are just as likely to be overwhelmed by the brutality of the mountain environment; as the naive tourist.

While there are some tales of heroic feats, stretchering splintered-limbered climbers off precipices in blizzards; much of the book focuses on the organisational logistics of organising and planning a rescue. Likewise, there are poignant chapters on rescue-attempts which did not have happy outcomes, where rescue dogs locate frozen bodies in the snow, and the team notify the base and return the remains to the families. This is hard reading, especially when the victim was a youngster.

The relationships between the various bodies who work together on rescues (Mountain Rescue, Air Force, Ambulance/paramedics and police) also make insightful reading. This is so, not just on the various funding negotiations which Allen was party to, but also on the use and limits of helicopters (RAF), the extent to which a mountain rescue crew should attempt medical procedures in situ at the expense of speed of extraction of the victim from the mountain environment (ambulance); and the potential that a death in the field might be a crime scene and how this affects the process (police).

Some of Allen's personal life also permeates the narrative, from his childhood, training as a pharmacist, marriage, family life, and of course moving up to the Cairngorm area when he was able to run his own pharmacy business. His own love of the mountains, and mountain sports is obvious - and he was no stranger to the difficulties that even mountain experts can get into; and talks about the serious knee injury he sustained on a climb which finally led to to his retiral from the service and a change in retirement from hills to water, from climbing boots to sailing boats.

One personal footnote I wish he had developed a little more was his loss of the Christian faith he was brought up with. He mentions gaining skills and experience running a Scripture Union holiday camp at Scoughall (a place I first visited just this summer), but going on to leave the faith. Apart from wanting to play sport on Sundays which violated the Scottish-Sabbatarian version of Christianity on offer at the time, he offers no other explanation for this departure. The sadness I feel as a Christian reading that is coupled with a bit of frustration as a reader who wants to know why!

Nevertheless, hints of Allen's upbringing filter through sometimes. He describes the evolving development of the service as they constantly sought to improve techniques, equipment and training - making enormous progress over the decades. One of Allen's major achievements was the  purchase and equipping of a new base for the service in an old church building near Rothiemurchus, a change of use he notes that still involves "fishing for men". Alongside the development of the service, I also enjoyed reading of Allen's various colleagues - quite a cast of colourful characters - over the years, and the great affection and comradeship that existed between the members of the service. He describes many of them with enormous respect and admiration - and fondness, especially for those no longer living, who gave great time and energy to this good work. The Mountain Rescue Service, although professional in its standards, remains to this day the work of volunteers - one of the reasons that Allen gained an MBE for his work.

Personally, this book has made me a little more cautious in the hills. I have always been a fairly cautious walker, but that is probably because I have done so much walking in the Scottish Mountains on my own. The added caution is not in what kind of routes I tackle, as they seem to be getting longer and more demanding!  However, I have found myself carrying more than I used to, in terms of spare layers, extra food and carrying things like a warm hat - even when the forecast suggests that it will never leave the comfort of my pack. In so many stories in this book, accidents have occurred when the unexpected happened, and the fate of the casualty was significantly affected by how well equipped they were to deal with it. Likewise - while I used to be happy to charge my mobile phone and let it run-down during the day; I now realise that so doing would leave me with a dead, useless phone were I to break an ankle and be out all night. My phone these days gets charged up and switched off!

For anyone who loves the Scottish Mountains, this is an informative and engaging book that will both educate and lead to greater appreciation for the great work that the volunteers of the Mountain Rescue Service do, and would be willing to do for any of us who got into trouble in the hills.

Best Ever Sledge?

How to spend a warm sunny afternoon

Driving back from Edinburgh Airport on Sunday afternoon after depositing my Mum and Sister there, we had a few spare hours. Ice creams, sunshine, the backdrop of Kinross House and twenty-two guys engaged in an exhibition of the highest form of sporting culture, most contentedly occupied us!*

"Nicely clipped off his toes backward of square for a couple"

*actually Mrs H. dozed contentedly in the sunshine!

Boris' First Match

Last night young Boris played his first competitive cricket match. Even though he's one of the really young ones in the under 13s team he did pretty well and more than justified his place in the team. He bowled a couple of overs, beat the bat a few times, almost had a catch and only got really hit once. Batting at 9, he came in during a total batting collapse facing a petty quick older lad - but managed to block out a couple of overs before getting out lbw to a yorker. It was a shame that he didn't manage to score more than one - because alongside some good defence, he hit some nice shots - but couldn't penetrate the field. He was also instrumental in getting a run out when he was fielding - with a good throw in from 3rd man.

