So Long, It's Been Good To Know You

As a general rule, I cannot stomach Jamie Oliver, so had not considered watching his new programme, in which he tries to teach the whole of Rotherham to cook, having read this review, however, I shall take a peek. Alternatively!

A photo essay on phone sex operators.

As it happens the Archbishop of Canterbury should stick to the Bible, because he knows nothing about Marx’s Capital.

Blues won easily at Cardiff on the weekend, but not as easily as they should have and drew a game with Derby last night which they should have won, and, as is ever the case, Blues fans cannot agree whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. My own view is that it is an OK thing, but, nevertheless, a slightly disappointing thing. 4 points from two away games is not to be sniffed at, but we seem intent on taking the lead and then sitting back and making things difficult for ourselves, which, frankly, pisses me off, regardless of the result.

I can never understand the kind of thinking which allows for a team to play attractive(ish), attacking football until they take the lead, and then go into a defensive shell. Over many years under many managers I have seen Blues do this. They go out and take teams apart, creating good chances, while the opposition, barely muster anything, then we score, and just keep passing the ball back to them and say, get past us if you think you can. If nothing else, it is piss poor to watch and, if the opposition aren't getting a sniff when we attack them, why just allow them into the game? Clearly, I know nothing.

Talking of knowing nothing, I think I have finally weaned myself off football message boards. When I first got onto the net, years ago, it was great, for an exile, to be able to seek out and share opinions with fellow Blues fans, and find news on the Blues that was not otherwise available down here in sunny South Wales. Christ, I used to drive out to Hereford of a Sunday morning on the pretext of having a nice drive out, but in reality to buy a Sports Argus. I got back the cost of the internet connection simply in the petrol money saved!

The circles I mix in have very little interest in football at all and absolutely no interest in the Blues, so it was good to be able to share the Blues obsession. I actually think those of us outside the city become even more obsessed, because we don't have the opportunity to share and vent with those around us. You quickly realise though, that a noisy minority of your fellow posters are a bit moronic and don't actually want to engage in discussion and debate, and resent any attempt on anyone else's part to do so. Still, like an addict, you carry on and you become moronic yourself. You respond to the insults. And then you stop, then you take a peek and you start again, but I think I've had enough. Life is too short, too rich and too varied to waste it engaging in meaningless dialogue with those whose sole form of entertainment seems to consist of winding people they don't even know up on football message boards.

I bet the world is glad I shared that!

The Pomegranate

Once when I was living in the heart of a pomegranate, I heard a seed
saying, "Someday I shall become a tree, and the wind will sing in
my branches, and the sun will dance on my leaves, and I shall be
strong and beautiful through all the seasons."

Then another seed spoke and said, "When I was as young as you, I
too held such views; but now that I can weigh and measure things,
I see that my hopes were vain."

And a third seed spoke also, "I see in us nothing that promises so
great a future."

And a fourth said, "But what a mockery our life would be, without
a greater future!"

Said a fifth, "Why dispute what we shall be, when we know not even
what we are."

But a sixth replied, "Whatever we are, that we shall continue to
be."

And a seventh said, "I have such a clear idea how everything will
be, but I cannot put it into words."

Then an eight spoke--and a ninth--and a tenth--and then many--until
all were speaking, and I could distinguish nothing for the many
voices.

And so I moved that very day into the heart of a quince, where the
seeds are few and almost silent.

Khalil Gibran

Let Your Light In, Babe

Never has a blowjob sounded so sad

............a train crash waiting to happen

Apparently, socialism is just fine when it is used to correct the excesses of capitalism that have put the whole country in a financial death spiral, but not when it might be used pre-emptively (and hence more effectively) or for more constructive ends.

The Current Crisis: A Socialist Perspective

RIP Jimmy Sirrell

What the hell has happened to Joe Kinnear? He used to be full of life, energy and wit. Now he has shed large amounts of lard and looks old, bewildered, and sad. And the poor bugger has only been with Newcastle 5 minutes!

Monday Monday

Not only is Sarah Palin a fraud, she’s the tawdriest, most half-assed fraud imaginable, 20 floors below the lowest common denominator, a character too dumb even for daytime TV

The so-called financial crisis today is a symptom. The underlying disease is capitalism: an economic system that weaves implacable and destructive conflict into its production and distribution of goods and services.

The Congress that has been unable to provide adequate funding to health, education, housing, public transportation, social welfare, and environmental programs has suddenly found billions of dollars to save the banks and insurance companies. When the crisis was ours, they had had no money and no answers. When the crisis is theirs, they find both the funds and a plan.

I Don't Want To Go To Chelsea

There is a good piece in today's Independent praising the lower football leagues. There is an emphasis on there seeming to be a greater connection between the clubs and the fans, which, unfortunately, isn't true of the Blues and there is also an insistence that the atmosphere in the grounds is better than in the prem, which again, sadly, isn't the case with the Blues. If only my two local non league teams played in a proper ground, rather than athletics stadiums with only one side of the pitch having a stand, I would go and watch the odd game, but somehow, it just doesn't feel right.

We don't seem to be able to open up a paper without reading about some controversy related to creationism, here's what a Buddhist thinks of it.

Blues play Cardiff this afternoon, in a game that they will win easily. In fact we will moida da bums. Cardiff is about 20 miles from where I sit, yet I am sitting here, not there. This is because the game has been designated a "bubble match". I have no idea what this means, but, in essence, had I wished to attend today's game as a Birmingham fan, I would have been required to purchase a ticket and travel from the club. So I would have had to get up this morning, drive 90 odd miles to Birmingham, only to come straight back again on the coach, even then I would not have been given a ticket, only a voucher, which I would then exchange for a ticket at some mystery location. I think proof of identity would also be required. I would then have to go We hear again and again from Washington that we have turned a corner in Iraq and are on the path to victory. If so, it is a strange victory.to Brum on the coach so I could drive myself back to where I started. If had wanted to sample one of the many delights that Cardiff and its environs has to offer I would have been out of luck.

We hear again and again from Washington that we have turned a corner in Iraq and are on the path to victory. If so, it is a strange victory.like fun, doesn't it?

Seasons in the Sun

James Crumley has kicked the bucket. He was no spring chicken and he had been poorly for a while, but it's sad, just the same. His books are worth a look, if you like that sort of thing; they won't change your life, but they will take you away from it for a short while.

I know that at least two people who pass this way from time to time like Sam Baker, so it's only fair that I let them know that he performed live and was interviewed on the Iain Anderson show on Thursday. If they don't visit before next Thursday they have had it, because the programme is only archived for a week.

Poverty kills. It's great isn't it? Ever piece of research we see related to poverty and inequality tells us that the poor get the shitty end of the tick, every time, yet still we persist with absurd notion that capitalism works. The increasingly idiotic Nicky Campbell said on the radio this morning that capitalism is the only way, because it is our way. Ye fucking gods. Meanwhile,as Bush squirms and bleats and squeals that the state should intervene to save the banks and his mate Paulsen gets on his knees and begs for help, you can buy a house from some poor skint dreamer for 800 quid. Thats his own fault though, so fuck him. Capitalism. I love it.

Talking of freedom loving peoples: 6 years in Guantamano. It will make you are proud that you are on the right side.

The Quietus on The Wire.

