I had never been a big fan of cricket. As a kid in Zambia, we played French cricket where your legs act as stumps and you use a softball with fielders/bowlers standing in a circle around you. Fast forward to March 1996, I happened to be in Sri Lanka on a business development trip, and yes you guessed right, the country came to a standstill on the 17th of March. The big game was on, the Cricket World Cup, it was in Lahore but I watched it with friends on TV at the Colombo Swimming Club. The Attack was led by “Mad Max” Aravinda De Silva playing in the middle order and Sanath Jayasuriya starting strong, the entire team “did the needful”. I have never seen a whole country celebrate in such a way.
Since then, having taken up residency in Sri Lanka 20 years ago, I’ve been to many cricket grounds and watched many games on-site and at city venues, such as the Cricket Club Cafe and Inn on the Green. I recall England struggling in a limited overs match in which Mahela Jayawardena bowled and the ball was caught behind by Sangakkara, the batsman was out . A great quiz question.
Having established an appetite for the game, I watch as much as possible, especially international games, world championships and limited over games. New Zealand vs England in 2019, with a dramatic ending, was one of the best matches I have watched, albeit on TV.
Cricket has a new lease of life. I am waiting for someone to revolutionize the game of golf, as has been done to cricket. Make it a shorter, more exciting game of say 2 hours with a larger number of people being able to play and watch. Golf players are dropping in numbers due to how much time you need to do a full round of Golf, how expensive it is and the lack of space. I think the Victoria Golf Club in Kandy has just scrapped my handicap.
The most-watched cricket in the world is the IPL [Indian Premier League] that started in 2008, with 20 overs and Indian players teaming up with top cricketers of other nationalities. For me this is the fastest, most exciting cricket played today. The competition is played once a year with about 60 games and 8 teams, all well sponsored.
As an Englishman in my adopted home of Sri Lanka, it’s hard to talk of the performance of England cricket today. Reduced performances result in reduced spectators and TV demand dropping; this is leading to low morale among the team. Some key players currently in India are performing well in a different environment. Some say there is a massive racism concern in English cricket, immigrants represent 33% of recreational cricket and local and county clubs whilst only 4% of the English cricket team are non-English origin.
So soon the Australian cricket team are coming to Sri Lanka and we all hope they bring lots of supporters with them. They may need to bring some fuel for the coaches also. I’ll be there watching the games, wearing my Sri Lankan shirt, the wife will be next to me with her Aussie shirt on, but likely asleep.
We hear from Texas, 21 people killed,19 of them kids in yet another mass shooting in the USA. I start another day with a heavy heart and tears in my eyes and I don’t know a single victim and I’ve never been to Texas. I did a video back in 2019 about on the crazy situation of gun shootings in the USA, see below.
You always think there will be change in gun controls after a shooting, especially in a school. Impacted people and lobby groups can’t penetrate the political support for the current gun laws or the power of the gun producers. So, nothing happens. I heard one gun supporting politician arguing that if 18 year old’s fought for American independence [1775 to 1783] with rifles they should be able to have guns at 18 today. No logic at all.
It appears there is legislation likely to be passed in some states further relaxing gun ownership in the USA. What a crazy bunch of people running this country. Shootings they say are 52% up year on year in 2021, 30% of Americans own guns.
‘Preventable but predictable’ is one statement made by a father who lost his child in a school shooting some years earlier and interviewed on TV today.
This week an 18-year-old in full body armour shoots his grandma and then goes on a rampage at a school Killing 21 people. The 18-year-old shooter bought the gun officially and legally, yet in this state you have to be 20 years of age to drink in a public place. Over 129 children have been killed in shootings in USA schools in twenty years. There have been 12 shootings in schools in this year, 549 shooting incidents in schools in six years. The aftermath of these killings has a massive impact on families and the community. The scars last a lifetime.
Whilst I actually title this short write up as it only happens in the USA, according to some research I’ve done since the shooting in Texas, I found that there was school shooting in Stirling Scotland. In 1996 the shooter killed 16 children and a teacher; it was the deadliest shooting in British history. The outcome was a massive reform of gun law in Great Britain. No private guns to be held by individuals with the exception of ownership of shotguns that could kept, be with a separate set of terms and conditions. Within weeks of the recent shooting in New Zealand at which 51 Muslim were gunned down; the Government changed the gun laws within weeks and month progressively.
