More than a big house, this time
Perhaps I lack a key element in my personal culture: I never played for a team. Behind us, historically, the team sport has a place of reverence. And cheering for your favourites isn’t the same thing as actually getting out on the field (or the ice; Canadian culture…)
This evening, I’ve been watching a new series on Netflix. The English Game. Brought to us by Julian Fellowes and friends. Yes, the big house is important. But, so is the kitchen and the pub. The common man, if you will.
Now, the series is based on actual history. You can look up how football (soccer, for the Canadians in the audience) moved from a pickup effort among friends into something world wide. The series shows one facet of that, in covering the movement from the “name schools” such as Eton, to the towns of the industrial heartland. Working on a loom in a big factory doesn’t satisfy in the same way that following a local team of footballers might. Again, I speak as a spectator. Never played for a team.
I intend to watch the other episodes. There’s a sense of soul and spirit to the program, and the period costumes and language are new to me. Not quite Downton Abbey, yet. But a solid second string effort.
I’m trying to find where I might have put my tyre irons (made out of plastic). I want to change the bike into a proper stationary exercise machine, and after two tours of the drawers downstairs, all I have brought back is a fine film of gypsum on my clothes.