Statue of Liberty

If you go to Chicago Public Radio and have a mooch around you will eventually find the page of This American Life and if you mooch around there you will find this , which includes a short piece by Richard Price on a night spent with some New York cops and you will probably love it. Price, in case you were wondering wrote The Wanderers, Sea of Love, Clockers and loads more brilliant books and screenplays as well as contributing to The Wire.............so it has to be worth a listen.

I can now safely advise you, if you like that sort of thing, to purchase Kittyhawk Down. The plot is complex but, just about, believable but that is secondary to the characters, all of whom are recognisably flawed human beings and all of whom have a hinterland; which made a welcome change from the uncomplicated simplicities of the characters in the last book I read. Very good stuff it is.

The Life and Death of the Football Song

Blue

So, just to spite me, the Blues go and lose at home to Blackpool, however, we can take comfort from the fact that the defeat was thoroughly well deserved.

Have a go at loops of zen, if you find it calming, you are a better man than I.

Charlie Brooker had a hilarious piece in the Guardian the other day all about men shaving their goolies; he also commented upon the the latest trend in scarf tieng, which has been getting my gander up for ages, but every time I have moaned about it, people have given me strange looks, I'm glad to see I'm not alone.

John & Sarah in St. Paul

Editions Of You

Hello.......................is anybody there? Long time no see. While we are here lets all laugh at dull Americans.

Talking of dull Americans: What kind of person tells a self-aggrandizing lie, gets called on it, admits publicly that the truth is not at all what she originally claimed—and then goes out and starts telling the original lie again without changing a word?

It's the last episode of the Wire next week and it doesn't bear thinking about. It is bound to be an anti climax after this weeks programme, which is possibly the best hours telly there has ever been. David Simons book on life with the Baltimore homicide squad(the basis for the superb "Homicide" cop show, has just been re released so he has been all over our media and he comes across as a good guy. The best piece I have seen was in the Guardian a few weeks ago and was a very thoughtful consideration of two distinct Americas.

While we are giving credit to the good guys, the Guardian has a good piece on Elbow and while you read it you coud do worse that listen to Guy Garveys radio show on radio 6.

Or, you could listen to Dean Friedmans "Real American Folk" which might be the best show on the radio at the moment, unfortunately, it is a shorts series and it only archives for one week, so you will have missed most of it. Last week he played a long, long song by the brilliant Steve Forbert, you won't be hearing him in many other places this week.

So, capitalism is covering itself in glory. Again. How come every time the government bails out some incompetent financial colosus, the markets recover? I though that the government was supposed to be the devil? We may as well just nationalise the lot of the them.........the banks, the insurance companies, the pension funds................hand the fuckers over. And stop crying!

The supermarkets insist that they are helping us in this time of crisis, well keeping petrol at a painfully high level even though prices have dropped isn't helping me much. When you walk in Tescos you will see huge signs by the fruit and veg advertising this for 65 p and that for pennies and you will think, "that's a bargain, thank you Tesco for helping me out, what a public spirited and philanthropic organisation". What the big signs don't tell you is that the bargain broccoli, which comes wrapped, is actually about 80p more expensive per kilo than the loose broccoli further down the aisle..............and it is a similar story with all their so called bargains, the evil bastards. No crisis is so great that some capitalist pig won't find a way to fleece the poor.

I read a piece in one of the papers ages ago about readers block. I can't be bothered to find it because it was actually quite boring. It's premise was that we all, from time to time, suffer readers block and need help in overcoming it. It was a typically middle class piece which referenced all the usual suspects. Amis, A.N Wilson, Julian Barnes, Salman Rushdie. Privileged people who write about the concerns of the privileged classes. It's no wonder that aficionados of those types get readers block, they write about and for each other.

Stick to the book reviews of the quality press and you will soon get readers block, but aficionados of the internet need never suffer such an appalling fate. I come across brilliant writers, of whom I would never have heard had it not been for the net, nearly every week, so many of them in fact, that it is impossible to keep up. It is becoming increasingly fashionable to sneer at the amateurs who who populate the internet in the pages of the quality press. Well, they would sneer wouldn't they, as they are being shown up for the narrow minded elitists that they are.

Somewhere or other, weeks ago, I came across a recommendation for Harry Hunsicker and trotted off to the library to see what they had. Nothing. A nice lady asked if I was a member of the Gateway to Learning scheme. Never heard of it. Apparently, there is scheme in this corner of South Wales where you can borrow books from loads of different authorities, for free, and it doesn't contribute to your existing allowance, it's in addition to it. I think it's designed for learning, rather than devouring cheap American detective fiction, but there you go.

Anyway, a couple of days later, not one, but two Hunsickers arrived, and to be honest, I wasn't impressed. "Next Time You Die" was alright, well plotted, with good characters and, in the vernacular, a page turner and it did the job. It seemed a bit derivative though. The hero has has a best pal and minder: a hard as nails nutter who happens to be gay, all very well and all very Joe R Lansdale. He also has a partner, a beautiful and sassy broad, again, all very well, but also all very Dennis Lehane. My biggest quibble with it though is the glorification of violence. As with too many of these books extreme violence is always justified, and it gets on my nerves. Having said all that, it is brilliantly done.

The second one, I read, "Crosshairs" I didn't read, got fed up about 50 pages in.

I'm currently reading Kittyhawk Down, by Gary Disher. I have no idea how I came across this book but so far I am glad I did. It's a bit reminiscent of, but not derivative of Peter Temple, not just because of the Australian setting but because of the milieu. To think, at the star of the year I had no idea what a "ute" was, now it's almost part of my vocabulary. I think I recommend it, but I am only half way in.

It's been a good couple of weeks for football fans. I don't usually take much interest in the affairs of other clubs, but the events of the last few weeks have been absolutely fascinating and we must all give thanks to the comedy club of Newcastle for entertaining us all so royally. Long may it continue.

We might all be wishing for new billionaire owners and I am sure that supporters of QPR are very grateful to to the aging, and oddly grotesque playboys who now own them, but I am also sure that most of them would rather not be paying 40 quid to watch them play Derby. It will all end in tears.

As for the Blues, we are set to make our best start since I don't know when and still we aren't happy. I said all through the summer, and was laughed at all through the summer, for saying that we would piss this league. I based this not on the fact that we are brilliant, but on the clear evidence that this league is shit. And so it is proving. We haven't played well yet, but have dropped only one point all season and if I am not very much mistaken have the best defensive record in the league. On Tuesday we went to Bristol City, one of the stronger sides in the divison and won comfortably. We have nothing to worry about, it will be a stroll in the park.

Stay With Me

Bugger me, Russia is in the news again and funnily enough, it has been like living in Soviet era Russia for the last few weeks. There is only one truth, and the truth is that the Olympics are unequivocally a good thing. It might be true, but it is very strange and a bit unnerving not to hear or read one dissenting opinion. What is even stranger is that outside of the papers and the telly and the radio I have not heard the thing discussed; no one seems to give much of a bugger. Hurray and good for the chaps that did so well, but, you know, life goes on, and life isn't all that good.

Is it me, or has the media lost all sense of reason in reporting Britains glory? I'm sure that I read that the athletics coaches job is under threat because our performance was so poor. Take away the cycling medals and the hooray henry type sports and we didn't exactly cover ourselves in glory did we? Especially as most of the buggers are professionals.

