St Albans Market Archives -

It’s Beginning to Feel a Lot Like…Easter (Again)

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Christmas is all about traditions and here at AL3 WTF we, like families across St Albans, like nothing more than repeating exactly the same festive habits year-in, year-out. In fact, so much so that it is customary for us to re-issue the same blog every single year. We’ve been doing this each December since our formation so that, err, actually means this is only the second time.
We’re ahead of the curve, to be honest. TV is all about repeats at this time of year and we’re blazing a trail for blogs to replicate that successful formula…
Here are eight ways to tell it’s almost Christmas in St Albans. Apart from no. 2 (+ 10 pts credit to the Council, the light turning on ceremony this year was actually pretty good; bigger, better and more spread out) they all hold true. Actually, no.6 is even more true this year: we thought it really odd that the Christmas Market finished on the 20th last and this year it shut on the 18th (deduct 15pts from the Council – tut, tut, tut – must try harder)
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It’s Beginning to Feel a Lot Like…Easter

…which means that it must be almost Christmas. We’re only few days away from Cream Eggs being beside every till, and rows of over-packaged chocolate oefs glaring at us menacingly from supermarket aisles.

Anyway, I’ll be surprised if anyone has the time to read this blog in the pre-Christmas rush. I’ll also probably be regretting spending valuable time writing it when I’m covered in Sellotape, garish ribbon and sparkly bows come midnight on Christmas Eve, but enough about my festive fetishes…

Eight Ways We Know it’s Almost Christmas in St Albans:

1) The staff in Metro Bank are all wearing Santa hats. I love a Santa hat, but there’s a time and a place for everything. I know that Metro Bank is working really hard to be ‘different’, but Santa hats from 1st Dec onwards? Really? Mr Banks from Mary Poppins would turn in his grave (if snooty banker characters from films had graves, that is).

2) The Christmas lights are on. The Christmas lights are on! St Peter’s Street never looked so joyful. Apart from last year. And the one before. When it comes to lights, we don’t exactly push the boat out, do we. The turning on ceremony was some time back in August, I think. Basically, it was an event more about hope than delivery. Security guards at each end of the pedestrianized zone were only letting through people with pushchairs. I didn’t actually see this security cordon, but it must have been in place as there’s no other way that such a high concentration of buggies could have come to be in the same crowded, noisy, dimly lit zone. It was like a Bugaboo convention. There’s a rumour going round that next year the council are going to turn the Chrissie lights off at dusk to save money and the town centre will be illuminated solely by the glow of pub-door cigarettes.

3) Every third house has an estate agent’s sign up. No, there’s been no sudden upsurge in the property market; these boards are to promote local schools’ Christmas fairs. If you need your annual fix of tombola action and the chance to get your hands on a ticket ending with a 5 or a 0 then this is the time of year for you. Mind, you’ll only win something you don’t want like lavender bath salts or box of monogrammed hankies (not the correct initial, obviously), but it’s the winning that’s important. Oh, and the raising of funds for the school. Oh, and it gives estate agents the opportunity to feel like they are part of the community. Yeah, right.

4) You’ve received an ‘exclusive’ mailer from every other shop on the high street inviting you to an ‘exclusive’ event where the only other ‘exclusive’ people attending will be absolutely everyone else in town. You probably got this much-prized invite because of some loyalty card you signed up for seven years ago just to get an extra 10% off some vaguely significant purchase or other. The thing is, we’ve all got loyalty cards for pretty much everywhere nowadays so they are hardly reserved for the diehard faithful. There’s no loyalty any more. We’ve all got disloyalty cards for everywhere.

5) The most frequent person to knock at your door is not a relative, friend or neighbour, but the postman or some other delivery driver bringing you stuff you ordered online late one night after too much wine. Still, you can always donate it to next year’s tombola. I got a dreaded ‘while you were out note’ the other day from well-known (but not well-respected) delivery company. In the comments box it said ‘Package left over side gate’. Thing is, we don’t have a side gate.

