Fisherman

Wait all month for a post and then a massive bleeder arrives all at once. This is an account of my holiday, I typed it at the end of several days, tired and pissed, on a tiny tablet that kept running out of battery, so it is very disjointed and clumsy. I won’t edit, now, not much anyway, so as to give an accurate feel of the holiday experience.

Happy Birthday to me, I am 53. Not really, I am much younger than that, by at least two years, but, you know, I feel playful, and 3 rhymes.  It’s not my birthday either, not today, but it was when I wrote it, in a field, in France, when I was too tight to pay the outrageous wifi fee.

I didn’t expect to be in France today, I expected to be en route. I knew I was travelling on my birthday, but for some reason, I believed I was traveling across on the 21^st, not traveling down. What a palaver. Nearly missed the damned holiday. I was happily sitting there on the 20^th, having ordered some stuff from Amazon, that day, which I was confident would arrive the following day, to take with us. I checked the ticket at about half five in the afternoon. And then I checked it again, and then again, because I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. Our ferry was today, the fucking 20^th, not tomorrow, the fucking 21st.  From Plymouth. We had 3 hours to get there, we hadn’t packed, and I had no idea where my Mrs was. And I hadn’t had my goddamn tea!

Not to put too fine a point on it, I had the screaming ab dabs. I will elucidate, but this battery is about to die, and I wish to record several things, which I promise myself I will not edit, when I am less tired, more sober, more rational. My kids are the most wonderful kids in the world and I am a very lucky man to be married to my Mrs. This has been an absolute shocker of a 20 hours……………..no sleep, little food:  a genuine possibility of a holiday ruined, our first in  years, and which has been very difficult to finance…….. and there have been no tears, no tantrums, few sulks. They are all sleeping the sleep of the just, I am sat out in the dark, typing this bollocks and listening to the absolutely wonderful Steve Mason, while drinking the fabled cheap, but good plonk. Happy Birthday to me. Despite everything, life is good, which is not a statement that I ever thought I would utter at about 4.30 yesterday a.m.

Mind you, after traveling 600 odd difficult miles, it was a bit of a pisser that the first  person I saw was some chump in a Villa shirt.

It,s not midnight. You cannot hear a peep on this campsite and all is in darkness  It is pitch  back apart from the starry , starry night, Vincent, and it seems like I have had the place to myself, for at least an hour. My younger self would have hated this, but the older me is in paradise.

Day two. I said I would elucidate, but I won’t, yesterday has gone and having just re read, I think the general impression is made. I fucked up. I panicked. Nuff said.

I am typing this in the tent, having been driven inside by a spectacular downpour. The rest of my tribe is already in the land of nod, as is the rest of the campsite, by the sound of it. Again, it is not yet midnight. I am enjoying the best disco in town, any town, which is the sound of the rain drumming off the roof of the tent, but apart from that, you couldn’t hear a pin drop. There must be at least a couple of thousand people on here, and it is incredibly peaceful, apart from my sausage fingers abusing the keyboard.

It has been a bit of eventful day, but a good day, and between the five of us we  have done a fair bit. It’s amazing to think that we haven\t been here for two full days yet, but we have done more than we would do in 6 months at home. I am chuffed that out of everyone I was the first to “make a friend” as everyone thinks I am completely anti social……………..tis a pity my new friend is a Villa fan, and not even the one I saw  yesterday. The motherlovers get everywhere.

I’m afraid I have to tell you that this morning I had a row, a big, huge, lengthy row, with the Eurocamp reps. (yep, our huge and wonderful Bear Lake is at home, forlorn and unloved, as we took the easy option of Eurocamp) We have not been impressed by Eurocamp from the moment we booked, and there were quite a few things wrong when we arrived, but we let all that go, being desirous of going with the flow. But that is another story, for another day.

This row though, concerned my youngest nipper and his soccer school: the soccer school being one of the deciding factors in choosing this site. There was an early warning yesterday, when the two fat birds who run it cycled down to our tent soon after we arrived, trying to sell us the idea of the soccer camp, which would cost us 6 euros per session. We explained that we were already sold on their camp, and that we had pre booked and paid for an unlimited pass to it, so they could expect to see him every day, twice a day if it turned out so hot we couldn’t contemplate moving from the campsite.

The fine specimens of the nations athletic young females looked at each other, mumbled, and said, “paying up front for an unlimited pass doesn’t guarantee him a place”. I let it go, thinking that theses words were just a catch all to be used on rare occasions, but thinking, if there is ever a day he can’t get in, I will have a bit of moan. He was in this morning and when it finished I said leg it to the tent, make sure you get booked in tomorrow.

I shall digress here for just a little bit, because there are pertinent points. As I signed him in this morning, a girl who was wearing sunglasses even though there was no sun (hiding her eyes?) told him to just go down to the field. Being his first time I had to fill in a consent form, but there was huge queue waiting to sign in and only one pen, so I rather gallantly waited for them all to sign in before filling in the form, then wandered over to the field. Of the 4 named coaches, none of them were there, and the kids were having a bit of  free for all, and enjoying it, but, I thought, it would be polite to have some chump there welcoming the kids and easing them in. A nervous kid would not have enjoyed it…………we are talking about half an hour here,  not a couple of minutes.

Anyway, it all kicked off in a fairly ad hoc and haphazard fashion and I wandered  back to our tent. There is a huge lake here…………….very peaceful, very romantic and me and the Mrs wondered around it, romantically, before strolling over to the soccer camp, where, immediately, I had an issue, and had to have a word with myself to chill the fuck out. The issue was that the coaches had organised two games and then just sat down, paying no attention, and chatting among themselves; there was some good play, but I was the only idiot commenting upon it…………..the coaches were completely unaware of it.

My nipper, aged 9 took a ball at some force and from close range full in the face. A coach was aware, only because the session was coming to an end, and he was collecting up cones  and was stood next to him. The nippers nose was pissing blood and he was obviously upset…………..the guy didn’t know what to do and his mates hadn’t noticed. All the other kids had, because they formed an orderly queue to view the carnage of his face! It was the first time that the little perishers had managed to organize themselves all day. The coaches  realised  that the nippers parents were there and offloaded him (reasonably enough) The Mrs. asked if there was any kind of first aid kit……………the chap shit himself, run off and came back a while later with a bit of kitchen towel.

But that is by the by and is not the issue.

The issue is this. At the end, I said, leg it to the tent Charlie, get yourself booked in for tomorrow, which he did. Only to find it fully booked. Battery gone again. Will continue tomorrow. I bet you can’t wait.

Day 3

Just to finish yesterday’s moan. He couldn’t get in for the next day. I resaonably pointed out that we had paid up front and was met with the utter disdain of three bored students........which set me off on one. I can’t be bothered with the details now, but the more obtuse they became, the more I was able to point out the absurd inconsistencies of their logic, and in the end several other parents joined in. It became a bit of a bear pit, and I ended up with a bit of an audience.

Despite that mega whinge…………………….we are having a brilliant time…………….honest!

It seems a bit daft typing all this when I can’t or won’t post immediately, but I will not edit anything I post……………..it will be an accurate reflection of how I feel or felt , at the time. There should be a government warning on all holidays sold……………”Remember, holidays can be STRESSFUL!”

It’s strange not having the internet. I fire this scoundrel up and then think………….what the hell am I supposed to do now? Who invented this useless gadget? Maybe I should just pretend to tweet   ...........  I never seem to have any trouble posting inconsequential nonsense on that. Here we go……….slightly pissed a tweet:

Couldn’t find my sandals without incurring wrath of  Mrs, so strolled to piss corner barefoot. Feet ripped to shreds. Was that more than 140 characters, do you think?

Day 5

Did I miss a bit? I did. 

It’s one of the beauties of campsite life that your world changes every day. People come, people go, day after day after day. Thinking of the butterfly’s wing, imagine the difference several daily changes to the neighborhood will have ……………not to mention a huge  population shift every Friday and Saturday. The ambience has changed, and not for the better. I can feel another whinge coming on.