He's mad keen to go back for the next one!

(Boris on the boundary - face blurred for privacy)

Playing Hard-Ball

After several seasons playing "Kwik Cricket" (the softball introductory form of the game), number one son (aka 'Boris') yesterday graduated to playing hardball, at the club's first winter nets. He was naturally a little nervous before going as he's watched the older lads playing such 'proper cricket' across the ground many times. I've seen him watching some pretty quick bowlers getting the lethal leather to climb alarmingly from just short of a length - whizz past batsmen's noses and thud into the nets, with a mixture of admiration and apprehension.

He started off with a bit of bowling, which was great because this is probably his strength. He's bowled at me several times with a hard ball, so the only novel bit was bowling to other lads. Last time he bowled at me he caused a tasty bruise on my shin too. Spotting the ball drifting onto leg stump, I tried to effortlessly flick him through mid-wicket with all the elegance of David Gower - but ended up hopping about clutching my shin with all the panache of Barry Chuckle. I had to admit that he was at least a yard quicker than I'd anticipated; but noticed that he was more interested in whether the ball would have gone on to strike leg-stump, than about whether his poor father would ever walk again. In the nets last night, he got his line right pretty quickly, getting in a good groove in and around off-stump during the time I was there. The adjustment for him was with length - a move up the age-group means a longer wicket, and although not at a full 22-yards yet, he did take a few balls to find a reasonable length.

I wasn't there when he was batting - but the coaches seemed to be happy enough, saying that he was developing a sound defensive technique, which is the essential foundation on which to build an armoury of more attacking shots. The big change here is with equipment. Kwik Cricketers play dressed in shorts and T-shirts, whereas hard-ball cricketers go out to bat these days dressed like medieval knights in armour. I'm old enough to remember a handful of test cricketers who didn't use batting helmets, but now even kids routinely hide under their plastic lid. This might seem a little over the top to some - but it's probably a good thing. If the bounce was very low in the indoor net last night and the helmet superfluous, a time will come when they will face some aspiring Michael Holding and being used to wearing the helmet when the time comes will be an advantage. Viv Richards, famously never used one - claiming that "if you need one, you shouldn't be out there". In retirement however he admitted that this was all bluster and that the real reason was that having learnt to bat without one, he was never comfortable with it on.

The step-up to 'real cricket' was a challenge, but Boris absolutely relished it. It's "SO" much better than kwik cricket, he says!

St Johnstone 2 : 2 Hearts

If Saints fans were worried that promotion to the premiership would leave them floundering, unable to compete and quite literally out of their league; then this afternoon's 2-2 draw with Hearts will have put all such fears to rest. For the first 45, Saints dominated, and deserved to take a 1-0 lead into the interval. Hearts two goals in the second half followed a significant improvement in their performance, coupled with their ability to seize the chances they generated, while goal-scoring opportunities were not taken, or taken and disallowed at the other end. The large crowd erupted, when Saints equalised in injury time, thanks to a curling Martin Hardie free-kick from 25 yards; a fitting conclusion to a thoroughly entertaining match.

Ticket prices may have been raised at McDiarmid Park, as St Johnstone enter the big league, but there's no doubt that the entertainment level has been raised far more. The relentlessly fast, more skillful play of the premiership is in stark contrast to some of the plodding Division one games of last season, and the ability of top-flight teams like Hearts, to hold possession and build from the back, is worlds-away from some of the dreary long-ball punting we were subjected to from the likes of Stirling Albion last year. It was also good to see that the premiership has lead to bigger-crowds of away-fans coming to Perth than some of the lower-league minnows could muster; this coupled with a big turn-out of locals in the home stands, meant that there was a real atmosphere too. With entertainment this good on offer, they deserve to do well.

Welcoming Home The Ashes

What a fabulous climax yesterday to the Ashes Summer, when on Day 4 of the Oval Test, Australia's hopes of clinging on to the famous urn were finally dashed. It would be entirely unfair to say, in traditional style, "that the better team won" - because in terms of both raw talent, and performance statistics, the better team were unable to salvage the draw they needed to retain the coveted trophy which they so overwhelmingly won two years ago at home in Australia. Somehow England were able, with Strauss and Trott's accumulation of runs, and Broad's devastating first-innings bowling, to win the final test by a stunning 197-run margin.

