Questions...

After almost every transaction (and especially online transactions), we’re asked for feedback. There’ll be a pop-up or an email enquiring “Have you got five minutes to fill in a questionnaire?”, to which the most logical response is a snort of derision. These online companies know so much about us already. Take the merest peek at a video compilation (Cumshot Cavalcade, say) and, for weeks afterwards, your every online click will be accompanied by questionable ads and recommendations.

Having hobbled into the Howden Medical Centre this morning, with my gouty foot, I got home to find an email in my inbox. Another sodding survey. How likely is it that I would recommend the medical centre to other people? If chatting to a poorly friend, I’d certainly be more likely to recommend a visit to the Howden Medical Centre than to, say, an off-license or hardware store. But that’s assuming they happened to be in the vicinity of Howden, rather than, say, Exeter or Aberdeen. There may come a time in my life when I do have “five minutes to spare” to fill in an online survey, but it’s not here yet.

Licensed today: Branthwaite Brow in Kendal...

Glenridding...

Licensed today: a pic of the Glenridding sailing club, taken a few years ago, before Glenridding Beck flooded the village...

Harriers...

Yesterday was my second day as a volunteer at Blacktoft Sands, the RSPB reserve. It’s an undemanding role: meeting and greeting visitors, mostly, and chatting about birds. A couple turned up, full of enthusiasm. They’d recently joined the RSPB, even though, as they admitted, they didn’t know much about birds. I reassured them that the enjoyment of watching birds didn’t depend on how many birds they could recognise.

They returned, after a couple of hours, in an even more enthusiastic mood. “Amazing!”, the woman said. “Just amazing!”. Having had the marsh harriers pointed out to them, while sitting in a hide, they'd watched the birds hunting over the reedbeds. They marveled at the way that other, smaller birds put their own lives at risk to prevent their offspring coming to harm, even if not all these efforts were successful. The couple watched as a marsh harrier swooped down, plucked a little grebe off the water and carried it away.

The couple agreed that joining the RSPB was one of the best things they’d done (see, I’m sounding corporate already!) and said they'd definitely visit Blacktoft Sands again. If they were looking for a new hobby to share, during their retirement years, I think they’d found it.

Licensed yesterday: the parish church at Orton, in Cumbria...

Eco-worrier...

I did a quick shop yesterday at the Co-op in Howden, mentioning that, just for once, I’d remembered to bring my own bag along. The reply - “You’re quite the eco-warrior, sir” - alerted me to the fact that the guy manning the Co-op checkout was the possessor of a fine and ready wit. Did I need my receipt? No. “Then we’ll recycle it, sir, and feed it to the pandas”…

Unloading...

The docks at Goole can be very photogenic, especially when ships are in. A security guy from Associated British Ports accosted me and said I wasn't allowed to photograph the docks. I said I was on a public right of way and, therefore, I was. He buggered off; I carried on. I have emailed the company for some clarification...

England out...

It was an enjoyable game last night, even though England lost, and it’s USA women who will contest the final of the World Cup. England played with heart for ninety minutes, but America played with skill and flair, and had a more coherent game-plan. The 2-1 scoreline didn’t flatter them.

Once they get over the disappointment of crashing out of the competition, the England players will know that their exploits have created a legion of new fans. The viewing figures, on the BBC, increased with every match (7.6 million for England v Norway, and 11 million for England V USA).

The big games keeping coming. Today, a stuttering England must beat New Zealand if they are to progress to the semi-final of the cricketing World Cup. It’s likely to be a tense affair.

Goole docks...

Football...

England women (I can’t quite bring myself to call them ‘lionesses’) are playing USA women this evening, for the chance to get into the World Cup final. That’s quite an achievement, and I’ll be cycling into Howden tonight to watch the game on a big screen. The pub won’t be draped with flags of St George, or full of rowdy, drunken, borderline racist England fans. Few people will be aware there’s a big game happening at all; I may have to ask the landlord politely if he’ll put the game on one of the screens. Most people - men and women alike - are sublimely indifferent to the fluctuating footballing fortunes of England women (though it’s only men who rate an England player on how much they’d like to “give her one”).

No one has to enjoy a particular sport or sporting occasion (I can think of few activities more existentially boring than watching American football, or skiing or anything involving horses). Sporting allegiance is a personal preference, and there’s no good reason why anyone should feel obliged to watch women’s football. Except that when they do catch a few minutes of action on TV, they may be genuinely surprised at the level of skill on show. They may even tire of making sexist comments - the sheer predictability is numbing - and just settle down to enjoy the game. C’mon England!

Just licensed: a twilight street-scene in Winchester...