To Ohio

I have not been good. My training regime has been a bit lackadaisical, for which I blame the wii fit, which has knackered my stomach muscles. Soreness, allied to a general propensity towards indolence, make poor bedfellows for the aspiring wrunner. I have to be honest, I have done nothing. I did spend a couple of hours in the international pool in Cardiff on Saturday, but I didn't do a fat lot while I was there, except whizz down slides, lark about in the lazy river or whatever it is called and doss in the jacuzzi. Must try harder. Much harder. Beware that chuffing wii fit, it's a killer!

David Milliband seems to have found himself in strife because he sends his nipper to a faith school, the scoundrel. I have issues with faith schools, as I may have mentioned before, but I no longer get all pissed off about them. The argument that people are only doing the best for their nippers when they lie and cheat to get their nippers into faith schools is probably fair enough, and I should feel more foolish than I do for sending my nippers to the local dustbin rather than the faith school at the end of the road.

Mind you, there seems to be a requirement that as well as possessing a faith, or, having the ability to lie about having a faith, all parents with kids at the school must own huge 4 x 4 vehicles, so we wouldn't have got them in there anyway.

I'm beginning to wonder if there is any point to these schools. Why don't we just say, there is clear inequality between schools and some schools seem to have advantages that others don't, so we are abolishing faith schools but will keep the schools themselves open, so any bugger in the catchment area can go there, while those outside the catchment area can go to their local school, and all those pushy parents can concentrate their efforts on demanding improved standards in the dustbin schools. It's not as if these schools propagate the actual faith, given most of those attending are atheist, agnostic or indifferent.

I may have been indifferent towards the FA cup at 2.59 on Saturday afternoon, but my interest had most definitely been piqued by 5.45 and once the draw was made yesterday tea time it all started to feel a bit like the old days again.

The Wrun Wrevisted: Part 1.

I have not exactly covered myself in glory these last two days. Yesterday, as is ever the case, I was full of good intentions, but lacking in motivation; although I did manage a 15 mile detour on the way home to buy some Waitrose faggots. Have you tried them? By god, they are good, If I end up on death row, I want them for my last meal. The detour, by the way, was taken in a car, I didn't run it, just in case you were wondering.

Anyway, it had been a long, hard, gruelling day and I was in the mood for a run. But, dear me, it was raining! And the Mrs was going out, so I had to look after the little 'uns! There is a bit of a difference here between now and the last time…………last time I had at least gone out a couple of times before apathy set in. I was a bit disappointed in myself.

However, there is a difference between then and now, then, I didn't have wii fit, now, I do, so I got the nipper to set the thing up for me and got to work. It is rather a rude gadget, it called me obese and repeatedly accused me of being a couch potato. It informed me that I had a BMI of 33, but my wii fit age was only 32. This suggests to me that the thing is a charlatan. Nevertheless, instead of going out all wrapped up against the elements I jogged around the living room in my pants, 3 times and did some strength and aerobic exercises. I am shit hot a hula hoops but crap at press ups.

I ended up doing about 40 minutes of activity which I wouldn't otherwise have done and I ache as I type, so there may have been some value in it…………must try harder though, much harder.

People keep telling me that the more I do the easier it will get and I will start to enjoy it. I don't belive it, I see only suffering and humiliation ahead………..all the more reason to help motivate me by digging deep! Thanks very much by the way Bob, very generous.

It's not all wrunning and self sacrifice mind, there is still football and politics. George Osborne claimed more money than he was entitled to, the tory twat. He claims it was a mistake; that top education of his wasn't up to much, was it and if he can't get a simple thing like his expenses right, how can we trust the chinless twerp with the nations finances?

FA Cup day tomorrow, we are away at Everton and I am filled with complete indifference, There was  was a time when FA Cup days were the most anticipated  days of the season. No more.

It's hard to believe that Rod Liddle used to edit The Today programme. He is intent on being the baddest middle class boy in the suburbs, his contributions to Millwall message boards are laughable, his racism less so, his natural constituency will love him even more, but the fact remains, he is a cunt, and if you don't believe me, believe the man himself.

Some good news. Spotiseek. Type in the name of a band you like and it will generate a playlist of similar artists. It is very, very good.

