No Country For Old Men

We saw this yesterday. Positively the only time a Coen Brothers film has given me the kind of nightmares I had last night.

This passage in the review has leapt off the screen for me....

The Coens are true to the pessimistic severity of the book's ending - darker, arguably, than the ending of McCarthy's great novel The Road, to whose horror this story can, in retrospect, be seen to be heading.

By this am I to understand the very book I am currently reading (Cormac McCarthy - The Road) will not be providing me with a nice and cosy happy ending?

Think yourselves lucky

that I have to be out in a few minutes which restricts my ability to rant about the greedy fucking bastards at the Premier League who believe "This is an idea whose time has come".

This from a group of pampered teams who already complain about their players having to go on overseas on international duty during the season, and who are on record as saying they play too many games as it is.

That it will come to pass I have no doubt...to merry hell with the fans who have sustained these clubs throughout so many years....Hong Kong here we come. And as to the slight difficulty that it would be unfair for the likes of say Derby County to end up playing Man Utd 3 times in a season and therefore almost certainly facing an enhanced threat of relegation? Well that is easily solved isn't it? No more relegation from the premiership.


Anyway, who needs Premiership football? You can see from this picture the lengths some people will go to to watch Northampton Town these days.



Anyone would think we were playing a 'Big Team' yesterday - like Leeds United or some such side?

We went for a walk

on Thursday evening. It was a walk with a very entertaining guide,and he took a group of us round London's Inns of Court. In very many ways this was a fascinating walk. For a start, it is hard to believe until you see with your own eyes how many beautiful buildings and gardens are hidden away right in the heart of the city. As someone who is also really into history, it is always amazing to be told things like "Oliver Cromwell's office was here." And I like Charles Dickens too, so it was great to have Bleak House brought to life.

What will stick longest in my mind though about this walk was the fact that of a group consisting of about 30 people, a grand total of 7 of us managed not to have got lost within the first 40 yards. A search party had to be despatched to find those who proved incapable of following a bloke who was at least 6 foot 2 and wearing a silly hat with a very loud and commanding voice down a straight road for 40 yards without taking a wrong turning. Their boss, for it was a walk organised through Reidski's work, was on the verge of sacking the lot of them on the grounds of mass incompetence.

I don't know why

there is a copy of Monday's Daily Star in my front room, but I blame the teenagers. Still, it was fun to read a two page spread on Grange Hill which begins "Grange Hill is celebrating 30 years and is still going strong with a new series due to kick off soon."

Two days later and as all we Brits know this, as reported in the Daily Star with no mention of the article they produced 48 hours before, happens.

I have the most enormous spot.

It is about an inch to the right of my lips.

It has been here since Monday and shows no sign whatsoever of moving on.

I am not happy!

Spot Update: Monday 11th February.

Spot still going strong. I am becoming The Incredible Spot.

Wednesday already?

Well my team won the quiz on Friday. Winning is always nice - not that we do it that often, but Friday's victory was exceedingly sweet. We were playing The Untouchables. That is the polite name for this particular team in which four persons are always present, but only two ever answer; a husband and wife who know absolutely everything, but far worse that that - take the whole village quiz thing Very Seriously. They have completely altered what used to be a fun evening out to one that is tense and unpleasant since they started 'playing'. But on Friday - apart from an alegbra round over which I prefer to draw a veil - everything went right for us, and we didn't just beat them by a little bit. We were The Destroyers of The Untouchables. And it isn't just us that doesn't like them as was well evidenced by the massive cheer we got when the results were read out.

The Untouchables are the ones who knowing a round was coming up on motorway service stations researched the sodding things in advance. And when baby sitters go round pre quiz they hear them testing each other with general knowledge questions.

I feel I have to mention again that we are talking here about a silly little village quiz.


Also, on Sunday Reidski and I arrived late for the quiz at his local and even though there was an entire round on science - SO not our subject - we finished that a respectable fourth.... and I hasten to add that not all the other teams were as dumb as the four American girls whose sheet we were marking. There is something very depressing in realising that when four Americans are asked " Ottawa is the capital of which country?" not one of them can come up with the answer.

