Free-running fella
Hi bloggees - if that's not a word, it should be.
What's going on this week? I've just put up a new video on the main Southern Reporter site, all about a new craze sweeping Hawick, and all down to one man.
Stuart 'Speedy' Andrews is a free-runner who used to run and jump across the rooftops of our nation's capital at about a hundred miles an hour.
Now, after settling into the Borders and taking a year off the sport, he's retraining his body and mind towards doing the same in Hawick. There's no real death-defying stunts for Stuart now, just using the dykes, walls, railings and bankings to get from A to C fluidly and quickly.
It's not jaw-droppingly stunning stuff, but he makes the difficult moves look easy. He no longer goes at 100mph. Instead, he talks at about that speed. Honestly, I spent two and a half hours with him last Thursday and he never stopped from start to finish. The guy has got to cut down on the coffee!
But it's his willingness, nay his desire, to teach the skills of the sport to youngsters in Hawick that is his most impressive trait. He has the ability and the opportunity to change the lives of so many kids struggling to find something to do that catches their imagination. What he does attracts their attention, because he does it well and it appeals to their sense of adventure and fun.
If he can teach them how to do this safely it could turn their lives around. Once they have learned the basics, all they need to do is to put on their trainers and the town is their playground.
So, Stuart, may your trainers never lose their bounce.
Elsewhere, the archery club I shoot arrows with is holding a come-and-try this Sunday. Everyone is welcome to come along and try for themselves the sport that has got me harking on about it in just about every blog I write.
I would not exactly call it an obsession, but it is in great danger of becoming one. Take Sunday past. We were aiming for clouts (the wee white ones about the size of my belly button) from 180 yards away. You can't see how good or bad your shots were until you walk up there. Not once, but twice, my arrows were tucked in behind the targets as if they had magically gone through the bleeding things without leaving a mark.
I accepted this the first time, but when it happened again I was left screaming at the sky, asking the reason why (Must be a song lyric there somewhere - copyright Kevin Janiak 2010). It's not that I believed that there was a fella up there who could either answer the question or, indeed, help out in any way. It was just a last, desperate cry for the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and archery.
So if you want to see what all the palava is about, come up to Thirladean (just off the Selkirk to Moffat road, half a mile past the Waterwheel Cafe) on Sunday from 12.30pm. See you there!
Published Date:
10/03/2010
Modified Date:
10/03/2010
Time is an illusion, a time machine, however ...
Apologies to anyone still checking this barely updated blog, but I've got a good excuse.
I've been putting together this quarter's Border Life magazine, in the shops from Thursday. You can find out all about a Hawick woman who dropped everything to get supplies to orphans in Haiti, celebrate the 21st anniversary of the Borders Youth Theatre and much more!
And I'm now putting the finishing touches to the Spring/Summer Visitor Guide, full of great ideas for visitors to the area.
So that's taking up most of my time, and in between, I've been almost seeing football matches and firing arrows everywhere except the places I want them to go.
This is where the issue of a time machine came along. With a time machine, I would never have to worry about approaching deadlines again. And with a time machine, I could go back in time and murder to death the insane fella who invented the longbow.
Einstein, after a lifetime of formulating formulae and scratching of head, came to the conclusion that time travel was impossible. He was a clever bloke as blokes go, but you can't get away from the feeling that if he had put all that time and effort into actually trying to build one instead of trying to prove it wasn't possible, we'd all be popping back and forth, killing our own grandads and becoming our own great grandads. Maybe a good thing, then.
But I, too, have put a bit of thought into it. I even looked into who invented the godforsaken infernal sticks wi string and found out that nobody actually knows who invented the longbow, but it was probably someone in England or Wales in the 13th Century.
So all it would take, is for me to build the machine and, just to make sure, murdericate every Englishman and Welshman living between 1200AD and 1300AD. If this act meant that I would, by accident, rub out my own existence, it would almost be worth it if I was successful in striking from history the blasted longbow.
As you could perhaps surmise, I've not had the best of months at the archery.
But for some strange reason, I keep going back and calling it fun. Does this make me mad?
Published Date:
02/03/2010
Modified Date:
02/03/2010
Even I could have scored that
It may come as a complete surprise to the deluded few, or an audacious understatement to most, but I was never really that good at football.