But first things first. We are having a beautiful and a brilliant time, and it is hot, Goddamn hot. Trying to keep 3 kids of different ages and genders happy is difficult , so we haven’t really bothered trying, and although initially nervous of the unaccustomed freedom, they soon found their wings and learned  how to fly. The daughter is having a sleepover as I type. Which brings me to a whinge. The daughter and her new friend came legging it down from wherever to ask if she could sleepover. The Mrs is a child care social worker; she ain’t letting her little darling sleep with any Tom Dick or Harry on a campsite, so she went off to check their bona fides. 

We had been out for a bit of mooch and arrived back on site at  8.36 ( I know this because I marvelled at the accuracy of the sat nav)  The young un’s disappeared straight off the bat, and the young ladies turned up at about 10 30. The Mrs and the other mother were bollocked by security at about 10.45 for  making too much noise as they discussed,  how safe our child would  be with them. Meanwhile, we were enduring the drunken and banal raucousness of 3 huge multi family groups who had recently arrived.  Last nights raucousness , lets face it, selfishness was understandable……………….they had arrived late, tired, hot, bothered and excited. Huge pause here. Damn tablet gave up on me.

It is now 1 a.m on day 8 and for the 4^th night running I an sat out, drinking, because there is no point being abed, because others are enjoying their holiday in a loud and unthinking way. There was nearly a scrap the other night when some poor bloke reached the end of his tether and asked one group to pipe down. It only made things worse and  the other loud group didn’t even notice the fracas, so wrapped up in their own entertainment were they, We feel a bit unlucky. The rest of the campsite is dead quiet; I know because I tour it each night to and from the bogs, several times……………we have just been unlucky enough to be wedged between two tribes of utter bastards.  One of the group aren\t bastards actually, I really don.t think they meant offense when they arrived and have tried to keep it down since………………the other lot are bastards though, 

I like a whinge, as is obvious, but the fact remains that we are having a splendid holiday. The Vendee is supposed to be drab and featureless, but we find this corner of it lovely and the cycling is nothing short of idyllic: the campsite is fantastic, apart from the neighbours.

My littlest doesn’t know he has been born and we don’t see him from early morning until late night, unless he is after some euros for something from the takeaway. He has developed the art of mooching around, looking for pals, and usually ends up getting a  huge game of football started,. The daughter, as is her wont, has made friends and they walk around all day chattering nonsense. I don’t know about the oldest, it’s probably not the best kind of thing for him, but he seems chilled enough. As for me and the Mrs, we don’t really matter, our job is to keep everyone else happy.

That’s it. For some damn reason, this tablet is only  giving me about half hour of life, despite being on charge all day, and I want to listen to some Felice Brothers and tune.tune all the other buggers out.

Day whatever………….I have lost track, and I have to be quick……………..I leave this damn thing charging all day and all the battery time I get is about half hour. The neighbours are still being absolute arses…….it’s a beautiful starlit night,  the like of which I rarely see and they are enjoying the spectacle, juts like me, but loudly. The only buggers on the campsite making noise. 1 am  and a couple of corks have popped and more logs have gone on the fire…..and Wend has just turned up. It may be another late night. Wend is a right fat, thick sounding  tart by the way, just in case any of ‘em should happen upon this blog…………..and her husband is clearly retarded.

But enough of that shit………….I only dwell upon upon it because it is going on while I am typing…………………our enjoyment levels continue to increase. Little Charlie is playing football with other kids for at leat 8 hours a day………….heaven. The daughter spends all day with horses or in the pool or talking girl talk…………..heaven for her…………Louis has just chilled out………………..cycling around the miles and miles of dirt tracks and farm tracksthrough the woods next to the site, or fishing in one of the lakes, or just arsing about around the tent…………..I have managed to injure myself and spend the week hobbling around in pain (as tradition dictates)……………the Mrs has discovered cycling heaven and even been in the pool and enjoyed it and we have come across some wonderfully good and generous people

Having taken couple  of days the kids have tuned in to the rhythm of site and found their own niches. The Mrs is a bit fed up that we haven’t found the perfect beach, nor been to a little hidden away auberge for the plat de jour, but has also attuned to the beat of the drum and I have become like a child again…………….even to the extent of falling off my motherfucking bike! It was ace, I only wish I was more badly injured, just to impress the kids. I can’t believe we used to do all this off road shit on racers, It really is like an old fashioned, long hot summer, except that in Tyseley we were not surrounded by huge fields of sunflowers and corn and the ground was not necessarily baked so hard

The campsite is abuzz. The two lady soccer coaches did a moonlight flit, presumably fed up with all the flak they were getting. Numbers allowed on each session now further reduced.

Her we are again, another late, starry night, another ambience shift. Hundreds left today to be replaced by hundreds of others. We enjoyed a largely bucolic day………….the kids did what the kids did; football, fishing, cycling, chilling , arsing about with horses, making friends, having an old fashioned childhood. I dossed, I watched a bit of the nippers football, , I cooked, I fished, I cycled, I knackered myself.

We went off to a nearby resort town………….very French in feel, had tea in a little caff by a harbour with a couple of guitarists doing Django tunes, while crazy French traffic did it’s crazy French thing. So the kids have had at least a taste of what is like to be in actual France, as opposed to a taste of a bit of Britain Ireland and Holland, at rest/

We got back about half nine and immediately noticed the new ambience shift. The place was much noisier. It was alright. Hundreds of new families had been arriving, most of them knackered………………hundreds of new kids had arrived, knackered and excited, and had set about enjoying themselves. Our first noisy neighbours were well into the swing of it and being as noisy as they had been all through the week, but it was still early, so that was OK.

The other buggers though, were just getting into it as the rest of the site calmed down and closed down. It is now 1 am. It is quiet, except for our neighbours. I have noticed that they all arrive back at their three tents with their hundreds of kids at about half ten and while they settle their kids down they light their fire and mutter away in a civilized fashion……………….once their kids have nodded off, and the women come out, the volume goes up and keeps going up. The intelligence level of their late night chat falls some way short of banal. They all met at college, 17 years ago and they are still getting drunk and acting like kids on their first trip to the beer garden now. Their words. Not mine: 1.30 am. I am typing this shit, listening to Low Anthem on I pod. I can hear them over it.

The I Pod is another sore point. I had read good reviews of Cherry Ghost and the Coral, neither of whom are my particular cup of tea, but downloaded them and stuck them on, in the mean time deleting nearly everything else. I am left with the aforementioned albums both of which I have already tired of, a Low Anthen live doodah a Beach Boys for the kids in and a Beatles. Oh, and some awful, wailing Pink Floyd live effort. This holiday, on the whole is great and all the kids want to come back, but, fuck me, I have committed some schoolboy errors. 

Had tablet charging all day and it says I have 30 mins battery life, so I shall be brief

The bad neighbors are on form again. My Mrs reckons that while I was in the bog  at half 1ish this morning, someone, at the end of his tether, had a word. She was pissed off with me because she thought it was me, I don't know why she would think I go around seeking confrontation with groups of drunk men. 

Next night, it’s about half ten, the Mrs said that the other bloke must have had an effect, because they were much quieter. I said that they are always quiet at that time, because they hadn’t even started at that point………………sure enough, the sound of the first corks popping went at about 11, at about the time everyone was settling down. And it is getting louder. They are not people who have respect or consideration for others.

We had some new neighbours arrive earler……………..very loud, very full of bonhomie with their friends. It seems that they have all been coming for 7 or 8 years, and between them they seem to have dozens of kids,.............at about half ten, they shut it, like switching off a light. Nice people, considerate people.

But. What a day we have had.  The daughter spent it with the horses, scuppering our chances of having a beach day, so the rest of us went off, found a wonderful little town, had a wonderful meal, in a wonderful restaurant, followed by a wonderful ride up the river in a pedalo, powered by the nippersand finished that little trip off with some wonderful cakes.

