Back From The Dead

I am 37 years old. 3 years away from being able to play in veteran badminton tournaments. In the other direction, 19 years since I last played in regular competition. In most senses of the word - ex.
Ex-county...
Ex-champion...
Ex-handsome...
Ex-fit...
Ex-actly.
So why on earth would I choose his year as my comeback year? After a few years of being a little overweight, dealing with a kidney condition, not enough exercise?

The truth is...I haven't chosen this year to be my comeback year.

It has chosen me.

As part of my new year's resolution, I determined to join a badminton club. I couldn't find a good one in my immediate locality, so I looked up an old contact, and joined a club a good deal further away.

Turns out they have some damn fine players there. And some really cracking matches have ensued. Ok, my form wasn't top drawer to start with. Missed a lot of shots whilst getting my eye in. Suffered a lot of aching muscles. Lost a contact lense in the vast oceans of sweat pouring from my brow.

But suddenly, two weeks ago, it all clicked back into place.

Every shot started working. Power arrived abruptly in my wrist. Closely followed by the return of the killer instinct.

As luck would have it - on that very clubnight - a County Selector happened to be watching from the balcony.

I've received my call to arms.

County match invites floating down onto my doormat.

No, I don't believe it either.

But by-God-am-I-ever going to seize this second bite of the cherry with every denture I own, and I swear I'll never let it get away again. With every nerve, fibre, tendon and muscle until I physically cannot crawl onto the badminton court, I will train, workout, run, dive, attack, defend, and hunt down every point until my blood is on the service lines.

Make no mistake, I'm going to win everything or die trying.

Whoever gave me this second chance, you won't regret it.


(Lilleshall Center Of Excellence England Trials 1983)

Sergei

Deuterium Blues...

I wanna tell you a story...although I can't vouch for it's veracity yet...

In the very north of Scotland, the Shetland Isles in fact, there were two RAF bases during the war. RAF Saxa Vord, and RAF Sullum Voe. Saxa Vord, as some may know, is/was a long distance radar station, manned only by Naval personnel, and served to warn us of impending raids by the Luftwaffe. All highly secret of course at the time.

RAF Sullum Voe may also have played a part in the war effort, perhaps quite an important one. And this is the story that I'm trying to piece together.

I'm sure you all know the "Heroes of Telemark" story, about how Norwegian resistance fighters sabotaged Nazi efforts at creating Deuterium, aka Heavy Water. The folklore - and the famous film - tell the significant details of the story, as they were known at the time. Several of the heroes also played characters in the film, to seal their memories forever in cellulose.

The story goes that RAF Sullum Voe provided backup during this operation, and was the place that the Norwegian fishing boats returned to, against the odds, bringing the heroes back to safety.

What is less clear, is how my Grandfather managed to lose his RAF greatcoat in Norway during the incident, and was promptly ordered to pay for another one...

More details hopefully forthcoming about my Grandfather, Frederic Claud(e)Warren from the RAF Personnel site at RAF Innsworth.

This might be interesting.

Let you know.

Sergei

Legs In Treacle Syndrome

I have a weird dream every now and then - usually once a week.

In this dream, all my colleagues and I have relocated to a new office, somewhere deep in the woods. The new office is surrounded by barbed wire, and patrolled by sentries with guard dogs. No-one seems unduly perturbed by this seeming prison. We just all get on with our work. Like Groundhog Day, the work never ends, but just repeats itself.

Suddenly, there is an emergency - some type of fire or incident which requires everyone to evacuate the building.

But no-one can, because they aren't allowed out of the doors.

So Yours Truly saves the day with some superhuman effort, by climbing out of a window on the third floor, dodging volleys of gunfire, and rescuing everyone.

What is this dream telling me - apart from the fact that I should get out more?

Is this a future event, or something deeper?

Whatever it is, I've relocated a Fire Extinguisher from the corridor to under my desk, because I don't think my knees will take the strain of a third-floor somersault with 1/2 pike.

Sergei