I’m not whinging; I’m just emotional about the shooting of kids and the apathy for change in a country that has 110+ gun deaths a day.
Having lived here in Colombo for over two decades, I’m always looking for new places to go. One evening some months ago I was invited to the Monarch apartment poolside, for dinner. To my surprise, I’m attending a Serbian Orthodox New Year dinner on the 13th of January. A number of people arrive, armed with trays of food. I meet the lovely Milica for the first time, although we both live in the Monarch apartments, she is doing the food for the event. What shocked me was that she had been running a restaurant in Colombo for 14 years and I had never heard of it.
A week or so after the Monarch pool party, we head for the restaurant on Bagatale Road. It has an outdoor seating area, a fast takeaway area, and a two-level indoor restaurant.
Whinging Pome’s Random Rule No 244
“When eating in Rome, let the Romans choose the food”
So, we let Milica select for us and we enjoy massive plates of roast vegetables, cured, grilled and roasted meats, and European sausages. Serbian food has a strong Turkish influence. There is an array of amazing sweets. Milica also has a big following for her decorative cakes. Not only does she ship them across Sri Lanka but also to other countries. In fact, at one time, she had three locations in Sri Lanka and built a large home delivery business. Some of you may recall the rather larger mega survey the Whinging Pome did on coffee in Colombo, titled “The Colombo Coffee Awards” back in 2020. Had I known about Mitsi and their Coffee back then, she would likely be a contender for the top coffee in the city. We have been back quite a few times to her restaurant and enjoyed the great food, Mohamed the lively fun waiter and Dejan, the Serbian chef who manages such a comprehensive menu, and of course the madam of the house.
Funny how most mornings during my morning walk now I see Milica smartly dressed as she is off to walk to the restaurant. Mitsi, I’m reliably informed, is the name given to a Cabaret singer in some Central European countries. I decided to find out more about this amazing lady so we had a one-hour interview. She is from Belgrade and has been an air steward. Even as a child she tells me she was very focused on home-grown business acumen. In her early teens, she rented her family’s modest country house in the former Yugoslavia which was under the communist regime. She forgot to tell her dad the house was being used as a temporary church; which was a bit difficult in those days. She has run many different businesses in her 20 years in this country, which she loves and has had so many positive experiences here with her sister who has been here for 30 years.
So, if you haven’t been to Mitsi’s restaurant on Bagatalle road, put it on your list, ring and order one of her famous cakes or drop by for a coffee. If you run into a noisy group of diners on the upper floor it’s likely to be the Monarch group, who have adopted it as a 2nd dining base.
Like many responsible people in Sri Lanka, I have joined the rallies and demonstrations against the current political regime, asking to stop the widespread corruption and asking where all Sri Lanka’s money has gone. It is predominately the youth of this country I see at these events. What I also see is people from across the social religious and ethnic divide.
Muslims breaking fast and sharing food with perfect strangers, young white-robed priests carrying their Sri Lankan flags, families showing their young children one of the basic forms of democracy, protesting in a civilized nonviolent manner, individual protesters standing with the poster in silence and in solitude despite the masses around them, the patriotic flag waving, the more boisterous shouts “GO HOME GOTA” doesn’t go unnoticed.
What is also noticeable is how many ladies are out there, most just as vocal as their men. There are people handing out buns and water, I’m given a banner to hold up, it’s in Sinhalese; translated, it means we are all people of Sri Lanka, be we Muslim, Tamil, Sinhalese, or anyone who loves this country and its people. The Tamil boy next to me says he can’t read my signboard but he is glad I’m there.
Having lived in Sri Lanka for about twenty years, I have never seen such unity, such responsive people, passion for their country flag and for the future of their country. There is no doubt the message is pertinent to the current seniors of the country who need to adopt a similar approach, i.e. common goals for the good of the people.
I observe a man with a child and a small speaker sitting on the steps of the statue in front of the Shangri-La. He is playing music as a protest. The song I hear is from the Scorpions, a band founded in Germany back in 1965. It’s called “winds of change”, which is about political climate change and was later used during the struggle in Germany and finally when the wall came down.