Various things that are mainly too good to be true.

First of all – thanks to everyone who has commented in the past few days. I will respond properly, but where I am at the moment I can’t get on the blog to do so and I know I will struggle to get on the computer at home till early next week. I have been trying to find out if what my bastard landlord is up to is actually legal, but how a Citizen ever manages to get advice from Citizens Advice, seeing as how they never actually answer their phones, I am sure I don’t know.

Hope everyone has had a good week

What with it having just been January I have been full of good intentions and have practically moved in to my gym these past few weeks. In fact I have just counted up and I have attended no fewer than 24 classes in the past month. A total world record for me – but I have to admit that the vast majority of those have been 15 minute Power plate sessions I have been going to them during lunchtimes but I really couldn’t decide if they were doing any good or if I was the victim of a giant confidence trick in my belief that just 15 minutes of an exercise session in which I hardly break sweat can possibly be doing any good whatsoever. The words “Too good to be true” kept playing in my head. In fact I was on the verge of saying “Waste of time” when a woman I was chatting to declared her body was transformed after just 6 weeks of regular power plate sessions. Therefore I vibrate on – for the time being at least.

I also had a few attempts at astanga yoga but decided it was boring. Or to be slightly more honest, I persuaded myself it was boring because I was the only beginner in a class where every other sod could turn themselves inside out, and by my calculations it would take me the rest of my life plus several years to get to where they all are now. Yes, I admit it – I don’t like being crap, and so it is back to the aerobics class for me - which it just so happens I am rather good at!

I was telling a neighbour how many times I had been to the gym recently. “Well” she replied, “I am training for a triathlon.” Don’t you just hate it when that happens?

Football – and after a stunning display last Friday which was frankly too good to be true, Reidski came up on Tuesday to witness a distinctly mediocre one when we played Brighton. That we won leads me to assume there must have been a mass planting of four leafed clovers on our pitch. We were lucky, lucky bastards. Best bit was when one of their players went over in the penalty area and supporters all around us were on their feet baying for him to be booked for diving as appeals by Brighton for a penalty were waved away. As the Brighton player was indeed booked for telling the referee what he thought of his decision making, the baying supporters around us sat back down all agreeing “Cast iron penalty.” As indeed it was.

And having been SO good all month, when Reidski came up again last night we went for a steak. There is this very nice gastro pub near where I live, but it is expensive which means I hardly ever go there. Anyway, I drive past it at least twice a day, and all through January they had a sign up saying “ Two steak meals and a bottle of wine £19.95.” “Like power plates,” thinks I. “Too good to be true.” But it wasn’t. It was absolutely true and not a single catch to be found in any small print, so a very lovely meal indeed was devoured.


(Bit deleted and sent to the Other Place)

Well I don’t know the answer to that one, but hope I will know at least some of the answers in our village quiz in which I take part tonight, and indeed at Reidski’s pub quiz which I will be taking part in on Sunday.

I am going to have a lovely weekend – I hope you all do too.

A fact of life is that

the rich get richer. My landlord doesn't have to struggle to get by. In 2004, the last figure I could find my landlord was struggling along on £70 million.

Well times must be tough. I have just had a letter informing me my rent will go up by £50 a month. That in itself bad enough but what has really wound me up is this paragraph at the conclusion of the letter.

"For all tenancy renewals, there is now and administration fee of £50 made payable to Rich Bastard Estates Management Service, which I trust is acceptable."

No it fucking well is NOT acceptable. For writing one sodding letter - not even troubling to come out and check the property - and not even having to communicate with my bank (it is a standing order so that will be my job), they think it is OK to implement a £50 charge.

Any suggestions as to how I should respond?

Now the pub

mentioned here is not one I have ever been in. No matter how many name changes it has had in various attempts to shake off its dreadful reputation in the town, it will always be the haunt of working girls and drug dealers. As a result it is not a total shock to read in our local paper that the pub has been banned from using its garden due to the porn magazines and condoms being thrown into Debenhams car park next door. Not at all the kind of items the discerning shopper would expect to find in Debenhams car park.