Cut off in my prime again. That last post was about 2 days ago. It is now the last night and once again, all is calm, all is peace and it is another beautiful night. A magnificent night. The good noisy crowd have gone, and while they were no trouble, the environment has become much calmer. The bad noisy crowd are still here, but reduced by one family unit. Also, someone complained and I heard them being told by the night man that there is a 10.30 noise curfew. They were not happy and they muttered, but,fair play to them, they have been quiet ever since.

It’s our last night and despite all my moans this holiday has been wonderful, never mind the kids having had a an idyllic 60’s style two weeks and carrying the bums, bruises, cuts and scratches to prove it, I have enjoyed an idyllic two week return to childhood myself. And I have the bumps, bruises, cuts and scratches to prove it too. The two youngest look like they have spent two weeks cage fighting, not camping, and you have never seen a pair so proud of their wounds..

As last days go, this will take some beating. . I fished with daughter.  I swam in  a fairly empty pool, I relaxed by pool, with good book, I watched youngest play football, I went to a leclerc and stocked up on vino and bought the most incredible boxes of hot grub, for pennies, I cycled around deserted country roads,and dirt tracks, I went to a very good caff for scallops and what not and I cycled some more dirt tracks; I had a right laugh  with the kids, I polished off a very good and very cheap bubbly and I am now finishing off a very good and cheap local white.. I have some very good memories to take home

That’s it, it is midnight, it is warm, I am enjoying a glass of local wine and the night is beautiful. And I appear to be the last person awake on the whole campsite, and I am very aware of my noisy tapping, so, see you back in blighty!

Pieces

So, with Germany having just beaten Uruguay in an entertaining 3rd place game, we are down to the last two. I don't normally like to run with the crowd, but as far as this world cup goes, I am with the crowd………it has been mediocre. There has been no outstanding player, no one who has you on the edge of your seat with anticipation; no Pele, or Cruyff, or Kempes or Maradona and there has been no outstanding team. Germany have played with some vibrancy and Spains ability to pick teams apart with the utmost delicacy is a delight, but, as with individual players, we have not seen masters at work, but, you know, it's been alright. Any football through the long, long summer is better than no football.


As the World Cup enters its final game on Sunday, be sure to admire the poetic and sometimes melancholic Total Football of the Netherlands and Spain—and compare it to the prosaic, rather efficient style of Germany in Saturday's third-place match



There is a certain puritanism about Spain's approach, a kind of "talibanismo de tiki-taka" -- as if scoring a goal from distance is a bit crass, as if bundling one in or scoring from a corner is rather grubby, as if hitting a team on the break or with a long ball is vulgar

This is a brilliant article on Englishness.

Can You Tell

Watching Argentina the other night was difficult and I felt a bit like a voyeur. Germany murdered ‘em. It was sad to see players as talented as Argentina first look baffled and bewildered, and then lose all hope. It was heartbreaking to observe Maradonas increasing despair as the game reached its conclusion. Maradona will probab;y be gone now, which is a shame, because he provides genuine entertainment on the touchline, and his press conferences are legendary.

So that was Argentina and Brazil both gone, both of them with a whimper and Brazil bid goodbye to their manager. Some very good, or at least well though of teams have now left earlier than expected, which I hope puts Englands performance into some perspective. 32 of the worlds best teams started in South Africa and it was inevitable that well fancied teams would go out. Someone has to lose, sometimes (often, in fact) it will be your team that loses, so be it. It’s not just England, but, it seems every other nation that overreacts to sporting disappointment; I’m not sure if that makes me happy or not.  

For once, the FA have behaved reasonably, in not sacking Capello, which would have represented the most violent of knee jerks. I maintain that given the respective records of the manager and the players, you have to conclude that it is the players that failed, not the manager. This leaves us with a huge problem. There has been loads written and said about Englands failings over the last week, but the harshest condemnation of the game lies in the figures for the number of qualified coaches we have in comparison to other countries.

The Observer reported yesterday that England has only 2,769 coaches holding Uefa's B, A and Pro badges, its top qualifications. Spain has produced 23,995, Italy 29,420, Germany 34,970 and France 17,588.


This is shocking, truly shocking. The Lewis report, which someone must have paid for, seems to have been ignored, because of bickering at the disjointed top levels. I manage to keep a calm, rational head when it comes to the teams performance; I am, despite my advanced age, quite naïve, and I firmly believe that every player tries his absolute best in every game, so I can forgive defeat. This structural disgrace though is something else, and is unforgivable. Who holds these chumps to account?

Should I mention the national football centre? Er, no, perhaps not, I might pop a vessel.

When You See Me in the Pouring Rain

I have to confess that once England go out of a competition, I lose a bit of interest. I continue watching, but the frisson has gone, and unless it is a really, really good game, I remain aloof, dispassionate. Luckily, yesterday was a day of high drama, and the denouement of the Ghana game was almost unbearable to watch.

I am glad Brazil have gone out, not because I have a dislike for Brazil, but because I have a dislike of the commentators undue reverence towards them. Every pass is exquisite, every nonchalant flick is the work of some innately gifted God of football. Towards the end yesterday, I kept hearing stuff like "time for the best team in the world to perform" and "time for the best player (Kaka) in the world to perform". I beg your chuffing pardon, but there is no recent evidence for this kind of horse shit, and I am glad that we will no longer be subject to it. Until Messi turns up this afternoon.

Suarez seems rather pleased with himself, which I find unfortunate. I wouldn't jump on the moral bandwagon which is currently rolling along at great pace, but I would prefer to see him at least pretend to be a bit shame faced. Apparently FIFA are considering extending his ban so that he misses the final, if Uruguay get there; bloody nonsense. They might just as well ban the German goalie. He knew he had cheated against England, and boasted and joked about it afterwards. I wish the buggers played with more of the Corinthian spirit about them, but they don't, and singling out Suarez for harsh treatment would be unjust. The free kick which led to the incident was a bit of a dodgy decision anyway, was it not?

Peter Singer on cheating in football

The two best teams so far meet this afternoon, and I can't wait for it, which probably means it will be a shit game. There will be strife in our house. The Mrs seems to have fallen in love with Maradona. I really don't know what she sees in short fat chaps who struggle to control their appetites! Youngest idolises Messi. I have been banished to the smaller, less comfy settee. It will be noisy. She can be quite excitable. Hopefully, the marriage will survive.

This world cup has been enlivened by the Mrs discovering a previously hidden love of the game. Actually, that's putting it a bit strong, but she has been watching it, and enjoying it. I have been enjoying her enjoying it, because she provides a non stop narrative on the action that she is observing, and asks constant questions. I wish I had been keeping notes. Here is some of the stuff, up with which, I have had to put:

"OOOHHH, THAT'S NOT NICE, HE SHOULD BE SENT OFF FOR THAT!" (After the most innocuous of pushes)

"IS THAT MARADONA, I CAN'T BELIEVE HE IS SO TINY………..AAWW, LOVE HIM" (Every time Maradona appears on screen)

"IS THAT THE SPANISH MANAGER? I LIKE HIS FACE, I'M GOING FOR SPAIN NOW!) (Every time Del Bosque appears on screen)

"IT WOULD BE NICE IF THEY COULD SCORE NOW" (Every time a team goes behind)

"WHY DON'T THE PLAYERS JUST STOP PLAYING WHEN THEY KNOW THEY ARE OFFSIDE, YOU CAN'T EXPECT THE REF TO SEE EVERYTHING"

'I WISH THEY WOULD STOP SPITTING……WHY DO THEY KEEP SPITTING???!!!)

'WHY ARE THERE SO MANY FOULS? THERE WEREN'T SO MANY FOULS IN THE SIXTIES AND SEVENTIES)

" THEIR BODIES TAKE A RIGHT BATTERING, THEY MUST BE BLACK AND BLUE BY THE TIME THEY HAVE FINISHED; I THOUGHT THEY COULD ONLY USE THEIR FEET"

"WHY ARE THEY ALL GOING TOWARDS THE SAME GOAL" (when a corner has been awarded)

It's been hilarious.

One Day

Well, that was one hell of a dramatic day. Unfortunately, it has been a long day, a day characterised by drinking, plenty. I have many thoughts, but at this stage, it would be unwise to share them.