♫ Take me to the magic of the moment On a glory night Where the children of tomorrow dream away In the wind of change The wind of change
Like a strong wind that will ring the freedom bell♫
Ironically I had never heard of the Scorpions till twenty-odd years ago having arrived in Sri Lanka and spent time going around the clubs, so many local bands played it in Sri Lanka. I could not translate the sign the man had propped up but the music and the moment will always be with me.
We can all imagine how the numerous individuals involved in serious corruption are looking over their shoulders or checking their WhatsApp to see if their ill-gotten assets, homes or deals are becoming more and more in the public arena. Perhaps we should float the idea of a moratorium. Spill the beans of those corrupt deals you are aware of and get immunity against prosecution for information. The corruption is so widespread that it’s likely better to focus on politicians (all parties) and the mega-fixers.
Sri Lanka has an amazing opportunity, perhaps the biggest since independence to create a modern and all-inclusive political structure, devolve or diminish the presidential role, cut the number of parliamentary ministers by at least 50% and create real long-term policies on areas like education, development, health, etc.
Now the skeptics, fat cats and corrupt families will say this is impossible. We may not have enough funds to keep the country afloat for the next month. I do suspect the main motivation of these groups is to keep the status quo. We however have to have that vision of what can be and how Sri Lanka can move upward.
How much has been stolen, we will never know. Whatever the amount it would have saved the country from the state it is now in, but perversely it was part of the nucleus for change and embarrassment for many.
So whatever the timetables the wind of change has started in Sri Lanka and the younger generation will have their day. We will still have a brain drain in the next few years, we need a place our educated youngsters can grow in. For me, like one of the old men on the balcony of the Muppets show, I will always have something to shout and whinge about. The difference is I want to be part of the future, I may have a British passport but my heart and feet will always be here.
One of Britain’s most famous personalities known for his speeches and more so for leading the drive to win the second world war is Winston Churchill. He was a poor student and only aspired to learn subjects like history and English. It took him three attempts to get into ‘Royal Military Academy’ at Sandhurst and that was in the lowest category, the cavalry. He became a hero in South Africa during the Boer War, he was also the man who sent over 250,000 soldiers to their deaths in a disastrous initiative in Gallipoli in 1915 WW1. It was an attempt to take Turkey out of the war. He was however an amazing wartime Prime Minister. “Cometh the hour cometh the man” in WW2.
“Although prepared for martyrdom, I preferred that it be postponed
– Sir Winston Churchill –
He was awarded honorary citizenship in the USA in 1963, though his mother was actually an American citizen anyway. John F Kennedy attended the proceedings. Winston’s father was an English Lord. Winston was a Nobel Prize winner for literature and developed a love of painting. He had a wit that resulted in a host of quotes and incidents.
“We are all worms but I believe I am a glow-worm”
– Sir Winston Churchill –
Sir Winston Churchill
Winston was extremely accident-prone; crashed a plane before it even took off, had a number of car accidents, fell off of numerous horses and was believed to have dyslexia and glossophobia. i.e. Fear of public speaking.
Despite his heroic wartime leadership he failed in being a peacetime leader and lost his first post-war general election. He bought the house called Chartwell close to Westerham in Kent where he lived for forty years and until his death in 1965. Previously, given massive debts, he had gifted/sold the house to The National Trust. He is buried in Bladen in the family’s village churchyard. The history of the site goes back to the 1360s.
I lived for a number of years close to Westerham and enjoyed touring his home and reading stories of this colorful hero who should never be forgotten.
“There is no such thing as public opinion. There is only published opinion”
Flying into Dubai on Emirates, the airline has sixty minutes to get my bags onto my connecting flight to the UK. The airline staff informs me that the luggage is on-board. I tell them that it is impossible, as I’ve just hopped off one plane and am ready to board another. I tell the staff I am not boarding until they have proof that my luggage is on the flight.
The Whinging Pome Random Rule Number 242 (and operational practice):
“Never board a connecting flight unless they confirm your luggage is on board.”
I have had my luggage lost/ delayed too many times due to late flights. If two different airlines are involved you best forget your luggage and go for the insurance claim.