The series itself has been something of a roller-coaster, both teams suffering from wild fits of erratic inconsistency, with both bat and ball. This is probably the key difference that will be noted in the inevitable comparisons with the summer of 2005 series, when both teams performed consistently well and the Ashes were "won". In 2009, while there were moments of heroic performance that turned the tide for one side or the other - there is a greater sense that this year the Ashes were "lost" - by heroic failures. Neither side played consistently at the top of their game for the series, and Australia was almost as poor at Lord's as England were lamentable at Headingly, only a few weeks later. Some statistician somewhere will work out how many of the woeful batting collapses we have seen from both sides this summer have been caused by batsmen being unable to leave balls wide of the off-stump, a problem no-doubt exacerbated by the prevalence of the 20-20 form of the game.

But despite that, there were some notable performances. Anderson and Panesar's battling defiance of the Australian attack on the last day at Cardiff, restored English hopes - after the Aussies had so comprehensively demolished their bowling attack in the opening match. Flintoff's spell of brutal fast-bowling at Lord's was as compelling as it was destructive, and as memorable as Strauss' big hundred. Headingly was a complete disaster for England who lost by a innings and oh....... hundreds and hundreds of runs - and was entirely devoid of hope except for the curious rejuvenation of Stuart Broad. Broad had begun the series as the new ball bowler (perhaps somewhat surprisingly), but by mid-series he was near the bottom of the pecking-order, Strauss not handing him the ball until Anderson, Flintoff, Onions and sometimes even Swann had all had a go. Yet, his series turned around in Leeds, with 6-91 with the ball, and a fine-looking 61 with the bat. Although Australia levelled the series here, setting up this week's thrilling finale, it also appears to have been the match preparation that England's man-of-the-match at The Oval required to bring his obvious potential to fruition. He ends up leading the bowling stats for the series, and with a batting average higher that Cook, Bopara, Bell, Prior and Collingwood - and mid-series suggestions of his exclusion from the team put to one side.

Flintoff's occasional bursts of headline-grabbing brilliance have masked a fairly ordinary series for the big-man, and an equally ordinary test finale, save for the spectacular, timely and brilliant run out of Ricky Ponting, whose partnership with the equally brilliant Mike Hussey threatened at one stage to wreck England's party. England will not miss Flintoff's frequent ludicrous dismissals at the crease, the constant worries over his fitness, and his career statistics do show plenty of bad games alongside the good ones. But they will miss some of the extraordinary moments of inspiration he has provided for his team, sometimes at critical moments. His second innings bowling at Lords was for a few short, match-changing overs, brilliant, and his final moment of glory, in hurling Ponting's stumps down from mid-on was such a typical Flintoff moment of sporting brilliance and showbiz, that it brought the whole ground (and countless people around the country) to its feet.

What a shame then, that the ECB have sold all the broadcasting rights to Murdoch's media empire. The reason that the 2005 Ashes was a national event, wasn't just the better play that year, but the widespread accessibility when home tests were kept on the reserved list of sporting events to be kept on terrestrial television. Murdoch's millions might filter down to club level with the odd sightscreen here, and the odd new net there, or even a coach trained to teach youngsters the game somewhere in Merthr Tidfyll; but the fact is that unless kids can readily see their heroes in action, demand for these facilities will be gone within a generation.

The second shame is that this great sporting spectacle has brought out the lunatic-fringe of the SNP, demanding that what media coverage there has been be axed in Scotland, because cricket is not a Scottish sport! This is ill-conceived knee-jerk populism of the silliest kind. For a start, cricket in Scotland is alive and well, played by thousands every week, and with significantly higher participation than Rugby that er... "Scottish" sport. That's why during the 2005 Ashes series, the live coverage gained higher viewing percentages in Scotland than in England! That the team is called "England" (but has regularly featured Scots and Welshmen) is of course a problem, but one which allows Scots to play at the very highest level under an England banner, or enter a separate Scottish team in the world cup - so one which Scottish cricketers are hardly motivated to campaign to change.

The next job for the England selectors is to assess the series and work out who will be in a position to take the team forward from here. Vaughan's team of 2005 did little after their great series, and there are some series selection issues to work through from here on.

If we to classify the players in terms of their likely inclusion in the next squad as 'certain', 'query' and 'drop', the following would be my assessment.