You may have surmised, I am going on about sport again. The 5 live phone in today focussed on competitive sports in schools. Gordon Brown (who, for a man who wrote a whole series of articles on brave politicians is proving himself to be a sorry disappointment) has said we need more competition, as he jumped on the nearest passing bandwagon. Some Labour politicians have been pointing this out for years, so he is a bit late to this particular party. The 5 live phonees were pretty unanimous that limp wristed leftie councils had ruined the nation with their anti competitive ways. I didn't hear any mention of the selling off of school playing fields having a detrimental effect.

Despite the national euphoria, I will not budge from my stance that competition kills kids interest in sport, especially at an early age. Nor will I budge from my stance that the first thing that our nippers should be taught is that sport is good, that sport is fun and and that exercise is a good thing, in and of itself. I won't go on about this nation of couch potatoes again, nor about Finland, but to use a phrase that usually makes me want to throw up, how about a bit of joined up thinking?

On this hand we are urged to be more active, to try this sport, this activity, on that hand we are assailed by articles in the press on age specific activities, public spaces urge us to get off our behinds, it's good for us, our families, the nation, yet the facilities on offer are shit and people who were put off sport at an early age are discouraged from participating. JOIN. UP.THE. THINKING. The Pippas of this world will find their own way: the rest of us, the big wobbly mass, won't.

There were several themes in this mornings phone in, one of them being that the elite athletes need even more public money spent on them. We need to give them the best equipment, pay for them to spend most of the year abroad, honing their skills and pay them a handsome wage on top. Fair enough, up to a point, but as professionals, operating in a market, if they can't sustain themselves, well, tough. I am sure that most of these supreme individuals would want the laws of the free market to apply to the rest of us.

The biggest theme though, was that we were killing our kids with kindness and I just don't buy into this theory. We weren't actually awash with glory through the 30's 40's and 50's, and, as mentioned, the selling off of playing fields has probably had a bigger effect on the nations sporting prowess as political correctness gone mad.

I am not against competition, far from it, but I do believe that we need to foster a love of sport first. Despite my current fat bastard status I was good at all sports as a nipper and could handle myself in a scrap, so this is not the bleating of a life long weakling (just the bleating of a middle aged weakling!) I truly believe that if we encourage all nippers to enjoy sports and give them good facilities and coaches, and emphasise that it is, above all else, fun, we will breed winners and we will breed a generally fitter nation.

My eldest gave up football because the training was crap and he, along with about 30 others were marginalised within the club, at the expense of about 10 or twelve stars, who coincidentally, were the sons and friends of the sons of the coaches. He would get to touch a ball about ten times in a 2 hour session.

My youngsest recently joined his first club, the other side of town from his brothers alma mater. Because he joined late last season, he has also been marginalised, but in a good way. He is stuck with about 10-12 other late comers, so they have 2 hours of really intense, small sided games, and he loves it, because he is always involved. They have had a couple of games, and they have been hammered, but come Monday, they are back at training, raring to go, and week by week you can see them improving. The coaches will leech this sense of joy out of them in time; they absolutely hate it when they lose, but, in the meantime, these kids are learning to play the game and love the game, and they are having a laugh while they do it.

The head coach has been complaining that next year they will only be allowed to play seven a side games and he thinks it is wrong, whereas I rejoice, as this is how the little buggers will learn to love the ball and play the game. The chap doesn't seem to appreciate that the game is about the kids, rather than him, although, he does more than I am prepared to. This country has a bigger number of teenage dropouts from football that any other, because it is not fun. The Dutch have it right, small sided, non competitive games, which encourage a deep understanding of the game and a honing of skills. I suspect that most of those football coaches who phoned Victoria Derbyshire this morning saying that they had to subvert the prevailing ethos would be happy to turn out players in the same way that the Dutch do, but I fear we will never get through to them, and we will always rely on the hooray Henrys to provide us with our short lived Olympic joy.

My Girls Pussy

Blues win at a canter to maintain our unbeaten run, while the Villa get stuffed at Stoke. It might be puerile to delight in such trifling matters; some might even call it facile..................I call it a small slice of heaven.

Celebrate this most satisfying days by wrapping your ears around The Real Tuesday Weld.

Cobham Blues

There is a piece in the Guradian today on cult bands, I won't link to it, because it's garbage, but being me, I had to come up with my own favourite cult

76 civilians, many of them children, were killed today by a US air strike,I suppose good buddies will claim that there is no moral equivalence between their actions in countries to which they have not been invited, and the evil Russia.

Agnes Poirier writes a slightly snide article in todays about the reluctance of the British nipper to learn a language. My eldest, who started what I can only understand as his second year last year, was really, really keen to take German, but, as he didn't do well enough in Welsh, he was denied the opportunity. I am sure Welsh nippers are given a raw deal............Welsh has been compulsory for donkeys years and still no bugger can speak it. Throw money at it by all means, for those who want it, but don't deny kids who have the sense to see that it is pointless and irrelevant other, more meaningful learning opportunities.

Little Boxes

There is a superb article in the Guardian on Richard Price, who has written several fantastic books, including The Wanderer as well as a couple of superb screenplays, including the vastly under rated Sea of Love and has been a contributor The Wire. If you aren't familiar with him, you are in for a treat and I recommend that you read Clockers and Samaritan before anything else, then proceed with caution, as some of his early stuff is a bit crap.

The first chapter of his latest, Lush Life.

Years ago, I read The Grass Arena, by John Healy, which was an astonishing book. Healy had led a thoroughly miserable life and as a tale of redemption and as a story that should bring hope to anyone, whatever their background and circumstances, this ranks up there alongside Jimmy Boyle. It has now been reissued and if you haven't read it, I urge you too, this man has earned every single penny of royalty he gets.

There is a very good piece on Healy here, by another reformed bad boy.

Having a little browse around the consistently superb Cwmbran Library the other day, I came across the new James Kelman. I was a bit surprised, because I am a huge fan of Kelman and consider him to be the nations best writer, by some distance. I had remained completely unaware that he had published a new novel though. It had slipped completely beneath my radar, and it's not a slight thing, it is bloody huge. How can this be; do you think that huge new novels by the likes of Rushdie, or Amis or Mcewan, detailing the minutiae of middle class life would be issued with so little fanfare? I don't.

A very good piece on snobbery towards Scottish writers.

It would take someone much more curmudgeonly than me not to be delighted for the athletes who have been winning medals for the nation in China, not that I have seen much of it as the radio tells me everything I need to know before I even rise from my pit, plus, in the sports that we have done well in............ well. I wasn't interested in them 4 weeks ago and I'm not really interested in them now and I certainly won't be interested in them in two weeks time,however much the media circus insists that we are all showjumping, sailing, rowing and cycling aficianados now.

I don't think it's over curmudgeonly to feel pretty nauseated by the BBC's coverage either; the next time they bleat about the licence fee, I hope someone has totted up the cost of the corporations Olympic coverage, which has been bloated, to say the least. How many ex athletes are being paid to offer banal insights? Jesus, is too much to ask for a bit of critical analysis as to opposed to endless cheerleading for "Team GB"?

Still, the cycling has been superb.