Tomorrow!

What is Life

So. people aren't calming down very much. Nicky Campbell, in particular seems intent on starting a witch hunt against Capello. He will ask blatantly loaded questions then innocently say………."just asking the question", and he is just cheerleader in chief.

Let us try and remember, Capello's record is astounding, his history is one of almost relentless success. This England team, on the other hand, has a record of abject failure. We did not even qualify for the European Championship 2 years ago. Capello took over a team tarred by humiliation, a team that even when it does qualify for major championships, usually does it the hard way. What happened? We sailed through qualification……..strolled it. I cannot remember the last time that happened. Then, at the competition itself, we got through the group stage, achieving more than the finalists last time around managed, before losing to a team with far superior record to ours and who may well end up in the final again.

If we are unhappy,who should we be unhappy with? A manager with a proven record of winning, wherever he has been, or the players, with a proven record of……..er, let's be kind, underachievement?
Capello's record is a huge improvement on the previous managers, these players, failed, again, despite having a manager who clearly knows what he is about; this lot are the just about the only lot he has failed to inspire to glory, so is it his fault, or theirs?

96 Degrees in the Shade

The world does not seem to be lacking an opinion or two on the state of English football, and there is certainly no need for me to add my tuppence worth, but, you know, when did that ever stop me?

I don’t think we should get carried away with the injustice of the “goal”, but nor should we become too hysterical about the manner of the defeat. The non goal changed everything. Had it been allowed to stand, the force and the momentum would most certainly have been with England and we would have gone in at half time full of confidence. We would have gone out for the second half with a different game plan and a different attitude. We may well still have lost, but we may have won, we don’t know what impact the quick reversal of fortune would have had on Germany.

Leaving that aside, it was not a good performance. Until the third goal went in, we appeared to be playing quite well. We were pressing and putting Germany under pressure, but, as soon became apparent, our eagerness to redress the balance left huge gaps at the back. On a day when 3 of the back 4, plus their midfield protector were having an off day, we were inviting trouble. There is a time to go gung ho and we went for it too early, a bit more patience was required. We needed a cool head, but there wasn’t one in the vicinity. We still need a cool head, actually, but such items seem to be in short supply.

There is a truth that is finally being universally acknowledged…………..England are not very good, and we haven’t been very good for a long time. We very rarely do well and even when we do, it seems to be in spite of ourselves. We got to the semi final in 1990, but, you may recall, we were dismal during the group stages and only got through the subsequent knockout games by the smallest of gnats cocks.

Actually, this truth isn’t being universally acknowledged. We continue to be told that individually, these England players are great, and that it is only when they come together to represent England that they become mediocre. We were told before the game that, man for man, England were better, from 1 to 11, and I have even heard people state that this is still the case. This is myopic beyond belief. On what rational basis is this belief formed? It seems to be based on nothing more scientific than that we have heard of our players, but we are only dimly aware, if we are aware at all, of the Germans.

Much was made of the relative youth and inexperience of the German team, but they seem to have adapted to playing with the big boys well enough. I saw them in their first game and was surprised at how well they played; they looked like a really dangerous team, and then they lost their next game and it was all too tempting to think that the outstanding performance was the aberration. They are in fine, devastating form and I would be happy to see them go on and win it now.

The interesting thing is that quite a few of the team were in the Under 21 squad that won their version of the European cup last year, and, I believe, they have been winning major competitions through all the age groups. It looks like the buggers are going to be ahead of the likes of us for year to come.

I had thought it is probably time to get rid of most of the current squad; they have had their chances and they have screwed up, every time, it's time to make way for a younger generation, but who do we replace them with? If we possess a Muller, or an Ozil, or Khadeira, they are keeping themselves well hidden. This world cup condemns not just the current squad, but the whole system. We are not producing good enough players. At the risk of sounding like Chris Waddle, you have to wonder how our system, with all its riches, consistently fails to produce top class players, players who are able to play with a bit of wit and invention.

I have two male nippers. The eldest was never a fanatic, but he liked football well enough and joined a local team when he was 6, and hated it. The training was boring, regimented and mundane. The blokes running it, who I applaud for giving up their time for free, were all registered coaches, and they were all well meaning enough, but they stripped the game of all joy. You would have 30 – 40 kids on a pitch on the side of a mountain, on freezing cold November nights, more or less just hanging around. In 90 minutes of training, they might touch the ball 10 or 12 times. The session would end with a free for all game, with the coaches taking part. Big kids and fast kids prospered, those who were not innately gifted, or big, or aggressive were more or less ignored.

That was about 9 years ago, but I went through the same thing last season with my youngest, with two different clubs. This chap is an absolute football fanatic. He loves the game and he is constantly kicking a ball, and when he isn’t kicking a ball he is reading about kicking a ball, yet two different teams managed to strip away all his enthusiasm. The training was the same as before, and there was little emphasis on practising ball skills, and no emphasis at all on just going out and enjoying yourself and loving the game. He drifted away, just like thousands and thousand of others probably drift away.

Through his hysterical rant ( if you haven’t heard it, consider yourself lucky) Chris Waddle did make some salient points, one of them being that skill is being coached out of young players. He says that the emphasis in academies is all about one and two touch football………….pass and move, pass and move, pass and move. Individual skill, idiosyncrasy is discouraged. We might see this in the case of Joe Cole, who was slagged off by Mourinho for being too much of an individual, and even though he has reined himself in somewhat, he still struggles to get a regular start for either Chelsea or England.

You might think that Waddles doth protest too much, as he represents failed England teams just as much as the current lot but there is truth in what he says. Thinking back to when I was nipper, the English game, if not the English team, always had players with flair, skill and a bit of the devil about them.

Thinking just off the top of my head, I think of players like Stan Bowles, Tony Currie, Keith Weller, Charlie George, Peter Osgood, Alan Hudson, Rodney Marsh, Trevor Francis (minus the devil) Frank Worthington…………er…………..I’m struggling a bit now, until we get to Paul Gascoigne. There will be many others, who I can’t quite remember and more still who didn’t quite touch greatness in the way those I mentioned did. So, England can produce talented players; there is not an innate defect that renders Englishmen incapable of producing football which has the crowd off its feet in anticipation of something wonderful happening.

When I was a nipper, there was a small park on Fox Hollies Road, and, just as would have been the case on countless patches of grass all over the country, there would be dozens of games going on. Straight after school, everyone would head to the park, until it got dark and at weekends the whole day would be spent there. There would be dozens of games going on, usually 15-20 a side, with the proverbial jumpers for goalposts. These are the environments which bred the talents of the mavericks, but you don’t see it anymore.

For whatever reason, kids are not spending all day playing unorganised, but brilliantly exhilarating football. They are joining neighbourhood clubs, where they are learning drills, and where they are learning that the greatest asset a British footballer can possess is strength, closely followed by an ability to shout loudly and lose ones temper, and an ability to follow instructions. You can’t expect these junior coaches to provide in an hour or 90 minutes what kids used to provide for themselves all through the week, but they can be less regimented in their thinking; they can be more tolerant of mistakes; they could encourage kids to love the game.

I shall offer the FA this advice, absolutely free. Tell the junior coaches to throw away their coaching manuals. Tell them to spend their training sessions doing nothing more than organising their players into six a side teams, then throw them a ball and let them play. Just let them play.

Predictably, large section of the media are calling for Capello's head, and the phone in experts are being given all the time and space they need to articulate their brilliantly sophisticated views. Sometimes, (mostly when I listen to 5 live) it feels like I live in a bi polar nation. We seem capable of only two emotions: irrational hope and expectation, or absolute despair. If you express a rational view that history suggests that we aren't very good, you are a traitor: if, once your hypothesis has been proved correct, you suggest that we need not neccessarily open a collective vein, you are complacent. Journalists, phone in nutters, message boarders and bloggers all queue up and vie with each other to out despair one another. Cool heads are in very short supply. No good will come of it. Mark my words.