I wait and watch all my fellow travelers getting on. I notice a lot of kids; they can be a nuisance. I smile at a rather attractive black lady, whose little boy is waving at me for some reason. Maybe my lips.
Boarding the flight, I notice the little boy in my business class seat, with his mum seated next to him. She is planning to travel the whole eight-hour flight with the kid on her knee. I give her the option of seats and she takes mine. The boy continues to engage with the old passenger next to him, yes, that’s me. However, he is not a disturbance during the whole flight.
We are on an old Boeing 777. The business class experience on this plane is possibly on par with Qatar Airway’s economy class. My joy of flying is curtailed given the need to wear the mask, and the various courses of my meal all come on one tray together. I have to say, the Emirates staff even in business class are not proactive on service. I always chuckle at the announcement “we have 18 staff speaking 13 languages”. I really don’t give a fu**, I just want great service. Qatar Airways has worked out that in general, Asian staff are more humble and less chatty amongst themselves.
Opposite me is a family. He is a Liverpudlian, dressed from top to toe in a branded formula one outfit. She is an East European wearing hot pants and a revealing top. The real problem is the daughter, about three years of age, is loud, moody and chatty. She sits opposite me across the aisle. I keep my headphones on for most of the flight.
I hire a pre-booked car from the airport. I argue as to why I am paying a daily premium because the car is from an airport car hire location. What a con. Other businesses do not put a premium on their services. This is a volume location and airports have fought hard to give the travelling public the assurance that they are not being ripped off by companies operating in the airport space. The car is category two, a small four-door, enhanced with low-profile tyres that are not needed. Every seat in the car is heated. Why does a basic car have to be adorned with top-end features? Obviously, it’s to push the rental price up.
My first journey is to Mansfield, in what I call middle England, a place you would never see a postcard of. I am off going to see my dad in King’s Mill Hospital. The car trip has no unpleasant surprises other than the red oil light flashing at me in my overpriced hire car. I was last here in Oct 2020 to say goodbye to my mother. Once she heard my voice and we touched each other’s hands, she passed away fifteen minutes later.
My dad is in the ward next to where my mother was. He is now frail but somewhat sweet curled up in his bed, not really the father of my youth. Having given up all his financial assets to get cared for by the state he has spent eight years in an old peoples home battling with Alzheimer’s. He is now losing his sight and is being moved to a more suitable facility. From being the responsibility of the local authority, he is now the responsibility of the National Health Authority. We go through the hoop of talking to endless people representing various groups we seek help from. These people are all working from home, making non-committal statements and clearly not understanding the current situation of my dad. One says, “We will assess your dad in twelve weeks and determine what the next steps will be and see what improvements he has made”.
“Read the bloody script!” I’m thinking. After eight years of progressively increasing Alzheimer’s and now blindness, without a miracle how is he going to improve his wellbeing/ situation?
Battling on we have dad going to Skylarks, which was a rehabilitation center for delinquent teenagers decades earlier. On visiting the place it is well run, with caring staff and a nice atmosphere. Will dad like it is my major concern. It’s more stressful for him but within a day, he settles in, acquires his seat in the lounge and gets into his new routine.
My added experience is one we all dread whilst travelling – I lose my phone. The total reliance on our phone hits me quite hard and quite quickly. I’m miles away from home driving around middle England in a hired car, trying with my sister to settle our dad into the next phase and possibly the last phase of his life.
Now we all assume that having lost an Apple phone, we can track it down. With some help, I track my phone down to a massive complex outside of Newark on Trent and I get there to see who has my phone. The complex is a couple of acres site with a garden center, a massive store, a restaurant that could seat over eighty people, and has a kid’s play center. Now one person somewhere here has my phone, but the Apples tracking system cannot identify where on the site it is or with which individual. With a workforce of 160 plus people and soon to be many shoppers, it looks like an impossible task, unless the phone’s new owner starts to move out of the complex.
It’s amazing that we have google maps, and amazing technology at our figure tips but I could not find the phone. You feel cut off, out of touch, unable to link with family and friends. Your confidential information, photos, etc. are potentially being reviewed by strangers as you try to block the phone. I use Apple’s find my phone feature to add a notice on the lock screen asking the new owner to ring my relatives telephone number. I’m about to fly out of the UK, and much of the info I need, including vaccination proof, is on my phone.
