I nearly wrote a blog about the former manager of Leeds United when we were promoted out of the Championship. Timing is everything; sadly this blog is an obituary.

Like most British football supporters I had never heard of Bielsa when my mid table Championship club wheeled in the latest managerial solution to attempt to lever the club back into the Premier League (after sixteen years in the lower reaches.) Good luck I thought as he looked at the meagre talent in his squad and the absence of significant money to address the problem. Leeds United had turned into a saloon door scenario for managers passing quickly through. The new post Cellino Board had appointed some real clunkers prior to this and nothing bode well.

What happened over the next three seasons is of legends, well at least in West Yorkshire. Bielsa transformed the team into a free flowing, ever running attacking force and got the team promoted at the second attempt. Journeymen players were transformed and the football we played was often sensational and much admired. The desperate and loyal fans were energised, inspired and beyond grateful. What at an exciting time ahead. It was dream time.

Bielsa was, in reality, the anti hero. The very definition of understated. Despite the large salaries coaches earn that could support a very plush lifestyle. Portly and forever dressed in a sweat shirt and tracksuit bottoms he exuded humility, compassion and kindness. He eschewed ever publicly speaking English and seldom looked at the camera in an interview. His post match comments were often weary and evasive gibberish: talk of ‘efficiency’, ‘execution’ and ‘moments’ that never gave you any meaningful information or emotion. So from here we dissected small vignettes of his kindness or personal relief. For example, the enormous hug he gave one of his coaches when the third goal went in against Burnley and secured the three points was such a moment, here was a man under enormous pressure. Kindness involved his interaction with the fans or paying a fine he received for the misdemeanour of sending someone to watch a Derby County training session. Kindness was paying for a gym for staff to use and the endless selfies he posed for. Many of these images were taken around Wetherby where he lived. Morrisons will miss him! He was a very regular sight and even I saw him one Sunday morning.

The inevitable difficult second season in the Premiership came along and Leeds have stuttered. Yes, injuries, a feature of a Bielsa regime, have bedevilled the team along with many complaining the squad was too few in number. I personally don’t subscribe to all of this. The team appeared to fail to turn up for several fixtures and the tactics employed the season before no longer surprised the opposition. Maybe the team was too tired to swamp the opposition. I had no confidence that our catastrophic run of conceding 17 goals in the previous four games was about to dry up. What could the Board do? They did the inevitable, initiated a departure and found a new coach.

The grief and resentment to the Board was palpable amongst many of the fans. Many would have preferred to stick with him and gone down with him. Such folly was the case with Nottingham Forest who stuck by Brian Clough in 1993, all the way until they were relegated into the Championship. Leicester City had no emotional attachment to Ranieri who perished in 2017, the season after miraculously lifting the Premiership title. Football clubs are £ multi million businesses with shareholders, debts and employees. Players have release clauses that may mean relegation sees them sold at fire sale prices etc. It’s logical and correct that changes should be made when needed. Unfortunately for the coaches they are obvious first casualties, unlike players, shareholders or directors who may have all serially failed.

They’re talking of erecting a statue or naming a training ground after Bielsa. I would like that. It would be fitting but, there again, where is the one for Don Revie or Howard Wilkinson? If Leeds do get relegated then Bielsa may have crawled away from the wreckage in good time. I hope the affection endures and his reputation grows as we all go marching on together.

A drive into the Yorkshire Dales provided an unbelievably beautiful moment. When breasting the top of Buttertubs Pass. The gloom, at 2.5°C, was broken by two large shafts of sunshine as they shone down through a break in the clouds. This windy pass is special as it was on the 2014 Stage 1 Tour de France route. 