Roadrunner

You may recall The Wrun two years ago. It nearly killed me, and it was only a mile. Since then I have done nothing and I am even fatter now than I was then. Charlie, star of the previous attempt to see me  off, has persuaded me to have another go, this time, though, we mean business, we are doing 3 miles. This could be a huge mistake.

Anyway, should you feel like sponsoring us, you can do it here. I shall endeavour to update our progress. I say "our" it will be no problem for Charlie, my progress, or lack of it, could be amusing  though. I have made a start this very evening. I stepped on and off a stool 120 time did thirty squat thingies and ten press ups. Didn't throw up once. Celebrated with a Kate and Sidney pie and two doughnuts. Piece of piss, this fitness lark.

Lo and behold, my accounts of the previous effort are still hanging around.

Lay All Your Love On Me

This weeks snow has left me lacking gruntle: over a weeks leave has now gone to snow so what the devil do I do when the kids need looking after at half term and Easter and on teacher training days  and if they fall ill? Never mind if I just fancy a chuffing rest. It's even more annoying as the nurses who we share an office with only need book leave if they are out for more than one day, per snowfall and people doing the same job as me in the county in which I reside were told not go in unless they could walk in, 3 days running.
Snot fair!

Moreover, I have to wield a shovel, at home and at work. This morning, because they had cleared the road, but not the car park, loads of people were caught unawares and just drove in, only to find themselves well and truly stuck. Me and a couple of colleagues came over all chivalrous and went out to help someone, only to end up helping half a dozen other chuffers, not many of whom showed much gratitude. I went to university so that I would no longer have to spend hours in the rain shovelling shit. Something has gone wrong somewhere!

Never mind all that, tomorrow the Blues play Portsmouth. This is our biggest test yet.This is the game that we would be bound to lose, normally. We, on a run, go to a club in desperate straits and screw it up. If we win this one, we will definitely know that things have changed and that, as Blues fans, we need to prepare ourselves for a very different existence; one characterised by hope and positivity. I'm not sure we will be able to handle it.


Eck of course has gone from being prize chump to the best manager the game has ever seen in 3 short months. I don't believe it, and I doubt if he does. He wasn't a chump when he was accused of that and he isn't a messiah now. He found himself on a steep learning curve when he arrived and then another one after we went down. He shown that have can learn his lessons and learn them well, but a couple of defeats and a handful of injuries and it might all start to look a bit different. The best thing about this run is that it has stopped all the shrieking from the more hysterical of our brethren. Long may it continue.

If anyone happens to come across Geoff Hoon or Pat Hewitt, give them a dirty look, the traitorous pair of bastards………….they would do well to consider what a Tory victory will mean to to the less well off (me!) before they start feeding their already over fed egos. The bastards.

End of the Road festival................part 2

One More American Song

The Duke and The King are the band of the year, this year and probably any other year. Simone Felice is a songwriter of rare  talent and I love him. The above video is not the best song on the album, but it's a lovely video.  Not that it matters, because there is not a bad song on the thing.

11 unbeaten for the Blues. It may not mean much to you, but it means a hell of a lot to me. The media loves us, even the Canadian press is writing big articles on us, but it won't be long before they regard us as affectionately as they do Bolton and Blackburn, so I will enjoy the love in while it lasts. Also, I might point out that I am among very few Blues fans who have consistently supported Big Eck.

I forget that some people who support the Blues were not even born when we had Francis Burns and Hatton in the team, being prodded along by Howard Kendall and Alan Campbell with fast pacy full backs (too many to mention) always offering a threat to the opposition. That team never reached 7th. Never came close. This team may yet fall away, but, for now, well, fuck me, it's good.

However. In the internet age, I have been aggravated by those message board habitues who slag off the likes of me when we have said, we not only can do better, we should expect better. At the start of this season the general mantra was, 17th is glory. My mantra has always been 17th is failure, we are the second fucking city, we should be aiming higher...........16th at least. Who do you think we are, people say.........we have no right to expect anything other than scraps from the rich mans table. Just be thankful that we are here.

In the past I have pointed to the success of much smaller teams in Spain and Germany and France to argue that there is no reason we should accept mediocrity, and I have been mocked, because, obviously, those leagues are shit. Well, fuck me sideways, we are seventh and now every silly sod thinks we can qualify for Europe. Eck is no longer tactically naive and all of a sudden the sky is the limit. I hope we don't lose two on the trot........the phone ins will be full of Blues fans committing hari kiri live on air.