It’s not all about England though, but I am still waiting for this competition to catch fire. Yesterdays game was one of the better ones, and there’s a thought………..until the 4th went in, I was really enjoying the game; people seem to forget this is a competition, with two highly motivated sets of players, the best in the world, in fact, trying to outdo each other. For all the disappointment, for 70ish minutes I was fully engaged, rapt, and is this not what we want?

The most entertaining bit so far remains the French meltdown. It amused me to see that even after they were eliminated, they still tried to entertain us, with David Ginola threatening to sue Gerard Houllier for comments he made years ago. Thank God we have Maradonna and his touchline operatics to keep us entertained.

Besides which, we have been blessed with the most fantastic weather. Christ, what a halcyon summer this is turning out to be. My world cup vigil has not been as intense as it might have been, because the garden keeps calling me, and I habitually find myself with a cold beer in one hand and a barbecue implement in the other. You can’t be outside, gently melting, getting slowly, blissfully and gently pissed without having a bit of music on, and my preference at such times is for lovely, gentle music, and if you are of a like mind, I recommend the following:

Richard James, formerly of Gorkys Zygotic Mynci has a newish album out “We Went Riding” and it is wonderful, although there are one or two discordant moments on it.

Euros Childs, also formerly a Gorky, put an album called Cheer Gone out a couple of years ago, and it suits the bucolic bliss of a long, sunny afternoon in the garden beautifully.

Gorky’s Barafundle also hits the spot, magnificently, as doe the newish Hindi Zahra. Then there is John Grant, not exactly gentle, but wonderful nonetheless. Once the beer kicks in, I default to a bit of reggae.

Have a spotify playlist: Summer

Khawuleza

Finally, the world cup is showing signs of life, and there have even been a couple of half decent football matches. The Denmark game the other night was entertaining enough, largely because both teams were shambolic, Brazil were OK last night but not nearly as thrilling as the pundits would have you believe. Spain played some good stuff tonight. I missed the Portugal game, being  a wage slave.

The more interesting happenings have taken place off the field, with the lunatic French taking star billing. It's not just the well publicised rows between Domenech and Malouda and Domenech and Anelka and Evra and the fitness guy, apparently the team is, and has been, very divided, and contains a number of players who have a penchant for bullying younger members of the team. What a bunch of dickheads.

David Pleat was on the radio this morning and he said that he thought that players earn so much now, the game really isn't that important to them. I struggled to believe it, but when you see the self destructive way the French are behaving, there might be something in it, and he knows more about players than I do. Anelka has missed previous world cups, and has managed to get himself turfed out of this one, and his barmy mates have withdrawn their labour………..in the middle of the world cup! Billy Wright would never have done that.

England are trying to match France for idiocy. David James has been sulking publicly, and, yesterday, John Terry let his ego do the talking. Reaction to Terry in the media was mixed; some thought he was a stout hearted Englishman defending the cause, others (not many) thought that he had overstepped the mark. I predict a lucrative book deal and serialisation rights ahead for the ex captain. Hilariously, Fabio has not engaged in mealy mouthed, anodyne spin. He has said that Terry has made a big mistake and went on to more or less tell him to shut his cockney face before he gets it filled in. I demand a knighthood for Fabio.

There is a good article in The Globe and Mail on diving, which, naturally enough, brings me to diving. Last night, a big, athletic player from the Ivory Coast, bumped into the much less imposing figure of Kaka and went down like a ton of bricks; bizarrely, clutching his face, which I can only assume was an attempt to hide his shame. It goes on, it's blatant, every player does it, and there is no point bleating about it.

But bleat I must. When I was a lad, and when I was a young man, it was a point of principle to show the other fucker, no matter how hairy arsed and fierce he was, that he couldn't hurt you. No matter how crunching the tackle, how blatant the assault, you did not show fear, and you did not show pain. It was not manly. Obviously, if you had broken a limb, or lost some teeth, it was acceptable to wince a little bit. Now, a player only has to feel the gentlest breeze and he tumbles over. No one really minds this, players are expected to go down at the merest hint of a touch; it is only the most blatant cheating that is condemned, but the sight of big, strapping athletes falling flamboyantly to the ground, every time they  feel a faint tickle makes me feel sick, frankly.

We finally seem to be getting a bit of opposition to this bastard coalition, not from Labour though, who continue to engage in a staring contest with the fraternal navel. Will Hutton was eloquent in yesterdays Observer, and the brilliantly named DD Guttenplan has provided Gideon with a free history lesson. Charles Kennedy has taken the Nicholas Anelka role in the new government and has apparently said to David Cameron: "Don't expect me to fucking support you."   Bravo!

Early Days of a Better Nation

My prediction was correct. There has been wailing and there has been gnashing of teeth……….and it continues.

Well, we were bad, but no has been good. Germany looked good against a toothless Australia, then lost to Serbia, Holland have won two without looking remotely convincing, Argentina looked sharp, but apart from that, what? Very little, from anyone. History tells us that England are more than capable of finding some form when they need it most, and there is no reason to suppose that we cannot do it again. Mind you, it might require the manager to be a bit more flexible, and he may not be capable of that, although he did change his mind about Beckham when he was at Madrid.

Everyone seems to have decided that Capello is a bad man, stubborn, joyless, unyielding. David James was interviewed and without actually saying anything, seemed to be in a bit of a sulk with Capello. The radio this morning was full of people saying that the players need to have more fun, and maybe the occasional shag, a consensus seems to be growing that the Capello regime is too strict and too regimented. Capello is not a friendly person. The players are missing their loved ones. Most of these people were saying as recently as last week that part of Capello's strength was that he had no wish to be anyones mate,  and that there were clear and consistent guidelines on behaviour. And the WAGS had been banished. I suppose if we beat Slovenia he will be a genius again.

It could be worse, we could be France. Not only are they a shambles, but Domenech is clearly insane. I like him.  Apparently he and Malouda came to blows in the week and now he has had a huge barney with Anelka, who, if reports are correct, will be on the next plane home.

It's Ghana 1 Australia 1 as I type, with half an hour gone. Kewell has been sent off for Australia having handled the ball on the line. It was clearly the correct decision, but that didn't stop Kewell squealing like a stuck pig. This type  of nonsense is fairly typical of footballers and really gets on my nerves. Kewell knew the ball hit on the arm, it was impossible for him not to have known, why couldn't he just accept that today, fate was against him? Why did he have to lie so blatantly? Poor show by the chap.

For a bit of light relief, have a read of an interview Tommy Docherty did with the Scotsman.

Valley Town

Meet the new half. Same as the old half.

The best thing about vuvuzelas is that they are drowning out the sound of the England band.

James hasn't been playing regularly for England, Barry cannot be match fit, Carragher hasn't been involved for years, Heskey can't even get in the Villa team. It seems to be a strange time to be bedding a team in.

65 mins in. It's a bit grim. I foresee Rooney becoming a headless chicken.

71 mins and we still lack cohesion but we are playing with more urgency and are starting to create chances. I'm enjoying this game. I may be in a minority

I'm enjoying it less now, at 82 minutes. Algeria have run out of puff and are as bad as us. And we are very bad.

All over. Fabio looks fed up. Fans boo.

I have a new prediction, there will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth

They say that the quality of football in the world cup has improved over the last few days, but I haven't seen much evidence of it myself. It has certainly become more interesting, with the France and Germany results and the next round of games, when teams will be playing for a win, should be better. I am watching England V Algeria as I type and so far, England are disappointing; they seem to be lacking cohesion. Walking off at half time, Capello seems to be lacking gruntle. Algeria are looking sharp and lively; we could yet be in for an upset.

Just Like Kat's Guitar

Oh Ruin - Just Like Kat's Guitar from Carolina Petro on Vimeo.


I spent all day yesterday in a meeting sitting next to someone who stank vaguely of  piss. As the day wore on, I started to doubt myself and wondered if it was, in fact, me that stank vaguely of piss. I resorted to trying to take surreptitious sniffs of myself , which was a bit undignified. After a while, he went to the toilet and the aroma went with him, so I was able to reassure myself that it wasn’t me. I still worried that others in the vicinity would think it was me though.

