Here’s my guess on what I’ve seen so far, from an Internet resource that translates your own name to to that of the country I believe will win the competition.
EDIT: Well that was a bust – back to the drawing board!
With the World Cup 2010 in South Africa well underway the talk has been less about the technical aspects of say, the Italian game, the powerhouse Germans or England’s dismal failure to despatch their adversaries from the United States, but rather about the Vuvuzela, the South African trumpet-like instrument which is dominating football debate currently.
The vuvuzela is around a metre in length, made of plastic, usually brightly coloured and sounds singularly like an elephant and collectively, in their thousands in the magnificent South African stadiums, like a great swarm of angry bees. Apparently the vuvuzela has come to symbolise sport in that country.
Being a regular visitor to one or two football websites, (Hibernian FC) I’ve read several debates about the vuvuzela and its effect on the World Cup and in a totally unscientific assessment I’d say that around 90% of fans seems to be against them. Personally I’m no great lover of the sound, any more than I was the constant ringing air-horns of the European games of my youth in the seventies (now there’s an irony) but I really don’t understand the lack of tolerance towards the vuvuzela. Granted, they tend to be more than a mite intrusive on one’s viewing of the World Cup games but I think that like most things, with enough exposure one gets used to the drone after a short time. Read more »
A pictorial tourist trail*
The following is not intended as a thorough chronicling of this part of Newark civil engineering history but rather as an account by an interested visitor of carrying out the tourist trail outlined by Mr. John Gardner in his leaflet ‘The Bridges of Newark – A Tourist Trail’. The leaflet was formerly distributed by the Newark Tourism department (now out of print since 2004), I’d like to acknowledge the writings of Mr. Gardner and (Mrs. Mary Gardiner’s line drawings) and for the kind assistance of the good folk at the Newark Tourism department in obtaining the walk leaflet for me.
Just recently I visited the Nottinghamshire market town of Newark to take in the annual Newark Beer Festival which was taking part on the Riverside Park under the considerable shadow of the town’s ‘Guardian of the Trent’ the ruined castle. Knowing that the afternoon prior to the evening’s festivities would be free, I contacted the Newark Tourism people and they kindly forwarded details of a short walk I’d remembered from a few years ago which takes in the many bridges along the River Trent which runs to the west of the town.
From Nottingham Midland to Newark Castle Station is a pleasant journey indeed at a touch over half an hour. Alighting mid afternoon on a Friday, my friends and I were soon heading past Burton Joyce in the vicinity of some of the county’s most attractive villages in Hoveringham, Thurgarton and Fiskerton. The familiar small station hailed us off the train in bright sunshine and a offered a warm beginning to the weekend.
The walk begins on a high point with the beautiful old towpath bridge, Longstone Bridge around 300 yards south of the Town Lock. Here the majority of the flow of the river is redirected under the bridge and over a weir, avoiding the lock. Longstone Bridge’s construction is dated at 1819 (or 1827), depending on which report you believe. The present bridge replaced an original timber built bridge and is now quite rightly a Grade 11 listed structure.
(1) Longstone Bridge and Weir
Turning back towards the Town Lock, the second bridge is immediately in view. Mill Bridge is a no-frills concrete construction dating back to the 1960s’ and provides access to The British Waterways workshops in place of the original brick bridge. After this point we pass a rare inland dry dock, used for the repairing of river craft and head towards the lock. Read more »
You can see it in the little children’s wide-eyed faces. The ‘greatest show on earth’ has descended upon South Africa and things may never be the same again. There has been tumult, concern and excitement in equal measures since the day the decision to hold the first World Cup on the continent was made six long years ago – all of it heading towards this day in history.
Television coverage allowed us highlights of the magnificent Opening Concert from the eve of kick-off day and in that abbreviated hour we understand the way things are going to be for the next four weeks or so – a joyous celebration of the world’s greatest game in circumstances never before seen. A pure unadulterated month-long carnival of singing, dancing, enjoyment and a festival of top-level sport.
In Soweto we see supporters of Bfana Bfana ‘Our boys, Our boys’ awaiting the hour of destiny – South Africa’s opening game against Mexico. Some are interviewed happily for the TV cameras amidst their modest corrugated metal homes and their lifestyle relayed to us. How different this all seems from previous World Cups, the majesty and grandeur of Pavarotti and Italia ‘90, the heady and chaotic tickertape evenings of Argentina ‘78, or the humidity, razzamatazz and corporate-lead enterprise of USA ‘94. This is surely the true beauty of the World Cup though, and now ‘Africa has it’s time to shine’. The competition has a new continent as it’s home; forward. Read more »
I’m sure others have heard this story by way of a threat, as a youngster? I had often wondered where the strange tale came from. Simply speaking as a boy I was told by my mother that if I didn’t get to bed sharply – despite much protestations to stay up – that the ‘Ten o’clock Horses would come and get me’.
Now I was never sure what form this petrifying threat would assume. Would it be a Revelations-like ‘Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse’ sighting with their pestilence, war, famine and death symbolism bringing a last judgment on my tardiness to enter the land of dreams? Were there actually horsemen present and were they headless? My youthful imagination ‘saw’ a ghostly apparition of an entourage racing down Goodwood Avenue on the way to our home near the main Nottingham-Mansfield Road. There was a large team of horses foaming at the mouth and gnashing at the bit. Funereal-looking outriders hung on to an open-topped carriage to the rear. This was all because I wanted to stay up awhile and watch The Man from UNCLE. I ask you.
Just recently I heard a story of where this scary (to my young ears) story emanated from. I should stress though that I’m sure the tale has it’s own form in many localities. Not far as the crow flies from our home lay the old woodlands of erstwhile Royal hunting lodge, Bestwood, nowadays a country park. The story went that in an era possibly dating back to the days of Nell Gwynne, there were several horse stable within the park, just as there are today. One particular evening some horses were loaded up for transportation elsewhere and in an unfortunate accident, the horses were all killed in-situ. The beasts were said to have perished at the time of ten o’clock at night. Stories have abounded since that time of the sound of horses galloping through the old oaks and birches of Bestwood and that they can still be heard at the hour of ten o’clock. This was a tale that we heard from our parents but can be uncovered elsewhere from different sources.
I’m not too sure about the sound of ghostly hooves up in the former Sherwood Forest area that is still on my doorstep but it sure worked on my as a child.
The Ten o’clock horses will get you.