There is a certain joy in watching Coe squirm as he attempts to persuade us that he either didn't notice a $25m bung from Putin to the IAAF, or if he did notice it he didn't connect it to the discontinuance of an investigation into drug use by Russian athletes, that he knows nothing of any wrongdoing and anyway he's an ex-athlete so he must be innocent, yeah? To be frank, it's a bit like watching a younger Sepp Blatter doing the same press routine. Exactly the same faux-outrage. They could have been schooled by the same press training firm; Armstrong Media, perhaps.
There is also joy at the news that FM Ld Brammall has been cleared of the nasty smear against him by a disturbed individual. Field Marshals never retire, so Lord Brammell remains a serving soldier into his 90s. His best moment, though, was as a young whipstring of 82 when he decked the loathsome and odious Greville Janner in the Lords during a row over Palestine. The nation would have rejoiced more fiercely, I feel, had his lordship followed up the punch with a kick to the goolies as Janner lay on the floor. Incidentally, the Corbyn-dag and Labour's noncefinder-general, Watson, signally failed to support measures for Janner's prosecution. Child abuse is OK for the Comrades, apparently.
Night time temperatures here are regularly -5, and next week will be down to -17 to -20. Folk just take it in their stride. It's odd to see the 'Britain freezes in -1C misery' headlines and I'm astonished that Network Rail has continued operating in such Siberian conditions. I can raise a laugh over here by explaining that in the UK all soil and waste pipes are run on the outside of the houses, and in the event of a mild frost the entire nation can't use their toilets.
Mixed news about my meadows, uncut and ungrazed for several years. Very steep and now too tough for the balkenmäher, they pronounce. Even the village ace on these ancient Allan-scythes, whose loss of a leg in a hay-related machine accident reputedly gave him the opportunity of a new prosthetic limb 150mm longer than his surviving leg, allowing him to walk upright whilst mowing slopes, shakes his head. Goats, they pronounce, or better still, sheep. So off to eBay to find half a dozen Swaledales ...