The chap had another quirk; he kept falling asleep. He would wake himself up with a snore, then, 5 minutes later his breathing would become deeper and he would be away again, until another snort would wake him up. Maybe he was pissing himself in his sleep.

Well that was another day to remember in this feast of football yesterday wasn’t it? I know that tournaments like this can be slow burners, but bloody hell, the pilot light hasn’t even been lit yet. I am told that I should be more sophisticated, and appreciate the defensive arts as much as the attacking arts, but the game is about scoring goals. Besides which, watching a master of the defensive arts go toe to toe with a master of the offensive arts (Moore v Pele, anyone) is not quite the same as watching two drab teams play pat a cake with one another.. It’s not a feast, it’s a famine. In fact, it’s not far off being a fucking funeral!


At least Maradona remains mildly entertaining.

Robbie Earle has been sacked by ITV for giving his comp tickets for the Holland v Denmark game away, between 30 and 40 of them. Also, the tickets went to a bunch of girls dressed in orange, who were subsequently removed from the stadium, as they were deemed to be engaging in illicit marketing of a beer. They could have just made them remove the offending articles.

Why the devil does Earle need all those tickets? Do all the pundits from all the nations get that many? That must be thousands of tickets given away for every game. Half the crowd must be made up of friends and family of mediocre broadcasters.



The Pernice Brothers have a new album out, possibly the best one they have done, which is very high praise indeed. Joe Pernice used to write a very interesting and funny blog, but it has gone, however, the news section on the Pernice blog is very good and isn’t simply made up of anodyne press releases. I highly recommend that you read the announcement that the new album is out.

I bump into people around and about and they ask why I don’t blog about work anymore, and I say that I found out the hard way that it is a risky enterprise, but I had a bit of an interesting in week the other week so, for anyone daft enough to be interested in my working life, here it is:


Monday: As usual, arrive early, and mentally prepare myself for the emotional rollercoaster ride that is a Monday morning; listening to the team relate the various joys and woes that they have experienced over the weekend. Discussing the latest injustice perpetrated upon the nation by Simon Cowell. Complaining that it is only Monday. The day passes quietly, paperwork, chat, tea, cake, biscuits, chat, paperwork.


Tuesday: Team meeting. That’s the morning gone. Afternoon spent fielding calls from local police officers and elected representatives who are outraged that one of our service users should be living in their community. The year is 2010. We may not be as enlightened as we like to think we are.


Wednesday: There is a bit of a panic on. Someone has phoned the office. The father of a service user has died and there is pandemonium at the house: a slight complication being that the service user had been arrested for assaulting a neighbour the day before. I don’t know the man, who doesn’t actually get any support from us, but I am tasked to go and see what is happening. The man is on the doorstep as I arrive, various surly looking folk are hanging around nearby. I introduce myself and in we go. The mans father is in the middle of the room, in his wheelchair. Stone dead. I struggle to recall the bit of training that advised how to deal with such situations. I conclude that I must have been off that day.


Thursday: It had been agreed (long before the complaints started coming in) that the man the police don’t approve of would benefit from an SVR20 assessment. I arranged a visit, just to introduce the health colleague who would be doing the assessment. It started well enough, then it all kicked off. Mayhem. He asked me to take him back to prison. As much as I would love to have such power, I had to explain that I couldn’t do that. His carer then explained that she did not care what I could or couldn’t do, (I paraphrase) he had to leave her house, immediately. It had all become rather delicate and strange looking people kept appearing, having a mutter, and then disappearing. My health colleague looked equally amused and bewildered. 


We managed to extricate ourselves from the situation, then hit the phones, trying to find a provider who could meet this chaps very complex needs at very short notice. Amazingly, we found a provider, only slightly out of county, who was prepared to at least visit that day . Went back to the house, with potential provider, only to find it was all peace and harmony and to be told that there was no way on this earth that I was going to force this man to leave his home against his will


Unfortunately for them, a court of law has told him that he must reside at a place where this department sees fit, for his own safety and the safety of others, but, finding a provider prepared to take him on has been difficult. So, having found a provider who is prepared to work with him, and who I know has the skills to work with him, I insist that we start the process. The panic is over, but I leave with the feeling that I am off the Christmas card list. 


Friday: It is generally acknowledged within the office that I have endured a bit of a week, but, rather than sympathy, I am subject to a fair bit of gallows humour. When I arrive in the office there is a resuscitation dummy laid out on the desk, with pennies in its eyes, and that is about as sensitive as the humour gets.  It may seem callous, but we have to be so sensitive to the needs of others that it is good to allow ourselves a bit of irreverence in the relative safety of our own office. It can be catharctic.

This God Damn House

Low Anthem "This God Damn House" from Lake Fever Sessions on Vimeo.


This world cup is taking its time sparking into life, although I haven't seen a fat lot of it, being at work when most of the matches are on. I didn't even see any on Saturday, as I spent the whole day and half the night in the garden, cooking, eating and drinking.

So, I don't know how poor England were but judging by the reaction in the papers and on the phone ins, we may as well pack up and go home now. Being old, I can remember loads of tournaments and I can also remember that we started badly in just about all of them. It is probably a bit early to start panicking; after all, a 0-0 defeat to the USA still gives us a point, and the other two in the group look poor. Now everyone is worrying  that we will have to play Germany in the first knock out stage. Ye Gods......keep yer hair on, comrades.

Being a bit obsessed with the football, and against my better judgement, I have been listening to 5 Live in the morning. To my horror, I discovered that the entertainment guy is there. What the hell is he doing there? His job is to gush witlessly about empty headed celebrities, why do I have to put with him reporting from the world cup? How much has it cost to send him? In fact, how many people have they sent out there? Is there anyone left in the UK?

The BBC also seems to have  developed an obsession with foreign footballers as summarisers. I am not against this, in the past non English summarisers have been a refreshing antidote to our regular wizards of drivel, but I am struggling with this lot. I can barely understand a word that Adeboyer says, and the bits that I can decipher hardly seem worth hearing. Edgar Davids looks and sounds arrogant and bored, I quite like Viera though. While I was typing this I heard Seedorf, but couldn't see him ( I have to stare at the keyboard as I type) and I half hoped that when I looked up I would see it was Steve Mclaren.

I hesitate to praise Sky, but the commentators on the Spanish programmes are usually very good, much better than ITV and BBC and the the blokes on the Guardian podcast are sharp, witty and knowledgeable. Couldn't the Beeb have borrowed a few of those chaps for the duration?

Christ. Italy V Paraguay has just finished and who has appeared on my screen, in all his egocentric glory? Colin Fucking Murray. I am starting to feel depressed. Actually, clinically depressed.

The Guardian is running a previously unpublished blogpost by the dear departed Stephen Wells every day this week. It's OK, if you like that sort of thing, which I do, when it is done well.

The increasingly aggravating toff bastard Nick Clegg seems to have public sector pensions in his sights, you know, the gold plated ones. For about 20 years, I have put up with below inflation wage rises and poor working conditions happy in the knowledge that I would at least have a decent pension if I ever make it to retirement. I had a letter few weeks ago telling me that I was heading for a pension of about 9 thousand quid. People seem to forget that this isn't a freebie, we pay into it, all our working lives. I read somewhere that the average pension in the public sector is about 4 grand. Yep. Gold plated. I wonder what the multi millionaires in the cabinet, with their inherited wealth will have to manage on.

Me No Pop I

First day of the cup, and I can't be arsed to search around for good stuff. Been too busy, am too tired.

The opening day was as expected really………dull. I didn't see the first game but caught up with the very brief highlights online. Good to see that "The Wires" McNulty has found something to keep him occupied and that he is scoring vital equalisers for Mexico.

As for the other game. Well. I might just have been down at St Andrews, such was the innovation, wit and excitement on display. France were distinctly unlovely, and what the hell is going on with Govou…….he is entirely the wrong shape and build to be a footballer. He looks like an extra in an old Richard Pryor film.