Certain

Strauss: the linchpin of the batting line up

Trott: a very impressive debut

Pietersen: brilliant but erratic

Broad: has proved himself in the last 2 games

Anderson: can he do enough when the ball doesn't swing?

Prior: hugely improved keeper, adds useful runs

Swann: England's best spinning option, useful batsman

Query

Onions: 10 wickets in three tests, wasn't enough to keep his place

Cook: consistently out cheaply fishing outside off-stump

Bell: Unreliable, never looks really 'in'

Collingwood: Has had a disastrous summer, averages lower than the bowlers

Harmison: Three quick wickets, might not be enough

Drop

Bopara: His centuries again the Windies don't look like being repeated

Panesar: He can't elevate his bowling to match his enthusiasm.

All that however, can wait for another day. Today, there is plenty to celebrate. Despite the best efforts of the likes of Ponting, Siddle, Hilfenhaus, Hussey, North and Johnson - we have the Ashes back. And that's fantastic!

Boris and The Saints

Young Boris' wish finally came true at the weekend when he was taken to a professional football match. He often plays on Saturday mornings on the training pitches under the shadow of the main stand at St Johnstone's McDiarmid Park, and has expressed frequent longings to get inside the big ground and see the real thing.

It may have been freezing cold, it may have been raining, and it may have only been St. Johnstone beating Stirling Albion 2-1 in the Scottish first division, and it wasn't exactly the beautiful game - but between 3 and 5 o'clock on Saturday afternoon, there wasn't a happier boy in Scotland. "This is a day I will never forget" he beamed!

We were both numpties however. I was a numpty because it is so long since I have been to a game that I wasn't aware of all the regulations about what you could/couldn't bring in to the ground. So part of our snacks/drinks had to be hidden behind the counter in the souvenir shop. Then Boris was a numpty because he couldn't get the hang of the tip-up seat. What seemed to defeat him repeatedly was the fact that if he stood up to cheer, the seat would tip-up and not be there for him to plunge his weight back down on to. He kept many people amused with his unintentional slapstick routine for much of the game.

Wet, shivering and £20 worse off, I retreated to the warmth of the car feeling that Dad-duties had been satisfyingly completed. All the way home, Boris read me the fixture list for the rest of the season from his programme. Maybe see you there!

Nostalgia - as good as ever...

These are "the garages" - the place where as a child I played for hours and hours, days and weeks. During the winter, this uninspiring patch of suburban tarmac was Wembley, Anfield, Old Trafford or Highbury; as me, the neighbours kids and pals from school, fought out our heartfelt battles for imaginary sporting glory. All summer long it became Lords, The Oval or Headingley, with makeshift stumps at each end. I can still remember the nervous anticipation of watching the school opening bowler Kevin Brooke sprinting in to bowl at full speed, and the ecstasy of driving the ball back past him to the fence, or the agony of hearing my stumps being demolished behind me. This drab arena was once the setting for some epic sporting dramas, diving headers, goalies saves, cut-shots through the fence and many a bookable 'undue celebration'. Play was usually only punctuated with trips to collect balls from neighbours gardens, and we knew well which ones would cheerfully throw them back and which would interogate and intimidate.

This might well be the dullest photo on the internet; but as I look at it, I can hear the 'boom' of the ball crashing into the aluminium garage doors, the feel of the bat in my hand, the pleading 'howzat' of a young bowler to an imaginary umpire, and feel the tension of sudden-death penalty shoot-outs and the grazing of countless knees on tarmac.

World Cup Fever?

The whole world is allegedly going football-crazy, football-mad. I'm really trying to join in as well, trying to enter into the spirit of the thing, enjoy the sense of occasion and generally get 'world cup fever'. The problem is, that no matter how much I spend time with those most afflicted with the most virulent strains, and no matter how much I seek to expose myself directly to the source of the infection; to this fever at least, I appear to be peculiarly immune.

I thought that watching "Ing-er-land's" opening game against Paraguay might do the trick. Alas no. Whereas I have been known to leap from my chair screaming at televised sport; England limping home 1-0 left me coldly noting that even that one goal was an own-goal not a real one. Even the sight of the disgraceful refereeing decisions failed to illicit much response, and the final whistle came as a great relief. Yes - there was the relief that England had held onto their flukey lead until the death; but much more pressing was the relief that I no longer had to sit watching this dull spectacle in the hope of some excitement.

I'll stick with it for a few more matches. It has to get better than this.