I was however a bit taken aback to read that in addition to the porn and condoms, the regulars at the Boston Clipper are discarding blow up animals too. I suppose there are some who would find this little beauty pretty hard to resist....



but I just hope that doesn't include anyone I know!

Reidski tells me via text

That the dog has caused massive disruption to travel in London today.

What a naughty pooch that dog must be.

Question for the day

OK - I know we had a power cut last night and strange things can happen in the pitch dark, but why is there a dried up chip in my make up bag?




I am a very happy Cobbler this morning btw.We were SO good last night that I suspect the entire side will be drug tested this morning for evidence of performance enhancing medication.

What a rogue!

I do hope this guy is in a strong trade union. Apparently his employers have commenced disciplinary procedures. I think he is going to need a little assistance with that.

It is very difficult

to please teenagers.

I took a friend of my sons to London recently. He had never been before although he nearly went recently. He told me that his parents told him and his sisters they were going to stay in London for a weekend and he was really excited. They drove down on the Friday evening and booked into a hotel. It was then that his mum and dad played their trump card. "Ha ha! You kids thought we were having a weekend in London, but guess what - actually we are all flying out first thing tomomorrow for a fortnight in Florida!!!!"

Heath told me he was gutted.



And I am still laughing about that several weeks later.

Scotland wins prestigious event

When I read this I found myslef feeling delighted for Dr Rory O'Connell and indeed the whole of the Scottish nation. After all, as he says "It is a great coup for Scotland to host the bi-annual symposium on suicide and suicidal behaviour.This is the most prestigious suicide-prevention conference in Europe..."

What ever makes you happy I always say...though it isn't quite like winning the Olympics is it?

What use is sitting alone in your room

when you could go out and see Cabaret in the West End, which somewhat surprisingly starred Julian Clary. He was very good.

It was quite a strange experience watching it. The first half featured lots of sexual decadence, nudity, and smacked bottoms. The Clifford character was very non-descript, but others were strong. It just felt like 'something' was missing - it was quite low key even for numbers like Mein Herr. Then the first half ended with 'Tomorrow Belongs to Me', and as the curtain fell many of us in the audience just sat there with out a clue how to respond. Yes, he sang it very well, but tumultuous applause for a number sang by a Nazi who correctly predicts the immediate future didn't seem quite right as I am sure you can appreciate.

The second half was a lot stronger and the ending was very moving. It even shut up the 'Whoopers' in the audience. It was my first experience of Whoopers in a theatre audience. Gay kiss on stage - "WHOOP!" Topless woman walks cross stage - "WHOOP!" Simulation (I think) of sex doggy style - "WHOOP!" You get the picture. Reidski was ready to kill them by the interval.

The other thing about is was that for our second West End theatre trip in the past two months there were loads of empty seats and we got £55 tickets in great seats for £20. This is obviously a good time to get a bargain theatre ticket, but you can certainly detect that West End theatre is struggling.

New blog

If you haven't yet discovered The Khmer Rouge Strippergram you need to put that right straight away. What genius, if somewhat warped, minds could be behind this I wonder????

Slight mishap for my eldest son last weekend.

He drove over to his mate Sam’s house for the evening. He was stopping over for the night.

It was about 11.00 when Sam’s dad shouted down the stairs to them and asked if D had popped out in his car. “No! He’s right here,” replied Sam. “Shit!” yells Sam’s dad. “Someone has nicked his car!”

My son, Sam and Sam’s mum and dad all ran out the front in the kind of panic that grips you in these situations. D’s car, which had been parked in the driveway was gone.

Sam’s mum grabbed the phone and started calling the police. D grabbed his phone to ring me. Thankfully though he never finished dialling as had I taken the “My car has been nicked” call I would have gone completely mad.

D never finished ringing me because Sam had looked across the road and asked, quite reasonably, what D’s car was doing in the middle of their neighbours front garden? A somewhat immaculate front garden by all accounts.

(Do they not cover use of the hand brake in driving lessons these days?)