For all the success, I will not deviate from my position that the London Olympics are a waste of money and that if we genuinely want to create a lasting sporting legacy for the nation, all that money would have been better spent on creating and improving facilities in every community in the land; in providing facilities in state schools that are comparable to those found in public schools and in ensuring that access to clean, warm, welcoming facilities is easy and cheap, and to providing access to sports that are not necessarily competitive, for the old, the fat and the feeble amongst us...................that's me, that is.

We are a nation of couch potatoes, fatties and diabetics. We drink too much, we smoke too much, we eat shit all day long and we sit on our fat behinds exacerbating our health problems, building up cholesterol and raising our blood pressure. Our youth is disaffected and rat like, hanging around trying their best to look menacing. Many of us would prefer to type gibberish on the internet than go for a run. This is a problem that needs to be addressed, but it is a problem that affects mainly those in the lowest income groups, who lack motivation, who lack access to good facilities; who can't afford membership fees. All that money spent on the London Olympics would have gone a long way to addressing and resolving these issues.

It is noticeable that we have done better in sports where the initial outlay is pretty expensive, horse riding, boating, cycling and the like. I have no idea what the class profile of our winners is, but I strongly suspect that many of them had privileged backgrounds and had access to sporting facilities not readily available to the hoi polloi. Finland might not win many gold medals (where art thou, Lasse Vieran?) but it's citizens are much fitter and healthier than ours. I might be wrong though; not everyone called Pippa is necessarily a posh tart, I suppose.

None of which matters, because proper sport has been with us for two weeks now and Blues have managed to win three games on the trot, including a victory away from home having gone behind. So, hip hip hurrah for Team GB and come on you Blues my little chuffing lovelies.

Many Blues fans have been telling people like me, who think we should piss all over the Championship, that we know nothing, that the Championship is a tough league and that we will struggle. I acknowledge that it is early days yet, but I also acknowledge that they are all talking shit; this league is no good, last seasons excitement was due to most of the teams being rubbish, rather than good. Blues haven't even played well yet, and already we look comfortable; they may as well call a halt to proceedings now and just hand us the title.

Not that I'm over excited. Eck keeps telling us about the beautiful game that he wants us to play, but our players seem incapable of it and soon resort to the long ball, or, worse, to just shifting the ball on............ getting rid of it, rather than passing it, and Eck himself has complained that we indulge in too much tippy tappy. I think the problem (not that it is much of a problem in this league)is that our strikers remain divorced from the rest of the team; there is little coherence between midfield and attack; it is noticeable that our best moments have been when Larrson has come in from the wing and created an extra link. Of course we now have Quincy, who looks like he has the ability to unlock any cattenaccio, at will. Thank God we got relegated, this is going to be one hell of a season!

Ain't No Sunshine

Driving to work the other day, listening to my daily ten minutes of 5 live, we were treated to an interview from the swimming pool with the aunt and uncle of a man who had just finished 4th in a race. The chap hadn't even won a medal, we didn't even get his mom and dad, we got his aunt and uncle and they were all from New bloody Zealand. What the chuff is going on?

When we are not being treated to hyperbole regarding a load of second rate athletes from obscure sports, the media is getting excited about the start of the new football season; they don't seem to have noticed that for the vast majority of football fans in this country, the season started last week. In fact Blues have played, and won, two games already.

We took a trip up last week to the big city, 7 of us in all, including 2 seven years olds making their first trips to a football match, one of whom was the son a Villa fan. Ho ho, ha ha, tee hee.

It was a wet and bedraggled bunch of Bluenoses who made their early way to the ground and I sensed very little excitement about the place, which was disappointing, if understandable. I remember my first game, getting on the choo choo at Tyesley with what seemed like hundreds of other Blues fans and then getting off at Bordesley and being carried along by a huge crowd, down the dark steps, into a tide of men and boys, all wearing Blues scarves, all happy, excited, laughing and larking about and full of optimism.

There didn't seem to be much of that about last week. It was almost as if people were turning up out of a sense of duty.

Much has been made lately (among Blues fans anyway) about the board and the match day experience, with most fans finally lacking gruntle. I say finally, because for far too long our fans have tolerated substandard fare, on and off the pitch. There have been articles in the local press, opinion has been sought, surveys have been compiled, so improvement was inevitable. I jest.

I don't buy programmes anymore, not for years and years and years, but when I did, you couldn't move for programme sellers inside or outside the ground. Two nippers were attending their first game, so a programme was required. I didn't think about it really, it was just sort of in my mind that I would get a couple as I passed one of the legion of vendors. Except there was no legion of vendors.

Not to worry, there is a little club shop near the main stand entrance, so I would go in, get a couple of hats and scarves and programmes. Asked for a programme, they don't sell them. In a club shop. Got the hats and there was no implement there to take the price tag off. A small thing, I know, but it might occur to someone that items bought on match days might actually be worn on match days. We didn't see a programme vendor at all after that.

I tried to smuggle two bottles of water in but Blues are on top of some things and I had no chance, and had to bid a fond farewell to the bottle tops. I had considered taking a camera, but I expect that the ever vigilant gateman would insist upon me removing the lens before I could gain entry. My brother went to the bog and while he was there decided to give his specs a little clean and went in search of bog roll. No bog roll. Twenty minutes before kick off at the first game of the season and no one had thought to put bog roll in the bogs. Mind you, you would have to be very desperate to take a shit in those bogs. First game or not, I did not go anywhere near the catering!

The game was a bit of a non event. Eck talks the passing game, but we see very little evidence of it and in the second half most of them resorted to their favoured tactic of just getting rid of the ball as quick as they could. Passing wasn't in it. But there can be no better way to win a dull game than with an injury time winner, when most rational people have long given up hope and headed home.

I felt a bit sorry for the nippers, because they are now surely condemned to a lifetime of misery, even the Vilers son went home clad head to foot in blue and white.

I was going to go on about the nauseating hypocrisy of America and our media in relation to to Georgia, but I can't, it's all too obvious and I am too tired and too forlorn, so you will have to make do with this article.

There are three basic facts to keep in mind about the smokin’ little war in Ossetia:

1. The Georgians started it.
2. They lost.
3. What a beautiful little war!

Those paying the highest price for the war are the South Ossetian civilians, which may have suffered (depending on who is reporting) between 100 and 2,000 deaths to date.

It's The Rich What Gets The Pleasure

Polly Toynbee meets the rich. Again, the equality gap raises it's ugly head; the focus of the article is not on facts and figures though, it is about the opinions that extremely hard working drivers of the economy hold. Anyone who reads football message boards will experience a depressing feeling of deja when they read the stunning vacuity of some of the statements.

Another addendum regarding the Don Easton book: don't bother with it!

Many of my favourite writers (the ones who aren't American anyway) are Scots and thanks to the wonders of the web one of my favourite papers is the Sunday Herald and my favourite radio programme is a Scottish one. I have wondered here before how it is that Scotland can consistently produce such great artists while Wales can't and neither can my dear beloved Brum. I have wondered why Brum, in particular, with it's immense size, history and multiculturalism can't produce art in the same way that Scotland can. Well, the old place isn't as shit as I had come to believe.

Here we go, another Guardian link, this one to an article by a Zen nun. Reading that I thought about how I took up yoga a few years ago and via the meditations that end the sessions explored meditative techniques and came to Buddhism. I must stress that I am not a practising Buddhist, very far from it, but I try to incorporate tenets of Buddhism into my daily life. From various Buddhist readings I came across positive psychology and the "new science of happiness", neither of which particularly convince me, but are interesting nonetheless. Which is a long winded way of introducing The Happiness Project.