6) You really, really know it’s Christmas when the Christmas Market is shut. Closed. Geschlossen. Finished. Have I missed something or am I not alone in thinking a festive market might actually benefit (both stall-holders and visitors) from being open around, err, Christmas and not shutting up shop on the 20th. I don’t know about you, but my propensity to drink warm, spiced wine and eat German sausage always increases the closer I actually get to Christmas.

7) Christmas is almost here when half of St Albans has attended ‘Carols on the Hour’ at the Cathedral. With six consecutive sell-out performances of over a thousand people, you wouldn’t blame a clergyman for thinking ‘Where are you lot the rest of the year?’ Unlike the Christmas Market, the Cathedral has wisely decided to remain open for Christmas…
We folk of St Albans clearly loved COTH (Carols on the Hour). I am a man of the COTH. Makes me think there’s a winning formula here and that St A could get a few brand extensions going:
Barrels on the Hour – all the pubs kick everyone out every sixty minutes so it’s like an enforced festive pub crawl with people continually seeking alternative hostelries.
Darrlys on the Hour – every time the clock strikes the hour, some unfortunately named child of the 80’s is forced to run naked through Wilko’s with only a piece of tinsel to cover his modesty and a paper hat to adorn his mullet, whilst being squirted with limited edition Christmas-spice scented Mr Muscle by bargain-seeking shoppers.
Quarrels on the Hour – every sixty minutes local married couples are given a different topic about which to argue – from whose turn it is to put petrol in the car to whose relatives are the rudest. To provide the most conducive atmosphere for high-intensity quarrelling, this event will be hosted by a local supermarket.
Parallels on the Hour – this activity will be a synchronised slot parking event on Holywell: 23 cars, 23 empty spaces and 1 minute in which to all be neatly parked up. Local traffic wardens will award points for Style and Artistic Interpretation. Each hourly winner secures a place in the Grand Final to be held in the 20-minute only waiting bay outside the main entrance of the station.

8) Christmas is here when people are desperately buying last-minute books, CDs and DVDs in the supermarkets. Time was when these items were your stock Christmas presents: you’d be guaranteed to get a couple of each every year. Now, with the mass-ownership of Kindles, Spotify subscriptions and Netflix the people who buy you these gifts either don’t know you very well or panicked to get you something on Christmas Eve. Owners of e-readers, music subscriptions and film-streaming services are selfish: they think nothing of cutting off the gift life-line to which distant relatives have so desperately clung for years.
Me? I’m old-school: I’ve actually asked Santa for book (with pages) and a CD (complete with lyrics printed on a tiny booklet); it’s my way of showing I care about my present-buying relatives…

Have a fabulous Christmas and see you on the other side.

Now, where did I put that sherry…

St Albans’ First Non-European-Style Christmas Market

Following three years of somewhat mixed success, coupled with the Brexit vote, St Albans District Council has renamed the European Christmas Market. Henceforth, the seasonal pine-chalet convention will be known as the Non-Aligned Snorbens Town Yuletide Xenophobia Main Anne Street Market, or NASTY XMAS Market, for short.

This year, the NASTY XMAS Market will sell only British goods; the alpine chalets have all been returned to B&Q, the left-over gluhwein from 2015 has been poured into Verulamium Lake to help disperse the algae, and the German sausage stall has been sold on eBay to a sour kraut. The traders will now peddle their wares from traditional pale grey British Portakabins. Each Portakabin will be adorned with a trademark festive yellow drainpipe and seasonal graffiti greetings such as “Nigel woz ere” and “sh*t market” will be sprayed on each unit courtesy of local tag-wearing young offenders working under a council-funded community expression scheme called OIKS – Offering Insolent Kids Spray-cans.

Free from the prohibitive EU red-tape that restricts and spoils Christmas markets Europe-wide, the NASTY XMAS Market is now entitled to draw up its own laws and regulations so expect: fire-eating classes for the under 5s; a bye-law that ensures alcohol is only consumed by people who are armed with a freshly sharpened sword, and the wearing of highly flammable Noddy Holder masks will be compulsory for everyone entering the Vintry Gardens. Also be aware that every single food item sold at the market will have a silver sixpence hidden inside it.