In my early 20s, for some strange reason I really can't remember, I ended up spending my Wednesday nights playing five-a-side footy at the Gala Academy games hall - with the lads from the local Inland Revenue office. Maybe I was gunning for a rebate.
I certainly enjoyed it, and although the fact that I was built like a misplaced Eildon meant that the silky skills were not overflowing, the fact that I was built like a misplaced Eildon meant that I had a bit more room to maneuvre than most and I was pretty difficult to take down.
It may be romantic daydreaming, but I also seem to remember that I had a cannonball of a shot that would break the back of the net, if we had one. (Which we didn't - we used to have to lay a bench on the floor to act as a goal).
And on the few occasions we found ourselves playing outside, they put me up front because I was too slow for midfield, too short for goalkeeping and my idea of defending was to run backwards doing jazz hands.
And I remember scoring in every game I played in. Probably because I was a greedy big booga and because we were playing girl guides (we weren't, that's just there for the laugh).
Now, although I may not have played in anything as huge as the East of Scotland league, nor even Border Amateur (I did put in an appearance now and again in pub league) I join every other punter on the sidelines who can't believe it when somebody misses a goal that looked easier to score.
It happens to me every week. On Saturday, I watched in pointless frustration as chance after chance after chance went a-begging, and, just the once, these words escaped my lips: "Come on, even I could have scored that!"
The muffled titters told me I had actually said that out loud. But it wasn't just a throwaway line. Maybe I'll go to a training session and teach them how to score.
Family flowers only, please, donations at the door.
Published Date:
11/02/2010
Modified Date:
11/02/2010
Beauty weep? No thanks
It was another sidelined Saturday, rather than a Saturday on the sidelines for this hack, but one thing the decreased portions of footy has helped is my archery!
I really hope to get another game in this weekend, but if not, then I can still revel in the fact that I'm actually shooting quite well!
The extra 20yd sessions indoors have helped me sort out the basics of stance, draw, placement of certain body parts, etc, to such an extent that when I shot 50yds outdoors on Sunday, I was actually hitting the target more often than not!
Reading that back, that may not seem to many people to be a huge deal. But, trust me, to a happy twanger like myself, it's pretty cool. And, to top all that, I have also hit my first clout at 180yds. The second followed 10 minutes later. And the third a week after that.
I've only been shooting for about a year and a half.
So, this week, I'll hopefully be reporting on the Gala Fairydean vs Easthouses Lily match. The pitch is 50/50 at the moment, so a lot will depend on the weather between now and Saturday.
If the white stuff comes down again, I may just cry. It's supposed to be good for you, a wee cry, but that can't be the case. Have you seen folk after they've been crying?
I've never seen anyone who could be described as being pretty. The bulbous eyes, the resemblance to a panda if mascara is worn, the dribbly nose, the shiny face, the dry heaves. These are not the symptoms of having just gone through something that's good for you.
So maybe I won't cry after all ... I need all the help I can get!
Published Date:
03/02/2010
Modified Date:
05/02/2010
RIP Bill McLaren
Rugby has lost its legendary voice with the passing of the great Bill McLaren.
I could never lay claim to knowing the man well. In fact, when I first met him when I first started writing rugby reports, I was a bit starstruck. If it was down to me, I probably would have not opened up a conversation with him, but it was he who sat beside me and introduced himself, before taking me through the finer points of whatever game it was we were at.
I didn't see him anything like every week, but on the few occasions he was down to cover the same match I was at, I was in awe of the great man's style and knowledge. He didn't have to commentate on the game to make it magic, he just had to be there.
So, rest in peace Bill. They'll be dancing in the streets of Heaven tonight.
Published Date:
27/01/2010
Modified Date:
27/01/2010
The day after tomorrow
There could only be one topic for this week's blog.
It's white, it's cauld and it 's beginning to get on my wick.
Last Wednesday, I defied the radio chappie's screams at me not to leave the house, and actually managed to make it into work - thanks to the nice policeman who gave me a push when I got stuck opposite the Scott Park gates - and we managed to get the paper out on time.
But I couldn't get back as the road had closed. So I had to stay in a hotel, a mere six miles away from where my nice warm house was. It was nice, though, thanks to the guys at the Glen Hotel...
All the effort was for naught, though, as the lorry carrying the papers from the printers in Sunderland were stopped by police south of Berwick and they weren't delivered until the Friday. Hey ho.