No Spitting On The Bus

I need to add an addendum to my recommendation of the Eaton book: the quality of the book itself is rubbish and is really detracting from my enjoyment of it. It’s one of those small, tightly bound efforts that you have to bend right back to read. After one reading session the thing looked like it had been read and reread over a twenty year period. I wouldn’t recommend buying it second hand.



The Olympics haven’t started yet, and I’m sick of them already. I can’t understand how the nation can become obsessed by the physical frailties of various hop skip and jumpers and throwers and swimmers for 4 weeks and not give a stuff about them for the next 4 years. Radio 5 is exercising its usual right to go into overkill, which, once again, is rendering the station unlistenable.

Hopefully, we will get some good writing out of it. It's good to see Pete Davies mentioned in that article, his All Played Out remains the best book on sport that I have ever read..

David Conn had a decent article in the Guardian this week about the London Olympics, which more or less echoes my view that the money would be better spent on providing good quality grass roots sports in every community, rather than on concentrating it all on showpiece stadiums, and elite athletes. I have read about Finlands impressive efforts to get people involved in sport before and I am absolutely convinced that the more people that engage in sport from a young age and are encouraged and provided with good quality, pleasant facilities throughout their life, the better it will be for everyone.

Meanwhile, here in Wales: Wales’ flagship programme to boost activity rates and improve fitness levels has no action plan to achieve its targets.

I just heard on the radio that the police and CPS are a bit upset that Barry George has been found not guilty. I notice reports say he has been found not guilty, rather than that he is innocent. The poor old police will have to find the real culprit now, except that they still clearly believe that George is the guilty man.

The newish BBC I player is garbage. All I want to do of a Friday night is crack open a bottle of something nice, listen to a weeks worth of Iain Anderson, and arse about on the web, annoying people on message boards; but, over recent weeks, the i player hasn't let me do that; half the time it just doesn't load. Moreover, even when it does, you have to click an inordinate amount of times before you get to hear anything, and I usually end up looking at the playlist, rather than listening to the music, but that might just be me! It was much more straightforward before they improved it. Earlier I got fed up clicking on and off different Anderson shows which just wouldn't load and clicked on the I player tab. Bugger me, there was a Nick Lowe concert winking at me, so I clicked on it, and it was superb, so if you like the old bugger, go to the I player, it's there for us all to enjoy.

Beyond The Sea

There is a good article in the Independent today by Kathy Marks, who covered the trial of the men of Pitcairn Island who had been accused of of the rape of many children. It quite chills the bones.

There is an even better article here on George Pelecanos, who is an absolute master of his trade. The writer says that Pelecanos has only become well known since his involvement with The Wire, but some of us have been banging on about him for years.

More proof that the internet is bloody brilliant. Diaries that George Orwell wrote 70 years ago, will be reproduced, day by day, as a blog.

My reading has been too high brow of late, so I have got stuck into Don Eastons Loose Ends. It doesn't rank with Pelecanos, or Lehane, or Bruen; there are few subtleties and little nuance is evident. There are not many shades of grey, one won't lie awake with a troubled conscience, worrying about the characters, there are good men and there are bad men, and they are trying to outwit each other. It's great, just the sort of company I need for my present mood, not insulting to the intelligence, but undemanding on the intellect.

Summertime

The Sun Does Rise

Over the weekend I visited, Waitrose, Asda, Tesco and Sainsburys and wondered what had happened to the supermarket price war that I had read so much about, because it wasn’t evident to me. It must be the friendliest war ever, with all side adopting an “after you Claude, no, after you Cecil mentality”. Of course, there is no war.

Never mind, you can always listen to Adrian Crowley. Not many laughs there, mind.

That's the funny thing about The Wire. Despite all the people who bang on about it being the finest television series around, it really is the finest television series around.

My White Bicycle

I have to admit that when I saw Mark Cavendish winning a couple of stages of the Giro, I did sort of think that, you know, the real ball hadn't come out yet, even though, as a bit of an aficionado, I should have known better. The whole sporting world knows better now, as he has won another stage of Le Tour, and this win, in my view, was even better than the last one. All the top sprinters were here, and he just killed them. It's a pity that cycling doesn't have a higher profile in this country, because what Cavendish is doing is bloody astonishing. It would be astonishing for anyone, but he's one of ours, for Christs sake. Sort of. We should be dancing in the streets and cavorting in fountains.

It has been a good week for sporting quotes. First, at the test, lugubrious Lancastrian everyman David Lloyd commented that the South African Jaques Kallis was looking a bit porky. Shaun Pollock, the South African in the commentary box and ex team mate of Kallis defended him, saying that it was the sweaters he was wearing that made him look fat, Lloyd replied that he wasn't wearing a sweater on his face.

The next might be apocryphal. Peter Crouch was asked what he would have been if he hadn't been a professional footballer and he replied, "a virgin"

Carousing

Seldom seen pics of Johnny Cash.

What a first week for Le Tour. Brilliant opening day, David Millar currently third and the amazingly awseome and brilliant Mark Cavendish showing the rest what a pair of heels looks like! It could almost make you proud to be a brit.

So, what was all this nonsense we kept hearing a few weeks ago about old Boris not really being a bufoon

The Tories really are a bunch of arrogant twerps, when I first read this I had to check that I wasn't actually reading a spoof, but it's all genuine. And people vote for them!

Is it OK to use the phrase "nigger in the woodpile" these days? Of course it is!

Istanbul

I am wondering, again, what goes on inside football fans heads. The eternally knackered Harry Kewell, formerly of Leeds, has decided to swap the treatment table at Liverpool, for the treatment table at Galatasary, and, predictably, the Leeds fans don't like it, because some years ago two Leeds fans met premature ends after being stabbed in Istanbul, the night before the game.

I know nothing about theses two individuals and for all I know, they were polite and respectful visitors to Turkey: many of their fellow fans, however, were not. Large numbers of them had clearly arrived in Istanbul with the intention of taking over the squares and entertaining the locals with thoroughly despicable and disrespectful shows of public urination, ritual humiliations of any passing female and hearty renditions of "I'd rather be a Paki than a turk". Violence ensued, some young Turks took it upon themselves to take the fight back to our loveable rogues and there was a tragedy.

I don't really see what this has got to do with Galatasry the club, or Harry Kewell and I find myself wondering why football fans have to hang on to old enmities with such a passion. A Leeds fan has been on the radio just now saying that he had been very intimidated inside and out of the ground. He ought to try being an away fan at Elland Road. I don't know what it's like now, but in the late seventies it was one of the least welcoming and intimidating places I had been........inside and outside the ground. There is not a group of fans in this country who wouldn't be overjoyed if similar atmospheres could be created at their club; that's what all the talk about the crowd being the 12th man is all about.

So where does it end. Back in the eighties there was a memorable riot down the Blues, instigated by Leeds fans and a young boy died during the course of it. So should there now be no transfers between the clubs? If so, for how long, forever? Why stop there? Should Leeds ever be allowed to sign any player ever again? Does any player that signs for Leeds become morally tainted, because he hasn't taken account of the fearsome and brutal history of the clubs fans. Actually, I think I would vote for that because I can't stand the bastards.