Not a bad idea for a bit of half time entertainment that, actually.

Helpless

See that little video up there? I was at that gig, it still puts bumps up and down my spine. The End of the Road is the best festival there is, but don't tell anyone about it, we don't want the riff raff turning up and spoiling it.

Should I be proud that I have google wave? Should I be proud that I have no idea what I am supposed to do with it?

This new machine is ace……… I hadn't realised the stone age I was previously living in.

Blues remarkable run continues and we have Chelsea at home on Boxing Day. I no longer anticipate that the wheels will come off and while I don't expect a win, I don't expect a loss either, nor a draw for that matter………what I am hamfistedly trying to say is that whatever happens it will come as no surprise.

My employer, as generous as ever has decreed that snow days do not exist and if you can't get into work because of the snow, no matter how hard you tried you will take leave, unpaid if necessary. The public purse is safe in their hands.

Still, the drive in is an adrenalin rush and it is spectacularly beautiful, almost otherworldly. It's a privilege to see it all really.

I have wasted a fair bit of time this week playing basketball.

Should you be lonely or bored over the coming days return to the following link which has many good links to some outsanding radio programmes.

We had the usual debate about Christmas dinner saying that it costs too much and is too labour intensiove for what it is and that the kids don't enjoy it so what's the point. So we decided upon lamb curry with various accoutrements for the adults and home made pizza for the kids. Then we changed our minds.

So, we will be pretty much having a Jamie Oliver Christmas, despite last years Great Turkey Disaster. I made the gravy last weekend and it is truly something else. No giblets involved, I'll still cook the little bleeders up though, because the smell  of giblet stock bubbling away is the smell of Christmas and I couldn't let the pussies down. I have prepared the young mans  herby cranberry butter to anoint the turkey with, the big ham is on the go and I shall do Jamies stuffing as soon as I have stopped arsing about here. The stuffing alone has cost more in ingredients than our usual Sunday dinner. I trust in Saint Jamie though.........although not when it comes to cooking the actual bird............after last years debacle it is back to Delia.

Actually, the main reason we I changed my mind is because I want to do his chilli with the leftovers. And I am not going to be a fairy with the chilli

Little Charlie is responsible for both the snowman and the picture.

Blink and it will be gone. Some scoundrel has been making merry with Garry Cooks wikipedia entry.

Cherry Lips

So, my misgivings were misplaced and the Blues won again and now we are about to play Blackburn at home. We will moida da bums. One thing that is significant and doesn't seem to be much commented upon is the fitness of our players; I cannot remember a time when we have been able to field the same team so consistently. Hats off to the fitness guy.

The Guardian had a link to a very beautiful photo essay on Sicilly yesterday and while I was browsing around the site I came across this similarly beautiful essay on an amateur football club in Madrid.

I can't work out this damn spellchecker in Safari, it seems to work fine everywhere but on blogger.

Martin Kelner is always good in the Guardian on Mondays, yesterday he was inspired.

Late edit. We did moida da bums.............just about! It would be nice to win comfortably, but fuck it, tonight we were awesome.

Celebrate by watching this bloody marvelous documentary on the End of the Road Festival.

That's Alright Mama

Bless my perishing soul.

Look at the top.

To Be Young

I finished the Larsson last week, and it was no good, really. Highly readable, and a page turner, but nonsensical. I only mention it because his lover seems to have been done out of her share of the cash, which seems a bit unjust. His actual family are coining it while she gets nothing. Chuff me, it must run to many millions, you would think the buggers would share it.

In certain circles I am known as bit of a Wilco aficionado, which is as nonsensical as a Larsson plot. Years ago, I was really struggling to find any music I liked because I was a snob. (I don't think the internet had been invented) and I read a review of Summerteeth and bought it. I had considered Wilco to be nothing more than an American college rock band, even though I knew nothing of them. It was OK, nothing special, but I played it again and like it a bit better and little by little it grew on me. It's never a classic though.

Anyway, I started winding people up saying that they are the best band, the most underrated band, etc, etc, etc. And people like me, snobs like me, wouldn't have it, so I went on a bit more. I now do actually think that they are very under rated and that hey are one of the best bands, well, ever, certainly for consistently producing music of the highest quality and also for always moving on, adding a bit here and there, never allowing themselves to become stale and formulaic.