Apparently the neighbour concerned is a really grumpy and cantankerous old git and Sam’s parents advised against going to knock on his door and own up. Instead a clandestine operation to rescue the car was launched. Naturally, D’s wheels started spinning and damage was sustained to the old git’s lawn. Sam and his dad gave him a push and he was free. He wisely parked around the corner out of sight of the house with the no longer so immaculate front garden now featuring a rather lopsided topiary squirrel. I would love to go and collect a photo of said lopsided squirrel but from what I hear searchlights and land mines are being placed as I type to deter future vandalism. I think I will steer well clear.....as D did eventually.

People I don't understand

People who use Sat Nav in their cars.

Why don't they use a map?

But yesterday I have to admit I could have done with one myself.

I went to make a home visit in a dreadful place called Daventry. I set out complete with street map. Stopped on the outskirts of the dreadful place and consulted my street map, only the address I had was not in the street map. Hummm. I rang the woman I was visiting. She told me the name of the estate she lived on and the name of a pub I needed to turn left after. She then gave me the following instructions which I am able to repeat as I wrote them

down.

"The road kind of branches...go left there...kind of zig zag round then there is another road...its about the third one - no wait - must be the fourth - hang on - it's the fifth - I'm sure it's the fifth. Yes, go down there." Me - "Is it on the right or the left? And what is the road called I am looking for?" Her "Right I think. I can't think what it's called.Anyway, go down it and then zig zag again till you see a block of flats. And that's us." Me - "OK. See you in about five minutes."

Half an hour later after a really really annoying period of my life spent driving around a sodding housing estate where no one had ever heard of the road I was looking for a post man rescued me and I found her house. "Hee hee" titters the stupid woman. "I realised after I spoke to you that it is right where the road branches isn't it? and it was the third road after that you needed to go down wasn't it? But don't worry, you're not the first - everyone gets lost tryng to find me. Hee hee."

"I can't imagine why" I said through gritted teeth, my normal good humour having well and truly deserted me.

It has been far too long

since I last went on about Coronation Street, but a remark from Norris tonight (he of quotes like "You only have to put me in a room with a pistachio and I come out in blotches.") should not go unacknowledged.

Speaking to Sally Webster whose husband Kevin is currently residing at her majesty's pleasure: "Prison is a slippery slope. Before you know it there is some man mountain trying to make you his significant other." That made her feel much better I'm sure.

Catch up

(Stuff moved to the other place from here.)

Not in the same league of bizarre was my conversation with an ex-colleague of mine, who is slightly on the eccentric side. She told me she had a weekend away in the Lake District coming up. "Walking?" asks I thereby making the same assumption 99.9999% of the population would make. "No, belly dancing", she replied, being the 0.0001% of the population who would actually be telling the truth and not in fact taking the piss out of the asker of such an obvious question. So in answer to the question, "Who would travel four hours to the most wonderful walking country in England for two days of belly dancing? " "My friend Rose would."

Funniest episode was with my two aunts, one aged 74 and the other 62 who were sitting next to each other at my mum's chatting. The older one, Rene, had been given a mobile phone for Christmas with which she was inordinately pleased. She has taken to leaving messages for my uncle Brian who acts as her taxi driver which always begin with "This is Rene. Rene your sister in law." (In case he wasn't quite sure who Rene was, having only been related to her through marriage for the past 40 plus years.) We all enjoyed these messages which my uncle has been good enough to save. Anyway, Rene had had numbers stored in her phone and whilst sitting next to my aunt announced she was going to just ring her daughter Paula. Much pressing of buttons ensued as she found her address book on the phone. She speed dials and waits. At that exact same moment my other aunt's phone rings. "Hello?" she says. "Hello?" says my auntie Rene. "Rene?" says my auntie who happens to be called Pauline. "Pauline?" says my auntie Rene who simply can not understand why the sister she is sitting next to is answering her daughter Paula's phone.

Ekk - just seen time. Love you and leave you folk as work beckons.

24 months ago today

I had a day off work.

I had arranged a date with a man I had never met before. It was my first ever blind date and I had hardly slept I was so worried it would be a disaster. Naturally I looked like hell that morning.