Over the months I have grown a bit fed up reading about what an awful man Hugo Chavez is, so called lefty rags such as the New Statesman being as guilty as anyone else in this, so three hearty cheers to Johan Hari for this, this and this. Chavez should be grateful that freedom loving yanks have been otherwise engaged for the last few years.

While we are at it, lets hear it for Evo Morales.

Talking of covert offensives

Roll On Arte

So, what are you having for tea? A turkey twizzler or health guru Jamie's pasta sauce? I went right off Oliver, then sort of started to like him again, then went off him when his allotment and cooking programme went out earlier in the year, then I got the book of the programme and half the bloody recipes turn out crap............and the balsamic potatoes one ruined my best pan, and I'm not a man who can afford to be cavalier with his cooking implements.

Two great big cheers. One because the best sporting spectacle of the year has started, and started with a road race, not a boring time trial and the other for Valverde, who has set down a massive marker by winning the stage in a fantastic finish. Bugger it, let's have a third cheer.

I have noticed that in some quarters a Fleet Foxes backlash has begun, whereas I find the album improves with every listen. I suppose that it has been so hyped that newcomers to it believe that they will hear the best record ever made and are inevitably disappointed. All the references to the Band and CSNY and the Byrds and the Beach Boys don't help, because they don't really sound like any of them. I suppose they are old fashioned in the sense that they write songs, with melodies and fantastic harmonies; not that that you will find them on Sing Something Simple anytime soon, as they are utterly of the moment, although I suspect that they will endure. All of which is a long winded way of recommending this appreciation of them.

Regardless of the Fleet Foxes, the album I can't stop listening to is the new Silver Jews.

Talking of enduring, the chap who is sitting in for Iain Anderson this week played some Strokes yesterday. Not as disposable as you might think, it sounded great, although similarities to Tom Petty's American Girl were pointed out.

The Blues. Oh Dear. Pantomime season is continuing well into the close season. We have lost half our backroom staff, the reserves haven't been entered into a meaningful league, two of the buggers were enjoying their holiday so much they forgot to come back for work and our loveable Welsh midget owner has got himself embroiled in a sex scandal. Roll on August.

1952 Vincent Black Lightning

There are volumes and volumes of Rough Trade albums to be downloaded, if you are so inclined: they might even be available to buy. Whatever, you can stick your Stax and your Sun and your Atlantic, you can ever reconsider your Motown: Rough Trade is the best label there has ever been.

I was walking through our local Asda earlier, hoping to get at the Feta after the large and intemperate family moved on, when the large and intemperate mother gave the the cute and over tired daughter an almighty fucking wallop and advised her that next week, she was leaving her at home, on her own, and then social services would come and take her away. My flabber was gasted.

Why do all the men in our local Asda have crops and wear vests and strut and why do all the women just chew and chew and chew and chew. Are they all on fucking qat?

Work All Week

There is an article by Zoe Williams on faith schools in the Guardian today which I don’t particularly agree with but it raises some interesting points and contains a line which perfectly echoes my sentiments regarding the parents who will do anything to get their nippers in to a faith school: ” And if you really examine the social environment in these desirable schools, isn't it just characterised by obnoxious, pushy, lying, middle-class people?” I've said before that it amazes me how in this area, children are devoted to the Church Of Wales until the age of 11 only to, en masse, become Catholics from the age of of 11-16. I have no doubt that if Wiccans provided the best education, half the buggers up our street would have their children worshiping a horned God.


Williams concludes that it is pointless railing against faith schools and instead we should all battle for for state schools to be brought up to a similar standard. It’s a nice idea but an impossible task. They are too big, the numbers of disinterested or just too many; teachers have to concentrate all their energies on the lowest achieving, at the expense of the brightest, who are left to endure days of unutterable ennui. I cannot see any government having the will to put enough resources into these schools to make much of a difference.


I would have nothing against faith schools if they were self funding, but they are not, they exist because by and large the taxpayer funds them. I say, if the buggers feel strongly enough that they want their kids educated according to a particular religious doctrine, let them pay for it. If the funds that go into the faith schools went into mainstream schools, and more of these apparently brighter kids were then motivated (admittedly by financial concerns) to attend mainstream schools, there might be a levelling up, rather than a levelling down.


Even if I’m wrong, I don’t care, faith schools should be made to stand on their own two feet; the whole sector is a farce and religion has nothing to with the intake. As Williams points out they are ghetto's for pushy, obnoxious, middle class charlatans and I don’t really see why the state should help them at all.


Bush Tours America To Survey Damage Caused By His Disastrous Presidency

Rock The Nation

It was like the keystone kops in our house last night. The Mrs had taken the daughter off to do whatever mothers and daughters do and the two lads were in their respective dark dens and I had just sat down, with a beer, on the patio, having fired the barbie up and set some speakers up so I could listen to some mellow Spanish shit in the unaccustomed tranquility. Life was good.

Then I heard the Mrs shouting, though I couldn't make out what she was saying, then one of the cats came belting out of the living room, followed by a chuffing dog, followed by the Mrs, followed by the kids, all babbling incoherently while the dogs owner wailed outside and all the while doors being slammed open and closed in a effort to either keep the beast in, or keep him out, neither of which ploy was successful. The cat, in its panic, forgot it could climb tress and just ran round and round the garden, faster than I have ever seen it run before, so there were 7 of us in all, all chasing each other around the garden, yelling.

The Mrs finally caught the thing and handed it back to the owner, who was not embarrassed or apologetic at all. Then it rained. Very hard.

I don't usually watch the tennis but I got caught up in the drama of Murrays win the other night, however, I am glad that he was firmly put in his place earlier on today. I have nothing against the chap, but already the nation was on the verge of hysteria; if he had won against Nadal it would have been unbearable. There is no victory or defeat that our sane and rational nation cannot over react to. There is a good piece in The Guardian about the Wimbledon crowd, the tone of which is typified by this line "What you're seeing in close-up on your TV screen is the emotional zenith of the parish picnic,........."

It was always about the oil--that's why "we" invaded Iraq--only "we" aren't getting any, at least not at a reasonable price. The oil companies are.

The Internationale

Local government workers have voted to go on strike, or, more accurately, some local government workers, very far from a majority of them, have voted to go on strike, and the world is chorusing that they are being irresponsible. If they or anyone else receives a rise over 2 per cent, disaster will follow, prices will go up, council tax will go up and we will all be doomed. Again, and as I said before, it is always the poor bloody infantry that gets the shitty end of the stick. Profits continue to rise, enormous wealth for those at the top of the economic pyramid continues to grow, yet is the those who struggle most who have to pay and suffer when the economic world goes tits up. I ask again, why can’t the pain be shared about it? Why can’t our economic masters share a bit of the pain for a change? Who is responsible for all this anyway? Not the bloody school caretakers, that’s for sure.

Not that I am for this strike, because I am not, for three reasons. First, Unison cannot seriously claim a mandate for this action, given the very low turnout and the extremely close result of the ballot; second, they have no chance of achieving anything like a significantly improved offer; third the Tory media will have a bloody field day and the next election will be handed to the Tories on a plate. I include the allegedly leftist, allegedly impartial BBC in this, their reporting of the ballot yesterday was shameful both at breakfast time and at teatime: both of the reporters clearly believe that the canard about decent wages for poor folk equates with misery for all of us is an economic fact, not a matter of smug opinion.