The NASTY XMAS Market will sell only:
– Fish & chips
– Warm beer
– Flat caps
– Subscriptions to the Daily Mail
– Thameslink branded memorabilia (n.b. due to a shortage of staff, these items may appear smaller than promised, arrive later than timetabled, and will cost much more than they are worth)
– NASTY XMAS Market merchandise such as “My parents went to the NASTY XMAS Market and all they bought me was this t-shirt with a sh*t slogan on it” and mugs proclaiming “NASTY XMAS Market – the only place you can get sleighed and Slade and slayed”

To ensure mass appeal, successful high street retailers will also be hosting pop-up outlets at the seasonal vintry-fest. After a fierce bidding war for the prime spots, prominent Portakabins will be mis-managed by:
Bhs
Ratners
Woolworths
HMV
MFI
Kwiksave

Interestingly, on the official website for the market, the FAQs section contains a full and thorough list of no less than two (for those of you reading in black and white that’s ‘2’) key questions telling you absolutely everything you could possibly need to know about the 2016 market and planning your visit.

Q1: Can I take my dog? (A; yes, but please don’t is the advice)
and
Q2: Are the same stalls there throughout the 24 days (A: No, there will be “different stalls every time you visit” – this is assuming, we imagine, that you don’t visit the market twice in the same day. Plus, the market is actually open for 25 days, but here at AL3 WTF, we’re not ones to split hairs…)

More to the point, are these the only two questions in the minds of any potential visitor to our City’s outdoor festive offering? We can think of a few more obvious ones.

– Why does the market finish a whole week before Christmas?
– Will there actually be any signs or advertising this year?
– Is it true that Donald Trump will be Father Christmas in the market’s grotto?

Council Portfolio Holder for Festive Markets, Ivor Bigsack, said: “We want to make this the biggest and best Christmas market in Britain. To maximise the festive feel and spread the Christmas love as widely as possible, the 2017 EVEN NASTIER XMAS Market – Every Vendor Earns Nowt Non-Aligned Snorbens Town Isn’t Even Ready Xenophobia Main Anne Street Market – will open for business on 2nd Jan 2017, giving our town the year-round non-festive feel that it so richly doesn’t deserve.

”Roy Wood and Wizzard wished it could be Christmas every day, and with our new January though to December seasonal market strategy, in St Albans it can be. Of course, in 2016 the market itself finishes on 18th December, giving plenty of time for local people to do their traditional last-minute shopping on-line. I mean, here at the Council we’re not daft are we? We’re not going to go and do something really stupid like have the Christmas Market actually open near to Christmas; that would be absolutely plain sensible and way beyond our remit.”

Annie Brewster, Council Portfolio Holder for Tinsel and Glitter, did not say: “If I dress up as a fairy and sit on top of the tree do you promise not to take my picture and not to syndicate to every publication in Hertfordshire?”

It’s Beginning to Feel a Lot Like…Easter

…which means that it must be almost Christmas. We’re only few days away from Creme Eggs being beside every till, and rows of over-packaged chocolate oeufs glaring at us menacingly from supermarket aisles.

Anyway, I’ll be surprised if anyone has the time to read this blog in the pre-Christmas rush. I’ll also probably be regretting spending valuable time writing it when I’m covered in Sellotape, garish ribbon and sparkly bows come midnight on Christmas Eve, but enough about my festive fetishes…

Eight Ways We Know it’s Almost Christmas in St Albans:

1) The staff in Metro Bank are all wearing Santa hats. I love a Santa hat, but there’s a time and a place for everything. I know that Metro Bank is working really hard to be ‘different’, but Santa hats from 1st Dec onwards? Really? Mr Banks from Mary Poppins would turn in his grave (if snooty banker characters from films had graves, that is).

