Cut Your Hair

So, I put an ad on eBay in the hope of attracting some prospective lady Tecumsehs. eBay is advising that I lower my starting price, but I am of the opinion that a place on the roster should be prized beyond rubies. And I cut my hair (idiomatically, though Kelly is of the opinion that I might as well have done it myself). Those of you unfortunate enough never to have witnessed the Byronic magnificence of the other Miles mane are permitted to weep bitter tears. I've been feeling a little washed out since I had it done, and any smiting of Philistines is completely out of the question. Fortunately the Cheetahs were relegated last season. The top should have grown out a little by the time we next convene on the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Seth has promised a new gadget. It's all good.

Preseason preamble

Preamble, le mot juste, where Tecumsehs are concerned. Another offseason marked by complacency and inactivity is almost at an end. Spring is here, and a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of softball, as Tennyson observed, in an early, oft-o'erlooked draft of Locksley Hall. The AGM has been and gone. Attendance was spectacularly poor, to my certain knowledge only three Tecumsehs made it to The Rose & Crown. Shell, nobly, is claiming four showed up but has counted Seth twice, I suspect. "Right, so we've got Seth, Adrian, me and Seth, that's four!" If you were the mysterious other Tecumseh present please make yourself known and I'll stand corrected. Another explanation might be found in the diaries of Shackleton. On one of his Southward expeditions a strange psychophenomenon was observed whereby several of his fellow explorers, driven half-mad by blinding snow, were convinced that often one more person was travelling with them than they knew to be in the party.

Farooq is a new father, again, and we wish him luck in rediscovering the attendant joys of that happy state. From what I remember babies are like camels, in that they communicate their discomfort from both ends, in the most alarming fashion. Salaam, tiny Snackperson. Welcome to our troubled world.

In other news Lord Anthony Chanter has passed his umpiring finals and can now fly blue at the mizzen. TC did all this on the QT in order to avoid the customary pelting with flour and eggs. Barbara is said to so proud of her man that she is considering allowing him to introduce her to the rest of the team. Probably best to ensure Craig's not around when you do, Tone old mate, as he may start going on about the war, or what he still remembers of it first-hand. Incidentally as umpires are paid cash in hand is Tony likely to be pursued by members of his own department? I think we should be told.

Having perused Shell's minutes from the AGM I assume that it's "As you were" vis à vis coaching this year, with Head Coach Emeritus (and Danish correspondent) Nelson playing Bush to Doctor Goodhand's Cheney. Hope so. Over and out.

Danish weather update

In keeping with Tecumseh travelogue tradition, I'm checking in from Copenhagen, in town to interview Carlsberg's CEO. (A big moment for my little mag.) Their global HQ is atop the city's tallest building, above a working maltings. With the dust from the grain there's always an infinitesimal but real chance of an explosion, which would decimate the Danish brewer's braintrust. It's something that always crosses my mind as I rocket up in the lift to the 15th floor.

But this will change: this cathedral of brewing, where so much of the initial work understanding the mysteries of yeast was undertaken in the 19th century, is to be closed, a city centre site that is worth more redeveloped.

The site speaks of Carlsberg's family origins. The gates to the brewery are shouldered by four elephants, symbolising those of the founders' eight children to make it to adulthood. Two of these beasts are adorned with swastikas, etched in stone before the Nazis usurped these ancients symbols of Indian health. Admittedly, they are a strange sight in today's modernity and it's a somewhat brave non-PC decision on the part of the brewery to allow them to remain.

Otherwise, it's below zero and the city is quiet. The rainbow-coloured lights of Tivoli are on, but no one is home, its gates shut and windows shuttered. It is also snowing, the kind of snow that I like best, light, big flakes blown and thrown about by a gentle wind. It envelops the city centre in a blanket, muffling noise and creating a Christmas Eve stillness. The streets are empty.

Lazza

Howdy

Hey Tecumsehs!

Softball season is almost upon us. I invite you all to contribute to this diary of a year in the life of a shambolic recreational sports team. (Seth - if you feel the urge to contribute please use spell check). Please note that this blog is intended to be a mere supplement to Jen's mighty website. That said, I would love it if everyone chipped in. Even the inevitable workshy Tecumsehs who are planning to take themselves off to Equatorial Guinea for the summer.

Just go to blogger and get uploading. Your username is london_tecumseh and the password is shawnee (see what I did there?) If you're really keen let me know and I'll make you a member!

I look forward to hearing from you all.