I caught a train to London. When I arrived at Euston Station at 11.48am precisely, I was met by this Scottish geezer who looked like George Graham and who was holding one of those signs you usually see at airport arrivals and it read 'Just Jane'. I had spent the past several days trying to come up with some superbly witty first words for when I finally met Reidski. In the event of course I was so sodding nervous whatever I came out with was practically unintelligible, and he must have feared he was landed with the Care in the Community Annual Outing to the Big City.

We went to the pub. And then had lunch. Then went to another pub. Then another. Then another. And then I THINK (although it did all become a little cloudy after a few (8) hours of excessive drinking)we went in one last pub before I got the train home.

Anyway, I managed to get him drunk enough to persuade him to see me again.

I think I can honestly say my blind date was quite a success.

I pride myself on my footballing knowledge*.

My comments this season on our young midfield player Bradley Johnson have included:

"Get that useless pile of crap off the pitch."

"I do not understand why that headless chicken has STILL not been dropped!"

"Oh! I didn't realise Johnson was playing." (In the 88th minute as he receives a booking.)

"He thinks he is bloody Stevie Gerrard - well I just think he's a stupid tosser."

Leeds United, and various other sides who were chasing him didn't seem to agree with my assessments..



Good luck to the lad.

I always liked him.


And no, I am still not talking about Millwall's injury time equaliser which entirely ruined my New Year Day.

* Like knowing Dulwich Hamlet has no 'S' after Hamlet (Fatalist!!!)

More on Dublin

So back with Dublin’s fair city.

The most interesting place we visited was Kilmainham Gaol When we got there we found we could not get on a tour of the prison itself and we debated whether or not to just go into the museum they have there, and I am so glad we did. In particular they have a wonderful display about The 1916 Easter Rising.

It was after the Easter Rising of 1916 that the Gaol served its most important role in the history of Ireland when some of the rebels were executed by the British Army. Reaction to the rebellion in Ireland to that point had been mixed, but the execution of Irish people caused uproar –especially that of James Connolly who was so ill he could not stand to be shot, and so was tied to a chair instead.

What was most touching in the whole exhibition were the last letters written by the 15 men who were due to die by firing squad to their loved ones. In particular the letter Joseph Plunkett wrote urging Grace Gifford to come at once to the prison and marry him is so moving. They were married for two hours before he died and Grace was later immortalised in a song named after her.

One slightly awkward moment in that museum. They had mug shots of various past prisoners which gave their name, crime and sentence. I could have done without being the person someone else’s young and sheltered daughter asked what buggery was, having just read that some poor sod got a twelve year stretch for said offence. At least I could tell her mother it was good that she has an enquiring mind.

Apart from that I also went to a fabulous pub, had another great meal just off Temple Bar here and enjoyed a wander around Grafton Street, Merrion Square and St Stephen’s Green

We did not however get to the Guinness Storehouse – we decided with regret it would be a bit much to inflict on the four teenage girls in our group – but hey, there is always next time.

I conclude my tales from the Emerald Isle with a picture of a pretty bridge which was just outside our hotel.

Dublin continued

I see I left a Swift quote at the bottom of my last post. I hadn't actually meant to do that as I had intended to waffle on about Jonathan Swift but ran out of time. I will however leave it as looking back it pretty much sums up the experience of anyone visting this blog!

We went in St Patricks Cathedral which had plenty of information about their former Dean, the very same Mr Swift. Normally I wouldn't be too interested in anything a Dean had to say, but when they make such Modest Proposals as to suggest the Irish might ease their economic troubles by selling children born into poverty as food for rich gentlemen and ladies then even I would be happy to pay attention."A young healthy child well nursed, is, at a year old, a most delicious nourishing and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee, or a ragout." Hard to imagine the present Archbishop of Canterbury coming out with something like that.



Still more to come on the Dublin experience but for now I am off to try something new for me- Astanga yoga. Must have had a rush of blood to the head when I signed up for that, but I will try anything once (except foie gras). Then off to Reidksi's for the evening.

Dublin

In spite of the best efforts of snotty fellow guests on New Years Eve we had a great time in Dublin.

