The Ashes
Cricket writers have been predicting the demise of Test Cricket since the 70’s, but despite the best efforts of the ECB to downgrade traditional versions of the sport, The Ashes continues to reign supreme. The first day of the latest series, which I witnessed at Edgbaston on Friday, explains why. There were seven and a half hours of tense, absorbing competition which tilted one way, then the other, and back again. The blizzard of boundaries without which, we are led to believe, punters will switch off, was conspicuously absent. Eng v Aus is a proper old-fashioned rivalry, too - banter between the fans, but mutual respect between the teams.
I’m no enemy of change - I’ve enjoyed great days at one-day matches, and saw a brilliant T20 Commonwealth Games final between Australia and India. But the balance at the moment between longer and shorter forms of the game is completely wrong. Championship matches are played under a veil of secrecy as far as the marketing folk are concerned, and tacked onto the beginning and the end of the season. There’ll be no Tests in August, either, with the month given over to The Hundred. If that’s your thing, you’re welcome to it. Me? I’m sticking with a sporting contest like no other.
Elton John (Utilita Arena, Birmingham)
Call yourself a punk rocker? The truth is that as a little kid, pre The Clash and the Pistols, I was schooled in Elton John by my older brother who loved his early records - especially ‘Tumbleweed Connection” and the eponymous second album which yielded ‘Your Song’. This was before the spangly outfits and OTT stage shows that made John’s name in the States. In the years that followed, I’ve maintained a sneaking admiration for the man - if not always his music, which has occasionally veered towards to the Radio 2 mean. In the 1980s he had to endure a homophobic beasting by the British tabloids and defiantly emerged as a prominent contributor to AIDS charities. He’s also the opposite of a glory hunting football fan, having poured millions into his boyhood football club, Watford FC. I caught his last ever ‘regular’ UK show (he’s also appearing at Glastonbury) and although the limbs were obviously creaky, his voice still has power and the piano playing remains superlative. The back catalogue is hugely impressive, too, when compressed into a two and a half hour show - and happily for me, John relied extensively on the early years to plug the gaps between the hits. The visuals were great as well. This was a fitting farewell to a bona fide pop legend.
Black Mirror (Netflix)
New series of Charlie Brooker’s dystopian comedy starts off with a cracker as Joan (Annie Murphy) discovers that her real life is being acted out via a Netflix streaming service (art imitating life imitating art or something…). There are some big names involved, including Salma Hayek but it’s Brooker’s ‘what if…’ ideas that keep you hooked.
Grow Your Own Stupid (O2 Institute)
Was invited to a new bands night by a mate, and this lot were the pick of the bunch for me - a 60’s pop sensibility with hint of Goth and Swamp, and a vocalist (Maddox?) who can really belt it out. They look great too - especially the bassist in her ‘Witchfinder General’ hat. They play a brilliant cover of ‘Psycho Killer’ and have a great attitude, too - they ended their set with a half written song they’d only composed that morning. “If you want to hear the rest of it, come and see us next time…”