I have been searching for something to fill in a bit of time and certainly on a part time basis. It had to be something I’d enjoy and use a bit of brain power. My good friend Peter mentioned a job that he’d done as a tour guide. He was connected to a UK company and so I put my name forward, was interviewed and accepted. I think my being the age of some of the guests, quite organised and being able to rattle on about most things was a benefit! My training starts in February. The arrangement is that tour companies like Jules Verne or Explore sell Yorkshire or Northumberland short holidays. They ferry people around on a mini bus stopping at the many sights. My employer is a charter for these tour operators. I’m passionate about our great county of Yorkshire and the Northumberland coast, castles and Hadrian’s Wall are also treasures. Everyone I know is concerned about my ability to be ‘nice’ for six straight days. Anna is even more concerned that I am prone to gesticulations, and worse, with other road users. Obviously I don’t recognise these possible failings. I’ll be fine.

The BBC is to lose the licence fee. This led to many tears on social media and many BBC employee were pointing out that £0.43/day is surely nothing when you think of what you get? I think those who’ve grown up with the organisation would possibly exalt the Beeb (as many do the NHS.) However, the debate is not about my age group. I think our daughters give the veritable institution little or none of their time, maybe ‘Call The Midwife’? News, music, sport, drama or entertainment has been migrating over the decades to the internet fed channels and stations. The end was signalled some time ago. There are some BBC radio stations we all must admit we have never listened to. There’s maybe much of the BBC to retain in whatever model: subscription, advertising or reduced licence fee. Like the ‘High Street’ the internet may have found another victim.

In a week where I got a new car I also came across a photo of an identical car I first owned. My new car, my first in seven years, is a BMW 320i estate. My first car was a white Triumph Herald. There are 56 years between the two motors. The hand over of the new car took over two hours despite the fact the deal and monies had been sorted out a long time ago. Most of the two hours was filling in paperwork, sending texts to each other or waiting for the salesman to paddle about looking at my part-ex or trying to find a way to expedite payment for a service package (for his own personal advantage no doubt.) In fact, of the time spent, about 20+ minutes was spent sitting in the car whilst a kindly technician went through the mind boggling intricacies of the dashboard electronics. Just about most things, including the windows, can be operated by voice. By the time this was complete it was dark and I had to drive off into rush hour Friday night traffic. Not ideal or a bonus of the customer experience. Irrespective of what make or model of car you buy then there is always something deeply disappointing about the sales process. 

My first car’s registration was KPF 587C. The technology was none existent apart from a choke. (Answers on a postcard what one of those is please.) The car was one where you could lift up the bonnet and feel you might actually have a clue as to what to do to solve a problem: nowadays I can just about work out how to refill the screen wash. I had this car, starting in 1973, at Ealing Technical College and then at Manchester Polytechnic before selling it in 1978 to someone I worked with at Aveling Marshall in Gainsborough. Like all 60s British cars it had chronic corrosion issues. The passenger footwell filled up with water and any girlfriend was well advised to wear wellies on a night out if it was raining. The front of the car was all one piece (above the chassis). It was a massive bonnet that opened the opposite way to how bonnets open today (like the E Type Jaguar). The bonnet corroded to the point of nearly falling apart and I was lucky to get one of the last all steel replacements. There was a lesson to be learned for life in not selling a car to someone I knew! I sold it to a work colleague and it shortly exhibited brake problems where after pushing the brake pedal it could slew violently to the left (brake fluid was leaking onto the brake drum.) Not great when approaching a corner at speed. I had to work with the chap who bought it and needless to say he looked at me with a lot less affection thereafter!

A friend who has become a grandfather was elaborating on the appropriate address for the child when they could speak. He’d been subsequently christened ‘grandpa’ and his wife ‘nana’. On the latter he had rubbished his wife’s moniker as being a ‘bit council estate’. I did comment this is what I called my grandmother! However, I digress, as I raised this important matter with my first wife to discover that all this had been discussed and she was to be known as ‘grandma’. As for me I do wonder at what age the child will be able to say ‘Mister Ives’.