I surmount all the obstacles but it has been a week of anxiety, not just for me but I know more so for my dad.
For as far as I can remember from birth to six years of age, the family mode of transport was the Morris Minor when traveling around central Africa. We even had one in England, when I was learning to drive. I’ve been through the windscreen of one and nearly died, fallen out of one whilst going around a bent and hit a stationary vehicle in my last one. We would tour for weeks in remote locations in Rhodesia in our blue Moggie with our Scottie dog, going off for ten days with two small suitcases on the roof rack. We were a singing family, from Christian songs and repetitive tunes like “coming round the mountain.” Dad would do his impressions of Burl Ives or Jim Reeves.
The Morris Minor was launched in 1948 as an economy family vehicle and was the first British-built model to produce over a million cars. There were numerous options: the salon car, convertible, estate, van, etc. and the last car was produced in 1971. There used to be many on the roads in Jaffna and I’ve seen a number of them when traveling upcountry in Sri Lanka. There is a field of rotting Minors I see each time I go to Victoria near Kandy. I’d like to stop on the next trip and have a nostalgic fix.
The car however has never had the sexy look or buzz of the VW Beatle which focused on the same target market..the family on a budget. All those happy and sad impressions in Morris Minors.
What a bay, a small horseshoe with multiple shades of blue sea and cliffs to one side and a rock out crop on the other. One of the tightest bays I’ve ever seen and today it looks a very safe place to swim, in fact, one of safest I’ve seen on the island. A place for sun worshipers, the young, the great bodies are soaking up the rays while those of us of a certain age hide from the rays or cover up to prevent the accelerating of the aging process, when perhaps it’s too late. Considering overnight accommodation ranges from 17$ to 170$, you can imagine the number of people cramming onto a very narrow strip of beach. The holiday makers generally look under thirty intermingled with the odd aging hippie type, but there are few children. Scant bikinis and tattoos are not compulsory but are much in evidence.
There is no wind today so the surfers are laying low but there are lots of people in the water, the surf boards are far and few, other than those waiting to be rented. Yesterday I’m told the winds were perfect. Listening to various conversations whilst sitting on one of a solid row of chairs with tables across most of the waterfront I hear French, Russian and few English voices. Sat close by is a slightly overweight frightfully English upper crust couple who look in their early forties. His public school accent, the overused word “darling” whilst wearing clothes more suited to Cannes in southern France make them unlikely revelers to this location. “Each to their own”, an often used observation of my parents. The waiter brings the arrack and as I look at the quantity, it’s about three shots, that’s two more than I needed and I explain in English how drinks should be served. He doesn’t understand.
I order four glasses of fresh Thambili ( King coconut juice) and I drop the triple shot of arrack across the four glasses and share it with my lovely three lady companions.
“One should always have a cunning plan when the situation looks impossible.”
The Whinging Pome Random Rule No 240
Apologies to those Blackadder fans, Baldrick always appeared to talk of his “cunning plan” whilst rubbing his hands together like an expecting Jew.
The good news is this little horse shoe bay is a winner for many tourists and its popularity continues to grow. This in part is the mix between the beauty of the place, the amazing sea, the surfing and the buzz that is developing. Young Europeans like the chaotic haphazard, not so clean, not so organized feel of this little island paradise in Asia. There are still derelict and ramshackle buildings on the waterfront, discarded fishing boats, narrow roads and a mish mash of properties of varying ages built originally by the locals and now interspersed with new hotels and commercial activity. All in an extremely tight amount of space. It’s part of the charm and compares with the forerunners of such resort areas (E.g. Unawattuna) whose popularity continues to wain as new trendy areas are created. E.g. Ella in the mountains has become a go to place by the chilled young tourists. Part of the charm is the casual approach to service and watching laid back waiters practicing their limited language skills making every effort to chat up the cool European chicks and chaps.