2) The Christmas lights are on. The Christmas lights are on! St Peter’s Street never looked so joyful. Apart from last year. And the one before. When it comes to lights, we don’t exactly push the boat out, do we? The turning on ceremony was some time back in August, I think. Basically, it was an event more about hope than delivery. Security guards at each end of the pedestrianized zone were only letting through people with pushchairs. I didn’t actually see this security cordon, but it must have been in place as there’s no other way that such a high concentration of buggies could have come to be in the same crowded, noisy, dimly lit zone. It was like a Bugaboo convention. There’s a rumour going round that next year the council are going to turn the Chrissie lights off at dusk to save money and the town centre will be illuminated solely by the glow of pub-door cigarettes.

3) Every third house has an estate agent’s sign up. No, there’s been no sudden upsurge in the property market; these boards are to promote local schools’ Christmas fairs. If you need your annual fix of tombola action and the chance to get your hands on a ticket ending with a 5 or a 0 then this is the time of year for you. Mind, you’ll only win something you don’t want like lavender bath salts or box of monogrammed hankies (not the correct initial, obviously), but it’s the winning that’s important. Oh, and the raising of funds for the school. Oh, and it gives estate agents the opportunity to feel like they are part of the community. Yeah, right.

4) You’ve received an ‘exclusive’ mailer from every other shop on the high street inviting you to an ‘exclusive’ event where the only other ‘exclusive’ people attending will be absolutely everyone else in town. You probably got this much-prized invite because of some loyalty card you signed up for seven years ago just to get an extra 10% off some vaguely significant purchase or other. The thing is, we’ve all got loyalty cards for pretty much everywhere nowadays so they are hardly reserved for the diehard faithful. There’s no loyalty any more. We’ve all got disloyalty cards for everywhere.

5) The most frequent person to knock at your door is not a relative, friend or neighbour, but the postman or some other delivery driver bringing you stuff you ordered online late one night after too much wine. Still, you can always donate it to next year’s tombola. I got a dreaded ‘while you were out note’ the other day from well-known (but not well-respected) delivery company. In the comments box it said ‘Package left over side gate’. Thing is, we don’t have a side gate.

6) You really, really know it’s Christmas when the Christmas Market is shut. Closed. Geschlossen. Finished. Have I missed something or am I not alone in thinking a festive market might actually benefit (both stall-holders and visitors) from being open around, err, Christmas and not shutting up shop on the 20th. I don’t know about you, but my propensity to drink warm, spiced wine and eat German sausage always increases the closer I actually get to Christmas.

7) Christmas is almost here when half of St Albans has attended ‘Carols on the Hour’ at the Cathedral. With six consecutive sell-out performances of over a thousand people, you wouldn’t blame a clergyman for thinking ‘Where are you lot the rest of the year?’ Unlike the Christmas Market, the Cathedral has wisely decided to remain open for Christmas…
We folk of St Albans clearly loved COTH (Carols on the Hour). I am a man of the COTH. Makes me think there’s a winning formula here and that St A could get a few brand extensions going:
Barrels on the Hour – all the pubs kick everyone out every sixty minutes so it’s like an enforced festive pub crawl with people continually seeking alternative hostelries.
Darryls on the Hour – every time the clock strikes the hour, some unfortunately named child of the 80’s is forced to run naked through Wilko’s with only a piece of tinsel to cover his modesty and a paper hat to adorn his mullet, whilst being squirted with limited edition Christmas-spice scented Mr Muscle by bargain-seeking shoppers.
Quarrels on the Hour – every sixty minutes local married couples are given a different topic about which to argue – from whose turn it is to put petrol in the car to whose relatives are the rudest. To provide the most conducive atmosphere for high-intensity quarrelling, this event will be hosted by a local supermarket.
Parallels on the Hour – this activity will be a synchronised slot parking event on Holywell Hill: 23 cars, 23 empty spaces and 1 minute in which to all be neatly parked up. Local traffic wardens will award points for Style and Artistic Interpretation. Each hourly winner secures a place in the Grand Final to be held in the 20-minute only waiting bay outside the main entrance of the station.