Eric, my father in law, is wheeled into the visitor’s room. He’s now wheeled everywhere. It was a battle for him to accept his walking days were over: another sign of mobility and independence ebbing away. A carer is pushing him. She’s in her uniform and behind her mask. The relationship between the carers and residents is kindly and they show concern and patience with their charges. She turns to go and Eric asks for two teas, it’s 3 O’Clock and time for afternoon refreshments. He’s maybe a little cheeky to ask on my behalf. However, she has no problem with the request and disappears. She goes behind the door into the corridor that I’m not allowed to enter without supervision as the home seeks to control the spread of the virus.

“Good afternoon!” I begin. I’m there as Anna’s abroad. Her attendance is around three times a week and heaven knows what she finds to talk about each time: a talent no doubt of the fairer sex. Our lives can be routine yet Eric, now a widower, has little variation in his daily schedule to talk about. However, Eric’s pleased to see me. I expect it makes a change from the daughters. I’ve now known Eric longer than I knew my own father; we go a long way back.

I begin by complaining about the wintery road surfaces being dirty and wet and how washing a car is pointless as you’ve undone the cleaning after half a mile. Of course, Eric knows the weather from a quick peek from his window. The opportunity to get out given the temperatures and the pandemic have been severely restricted, it’s a big loss and now his life runs on his memory. We discuss the snow and temperatures Anna’s experiencing in Finland. I say it’s not for me although Anna has taken enough thermals and layers to have made a serious attempt on being comfortable for a trek to the North Pole.

Scandinavia is part of Eric’s heritage. His Norwegian parents emigrated from Oslo. He warms to talk of the weather and how folk survive the winter. He’s only been as far north as Anna on a cruise with his late wife, Margaret. We relive the ship’s progress up the fjords as it dropped off groceries and supplies to the villages combining tourism and freight movement. Suddenly I think of the WW2 German battleship Tirpitz being attacked and fatally damaged by the RAF in the Kaa Fjord above the Artic Circle and asked Eric if he’s been up there? “Of yes”, he rejoins and goes on to explain the quality of Norwegian supermarkets in the fjords enabling the inhabitants to exist quite easily. Obviously he’s misheard and I settle back to learn about his understanding of Artic grocery retailing. I’m here to provide him with some company and whatever we discuss is fine.

The carer returns with the tea. Yippee, there’s a biscuit! However, because the food is calorie counted it’s a solitary fig roll. Not all bad I think until it nearly breaks in two as it’s so old and dry. She pauses near Eric, leans over him and asks if that’s okay? He grabs her fingers in a small act of affection that’s noticeable and touching. He’s not a tactile man and hilarious stories come to mind. When he had four females in the house it was observed the only member of the family who received any soppy or sentimental chat was the dog!

This is now his home and will be for the end of his days. They’ve done a magnificent job in protecting the residents from the virus but you can’t help, and sadly, reflect how many have lost some glorious time with close relatives or loved ones as the pandemic has locked them away. Anna’s photos of the Northern Lights, reindeer and huskies are shared on my iPad. He marvels at the quality and the fact that she’s still there, yet here we are and have these photos to look at. The family is always delighted to be inclusive and ‘transport’ him into their lives wherever they are in the world. He’s interested, engaged and stimulated.

Suddenly the door opens and a new carer appears. The visit is over in 30 minutes. The room we’re using is booked for another visit and a no nonsense approach is enforced as his wheelchair is turned on its axis and I watch his back as he trundles off across the corridor to his room. The carer bellows up the corridor, in broken English, for someone to show me out. My plastic apron is handed back and an external door is opened and I’m soon out into the winter air. Bye bye Eric.

A different Christmas this year and maybe a sign of things to come. After decades of hosting we were invited by our Favourite Eldest Daughter and Matt (on the wrong side of the Pennines in Reddish.) Needless to say I understandably had anxiety about the meal in terms of the sprouts, bread sauce and other vital details. In the end my sleepless nights were not necessary as they knocked it out of the park. The Favourite Youngest Daughter and partner, Harry, did put in a brief appearance and we saw them the next day.