We got there about lunch time on Sunday and had lunch in a place recommended to me by John of Counago and Spaves and I would in my turn recommend The Elephant and Castle to anyone. It was excellent.

Then we had a wander round Trinity College....



Then we did the open top bus tour with the most hilarious tour guide I have ever heard. As well as pointing out the obvious tourist spots he told us nuggets of info like one about Dublin's Heuston Railway Station. This had 8 platforms and then another was added - Platform 10. "Where" the good folk of Dublin asked "is platform 9?" The station management put out a press release to explain why there was a platform 10, but not a platform 9. They explained to a perplexed public that there was no platform 9 as that would only have confused people. :-) The same guide also told some good jokes and sang 'Molly Malone' to us, thereby earning every cent of his tip.


More later.
Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.

This was the advert for our break

'NEW YEAR' 2 NIGHT DINNER PACKAGE 2007/2008
A value-added 2 nights ‘New Year’ Package – allowing guests to party for longer in true Irish style!
The Clarence’s ‘New Year’ package is available from Sunday 30th December 2007 – Tuesday 1st January 2008 inclusive and is a 2 night minimum stay package.
The package rates include 2 nights accommodation, Full Irish breakfast each morning. Dinner on New Year’s Eve, this includes a welcome glass of champagne on arrival, a 5 course Tasting Menu dinner for two seating at 8.30pm, live music in the Tea Room from 10pm – 12.30am, with continued New Year’s Eve celebrations till 2.30am in the Octagon Bar.

And all this at a hotel owned by real life rock and rollers. And as we all know of course, true rock and rollers don’t just party a little bit – they party HARD man.

So we were, we believed, invited to party in true Irish style which to me and my mates kind of suggested drinking and dancing till the wee small hours. To be on the safe side however my friend who was taking a group of 13 of us away for New Year did have long and detailed conversations with the hotel before making the booking. She made it clear there would be 13 of us. She asked about the party on New Years Eve itself and was assured there would be music and dancing continuing till 2.30am. We would be, she was promised, assured of a really special party night at their hotel.

It all began so promisingly, with cocktails in the bar, and the promised welcome glass of champagne – or four. They can not be accused of being mean with the champagne. Then we went through to the restaurant(pictured here so you can see how big it was) where every table was booked. “Where” my friend asked of the waiters “is the dance floor?” “No worries there” they said. “Last year everyone just moved their tables back and danced.” As to the other guests, there were a few other tables of more than two, but it has to be said that MOST of the other ‘party goers’ were couples.

We had a big table all set out with party hats, crackers, party horn blowers (no rude comments please) and rattles like the old football terrace ones. Now by my reckoning, at least three of these items make a noise. There was no sign asking us not to use the noise creating items and therefore, naively assuming our friend was paying for us all to have a damn good time at the Clarence Hotel party, we commenced a bit of partying. On went the hats, bang went the crackers, and toot, toot, toot, rattle, rattle, rattle went the tooters and rattles. I think it must have been an entire thirty minutes before the first complaint was conveyed to us by the unfortunate staff along the lines of “We do realise you are all enjoying yourselves, but could you possibly do so more quietly?”

This was easier said than done. There were after all, as I believe I may have already mentioned, 13 of us. Some of us had had a not inconsiderable amount of alcohol. And we included 6 teenagers in our party, all of whom were magically drawn to blowing the tooters and rattling the rattles. So the complaints continued to flow in our direction, along with the dirty looks, and the increasingly lengthy discussions with the hotel management. It didn’t make for the most relaxing evening.

Never mind – there was always the live music to enjoy – not. What we had envisaged was a live band playing either traditional Irish stuff to which you can sing along, or the old classics which make you want to get up and dance. What we got was a low enough key to be horizontal, female jazz singer, who persisted in singing songs that no one had heard of, and even if you had heard of them, you couldn’t possibly dance to. Yes, we did make an effort – when the food was done, we moved our table back in the sure and certain expectation that our fellow party goers would do the same……only they didn’t. But anyway, even we, the determined party people, could not manage to shake a hip to the music on offer. So shortly after midnight we decided to go to the bar instead where if you can recall the hotel information – celebrations will be on going till 2.30am. Only the bar was shut. And in spite of (or possibly because of) our protestations, the bar stayed shut.

We went up to a suite four of us were sharing to party in private – and yes, you have correctly guessed, that we again attracted complaints from other guests who were apparently trying to sleep. I am talking 12.30 on New Year’s Eve here.

Now here is the thing. I wasn’t actually very drunk as I can’t do very drunk any more and I do acknowledge that our table was noisy – certainly in comparison with all the other ‘party goers’ we were. But we were not offensive, we were not swearing at top volume, we kept our clothes on, we did not throw a solitary bread roll, we did not set off a single firm alarm, nor throw a T.V. out of any window, and we certainly weren’t puking up all over the place. Our offence appears to be that we were having fun – or at least – we were having a damn good attempt to have fun…

But we attracted nothing but complaints.

At a so called party.

On the biggest party night of the year.

In the Party Capital of Europe.




Actually, we are on reflection pretty proud of ourselves!

It has come to my attention

as I emerge from my alcohol induced haze that it is 2008.

How the fuck did that happen? I'm still adjusting to being in the 21st Century.



Still - at least I know now I really am not completely past it, having been part of a party who got into trouble for partying too hard - in a 'Rock and Roll Hotel'* in The Party Capital Of Europe.

* Well, we thought what with never having been there before and what with it being owned by Bono and The Edge that it might - at a push if one used a great deal of poetic licence - qualify as a Rock and Roll hotel. Although our taxi driver who took us back to the airport described it as 'The most boring hotel in Dublin.' I will get round to explaining why the taxi driver may have had a point in due course.

Laters!




Happy New Year one and all.

It was pretty poor timing for the season of good cheer

but the book I was reading and finished yesterday of a Christmas evening was a little short on belly laughs, seeing as how it was 'Schindler's Ark.' So whilst the rest of the nation was glued to which ever James Bond film was on yesterday, having finished the book I was looking up various Nazi war criminals to see what eventually became of them.

The sheer scale of what went on in my parents life time in Europe is too far beyond understanding (two million of the Holocaust victims were children), but where this book was really powerful for me was where it considers the actions of certain individuals...men like an SS guard at Plaszow who ensured a couple he had grown to know were on Schindler's list of workers destined for the safety of his factory at Brinnlitz, yet didn't apparently ask himself why if this couple were worth saving, the other Jews were not.

The book never produces a definitive answer as to why Oskar Schindler (and others like him who risked their own lives to save others)did what he did, although I did like the suggestion that he was by temperament an anarchist who loved to ridicule the system. A great example of this was his munitions factory which never produced a solitary shell, nor one single rocket casing. This in spite of being continually monitored by the Armaments Ministry, but thanks to the relentless trickery of his workers who would for example rig the temperature gauge of the furnace to read what should have been the correct temperature, whilst in fact the interior of the furnace was hundreds of degrees cooler, the factory always passed its inspections, and the inspectors would go away feeling sorry for all the terrible and inexplicable teething problems this poor man - Schindler - was experiencing in his factory.

So Schindler was later recognised as a Righteous Person - any non-Jew who saved Jewish lives in the second world war - and in 1962 had a tree planted in his name in the Avenue of the Righteous in Jerusalem. Righteous Person awards and medals have been given to the Norwegian and Danish resisters who helped Jews escape to Sweden, and to villages and families who hid, fed and helped Jews either to escape or to survive. By 1999 16,540 'righteous persons' had been honoured with this title. Over 5,000 are Polish, over 4,000 are Dutch, over 1,700 are French, over 1,200 are Ukrainian and over 1,000 are Belgian. 327 are German. 11 are British. People truly worthy of respect.

Happy Christmas

to all 37 of you!

One thing about having a restricted log is that I know precisely how many readers I have, as it turns out the vast majority of my readers previously had indeed only popped in via google to read about sun blushed tomatoes.

Reidksi and I had a lovely Christmas Saturday together, and I am now the proud owner of the world's most beautiful watch...thank you darling!