8) Christmas is here when people are desperately buying last-minute books, CDs and DVDs in the supermarkets. Time was when these items were your stock Christmas presents: you’d be guaranteed to get a couple of each every year. Now, with the mass-ownership of Kindles, Spotify subscriptions and Netflix the people who buy you these gifts either don’t know you very well or panicked to get you something on Christmas Eve. Owners of e-readers, music subscriptions and film-streaming services are selfish: they think nothing of cutting off the gift life-line to which distant relatives have so desperately clung for years.

Me? I’m old-school: I’ve actually asked Santa for a book (with pages) and a CD (complete with lyrics printed on a tiny booklet); it’s my way of showing I care about my present-buying relatives…

Have a fabulous Christmas and see you on the other side.

Now, where did I put that sherry…

The Boys Are Back In Town

We have been ‘away’.
No, not at Her Majesty’s pleasure (although that would have been considerably cheaper).
Besides, we have dirt on the judge so that was never gonna happen.

Where have we been?

Well, maybe we were at the publishers working on a book deal, or perhaps we were trying out some stand-up material at the Edinburgh Festival? We could have been mixing with stars of stage and screen (The Krankies are still big aren’t they?) making preparations for the release of our first film.

Or perhaps we were abducted by aliens?

All, any or none of these may be true but, what really matters is, we’re back and – by the look of things – just in the nick of time.

Something has been going on. Yes, right here, in St Albans, under your noses and frankly we’re a bit surprised and a little bit disappointed you haven’t done anything about it!

Admittedly, you couldn’t have done much about the first “change”.

You see, we arrived back at AL3 Towers and the very first thing we noticed was that we’d been “unburgled”!

For those of you not familiar with this phenomenon, this is when you arrive back home to a place that’s cleaner and tidier than when you left. So startling was the transformation that I had to go outside to check both the colour and number on the front door were correct.

At first we let it go. We figured, that as we had left in a hurry under the cover of darkness, that we’d actually left the place a lot tidier than we initially thought.

But paranoia is a powerful thing and it had a disturbing effect for the rest of the day until it casually cropped up in a conversation with “The Perp”.
I say “casually” but it’s difficult to use the phrase “Have you noticed your cutlery tray is clean” in a casual fashion.

It was the mother-in-law.

We hadn’t noticed but, as soon as we got back to HQ, we checked the aforementioned tray and it was indeed spotless. We also noticed we had 29 teaspoons. The tray has never had that many teaspoons in it! What was going on, that’s one for every cup with leftovers for ramekins and still some to spare?

That night, in an attempt to relax and put the “unburgling” behind us, we sat down to watch some TV. Now remember, we’d “been away” so hadn’t seen anything for a while.

The adverts were on. Nothing strange there you’d think and, to start with, there wasn’t. Shiny hair because she’s “worth it”, “been involved in an accident at work?” then, wait a moment, rewind, play. What did he just say?

There he was, our (third) favourite Barry, emerging from a slide on primetime TV saying “Wow, I’ve never been through a pipe quicker!” Really? (Apart from the fact he probably has) WTF?!

As if that wasn’t enough, before we’d recovered, a toy monkey with a vajazzle then tried to sell us tea!

Seriously, we thought that maybe the “unburgular” had used a cleaning product that contained some hallucinogenic chemicals (maybe the sort that 3rd fave Bazza tries to flog?).

We needed some fresh air to clear our heads. A walk, surely that would help and bring some normality back. So off we went, we even took some sandwiches with us wrapped in some newspaper.

First signs were good, very good. The grass verges were still too long but that was good, that was “normal”.

We headed towards the park. It was a mistake, how long had we been away?

There it was. The Lake. How could this be? What had happened? Why had nothing been done?

The air was no longer fresh, we peered at stagnant liquid that was now fit only for The Creature of The Black Lagoon.

Our appetites gone, we threw our uneaten sandwiches in the lake* and began to read the newspaper they had been wrapped in.
*It’s ok, the ducks ain’t gonna eat the bread cos the ducks have sodded off refugee-stylee in search of cleaner waters. Actually, maybe there’s a quacking “unburgular” that will save the lake, do ducks have mother-in-laws?