It did seem we spent a lot of the Christmas period at various traffic lights in Stockport. However, in between seeing relatives we took in the Spielberg remake of West Side Story. It has a magnificent soundtrack, captivating actors and is energetically portrayed and faithful, to a large extent, to the 1960s film original. It’s sensational and I can’t recommend it enough. By all accounts it’ll go big with the gongs when the luvvies hand them out to each other later in the year.

Another masterpiece I devoured was Disney Plus’ Get Back documentary on The Beatles. In 1969 they were recording tracks for the Let It Be album. For the month that they sat down to do this it involved a lot of fooling around, the weird sight of Yoko Ono never more than one foot away from John Lennon’s side, the dominance in terms of authority and creativity of Paul McCartney, the close and informal involvement of many others such as producer, engineers, roadies and WAGs, the continual smoking of cigarettes and, oh yes, George Harrison temporarily leaving the band. It was engrossing and better than any biography you might read about the individuals and the dynamics between them all. For musicologists or fans of the Fab Four it was compelling.

Wildlife Update: two new residents, four legged, appeared on our lake at the estate. I shoo away most four legged beasts but these were welcome. Even to the extent that a professional photographer turned up; here is a collage of the otter snaps.

Sport remains important, either doing it or following it. Leeds United are truly in the doldrums but a victory just after the New Year was hailed by the faithful as a great relief. Usually after this the fans start to lose any grip on reality and predict the possibility of great things. I’ll be happy with surviving in the Premiership. One ‘bucket list’ item is to watch England play cricket in Australia. However, it wouldn’t have been this year as we are embarrassed by their inept performance: lambs to the slaughter. I think the Aussies who relish the fight are disappointed that it’s not really a contest. From this follows all the hand wringing about what we’ve got wrong as a team. It seems to me that the players are simply exhausted and befuddled by playing so many different formats. Maybe Test cricket is irretrievably lost as the other more lucrative formats take over?

My sport had a painful moment. At the weekend, on my bicycle, I turned a corner on a road near Full Sutton and all of a sudden I’m was on the tarmac. Black ice. Given that I rode well over 5,300 miles last year riding in most weathers in every month it’s surprising that more accidents didn’t occur. The present Mrs Ives was in North Finland, with the Favourite Youngest Daughter, at the time seeking the Northern Lights (see below). By way of an evening chat I mentioned my fall and that afterwards I had picked myself up and ridden the 25 miles home. Anna told her father, Eric (incarcerated in his care home.) He reflected on my mishap and was worried as to whether I was in hospital. He rang another daughter in London who knew nothing of my tumble. She rang me in the middle of a pilates class (with 10 other folk) to pass on his concern! My wife’s movements will be more closely managed to control her use of the phone in future.

 So how long will it take you to stop writing out the date as 2021 before twigging you’re a year out?

So here’s my 2021 alphabet review.

Anna’s Birthday

Anna lost her landmark birthday celebration of 60 in 2020. A trip away was cancelled. However we eventually got away to Bakewell to rent a property avec les enfants et hommes. We had a splendid weekend eating and drinking. I managed to drag Harry out on his bike around the Peak District, which is not an easy bike ride for someone not expecting the odd hill or two!

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Barrier

A small stream that runs past the end of my sister’s little Welsh garden. It switches between a summer trickle or a winter torrent. It’s been eroding the bottom of her garden in an alarming fashion. We needed a strong barrier to stop the erosion. It was difficult to find a contractor for a residential project. After a few false starts, mainly to do with the weather, it was started and finished in July. Ann Marie is now looking forward to heavy rainfall to maximise the return on her investment!

Chafer Bugs

Much to our dismay we woke up earlier in the year to find the lawn was ripped up. After more visits and damage it was shortly tracked down to hungry badgers that were searching beneath the turf for chafer bugs. The solutions to eliminating the desirable bug or deterring badgers were bordering on comical and old wives tales. We did consulted far and wide and then decided to build a fence around the garden to stop access. It’s worked so far!