There are still people who won't have it and I still wind them up by making out that I am their greatest fan. All of which is a long winded way of pointing out that the Independent has named their last one album of the year (never! not even in my top ten……..it is good though) and that there is a good interview with Tweedy in the paper. The album is available on spotify.

I have geeked myself and bought a mac. Can't work out how the spellchecker works and the checker on Blogger has gone. So this post may not actually be readable. I can spell, but I can't type.

Kirsty McColl's children went on holiday with their mother and found themselves swimming in her blood when her life was ended by some chump in a speedboat. A rich mans servant admitted his guilt and was fined 61 quid. It is a sad, sorry and murky tale.

Blues V West Ham tomorrow. History tells us that we should lose this one. As happy as I am with recent results, we haven't performed all that well.In the past when we have found ourselves in similar situations we have started to believe our own hype and screwed it up. If we wind up with 3 points tomorrow I shall not only be beside myself, I shall be very fucking excited regarding our future prospects.

Having finished the Larson I started the new James Lee Burke. When I read the overwrought prose and saw that the main characters name was fucking Hackberry or something equally ludicrous, my heart sank. This could be the first Lee Burke I give up on.

If anyone can tell me how the spellchecker on this poxy machine works, I shall be forever grateful.

Can't fucking embed youtube clips either!!!!!

MACS ARE FOR TOSSERS.

Driving to work this morning Robert Peston came on radio 4, so, obviously, I had to switch station, so found myself listening to a discussion on 5 live all about Tiger Woods and whether he should try to rehabilitate himself by going on Oprah or Letterman. FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!!

It looks like Labour has belatedly decided to fight back a bit. We have had the assault on the class base of the upper echelons of the Tory party, which is fine by me and today I heard Ed Balls more or less slaughter the bloke on the Drive programme, again on 5 live. I didn't hear all of it as I was flicking between stations, but Balls seemed to be in a very aggressive mood. Evidently tired of the traditional five liove shtick of trying to prove that they are brave and fearless interrogaters, he rounded on the bloke and accused him of bias and of not presenting the British public with a balanced view. It was great and made me piss myself laughing.

It's nice to see the media indulge in a bit of Tory bashing too. I have heard both Hague and Cameron have to work hard to evade answering questions about Michael Ashcroft in recent weeks, there has been a fair bit of support for the Eton bashing and the Independent today has a good article on a visit Hague made, at Ashcrofts expense, to the Turks and Caicos islands. Odious bunch of bastards, the Tories.

Like best of lists? This should keep you going.

Sebastian

Bloody hell. Blues unbeaten in 6 games. 3 wins on the trot.

I need a lie down.

Rise

There is a very good and moving programme on the World Service detailing the experience of the Argentine squaddy during the Falklands war. You can hear it here.

Driving into work this morning I heard an interview with John Lydon, on radio 4 of all the peculiar places. It was a bit snidey, the posh interviewer wondered if the audience at the upcoming PIL shows would miss Jah Wobble, Lydon wondered back if they might also miss any of the 37 others who passed through the band. These days I find Lydon to be a bit of a laughable figure but I found this interviewer to be very disrespectful. Maybe it's a class thing.

She was obsessed with getting Lydon to admit that he had sold out, as if any individual should be defined for the rest of their life by the things they did and said as twenty year olds, and she impertinently asked if he had given the money he had earned from his butter adverts to charity. I don't recall ever hearing ubiquitous media lovies like Stephen Fry being asked how they spend the money they make from their innumerable adverts. Cheeky chuffing cowbag.

To cap it all, the oafs in the studio made a point of referring to him as Johnny Rotten. I look forward to hearing them mockingly refer to Cassius Clay next time he is in the news.

The social work task force has presented its report, God bless it. After the Lydon interview, they interviewed two social workers and inadvertently put their finger on one of the problems with the profession. One of their experts had spent 7 years on the front line and is now director of applied social work at Derby polytechnic as well as being deputy director of the British Association of Social Workers.

After seven years, practising social workers are barely competent. After all in the old days when tradesman were properly trained, it took at least 3 years to become a gas fitter. Social workers like to think of themselves as professionals and few professions would consider you to be fully trained and competent after a mere seven years of practice. So this lady, after a measly seven years is now a director of a social work course and assistant director of a professional organisation. This is not unusual, management and academia in social work is full of people who have barely practised the game, in fact, many managers have never practised at all and have no social work qualification.