Anyway, hopes were fading, we thought we would manage to find a small morsel of normality in the shape of a letter in the newspaper from our (second) favourite Barry.Yes, it was written in the style of one who is inebriated with the exuberance of his own verbosity, but actually it was quite sensible and not likely to wind anyone up.

Nothing, not even Bazza 2, was normal. We were fading fast.
We had been away and everything was different. This isn’t what it was meant to be like.

Wandering into town, we are ashamed to admit, we had given up. Nothing would ever be the same.

Then it happened, we arrived at the market. The market! Of course! Why didn’t we think of it sooner? But wait, what if it had changed? That would truly be the end.

Well, it was busy – that was normal.

There was the smell of fish and fromage – that was normal (nicer than the whiff of the lake!)

But what about the real test?

Were they there?

The litmus test. The Grumpies. Were they there selling their wares?

Holding our breath, hardly daring to look through the fingers of our hands covering our eyes we peeked.

There they were. Grumpy 1. Arguing with a customer who had handled his wares. Grumpy 2. Moaning about people standing by her stall.

Normal service resumed! Not that we’d ever buy anything off either stall as we don’t tend to walk around town dressed like..

But, sometimes, it takes something bad to make you feel good.

We were back and we felt good.

So we went to The Boot (other pubs are available) for a welcome home pint.

And, on the way, one of the stalls near the end of the market was playing music.
Did our ears deceive us? Could it be magic? No. it was our (1st) favourite Barry singing.

And we sang along because we were ready,
“Ready to take a chance again, Ready to take a chance again with you”.

Every Loser Wins

There are certain occasions in life when one has to make the odd sacrifice.

You know? Like when the other half comes home with complimentary tickets for the opening night of her best friend’s niece’s experimental contemporary dance group production and you simply ‘have to go to show support’?

Think incomprehensible floor writhing, starkly lit stage, a wooden tea chest as the sole prop and a soundtrack that will either make your ears bleed or induce a deep sleep followed by loud snoring until other half digs you in ribs. Two tortuous acts of modern movement each 1 hour long with an intermission just brief enough to have a pee or a warm can of lager – but never both.

And then there is SCHOOL SPORTS DAY.

The annual gathering that brings young and old together for a few hours of what’s-the-pointism.

Of course, you ‘have to go to show support’.

This years ‘event’ was to be my last ever Junior School sports day, bar any surprise family additions or becoming a teacher.

Still it was sunny, I wouldn’t be at work and I’d be getting tanned.

So, the usual last minute decision re appropriate attire had to be made.

Despite blisteringly hot conditions, shorts and trainers were a no-no. Turning up looking like you are actually hoping there is a parent’s race is a sports day social faux pas. Then again, wearing jeans and sensible shoes would leave this, slightly competitive, dad at a distinct sporting disadvantage should there actually be a race.

Decision made – jeans and trainers. A look that said ‘I really do NOT want to be picked for the parents’ race but, if I am, bring it!’

Mind you, I imagine the whole Sports Day fashion choice must be sooooo much worse for mums.

Apart from potentially looking like Mrs Way Too Keen if you turn up in your running gear, Ms Glam Boobs aka Jimmy’s Mum is bound to be there to cheer him on all fake-tanned in ripped jeans, crop top, high heels and designer shades isn’t she?

Don’t fret Ladies. The situation is lose-lose. Just, for pity’s sake, wear a sports bra if there is even the remotest possibility of you ending up in the sack race.

‘Lose-lose’?

That’s totally unlike sports day where ‘Every One’s A Winner Baby, that’s the truth (that’s the truth)’.

The formula for this particular school was simple.

It was a non-competitive, competitive, team event decided by individual performance where there are no winners or losers just those who get points for their team and those who don’t.

Really? I know there’s no ‘I’ in ‘Team’ but there is in ‘Win’?

As usual the 1:30pm start was delayed which meant trying to find shade, a drink and avoiding having conversation with other parents for half an hour while the kids are sorted into their teams.

Still it was sunny, I wasn’t at work and I was getting tanned.