DIY

Alongside Matt (son-in-law) we managed to do a decent job of sanding his dining room floor. Other DIY at their house involved some pointing of their long brick wall. Back in Acaster Malbis I did some fencing and fence painting at the front of the house to keep out the pesky badger. After all this I decided to retire for the year and bask in the glory knowing that next year had a long list of jobs.

Eric (Father-in-law)

A difficult time for my father-in-law was made easier as lockdown easing meant there was access for relatives into his care home. More importantly his three daughters could make pre-arranged vsits to sit with him. For them it was a great relief to be able to get into his company. He’s remained in terrific spirits and it was super when we could take him out the home and bring him to York to join in Katrina and Matt’s wedding celebrations. For those in homes this pandemic has and continues to be awful.

Ferragudo

Our one escape abroad was to Portugal. This was initially delayed from October to November, when I caught Covid. We stayed on the Algarve toward the west just outside Portimāo at Ferragudo in an apartment. With a car we drove around including a memorable lunch at Salema and popping along to Quinta do Lago to meet a friend who was also over there on holiday. Some warmer weather was a delight and taking my bike enabled me to get out and see around us whist Anna when running. We also found some lovely sunsets.

Galloway

A trip to Dumfries & Galloway was one of our staycations. We took a house on an estuary near Kirkcudbright and either cycled or drove around. This part of Scotland is beautiful, green (wet) and dramatic. Despoite the vistas the level of tourism is restricted to a few caravan parks. As a complete pleb I did eventually yearn for a bakery with sourdough and maybe a deli.

The Ives

After being prodded by sister I had converted to a digital format cine films and photograph negatives from the late 1940s and early 1950s. This revealed people at times in their early lives that I saw in a different light. The quality of my grandfather’s photography was exceptional in composition and inclusion. We now have an easily accessible treasure trove.

Jurassic Coast by Bicycle

A cycle ride along the UK’s southern Jurassic coastline took place in September. The expedition started in Devon and then climbed and climbed to Dorset. I cycle every year for a few nights with a pal from my University days, Tony. Along for the ride this year was Martin, an old work colleague. I chose the coastline from Plymouth to Southampton (and then onto Abingdon with Martin).) It was possibly a mistake!  The coastline is terribly hilly and the traffic can be busy. Martin cycled with the wrong set of gears and Tony, an irregular cyclist, manfully went about every day but finished in darkness twice. I worry they’re daft enough to be back for more next year. 

Katrina & Matt

In 2020 the Favourite Eldest Daughter, Katrina, married Matt. Due to Covid restrictions we couldn’t bring all the family together. Eventually in our garden the weather held up and we brought everyone together for a belated celebration. It was a lovely day that will be remembered for a long time for the great company and not least for the egg and spoon race!

Lands End to John O’Groats by Bicycle

Bicycles feature in my life and with no long overseas bike ride in prospect I decided to do the iconic British ride: Lands End to John O’Groats. That is, from the tip of Cornwall to the far top of the island in the Scottish Highlands. It was a hard ride of 1,000 miles riding with Peter, an old friend. It has a memorably brutal start but eventually things got easier. The weather was kind until the last day. The last night of the trip we celebrated with malt whiskey and the day after was a groggy and leaden affair getting back by train to York! I blogged everyday.

Moving (Keep)

The lockdowns meant lots of time for walking around the local area drinking in the scenery and seasons. We’re blessed with lots of fields and leafy paths. This was a great opportunity to have my headphones plugged in to listen to new albums or podcasts. After all these years I started to notice how transitory nature is. Other regimes to keep fit included pilates every week and occasional trips to the gym. When added to the 5,200 miles of cycling then I think I did a good job on trying to keep fit.

Norfolk

The holidays this year were mainly short breaks and we went down to Walsingham. Here we stayed in a property near the coastal harbour town of Wells-Next-The-Sea. It was wet but very delightful. Further east is the splendid Royal Palace at Sandringham. The house is set in beautiful grounds and after visiting here we went for lunch in nearby Hunstanton with some local friends. Norfolk could do with a road system to get to it but it is truly a lovely part of England.

Old Friends

I think we all became more social as lockdowns became part of our lives. I certainly put quite a bit of time into seeing friends. Some of these I had known for over 50 years. A special night was organised with old work colleagues, many I hadn’t seen for over 10 years. The list of old pals included Tim J, Mark D, Lyndon B, Tony, F, Brian E, Tim S, Mark G, Andy W, Tim M, Martin A, John V, Jim B, Steve & Sharon J, Mark S, Greg S, David C and Robert H.

Pensionable Age

Despite having not worked for a long time my state of antiquity was finally confirmed when I started to receive my State pension every four weeks plus a free bus pass and my Winter Fuel Allowance (£200.) What a time to be alive! Despite my excellent environmental cycling credentials I’ve not managed to use the bus pass yet and also slightly embarrassed by the Winter Fuel Allowance I have donated that to a more worthy cause.

The Queen

The Queen has had a rough year (in fact it’s one the Royal Family will want to forget.) I came to respect and like the Duke of Edinburgh more as I got to know more about him. I think his past had its blemishes, some of his comments are quite rightly unacceptable today, but there was a gritty self sacrifice that garnered him a lot of respect and his departure was the first tangible sign that the old order was moving on. I hope Her Majesty has a lot more years in her.

Reading

I subscribe to a Morgan car magazine, plus MoJo, Record Collector and Country Music People. My consumption of books is modest . This year I mainly read history ‘The Mallon Crew’ (WW2 Bomber crew), ‘Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee’ (the demise of Native Americans at the hands of the US Cavalry), “Fatal Colours’ (The War of The Roses machinations leading up to the Battle of Towton) or biographies about Martin Luther King, Reggie Maudling or Tammy Wynette. I’m currently reading a book about the war in East Africa in WW1. It’s always non-fiction for me.

A Life in the Age of Steam

I embarked on what I thought was a simple bit of typing but it turned out to be a massive document of 166,000 words telling the early life of Eric Blackburn. A lad who left school at the age of 13 during war torn Hull and found his way onto the locomotive footplate. An interlude of National Service took place before he moved to then Tanganyika to work on the East African Railway. It’s a wonderful, event strewn, story and hopefully it will make it into published print.

Tideswell, Derbyshire

In December Anna found a property back in the Peak District at Tideswell. With our daughters and Sophie’s partner’s mother, Tracey and sister, Annabelle. We spent a couple of nights walking and seeing the sights. The ladies went to look around Chatsworth House decorated for Christmas, it looked magnificent. I popped to Bakewell to look around a record shop; then on the Sunday managed to get out on my bike. Log fires, hot soup and umbrellas were de rigeur.

USA

In 2019 we had some flights booked to Singapore (and back from Cambodia) in 2020. This quickly got shelved as the Far East went and stayed in lockdown. Next we used a voucher to fly to Miami for next February. This was weirdly compromised when British Airways cancelled some connecting flights with no solutions offered. So yet again we took a voucher. We still plan to get over to the USA in 2022. The thought of all those wide open spaces, eggs over easy and amazing parks call us. However, we’re not counting any chickens yet.

Writing

My journalism continued with mainly scribing for Country Music People. A selection of Country or Americana music was sent to me to listen to and then I had to pen 3/400 words and send back to the editor. As if by magic I was then in print every month. My blogs continued albeit they were a bit spasmodic. I blame the pandemic for limiting my ability to write something interesting or ridiculous! Added to this was Eric’s journal that saw my often looking through Google Maps to find the spelling of a remote railway station in 1960s Tanganyika.