Hebden Sports Day

There were a couple of major festivals on Bank Holiday Weekend including the Leeds and Reading Music Festivals. I’ve been to them before and they were great. We decided not to go this year (I’ve seen New Order; The Pogues; Chumbawamba; Blur; New Model Army; Billy Bragg; The Men They Couldn’t Hang; James; Rage Against the Machine; The Prodigy; The Beastie Boys; Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine and Catatonia at these festivals before – somehow this year’s headliner of Guns n’ Roses wasn’t going to do it for me; I saw them 23 years ago when they were fresh).


Instead, we went to Hebden Sports Day and it was fantastic. Driving a diesel Ford Mondeo through the wall-lined single-track lanes of the Yorkshire Dales was a little hairy, but after I turned in through the narrow gate and parked in the field, things were great. I met the lads who have cycled over and are replenishing themselves with Victoria sponge cake and steak burgers from the entirely reasonably-priced food stalls.

The highlights and amusements are varied, and all cost the princely sum of 20p. I am entertained by ‘bat the rat’ in which a bloke drops a beanbag down a drainpipe and you have to pinion it with a baseball bat; all very educational I’m sure. Only slightly less politically incorrect is the ‘knock over a ginger’ stall where you can lob things at wooden panels painted as people and given red wigs to try and topple them.

Folk contested the skittles and grown men who really should know better tried to kick balls through cut-outs in a penalty shoot out game. Throwing things through different holes to reach the highest score was also on offer – at last look the prize of £2 was being shared among 20 people; so that’s the entry fee back, then!

The highlights of Hebden Sports Day were the fell-racing and the egg throwing. First, the kids raced around a tree in the field with push parents egging them on (pun entirely intended). Then the ‘seniors’ (which in this instance means people over 18 rather than 65) pelted through the tiny village and straight up the nearest steep incline.

We clambered our way up it (battling the voracious midgies) to a vantage point where we could watch them leaping over dry stone walls and hurling themselves down a rock-strewn hill. Him Outdoors perched reflectively on a rock, itching to participate (whereas I was just itching from the midgies) but knowing that it would be foolish to risk injury before his big event next week.

As we escaped the rigours of the outdoors (I’ll never make a rural girl) we walked past a more professional photographer with a big lens and a floppy hat. ‘That’s just what I wanted,’ he intoned, ‘You in my shot’. I believe this is what is known as Yorkshire wit – you’re not quite certain if the speaker is serious or not so are unsure whether to take offence, and they really don’t care if you do or you don’t. ‘I speak as I find’, they like to say, usually as a defence of their unspeakable rudeness.


When the mood takes them they can also have a generous spirit and a wonderfully warm sense of humour (and of course, these are sweeping generalisations). The egg throwing (and catching) is a fine example of their ‘playful’ attitude. Couples line up facing each other on either side of a rope and throw an egg between them. At each catch the lines get further apart until the field is littered with egg shell and albumen.

Children of all ages show off their cricketing techniques with the invariable ‘You could play for Yorkshire/ Lancashire/ England with a catch like that’. It’s a simple amusement and highly entertaining. Expect to see a version of it soon at a Blackhurst Party! Pictures below:

Olympics: Disappointing ending

It's really no secret that I have loved these Olympics, and followed the antics and achievements of the athletes like a spectacular drama.

But I'm afraid to say that the finale was ultimately a let-down. Despite all the hoopla of the closing ceremony and the handover to Britain involving a double decker bus, David Beckham and some umbrellas, the events of the last day were all a bit ho-hum.

True, it kicked off with the men's marathon which was remarkable for its pace and style in that heat and humidity, but where were the rest of the athletics? I'm sure that the final day used to involve proper events and baton twirling - sorry, relay races. Now the baton twirling is not ironic, and represented by rythm gymnastics, with handball and volleyball finals also being decided. Add to this the spectacle of water polo and the whole thing is a bit of a damp squib.

So I am left looking ahead to the prospect of the next games in London. I really hope that we will dispense with the lavish ceremony and cut to the parade of nations, a couple of speeches and then everyone is entertained by a quick burst of morris dancing and a couple of stand-up comedians, and it's off down the pub - bring your own tankard. We could save a good thirty million pounds right there. Maybe we could plough it into sporting organisations or, and here's an idea, give it to the health and education systems!

I have heard a rumour that darts will be in an as exhibition sport - now that's pretty British. Let's not stop there. Why don't we include cheese rolling, fell running and pint racing? This has to be better than cricket, golf and rugby which are some of the suggestions for sports to be included. They have their own major, and highly paid professional, tournaments. They don't need to be part of our games.

I have also heard that baseball and softball will be dropped, and if there's any justice, beach volleyball will go the same way. If we must include it, why don't we make them play on Brighton beach with its not-so-soft shingle and it's freezing water? They'll rue those skimpy costumes then, although that would probably please the lecherous lads (the only people who actually watch this 'sport') even more.

And if we must have a closing ceremony, let it be along the lines of It's a Knockout. The athletes could race up and down on tricycles wearing comedy clown feet and royal family masks. They could play their jokers, wade through blancmange and carry buckets of coloured water with holes in the bottom. And Stuart 'As a Hatter' Hall could guffaw throughout proceedings. Now we just have to start lip-synching and crushing protests. I'm looking forward to it already!