I complained the other day that we have no opposition, well Alastair Darling is fighting back, trouble is, he seems to be fighting his own side too.

She Don't Own Me

Micah P. Hinson - A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.


There seems to be a conspiracy theory going around that Maradona will not stand for Messi exceeding his own greatness………it will make for great entertainment.

"I think he lacks character. Messi sometimes plays for Messi. He is so fond of himself he sometimes forgets his team-mates. He is Messi Football Club."

A good article here on the Ajax academy

Italy v West Germany 1970

The Longshot

 

I have lived in Wales for 25 years now and have never experienced any abuse on account of being English, not serious abuse anyway. I get plenty of stick for being a Brummie, but not  for being English. Until today. Because of Wayne Rooney. The man in the papershop rounded on me as soon as I walked in………….arrogant bloody English……who do they think they are, spoilt brats and racists the lot of them, and on it went. So thank you Wayne, and kindly do me the favour of keeping your trap shut for the next few weeks, and that goes for the rest of you dopes too!

The newsagent and his customers (it’s an old fashioned kind of a place, more of a hang out for ex miners than a shop; the local youths hanging about the bus shelter regard the place with awe) also had fun at my expense in wondering aloud at what point England would suffer their ritual humiliation and come home with their tails between their legs. These stout Welshman didn’t quite get the irony of ridiculing a team that had actually qualified for the competition, and I wasn’t foolhardy enough to point it out.

It is a very serious business though. Even here in the South Wales valleys police are warning of a likely increase in episodes of domestic violence as the competition progresses. Known offenders will be visited and have their cards marked, and known victims will also be visited by specialist officers. A fairly complex plan is in place for the whole tournament in general and England games in particular (this is Wales, remember).
It seems that incidents of domestic violence increase by a huge amount when big football or rugby games are on. 

Tracing footballs tribal roots.  See, very serious stuff.

There was a good article in the Guardian today on Capello’s temper tantrums during the game with the All Stars the other day. It seems that he will not settle for any complacency. The most interesting bit for me was that he gave Joe Hart a huge bollocking for booting the ball aimlessly up the field rather than rolling it out to a team mate. As a Blues fan, I have sympathy with Capello……………it drives me nuts when our keepers just boot the ball up the field, almost guaranteeing that it immediately comes straight back. If midfielders, or even defenders, passed the ball to the opposition as often as keepers do, they would be vilified and dropped.


I got Roberto Bolano’s 2006 out of the library last week. I keep looking at it. It is huge. I don’t think I will ever develop the courage to dive in. I fear I will never emerge.

Beautiful Tango

The world has gone football crazy, and my little corner of the world is just about as crazy as everywhere else. My youngest is beside himself with anticipation; when the first ball gets kicked on Friday afternoon he might just pop.

I have carried out a scientific analysis of the likely winners which consisted of diligently trying all the flavours of the Walkers world cup crisps. I can safely predict that the last 4 will consist of France, Holland, Argentina and Germany, with Holland emerging as the victors. America should actually be thrown out, immediately…………their abomination of a crisp is a crime against junk food.

The web and the papers are full of football related stuff, most of it garbage, but one of the huge pleasures of the world cup in the age of the internet is that you do come across some real gems. You may have to wade deep in shit before you find them, but they can be found. It also very good when you get sick of the sycophancy and xenophobia of the British press, to have a browse around the Sacramento Bee or some such, for a bit of balance. You won't actually get football coverage there, but you can see arrest logs………..it seems to be a very pissed up city.

I try to kid myself that I am above nationalism and that I am not much of an England fan. I loftily annnounce that I have no interest in declaring my love for a bunch of overpaid prima donnas and that the only overpaid prima donnas that I have room in my heart for all wear royal blue.  But when their first game kicks off I know I will have that familiar knot tightening in my stomach, and as they progress through the tournament the very act of watching will be almost unbearable.


I am looking forward to watching the referee in Englands first game; this is what the Palmeiros president had to say about him after a game last year: 

"He's a crook, a scoundrel ... just a shameless bastard," Belluzzo said at the time. "He must be in someone's pocket. If I met him in the street, I would slap him. What he did was unbelievable and he was helping Fluminense. He should be driven out of football."

I fully expect him to form a deep and lasting relationship with Wayne Rooney


Gary Younge has written a very good and thoughtful piece on why he is supporting England this time around.

13 ways of looking at Fabio Capello

The Miracle on Grass: an account of the USA beating England 60 years ago.

And here is someone hoping for another miracle

Jimmy Burns, Diego Maradona’s biographer, has written an entertaining, if not particularly revealing piece on the man.

Ever since we sort of elected this coalition government, living in this country has become like living in North Korea; we do not seem to have an opposition. The Labour Party is engaged in a staring contest with its own navel and the media, broadcast and print, seem to have accepted the new situation without demur.


There seems to be a consenus that Labour is damaged beyond repair, having failed so miserably in the election. Now, as anyone who has cast a glance at this blog over the years will realise, I am not a fan of New Labour, but this is nonsense. In the circumstances, and given the relentlessly negative media coverage, Labour did remarkably well, and the Tories did remarkably badly. Also, for all their fine rhetoric, the Liberals finished a pretty dismal 3^rd, both in terms of seats and in terms of share of the vote. Yet you barely hear a dissenting voice, it has become accepted that Labour are in the shithouse, well, I don’t buy it, and the Liberals and Tories might do well to remember that they are only there on sufferance.


Alongside this is the notion, as told to us by the multi millionaires in the cabinet, that we all have to swallow bitter medicine, immediately. Excuse me, but why? I recall Alastair Darling being uniformly praised for the skilled and astute way in which he was handling the economy. How come, in a matter of a few short weeks, everyone has changed their minds? What the fuck is going on? Why is big media so meek and compliant?


I keep hearing about the new politics, and the new consensus, but all I see is the same old Tories, bashing the poor, the weak and the vulnerable, and what has happened to the Liberals? It is easy to understand that they are relishing their 15 minutes in the spotlight, but I am surprised that they seem to like wielding the big stick with so much glee. Surely, I am not the only chump that feels like this, why is there no dissent?

Stieg Llarrson. I don’t get it. I read the first book and more or less enjoyed it but thought it was a bit bloated and the plotline a bit ludicrous, you can’t dispute that the man can could write though. Then I read the second and thought the same thing. Now, I am reading the third and think the same again, only with knobs on. He is a brilliant writer, but , all the lengthy digressions and labrythine sub plots are getting on my nerves.

You wouldn’t say the same for Tony Black, who is sharp, concise, punchy, brilliant: he is The Ramones to Larsson’s Yes. Maybe the best way to experience Larsson is through an abridged audio book. An excellent way of experiencing Black is via this short story


There has been a lot of hoo hah about the new Michael Winterbottom film, which is an adaptation of a Jim Thompson novel. I will give the film a swerve, as I don’t think I could sit through the violence, but I would recommend the novels of Jim Thompson, he is the real deal, and I bet you can pick them all up for a single penny at Amazon. In the meantime, you could read this.

From May 30, 2010

Long May You Run

I have to confess that this election is depressing me, as fascinating as it is. The hammering that Brown has been getting is fucking outrageous and the easy ride that Cameron has had from big media is equally outrageous………it was interesting to see the Clegg love in, until the point that he had to be taken seriously, when the devils of the 4th estate turned on him. I still harbour a faint and naive hope that labour can pull it out of the bag, as the nation wakes up to what it is about to inflict upon itself.

Clegg has got on my nerves a bit from his perch on the moral high ground, saying he could not support the party that came third in a hung parliament, but being quite willing to throw his weight around even though his party is neck and neck with Labour. I predict that the Liberals will finish a comfortable third. As for the tories, despite a benign media and the countless millions of Ashcroft, they still can't pull away. What is clear is that the overwhelming majority of British people want nothing to do with the party of Gideon……….I doubt if they will reflect much on that if they win.