So, we have educators and key decision makers who have little or no knowledge of the mechanics of the job. And then we wonder why the profession is a laughing stock.

I read last week about the dark web........ a big long, scary article, all about this mysterious web where anything goes and no one can be found. It is not just dark, it is deep, much bigger than the so called surface web..........very, very scary, but I can't figure out how, if the thing is so large, how come I nor no one I know has any idea what it is or where it is. Unless every single person I know is lying to me. The scoundrels. What are they up to?

I'm currently reading Stieg Larrsons second book, all about Lisbeth Salander, poor orphan Annie, barely educated but with the mind of a genius and who certainly knows all about the dark web. It's all very implausible and, frankly, it is getting on my fucking nerves.

Charlie Brooker on Dubai: A sarcastic version of Las Vegas.

It's the time of the year for lists, and, what joy, it's the end of the decade so we dont just have best of year lists, we have best of decade lists, including, on The Independent website, "best adverts of the noughties". Excuse me while I go and open a vein.

It's being so cheerful that keeps me going.

There's not actually all that much to be cheerful about is there, although there is plenty to laugh about. For instance, going on the Community Care website to read about and discuss the social work task force report, you see that the main story is about councils cutting recruitment and training for social workers............which flies fully and rudely in the face of the recommendations of the report. Didn't make the news bulletins though. But, it gave us all a much needed chuckle.

Actually, for Blues fans, there is a fair bit to be cheerful about. 5 games unbeaten in the prem. Definitely not to be sniffed at. I have heard it said that a poor Blues side beat a very poor Wolves, but that's nonsense really, we are very far from poor. We took an early lead and I though oh shit, cattenacio time, and it was, to an extent, but it was not as bad as the previous week. We didn't just lump the ball back to Wolves and we did try to keep hold of it, although we could not be described as adventurous. Still, it was better. Maybe Eck really is a genius and sets the team out to do precisely what is required according to the opposition.

Some Blues fans though, are even more miserable than me, and a number of them have taken against Chucho Benitez. More nonsense. He has only scored once but there are mitigating circumstances. He is used as our outlet, so he spends most of the game chasing balls that have been lumped into the channels, which he does very well. He then has to control the thing and wait for the cavalry to arrive, all the while being harassed by hairy arsed defenders. Admittedly, he does have a tendency, once he has done the hard work, to take the wrong option, but bugger me, he wouldn't be the first foreigner to need time to adapt to the demands of the prem, and the Mexican League is unlikely to have presented similar challenges.

He is quite short, with a low center of gravity. he is strong, has pace, has a decent first touch and can turn on a tanner. Physically, he puts me in mind of players like Lineker, Greaves, Romario, and Muller. All had similar build, all had superb goalscoring records, but, they were goalmouth poachers, they didn't score many goals after chasing the ball into the corners and then having to hang around for five minutes until a man wearing the same coloured shirt arrived on the scene to help out.

One More American Song

A quick scan through the online papers has just provided me with the information that Catholic priests in Ireland have been systematically raping children for years (no shit, Sherlock) and that the Irish police have colluded with the church hierarchy to cover it all up. Then I saw that a daft kid is being deported to America where he will be tried for being a daft kid; albeit a very clever daft kid and then I read (no shit, Sherlock) that there was no real rationale for invading Iraq. Bloody depressing. Not just the acts themselves, but the lies, collusion and moral bankruptcy that has accompanied them. Makes me proud to be a member of the human race. Still, things could be worse, I could be a Bangladeshi in the slave state glittering paradise of Dubai.

Dylans Hard Rain

I seem to be in a minority of one as far as it goes with the Blues; everybody else is delighted with out our defensive tenacity and never say die attitude. They don't mind us sticking 11 men behind the ball, kicking the thing straight back to the opposition and inviting them to find a way around us. The consensus is that it is back to the glory year under Bruce, when we first got promoted. Halycon days. They say, some of them, we aren't a team of billionaires, what do you expect? We don't have a team of Messi's and we must do whatever we can to get every point we can.