Not that Heather Wakefield, the Unison rep covered herself in glory; she came across as extremely arrogant and seemed to say that the low turnout and close result was irrelevant, as she knew what members truly felt. Given her evident omniscience, I wonder why they bothered with a ballot at all. I don’t know who was speaking on behalf of the union in the morning, but he just came across as being as thick as a plank.

So, who do I hate so far, let’s see: well, every capitalist and apologist for capitalism everywhere for a start, then there is the union, and the big media, including the BBC and several BBC reporters, especially the berk on 5 live breakfast, with his estuary English and schoolboy smart arsery; the Tories and , oh yes, nearly forgot: New Bloody Labour, who are ignoring history at their peril.

Back in the seventies we had a period of governance by Labour and it wasn’t a particularly glorious time, which the big media are already reminding us of, and, again, the poor bloody starvlings (that's us!) got the shitty end of the stick. The unions agreed to be restrained in their pay demands, and for a few years they stuck to the agreement, until, not unreasonably, they decided that the poor worker deserved a bit of jam on his bread, and asked for a fairer share of the pot. The government decided to act hard, and there was a series of strikes, accompanied by lurid headlines and then we welcomed in dear old Maggie for 18 years of sheer joy and happiness.

It’s happening again, after all those years of Thatcher and pay deals of 0.5 per cent we all welcomed New Labour and anticipated a fairer deal. Well, we haven’t had one. We have never come close to catching up and our annual rises have barely covered inflation, all this time. Now, the economy has gone tits up, because the bankers have fucked up, and New Labours natural inclination is to let those who suffer most pay the heaviest penalty. I don’t know where new labour keeps its finger these days, but it certainly isn’t on the pulse.

Funnily enough, there is an big article about Richard Layard, the happiness guru in todays Guardian. It is a wide ranging discourse but it touches on the notion that continually seeking economic growth isn't necessarily a good thing, because the evidence suggests that it leads to misery, rather than happiness, which, in a roundabout way, reminded me of some stuff I read years ago about the equality gap causing social dysfunction. The greater the gap between the wealthiest and the poorest, the greater the chance of profound social disharmony.

Stuff it, I'm off to live in Bhutan.

96 Degrees In The Shade

It’s amazing isn’t it how interest groups can dominate the news agenda, especially in this age of 24 hour rolling news. Apart from the mains news stories, most of the stuff you hear on 5 live is little more than an endless discussion prompted by a press release by some organisation trying to drum up publicity. The credit crunch is providing marketing people with undreamt of opportunities. The latest to get in on the act is the potato council, who are telling us that the humble spud is the answer to our current half starved state. The Guardian has a very good and expanding blog post on it and will be highlighting the magic of the spud in one of the weekend editions.

All of which gives me an excuse to post my favorite recipes. Poverty is not a fashion thing with me, I’ve been skint for years, so I know a thing or three about spuds and pasta, I can tell you.

A week or so back I saw a recipe by Gordon Ramsey for Jersey royals (who said the spud was cheap?) with black pudding, which I adapted, to what I happened to have hanging around. It was possibly the best thing I have ever cooked. You don’t necessarily need Jerseys, by the way.

Take a load of new spuds, peel them, if you want, chop ‘em small and par boil for about 7-8 minutes, drain, then throw into a big frying pan containing a good glug of olive oil. Chop a load of black pudding and throw that in as well, followed by a little box of cherry tomatoes, which you may or may not have skinned, let it all fry and crisp up a bit, then throw in some fresh sage leaves and spinach, followed by a not insignificant glug of balsamic vinegar. Trust me, it’s a good ‘un. Oh, season as and when you see fit..

Stovies: Take a load of waxy spuds, peel them and cover the bottom of a saucepan. Add about 3-5 mls of water and a big knob of butter, season, cover with greaseproof paper, stick a lid on and cook on a low heat for about 40 minutes, giving the pan an occasional shake.

Tartiflette. Bugger the reblochon, the last time I bought one it cost 7 bloody quid, a mixture of cheddar and gruyere will do.

Potato salad: boil the spuds, drain; mix with a simple vinaigrette and then when cool add a load of sour cream, mayo and dijon, which, clearly, you had previously mixed together.

Dauphinoise. Obviously you don’t need me to give you a recipe for Dauphinoise, but I have an easy and foolproof method. Take a load of spuds and slice as thin as you like, boil them up in a pan consisting of a pint of milk and half a pint of cream, with a clove of garlic, for about ten minutes. Put the whole lot in a baking dish, grate some nutmeg on top and slam it in a hottish oven for half an hour. Bob Is your Uncle.

You could take the Ramsey Recipe above, omit the sage , balsamic and black pud, put in some chorizo and use it for the basis of a big omelette, I know you can, because I have done it, although it did include some onions which I had softened to the point of being caramelized as well. Actually, the original thing might work. The next time I do it I will make a huge pile and use the leftovers to make an omelette which will then be the following days lunch at work.

Pasta and Potatoes: cook a load of chopped spuds and pasta shells (about 500 grams in total) in about a litre chicken stock for about ten minutes then add cream, butter, and loads and loads of parmesan and some parsley. Fanny is your aunt.

Barbecued: Slice, parboil, drain, mix up with whatever you want…………..Cajun type spices or an oregano heavy mix of oil and vinegar or lemon juice are good, or just leave them plain then Barbie the buggers!

Also on a Barbie, try those little battered slices of spud you get in the veg section at supermarkets. Just bung ‘em on for ages after the main work has been done and the Barbie is still hot, but not blisteringly so. They are much better than a bag of crisps to help the beer down on a warm night.

While we are on barbies, have you tried barbied carrots? Man, they are something else. Slice a load of carrots up really thin and Barbie the buggers on one of those little foil trays you get. They are a bit special.

There are loads more but I’m fed up now, except to mention the best spud dish of all, which, as everyone knows, is the chip butty. I go for the two fry method myself, when it comes to chips, although I appreciate that it is a contentious area.

Poor Boys Long Way From home

I've been sat in the garden, enjoying the slight nip in the air, drinking some stinkingly foul Aldi beer (don't believe the Aldi hype!) and listening to John Renbourn. Why has no one told me about him before? What fantastic music for a chilly summer night drinking crap beer. I can only imagine how good he might be on a warm night, drinking good beer. Orgasmic, probably. He's not dissimilar to John Fahey, in case you were wondering, and is very famous and well thought of in the ancient old git fraternity. I'm looking at you, brother.

I posted about prices and wages last night, then I woke up and the same stuff was all over the radio, which has pissed me off, frankly. It's like when you discover a band and 6 months later everyone other bugger loves 'em. so you start to despise them. Don't expect to see any more whinging and whining from me on the state of the economy.............I'm sulking.

Firefox 3 is growing on me, I can't say it is love though.

Andy Gill hates Coldplay,and I can only second that emotion, even though I have only knowingly heard one of their songs, the execrable Yellow. Still, I hate everything about them: the luvviness, the self importance, the GlAstonburyness and the sheer Jo Wiliness of them. They make me puke. The only thing wrong with Gills article is that he is too even handed. The world is our oyster these days when it comes to music, how do chumps like this survive?

Chris Martin: thief

He should take up the ukele like me, I never play the same chuffin note twice!