Last week, at the height of the storm, the whole region looked absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. The snow landed on bare branches and laid several inches on top; the sunlight that dared to show its face creating colours only previously dreamed of by strange, mono-eared Dutch painters; the hills, the roads, the pavements, the houses, all bowed down to the sheer might of the crystalised moisture descending from the skies.
Now, however, the roads and pavements are almost as treacherous, everything (including me) looks grey and dirty and I'm getting a wee bit sick of it.
Once we get angry at something, the knee-jerk reaction is to blame someone. And there's no easier target than Scottish Borders Council. They ran so low on salt and grit stocks, that not even major roads were treated at the height of the crisis. Pavements, even now, are still icy danger risks.
But let's not forget that even the BBC weather forecast last Tuesday said that the Borders was due a light flurry of snow. We got 14 inches. If the meteorologists couldn't forecast that, what chance has SBC?
If the council ordered thousands of extra tons of grit before the winter and it turned out to be mild, we would then be bashing them because they had paid thousands of pounds on winter measures that were left sitting in a shed for more than 12 months.
The men who operate the gritters have been out 24/7 in weather that would make an eskimo cry frozen tears. They've been doing their best in a situation that not even Derek Acorah could have forecast.
When we are angry, it is too easy to blame those in charge. Let's look beyond that and look at ways we as individuals could have handled it better. That way, we might learn a few things and not be as angry next time it happens.
As for me? I reckon not going in on the Wednesday would have been a start ...
And it's still bloody snowing.
Published Date:
13/01/2010
Modified Date:
13/01/2010
Snow fair
All this white stuff may be lovely and all that, but it's becoming a pain in the posterior.
This coming weekend looks like it'll be another one free of any outside sport. I looked at the Fairydean pitch yesterday, and, going by the hard-packed ice and snow blanket, if they're lucky, they'll be holding their first match of 2010 sometime in July.
So it looks like all us sportlovers will have to find something else to do this weekend at least.
Does anyone have any ideas? I'm playing badminton tonight, but because that's just really for enjoyment and I get a row if I take it too competitively, it doesn't really count.
It is fun, though. I used to be not too bad at the old badders, but some of the sharpness and flexibility I enjoyed as a youth have all but gone. I'm more of a happy pinger.
Last week I was at Netherdale to cover the re-emergence of the South of Scotland rugby side. It was nothing short of a miracle that the game was on at all and the conditions on the night were pretty horrible.
I wasn't doing a report, but was videoing highlights of the match to put on the site. You can see the results here.
Borderers do have a healthy sense of loyalty to their home towns, especially when it comes to exponents of the oval ball game. That also leads to good-hearted banter between supporters. But it is brilliant to see all Borders sides come together to support the South.
It's something that's been missing from the region for a while, as the ill-fated Border Reivers never quite managed to catch the imagination of the Borders fans. But the South still evokes memories of people like John Jeffrey, John Rutherford and Jim Renwick taking on the best of the rest.
The quicker the powers that be can sort out a revamped district competition the better.
And if the snow ever stops falling, some of the games could even be played!
Published Date:
04/01/2010
Modified Date:
04/01/2010
Merry Christmas!
This message does what it says on the tin.
Here's wishing all an incredibly merry Christmas and a fantastic new year.
Me? Once again, I'm getting fed on Friday by my marvellously mad, fantastic wee sister (God love her) who feels sorry for me enough every year to invite me to indulge in a bit of turkey and all the trimmings.
And, I'm not being entirely biased when I say you've never had turkey and trimmings until you've had Vicky's turkey and trimmings. She really puts the boat out (and not just the gravy boat)! In fact, if you put just the tiniest bit of each "trimming" on your plate at once, you have in front of you enough food to last you until February.
And you eat it, because, let's face it, it is scrummy. All these folk who say they hate turkey because it's bland just don't know how to cook it properly. And the gallon of red wine helps wash it down, and help you to fall asleep in front of Doctor Who.
Must stop this train of thought because I'm drooling over the keyboard.
So what does the New Year hold? Well, hopefully, all my IT issues will be dealt with by then and I'll be able to get my teeth into my new job. And you'll be able to see the results on the website. It's beginning to show already, with more videos being put up and stories being updated daily by our hard-working reporters.
Please ensure your festive season is full of cheer, beer and no fear.
All the best
Kev
XX
Published Date:
23/12/2009
Modified Date:
23/12/2009