They are reasonable points, but I have issues with them. Fans who were calling Mcleish a thick Scottish eejit a few weeks ago have warmed to him, because we have had a couple of half decent results. Some warmed to him when it became evident that he was favouring a passing game, others when it became evident that for all the rhetoric, in the end, points win prizes and if that meant hoofing it, so be it. Now everyone loves him because we snuffed Fulham out in a most prosaic style. The previously naive Eck outhought the old boy Hodgson. He's not naive, he is a tactical genius.

The problem I have with the notion that we must play an ultra defensive game and not even attempt another attack if we go ahead is that it is illogical. If we have been playing a neat passing game, limiting the oppositions chances, and creating one or two of our own........ as we have done regularly, we have proved that we can stand tall, pass the ball and progress to the other end of the pitch, where the chances of the opposition scoring are extremely slim. By what logic do we become incapable of doing that? Sitting back and passing the ball back to the opposition is inviting disaster. It worked against a weak Fulham, it won't work too many other times. If the bloody opposition don't have the ball, they can't score with it, so why give it back to them? Make the buggers work for it.

The other argument, that it is a return to the dogged style that proved so successful with Bruce is just nonsense. In that first season that Bruce got us up, we were pretty woeful until January. The legendary doggedness was getting us nowhere, other than back to where he had come from. It was the January signings that turned that season around and the biggest influence was Dugarry. The qualities that the French chap brought were not primarily defensive. His first thought was to attack, his instinct was to keep the ball and put the opposition on the back foot and keep them thinking. It was not our defensive qualities that took us to unimagined heights that year, it was a maverick Frenchman whose idiosyncratic insistence on taking the game to the opposition led to us scoring plenty of goals and thereby winning plenty of points.

What I am trying to say, in short, is that I am right and every fucker else is wrong!

The banks have won. Again. I want to be a banker, where do I sign up?

We live halfway up a mountain. More acurately we live on a huge estate halfway up a mountain, surrounded by other, huger estates, but there is plenty of green around, there are not many houses higher than us and we can see straight across the Bristol Channel to England on a clear day, so it can be a pleasant vista. This morning driving down, was amazing. The sky was a deep bluey grey, massive hailstones were assailing us mercilessly, and the most vivid, huge and perfect rainbow was straddling the mountain, while further down, a huge and brilliantly white sun broke lustily through the gloom. It was all a bit strange and a bit wonderful. Made for dodgy driving conditions though, I don't know how I got to Abertillery in one piece.

A person at work spoke her mind in front of middle managers. That person is no longer in work and others have been advised to keep their traps shut. I offer no comment.

Not so long ago, in the course of my daily grind, I would come across families who I thought were cheating the system. We all did, but we would hesitate before airing our views as it would be frowned upon, it would be considered that we lacked empathy. We would be advised not to make value judgements, we would be invited to engage in a little self reflection. How things have changed; now, it is assumed that every family who is supporting a disabled person is on the fiddle.

Now, when new charges come in and people like me, dinosaurs like me, point out that many people will not be able to pay and others will refuse to pay, a chorus will come back........"The trouble with people in this area is that they all want something for nothing............they are all getting benefits, so why shouldn't they pay............they should stop using their benefits for wide screen tellies and fancy holidays"

All fair points, but it is a little unfair to brand an entire demographic as scroungers and cheats, moreover, this mantra has been repeated over and over again: when we stopped providing domestic support, when we started charging for personal care and for respite and for day services and when we stopped providing transport. How far do these people think that disability benefits go? I preferred the old days. I am proud to be a dinosaur. I might get a badge made up.

The little video at the top is Ryan Bingham. Recommended.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

Charlie Brooker on I'm a Celebrity and X Factor. Very, very astute. Funny as well, obviously.

A win for Blues today, that's us unbeaten in 4. It was fucking dire though. Hodgson has complained about our style of play and he is right to. I now dread us getting an early goal because that is the game dead. Moreover, the audience at The Horrible Historys first world war doodah made more noise than the Blues fans.

There are people who visit here who will really enjoy the following:

Save It For Someone Who Cares

Work is terrible. Terrible, terrible, terrible. I wish I could tell you about it, but I can't. I have learned that particular chuffing lesson.

So what else is there to talk about? Stephen Fry? OK. He is still whinging about some unkind comments on his twitter page. As an habitue of football message boards I have some sympathy for him, but not much. His curly headed pal, whose name I forget, indulged in a festival of swearing and abuse in Fry's defence, which is OK, apparently.