Charlie Brooker has brilliantly dissected the personalities of the three leaders

I have Bob Piper to thank for alerting me to a speech by Neil Kinnock in 1983……it is as apposite now as was then, apart from the Thatcher bit, obviously

If Margaret Thatcher is re-elected as prime minister on Thursday, I warn you. 

I warn you that you will have pain–when healing and relief depend upon payment.

I warn you that you will have ignorance–when talents are untended and wits are wasted, when learning is a privilege and not a right. 

I warn you that you will have poverty–when pensions slip and benefits are whittled away by a government that won’t pay in an economy that can’t pay. 

I warn you that you will be cold–when fuel charges are used as a tax system that the rich don’t notice and the poor can’t afford. 

I warn you that you must not expect work–when many cannot spend, more will not be able to earn. When they don’t earn, they don’t spend. When they don’t spend, work dies. 

I warn you not to go into the streets alone after dark or into the streets in large crowds of protest in the light. 

I warn you that you will be quiet–when the curfew of fear and the gibbet of unemployment make you obedient. 

I warn you that you will have defence of a sort–with a risk and at a price that passes all understanding. 

I warn you that you will be home-bound–when fares and transport bills kill leisure and lock you up. 

I warn you that you will borrow less–when credit, loans, mortgages and easy payments are refused to people on your melting income.

 If Margaret Thatcher wins on Thursday–

- I warn you not to be ordinary

- I warn you not to be young

- I warn you not to fall ill

- I warn you not to get old.

And that quote, reminded me of Nye Bevans attitude to the Tories, which resonates even more:

That is why no amount of cajolery, and no attempts at ethical or social seduction, can eradicate from my heart a deep burning hatred for the Tory Party that inflicted those bitter experiences on me. So far as I am concerned they are lower than vermin. They condemned millions of first-class people to semi-starvation. Now the Tories are pouring out money in propaganda of all sorts and are hoping by this organised sustained mass suggestion to eradicate from our minds all memory of what we went through. But, I warn you young men and women, do not listen to what they are saying now. Do not listen to the seductions of Lord Woolton. He is a very good salesman. If you are selling shoddy stuff you have to be a good salesman. But I warn you they have not changed, or if they have they are slightly worse than they were.

 Look to the left a bit, on my twitter doodah, and there is a link to very good spoof video of Cameron.

Meanwhile the football season has, more or less come to an end, and Blues will finish in the top ten. It would be churlish to complain at such an achievement, but I really hope that Eck spends wisely in the summer and brings in some players who are capable of creating, and converting, some chances. At times, we have passed the ball well and played with a bit of patience and guile, but we are, essentially, defensive, too defensive in my view. We have shown when we have gone a goal down that we are capable of getting forward in numbers and creating problems for the opposition; I would like to see us do it more often

I went to see the Duke and the King in Brum a couple of weeks ago…….a bit of a trek after finishing work in Abertillery of a Friday night, but well worth it. They are an extraordinary band. Simone Felice will be doing some solo shows later in the summer and you would be mad to miss them, especially as they are all in small venues and will cost threepence halfpenny to get in.

It was my first trip to the O2 and probably my last. I thought we had gone on the wrong night to start with, as the street outside was chock a block with green haired, pot bellied punks. Turned out that there were about 3 bands on at the same venue, one of them being the Dropkick Murphys, whose fans had turned out in force. The room itself was not too bad,: it was small and intimate but lacking in character. The gents was out of order so you had to queue for the disabled bog, and if you managed to get there without there being a queue, you had to locate the bouncer for a key. The beer was expensive and tasted like piss, and there was only one barman on. I am used to a better standard these days.

I have just read two Tony Black novels in short order. Brilliant stuff………….like a Scottish Ken Bruen.
Almost like a Scottish Ken Bruen……….he's not that good yet, but there is only a gnats cock in it.

Rebel Side of Heaven

After the first day of electioneering, I thought the Tories had it in the bag, but my hopes that they can still snatch a spectacular defeat from the jaws of victory have risen. I was a bit dismayed that the letter from businessmen about national insurance got so much prominence and was given so much credence. After all, big business looking after its own narrow and selfish interests is hardly news is it? Little by little though, the counterargument is being put, and put well.

Added to this there is the fun to be had with Chris Grayling and the fact that that every tory initiative is being exposed as a sham. The glossy Cameron PR is not surviving even a cursory reading of the small print. Some Labour types are coming up with good quotes too, I liked Darlings reference to Gideon being wrong all the time, about everything and I liked Straws quote to the effect that in Blackburn, they are still feeling the pain from the last recession. 3 massive cheers to Vince Cable too, for his description of the businessmen as nauseating.

Malcolm Tucker: inspired

Meanwhile, Ben Folds and his audience had some hilarious fun with chat roulette

Worries

You may have come across Erwin James when he was writing about his life in prison for the Guardian. There was a very good, short programme featuring him talking about food on radio 4 today. Highly recommended.

Surprise news of the day: there is going to be an election. I must start blogging more regularly, if only to insult and disrespect the bastard Tories.

Let's start with William Hague, who came across very badly in an interview with PM tonight when he was asked about Chris Grayling. As he did when questioned about Ashcroft, Hague dissembled and dissembled and dissembled. Just like Cameron, he thinks that if he doesn't like a question, he can just say that the matter has bean dealt with and there is no need for further discourse. It was very pleasing to hear him being repeatedly questioned though…………and getting flustered. Here's a tip Will, try telling the truth in the first place, then you only make a dick of yourself the once.

BIRMINGHAM CITY V. BARCELONA

Saturday Night

While it is fun to poke fun at Gideon Osborne, the bigger liability for the Tories is Chris Grayling, who makes himself look a berk every time he opens his mouth, and he has been at it again. In the first half hour sine the story was published it has been tweeted nearly 500 times. Beggar the huge Tory advertising budget………WE SHALL FIGHT THEM ON THE SOCIAL NETWORKING SITES!

Mind you, I am not overly enamoured with the Labour party and Ed Balls makes me sick to the pit of my stomach. I have been reading a bit on the court case of Sharon Shoesmith, the director of social services in the Baby P case; and it seems clear that Balls interfered in the reviewing process and pretty much bullied the inspector.

I have little time for managers in social services, but I recall being quite impressed by Shoesmith at the time (I was in a minority of  1 think) She didn't apologise, she didn't make mealy mouthed statements: she defended her department, which is almost unheard of. We seem to be in a culture where we have to accept guilt and blame and I don't think it's healthy. Honest appraisal cannot be tolerated.

Balls seems to have made it clear that he wanted a scapegoat and every interview he did at the time supports this view. At a time when clear headed rationalism was needed, he jumped on the scapegoating bandwagon, and looked fore someone to blame. Well, the sacrificial lamb was slaughtered, but the demonising of Sharon Shoesmith will do nothing to protect children in the longer term.

Well. I am alive. Apologies for lack of entertainment while I was preparing for the Wrun. It was all a bit uneventful. I have realised that most of my problems came from my piss poor breathing; once I trained myself to breathe properly (no easy task), it all became much easier. Mind you, I did get some strange looks from the dog walkers, as I would stand in the middle of a field, breathing in as I raised my arms to the sky, and breathing out as I lowered them, ever so slowly, down. Which was actually quite sane compared to inducing hyperventilation with a crazy and noisy technique I read about in one of the Sunday papers.



Here is a bleeding treat. Johnny Cash, live at Montreux 1994. The whole damn thing.

The Blues have been a bit of a treat lately, as well. We have Liverpool at home on Sunday and most commentators in the press and some Liverpool fans consider the game to be one of the hardest that Liverpool have left. Who would have thunk it 6 months ago?

Watching the Arsenal v Barcelona game it was apparent that the commentators assumed that everyone watching wanted Arsenal to win. I don't know anyone who wanted Arsenal to win. Everyone I know despises them.

Talking of despicable individuals:

The Wrun

is tomorrow, but never mind that, have a listen the Charlie Gillett Manu Chao special. It might just be the best radio programme ever made.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00gdbqt/World_on_3_Manu_Chao_Special/