So whilst it’s somewhat logical that Sri Lanka tourist trade want to drive volume towards upper end travelers, the history of tourism on this island has come mainly from the high volume lower end beach tourist sector. The array of amazing properties and locations now available island wide are attracting travelers wanting more than just beach, i.e. Mountains, lakes, culture, historical and religious sites. Today Sri Lanka has numerous holiday properties/ venues with good service and standards available. For tomorrow we need double the number of venues and improve services such as aging airport, little inter island flying options, more highways, better trained staff and a consistent tourism strategy with a meaningful relevant budget to promote it. There are tourist who pick their venues given specific activities, e.g. train trips, wild life adventures, golf, kite surfing, hiking, black tourism. (visiting sites of disasters /events) The more recent trend is that of “digital nomad” tourists. (People who can do their work online anywhere in the world.) The Sri Lankan government have already created a special extended visa for these nomads.
So it’s likely that many tourist traveling to Hiriketiya will in their few weeks holiday get to see a little more than just this amazing Horse Shoe bay. Let’s hope they share their experience with others on returning home.
It started here, the memorial location where three singers and a young pilot died on the 3rd Feb 1959 in a plane crash.
The death of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper inspired Don McLean to write American Pie and a tribute to the glory of the the1950’s and changes in the 1960’s. When Don was asked what the song meant to him, he said, “it means I never have to work again.” The lyrics of the eight-minute cultural touchstone song that most of us can sing have many interpretations and a level of shrouded mystery. Much has been written on the interpretation of the lyrics and who are all the characters, places and events featured. E.g. jester = Bob Dylan, The king was Elvis. The king and queen were Pete Seeger and Joan Baez..the King whose thorny crown was stolen = JFK
There was not sufficient room on the plane for all those who wanted to fly. Many of the band had frostbite sitting in a school bus on tour, Buddy aged 22 booked the flight, The Big Bopper aged 28 was on as he wasn’t well and Ritchie aged 17 won a seat on a tossed coin to fly.
The talent of the three musicians had they not died would have propelled them to massive stardom.
Don sold the 16 pages on which he penned the song for 1-2 $ million and to this day remains guarded over the full meaning of the lyrics.
You could say I have some links to the country, e.g. married an Australian, have a number of close friends who hail from that little continent down under and stole the Australian term “Whinging Pome“ as the theme for two books and lots of published articles. Ironically, I had no desire to visit Australia until the age of about forty-five and in between wives.
I had this delusionary idea of going to Australia to find my first love, Dorrel Morton, an Aussie who I had met when we were both five years old, residing in Livingstone, Zambia. We had a two-year fling eyeing each other up and holding hands at picnics by the side of the Victoria Falls. So to Australia I went.
I never checked the weather and was surprised to be greeted in July by a wet and cold Sydney on arrival. I quickly went out and bought a windcheater, as my dad used to call it, an outdoor jacket with a zip fastener. It is still in my wardrobe, worn only for three days, but has a dam kangaroo emblazoned on it.
Dorrel picked me up the next night from her mum’s house. We had not met for about forty years. We sped off in her flashy Porsche to a restaurant overlooking the Sydney harbour and bridge. Whilst enjoying the food, the setting, and discussions on our lives post the age of seven; there was no real common ground. She was a teetotaler, wasn’t into music, hardly traveled, would only dance at weddings, and was very involved with the Salvation Army. Both her parents were high-ranking participants. I spent the rest of my months stay in Australia traveling from city to city, meeting loads of fun Australians, having a ball, and partying. That is what the Aussies do well.
I also dived in the barrier reef, flew in a rebuilt tiger moth, zip-lined over the forests, and went biking on a Harley. So from a country I had no desire to visit for most of my life, a decade later whilst staying in a short let apartment in Colombo I get a call from the receptionist who tells me my neighbor is complaining about how noisy I am.
Once a drummer always a drummer, I was just whacking my congas.
After getting some intel on the complainer, I’m told she is from Australia. I pop round that evening with a bottle of Aussie wine and the rest, as they say, is history. Jezzabel and I got married and I’m staying with wife number four.
Subsequently, we have revisited Australia on a number of occasions, made loads more friends, and still drink Australian wine. However, I would never want to live there.
For more down under stories from the Whinging Pome on Australia, New Zealand, and another thirty countries, follow The Whinging Pome on Facebook and Instagram;
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