Talking of plagiarists, Raj Persaud, the man who grins like an idiot on day time tv and provides psychiatric profiles of people he has never met for the tabloids has been found guilty of nicking other peoples work. The scoundrel. The biggest surprise is that he is actually employed by a teaching hospital, when to my mind, he has had no credibility for years. Mind you, I know of at least two psychologists who are happy to provide behavioural management plans for people that they have never met.

Streets of Baltimore

Robert Fisk: snapshots of Baghdad.

Any passing social workers will find Fighting Monsters interesting.

I keep hearing that the government feels our financial pain, that the bankers feel our financial pain and that big business feels our financial pain. Then I hear that none us should ask for a pay rise sufficient to cover the increased cost of our daily necessities, because that would be short sighted. If we have a decent rise, prices will have to go up, inflation will rise and we will all be worse off. Fair enough, their brains are large and mine is small and I know nothing of economics.

But a question is bugging away at me: why is it always us at the bottom of the food chain that gets the shitty end of the stick? Banks fail spectacularly, don't worry the taxpayer will bail them out. Rover goes belly up and it's sorry chaps, you will have to retrain as a waiter. Prices of basic commodities go up, so the price of the goods made with them goes up and the price in the shop goes up. There only seems to be one loser here, us.

When the price of everything goes up, why is it only the poor old consumer who has to suffer? Can't the bastard capitalists swallow some pain for a change. Why is that we can work our knackers off, yet have to walk around skint, while big business continues to make huge profits. Why do they have to keep making huge profits? Can't they make a bit less of a profit for a change? Can't they share their sweeties with the rest of us? How much money do the oil companies need? How much do Tescos and the rest of them need? When will these capitalist bastards be sated?

The new Firefox...............I can't stand it, how do I get the old one back?

Found on Mefi, a great site for the cack handed cyclists among us: The Bike Tutor

Pinball

Well, I never thought the day would come when I would link to a Daily Mail article, but the day has arrived. You might remember the case of Victoria Climbie, who died a sad and savage death at the hands of relatives a few years ago. The social worker involved in the case was slaughtered and vilified; lost her job and was deregistered. Her managers involved in the case all went on to bigger and better things while the social worker lost her job and reputation.

Little mention was made of the two doctors who said that the child was not at risk, nor of the fact that the social worker, newly qualified, and working a case she should not have been, was being supervised by a religious nutter, nor of the fact that, despite her lack of experience, she was still just about the most experienced member of the team. Little was made of the fact that referrals were just left on her desk, with no background or advice given. Systematic failings took place from the very top, but the people at the top absolved each other of all responsibility and continue to sail blithely on, while the poor bloody infantry, as usual, get their arses shot off.

I can tell you that social service managers have not changed. They still obsess about performance targets and budgets above all else. They still overload social workers with work; they still pile on the pressure and I can guarantee that the next time the shit hits the fan, it will be the social worker who cops all the flak, not the managers, not the medics, not the education department and not the police, all of whom will have been involved in the decision making process and most of whom will be more intimately acquainted with the case.

Why mention it now you might well ask. Well, the social worker has just won her appeal to be reinstated on the social work register, so she is back in the news and has given a great long interview in the Mail on Sunday, which is worth a look even if you aren't a social worker.

And if you don't believe me about the stress inherent in the job, the bloody conservative party agrees. I think the world has turned upside down.

After my eulogy to Welsh novelists a while back, I am reading another book by another Welshman: Sea Holly by Robert Minhinnick. I'm only about 60 pages in so shouldn't really recommend it yet, but so far it is poetic, lyrical and beautiful; I suspect that there might be heartbreak to come. It set among the sad, the mad, the lonely and the washed up who end up like driftwood in a small resort town in Wales, with the disappearance of a young girl at its heart. If you like the sort of thing I usually like you might be surprised, because this is like a proper novel, not a crime caper. Don't let that put you off though.

Apparently, it's set in Porthcawl, which, given a fair wind, I can get to in just over half an hour from where I currently sit. We never go there though, we prefer to whizz by it in search of more salubrious sand, but I might just have to go and have a bit of a mooch around now.

A Minhinnick poem.

All doom and gloom down at the Blues, whatever happened to gallows humour and stoicism?

While I am recommending, I recommend you have a listen to the new Silver Jews album. It was available in it's entirety on their myspace site last week but it looks like you just get 3 tracks now, which is better than nothing.

Mao Tse Tung said

It’s not every day that you catch site of two llamas shagging as you drive to work is it?

I still haven’t fixed my car aerial so my "in car entertainment” options are extremely limited, but the weather was good this morning, which may account for the uninhibited behaviour of the llamas, but certainly enabled me to listen to Nicky Campbell on 5 live for a bit longer than I am used to. The theme of the morning seemed to be swimming. It seems that we are going to be turned into a nation of svelte, lissome, swimmers, courtesy of the Olympics. Swimming will be free, for the over 60’s and under 16’s.

Five live being what it is, they couldn’t just say thank you very much, they had to pick the bones out of it and me being me, I’m going to have a little moan too. The chap they interviewed about this commented that he recognized that it wasn’t just about providing free access; the environment would need to be pleasant before the great unwashed took to the water. This is an important point. My nippers go for swimming lessons every week at the brand spanking new Cwmbran stadium, and it is, not to put too fine a point on it, a stinking, shithole. I also take the kids swimming for fun on weekends, and despite swimming pools in our borough being free, I would sooner gnaw my own arm off than visit them.

The staff are surly and uninterested. The changing rooms dingy, ankle deep in water, with family changing areas that are beyond description. The toilets are dingy, dirty and dark. It is an unpleasant, unwholesome experience, so we drive over the county line for our fun. Until recently, we have been going to Newport, which is marginally better, although the water and changing areas are very cold and the chemicals in the water leave your eyes stinging for days. Again, the staff there, particularly at waterside, are rude and surly.

We are lucky though, a huge pool complex has opened in Cardiff, which, as well as having an enormous pool for serious swimmers, has a separate leisure type effort, with slides, a jacuzzi, a sort of trail thing with all sorts of surprises up it’s sleeve and all manner of water jets, showers and just plain daft stuff to boot. The changing areas are fantastic………………………warm, with loads of large cubicles, hundreds of lockers, plenty of space, spotlessly clean and, somehow, dry. The staff are ok too, no frowns, no huge beat boxes to keep them entertained as they work. The only downside is that you have no opportunity for an actual swim.

So that’s us, we have about 4 pools within ten minutes of the house which the kids could use for free, but we drive twenty odd miles and pay the entrance fee to go somewhere else, somewhere with good, clean facilities and pleasant staff. Throw all the pools open by all means, but if you can’t make the experience generally enjoyable, you may as well invite the good folk of Britain to go and have a dip in the nearest cut, which might be a bit less intimidating. I didn’t mention that did I? Our local leisure centres are really intimidating places to visit. Not pleasant at all.

I haven’t quite finished yet. On the radio they kept banging on about how we have the Olympics to thank for this initiative. How’s that then? At the risk of sounding like a broken record, how many beautiful pools, leisure centres, all weather pitches, fitness trails, sports academies etc, etc, etc could have been built with the money that has gone on the Olympics? How many more people could have access to good quality facilities, if all that money had been spent in every little community in the land?