So, what else? Terry Henry. I couldn't give a stuff about Ireland or France to be honest, but this little incident has generated some heat, with the moral high horse dwellers having a field day. I suspect that every single one of them is a hypocrite. The best thing about it was Liam Bradys barely coherent interview on 5 Live the morning after, which prompted Jimmy Armfield, a master of drollery, to comment, " I don't think he's had his breakfast yet".

Another good thing I heard on the radio this week was John Humphries interview with the increasingly odious David Cameron, in which Cameron blithely dismissed his u turn on a referendum over Europe. For a man whose favourite insult against poor old Gordon seems to be ditherer, it was rather funny. Actually, it wasn't funny at all but it was nice to see the chinless bastard put on the spot for a change.

Can't say I have been inspired by much music lately. The Duke and The Kings album is easily the best thing I have heard all year and nothing is coming close to it yet. However. Mumford and Sons are alright and are available on spotify. Their website is pretty good too and isn't just the usual marketing device. It even has a book club, which is alright by me.

Should I mention the Blues? OK then. The previous owners are having a bit of bother letting go. They don't seem able to do it and keep turning up in the press with ill judged and ill mannered comments. Meanwhile the new lot continue to play a cute PR game and have won most fans over. It is all a bit murky though, the truth is we have no fucking idea who owns us.

On the pitch we are doing OK. We have enjoyed two draws in our last two games and now everyone who was calling him a useless Scotch pillock with no tactical nous at all is hailing him as a genius. I urge caution. I have never doubted Eck but it's a bit early to be getting carried away, we are still perilously close to the drop zone, our scoring record is abysmal and we need a few wins. Draws are not enough, lucky or not. Don't tell anyone I said that though.

And Cameron Jerome is still shit. A lucky toe poke does nothing to change that.

I finished the Levien pretty quickly. It was a damn good page turner. He has been involved in some pretty shit films and is apparently involved with the filming of The Winter of Frankie Machine. I'm not sure how I feel about that. He writes good books but makes shit films. I won't hold my breath.

Little Hitler

It's been a long time. Just logging on I came across some comments that needed moderating which were quite rude and insulting. I don't really mind, people are rude to me and insult me all day every day, online and in the real world. Only comments on older posts are moderated and that is to prevent porn spam, but the chap who has taken a dislike to some of the stuff I said about some our neighbours at the Wychwood festival seemed to think that it was because I am some sort of Stalinist.

Well, he's half right. I would have been happy for his alternative view to appear, including the insults, but if he is going to accuse me of being a Stalinist, well, fuck off comrade, the world will have to remain ignorant of your views regarding my emotional well being.

I say chap, it might not have been a chap because, he didn't provide a name, he was an anonymous poster. So he can fuck off for that reason as well. The gist it of was that I had a little moan, in what I recall as an otherwise very positive and cheerful review, about the lack of consideration shown by some of our neighbours, I think I even outed myself as miserable git because of it. He knew the people I was on about and disagreed with my perception of them. There you go, my perception differed from that of some others. One other, at least. His view has now been shared. Minus the abuse.

Mind you, this is not the BBC, it's my chuffing blog, and while I don't
mind anyone disagreeing with me, if you are going to insult and abuse me anonymously, you can get fucked. I am not Ann Robinson and this is not Points of View.

Talking of festivals, I declined the opportunity to take up early bird tickets for next years End of the Road, which was a schoolboy error as the line up is already looking superb, and they have only announced 6 of 'em.

Have I mentioned that I was in a car crash in the summer and had 6 weeks off work? The week I returned I managed to crack a rib, but struggled manfully in then I caught a dose of the flu and was off for 4 days. When I returned I was bollocked for lacking commitment and threatened with disciplinary action. I pray to any God that happens to be out there, don't let my free spirited nippers become wage slaves, with their prospects subject to the whims and fancies of some psychopath in a shiny suit.

All this time off afforded me plenty of book reading time though. I read The Twelve by Stuart Neville, which is every bit as good as Bob Piper said it would be and I read the new Pelecanos, which is everything you would expect from Georgie Boy. I read the utterly, utterly brilliant Lush Life by Richard Price............I was really pissed off when I finished it, and what else, Christ, I can't remember, loads of books.