As mentioned, just to make sure there’s absolutely no danger of competition rearing its non-pc head, each competitor, err I mean participant, was sorted into a team that was clearly identifiable by shirt colour. I say ‘clearly’ as the Green Team comprised of shirts that were green, dark green, light green, bluey green, greeny blue and yellow. Yellow? ‘Molly, you’re supposed to be with the Orangey Team under the other tree!’ Anyway, 20 minutes later and all teams were sorted and looking suitably disinterested.

A whistle from the headmaster and the groups were each led to their respective ‘event station’. Well 5 of the groups were. For, yea verily, it was written that the 6th team shall rest and drinketh cups of water as part of a rotation system that not even the headmaster could fathom.

The head blew his whistle again and the fun began.

‘Fun’? Really?

First event.

3 Bean Bags. 3 Hoops. One hoop very close, one not so close, one impossibly far away.

Objective? Throw bean bags in hoops.

Points? 1pt per bean bag in hoop.

(Make that rewinding tape noise in your head here. Hell! Make it out loud if you want.).

WTF?! Yep, any bean bag in any hoop was a point. Didn’t matter if it was – near, far, wherever you are………..this event was so not about risk and reward.

The kids were bored, the parents were bored.

Still it was sunny, I wasn’t at work and I was getting tanned.

Next up, pointless side to side jumping that deserves no further description.

Blow the whistle headmaster, please blow the whistle.

Welly throwing next. This had promise after Jimmy, son of Glam Boobs, threw it over the first marker, over the second marker and narrowly over someone’s Granny. Unfortunately this lead to the teacher explaining that you got a point for throwing the boot anywhere between the two markers. Distance wasn’t actually the factor.

Perlease! In my day that would have been the signal for targeting any adult you could then quickly declaring ‘Oops! It slipped out of my hand Miss!’ (A phrase I’ve used many times myself over the years).

Two buckets. One with water, one without, 5 metres apart. Objective? Move water from bucket A to bucket B using a sponge which also acted as team baton.

Hot sunny day, kids, water. Surely this was a cue for a soaking? Nope, one by one the Green team members dutifully loaded the sponge and carefully transported water to its destination. Until it was Jimmy’s turn. If it was on purpose it was genius. Little Jimmy arrived back at the changeover with more water than he left with and the sponge receiver got soaked. The Greens immediately changed tactics which involved dipping sponge in bucket A, soaking team mate, re-dipping sponge running to bucket B and back before handing over sponge in a style guaranteed to dampen. This is what the crowd wanted but the whistle blew too soon and it was off to the final event of the rotation.

Team Green’s final event was kicking the ball into the goal. Something that could be highly recommended for those who play at Clarence Park stadium on a Sat afternoon.

This was the only event where the team were told what the target score was. 15 the score to beat. A purpose! Suddenly they came to life. Things didn’t start that well when first greenie (my youngest daughter) stepped up and kicked the ball over the crossbar, the fence, tree and halfway down the field! Fret not, Greens had a secret weapon. Yep, little Jimmy couldn’t miss. The boy had an eye for goal, 10, 11, the crowd and kids actually got excited, 12, 13, 14, hit the bar, 15 then just before the whistle went, Jimmy hit the winner! Big cheers from all concerned.

There were some relay races (which Jimmy’s team won) and some egg and spoon races (Jimmy won his). The sack race didn’t take place (much to my daughter’s disgust) there were no parent races (much to my disgust).We didn’t find out which team won and, at time of blogging, still don’t know! (Much to everyone’s disgust).

Still, it was sunny, I wasn’t at work, but I got sunburnt!

Things You Think On Sports Day

Mum & Dad – Do I have to go?

Mum & Dad – Why does it never start on time?

Mum & Dad – How long is this going on for?

Mum & Dad – Why don’t they use real eggs anymore?

Mum & Dad – That ginger kid is burning.

Mum – What does she think she looks like?

Dad – I really should congratulate Jimmy’s mum on his performance.

Mum – Do you really have to congratulate Jimmy’s mum after every event?

It’s Beginning to Feel a Lot Like…Easter

Eight Ways We Know it’s Almost Christmas in St Albans:​

Eight Ways We Know it’s Almost Christmas in St Albans: