Bumps in the road

Today is another lovely summer's day. It was a glorious golden morning, although it is now rather clouding over which suggests that the forecast for rain tonight could be true. I presume it has been lovely at Lord's on the first day of the Test. With my mastery of computer technology getting better by the day, I've managed to get 'Test Match Special' on this computer so I can listen to it as I type. All we need now are pictures, but I suspect that we're not going to get those as I'm too mean to pay for the soccer channel, which is the only way to watch on television. (Well, it's not really meanness: as someone with less than no interest in the Great God Soccer, I would find it sticking in my throat to write out a cheque to subscribe to Sky Sports). I know we've been told that it's terrible that the BBC aren't going to show much racing, but that's hardly surprising: leaving aside the fact that, apparently, the BBC has to pay 2.5 million pounds for the three meetings which they will show while Channel Four GETS PAID a million for showing its meetings, I'd say that the Test matches not being on terrestrial television is a far less satisfactory state of affairs than the BBC not showing very much racing. But we're not supposed to say that, are we?

I'm not only listening to Test Match Special, however, as I have a Harry Chapin CD playing in the background. I think that that is appropriate, today being the 28th anniversary of his untimely death at the age of 39. I get huge pleasure from music, but I'm not very musical so I'd be lying if I said that I can appreciate music per se. What I do particularly love, though, are songs in which beautiful and/or moving lyrics - ie poetry - are married to tunes which I can enjoy. For the sheer beauty of the poetry, the elegance of the language, Leonard Cohen's songs take some beating, while the likes of Paul Kelly, Graeme Connors, Neil Finn and Don McGlashan are genii at writing wonderful stories/poems and putting them to music so that the result both entertains and inspires. However, if I could only listen to one man's music for the rest of my life, selecting Harry Chapin's would be a no-brainer.
If you aren't familiar with his work, there are plenty of film clips on Youtube of him playing his songs (well, 'singing his stories' might be a better description) live. Most of the most special are there: 'Taxi', 'Sequel, 'Story of a life', 'Cat's in the cradle', 'W.O.L.D.', 'Circle', 'Mr Tanner', 'A better place to be', 'Dance band on the Titanic' and 'Bananas', although what I sometimes think of as my favourite song, 'There only was one choice' isn't to be found. All of life's sadness is in his stories - loneliness, disappointment, bereavement, regret over time wasted, opportunities squandered and dreams broken - but there is an overwhelming sense of optimism and fun running through them, and they really are just very, very special. If you know them, then you'll know that for yourself; and if you don't, then you can find out for yourself if you wish, so there is no point in my going on too much, because given a free rein I could expand on the theme for hours. Malachy McCourt writes some very memorable words in 'Singing my him song' when relating his recovery from depression: "... the ride never gets less bumpy, and all you can do is learn to be grateful for the ride, bumps and all.". I think few song-writers have ever been better at illustrating life's bumps, and yet still getting across a feeling of gratitude for and joy from the ride, than Harry Chapin. It is just so very, very sad that his own ride, terminated 28 years ago today, proved to be so short. For that we are all much the poorer.

Closer to home, today's Racing Post carried a report of the death of Joe Oliver, the former head lad to Lester and Susan Piggott. I last saw him several months ago when he filled me in on his on-going fight against cancer when our paths crossed in the Rookery one afternoon. Sadly that has now proved to be a fight which, tough though he was, he was unable to win, and so we now bid farewell to another very good man. There was a lovely feature on Jimmy Scott, by Peter Thomas, in the Racing Post earlier this week. One of Jimmy's comments was that men from the old school nowadays stand out like sore thumbs; Joe Oliver definitely came into this category, and the racing world is much poorer for passing of this very fine man.