I read "The World Made Straight" by Ron Rash. It's one of those trailer trash type novels which document the lives of poor white folk in a depressed America; people who live in communities much like the ones I work in, where the major employers have gone and left little but pollution and decay behind. It's a damn fine novel and sits along other, similar and similarly affecting works by the likes of Daniel Woodrell and William Gay. Bleak, but brilliant, and, frequently, beautiful.

So we have this white trash genre and we also have the Irish crime genre. Some of the best crime novels are coming out of Northern Ireland.........the aforementioned Neville, and Brian McGilloway being to the fore, then you have the likes of the incomparable Ken Bruen, as well as Gene Kerrigan Adrian McKinty and a number of others who I can't quite recall.

It's almost as if literature has it's movements or phases, just like the world of popular music, with it's Mersey scene and Madchester, and Two Tone and (don't laugh) Brumbeat. Maybe it's just tied in with economics and momentous social change. Whatever, it all makes the obsession the English media has with reviewing only novels that reflect middle class angst and insecurity look a bit pitiful.

I have just finished The Long Fall by Walter Mosley. I'm not a huge fan of the bloke generally, but I loved this book and fairly whizzed throught it. His earlier work has grated a bit because to my mind it has been, to some extent, overly concerned with documenting the experience of black Americans...........it has all appeared to be a bit worthy. I might have to take another look, because this last one has got it all.

Started a David Leveine this afternoon. Never heard of the bloke before but early signs are promising; so promising that I am having an early night so I can get stuck into it.

River Man

I'm afraid this comes into the category of "you couldn't make it up". The daughter is doing brilliantly at everything, as are the other two and as good behaviour and achievement needs to be rewarded, the Mrs decided that instead of her weekly riding lesson, she could go trekking with a pal and the little 'un, the guitar hero.........out on the wild and windy moors.

So we got up at the crack of bloody dawn on a Saturday and headed for the hills to a trekking centre at Llanthony Priory, admittedly a very beautiful spot. Nice place, nice people, nice horses and by and by off they trekked, leaving us at a bit of a loose end. There were obvious footpaths up into the hills so we decided to to take a little walk and then come back and loaf about drinking coffee.

We didn't get far. Up a hill and through a field we went until we came to a stream and a signpost. The signpost said, very boldly, all walkers go left, no public access to the right or ahead. I went right. The Mrs said, "where are you going? We can't go that way"

I had spotted a log, over the stream, and declaimed in my best scoutmaster voice, as I stepped onto the log and pointed to the hilly horizon, "I am going to safely ford the stream". The bastard log rolled and I took a cartoon like header straight into the stream. I say straight into the stream, I actually bounced into the stream off a rock, which I hit with some force with my chest.

So there I was. Soaked through, having broken a 200mm camera lense and in some pain and distress. The Mrs thought I was having a heart attack. I was worried that I was going to get bollocked for spoiling a walk in the hills. There was nothing left to do but spend a couple of hours mooching about, waiting for the nippers to come back, all the while with an arse that felt like I was wearing a soggy nappy.

The countryside might be beautiful, but as far as I am concerned you can stick it where the monkey put the nuts. It's bloody dangerous out there. From now on, come the weekend, you will find me in my living room, watching the box.

We are all in together, that's what the Old Etonians are telling us. Times will be tough, the public sector will suffer pay freezes and job losses, there will be probably be tax increases, tax benefits to working parents will be cut (inheritance tax is OK though), we will all have to work into our dotage. So while the fat cats got fat, the poor bloody infantry in the public sector carried stoically on, poorly paid, in cramped, uncomfortable offices, using antiquated equipment. Now that fat cats have screwed us all, who has to pay? We do.

It distresses me that that our media gives the Tories such an easy ride. Osborne comes across as a dimwit and is hailed as master of oratory. Grayling comes across as a buffoon and is tickled. Comments from respected economists to the effect that their policies will lead to 5 million unemployed and that all their statements on the credit crunch have been wrong get very little publicity. The 4th Estate. Power without responsibility.

There are pockets of discontent though.
Stuart Jeffries
Johan Hari
Seamus Milne

In the unlikely event that you missed it, Charlie Brooker on the Mac.

One of the highlights of my year was The Wychwood festival and one of the highlights of that was The Mummers, so I was looking forward to seeing them again at The End Of The Road, but they cancelled, and this is why Very sad.

Have a look at the invisible man.