Then I came back home yesterday afternoon and went to a family do at my cousin's house...where there had been a little bit of unpleasantness recently in the attic.

There is a ladder in my cousin's attic which is loose on its railings. A couple of weeks ago it was necessary for my aunt - house sitting for my cousin Penny who was at work - to take the TV ariel man up into attic. He realised on climbing into the attic that it would be helpful to have his tool box so he went back to the ladder, which as he climbed down came off its railings, and my aunt watching from on high saw the poor man hanging on to the ladder looking directly up at her through the rungs of the ladder from his fast moving downward and backwards position below her. He landed flat on his back and screaming in agony. No one else was in and my aunt was calling down to him "Mr Johnson, Mr Johnson - are you alright? I can't help you! I am stuck in the attic!" Some time passed before Mr Johnson decided he was in fact able to move and rescued my aunt from the attic. When he got downstairs he discovered Penny's dog had weed in his tool box. The satellite dish did not get fixed that day.

My aunt suggested to Penny it would be a good idea to get the ladder railing fixed as soon as possible, but naturally this was good advice that was soon forgotten. Although it did come back into Penny's mind when a couple of weeks later on a Friday evening she went up into her attic to bring some Christmas decorations down - and the ladder slipped off its railings again as she was just beginning her ascent clattering to the floor, leaving Penny to pull herself back up into the attic to prevent falling where she swiftly realised she was a)stuck, and b) quite quite alone save for her dog who was leaping around on the landing below - but frankly not being too helpful. Her two sons had gone to their dad for the weekend - it occurred to her she could be there all weekend without being missed.

She kept thinking about jumping - but kept losing her nerve. Then REJOICE! Carol singers came to the door.

Carol singers - "Hark the herald angels sing"

Penny - "HELP!"

Carol singers - "Glory to the new born king."

Penny - "HELP!"

Penny's dog - "BARK, BARK, BARK, BARK" thereby drowning out any chance the carol singers would hear Penny.

She eventually escaped by throwing things down onto the landing in a pile so that she did not have so far to jump.

She rang up her mum as she was in need of sympathy as well as a stiff drink.

"Mum!" she wailed "I've been stuck in my attic for THREE HOURS!!!!"

"When" asked her mother "are you ever going to ring me with good news?"



Oh - and the satellite dish still isn't fixed because when poor Mr Johnson came back again he disturbed a bees nest in the roof and got horribly stung. Rumour has it he is now undergoing intensive therapy as result of the trauma caused by having contact with my family.


Have a good holiday y'all!

Glengarry Glen Ross

Last night Reidski and I went to see this
superb David Mamet play which is on in the West End and stars Jonathan Pryce. It had had nothing but excellent reviews and I had really wanted to see it, but guessed I wouldn’t get the chance as it finishes its run on 12th January, and Reidski already had tickets to see it with some others. Luckily for me however, he saw a really good offer for which we not only got the theatre tickets but also a meal at a Spanish restaurant in Covent Garden for £20.00 each.

The meal – tapas – was very good, but en route to the theatre we assumed we would have pretty average seats. On the contrary though when we arrived we were told we had been ‘up-graded’ – and in fact we sat at the front of the stalls. A real bargain.

But why was it such a bargain, and why were we up graded to better seats? Well although I would love to say we were up graded because of our wonderful charm and personalities, I have to say it was more likely to have been because the theatre was half empty, and would have been emptier still if last minute.com had not successfully sold so many of their dinner and theatre tickets. I recognised at least half the audience from the restaurant we had just been to.

It seems such a shame that a play of such high quality is not selling out every night of its run. It seems to be the case that all West End theatre goers really want is a musical – though not this one apparently which proves I guess that we do have a modicum of discernment when it comes to theatre going. (And I speak as a Madonna lover myself!)

Anyway, see Glengarry Glen Ross whilst you still can – this time next month it will be so gone man.

Vegetarians Gone Wild!! Armstorng and Miller

It's kicking off Pru!

I had

three tickets for The Kaiser Chiefs at Earls Court on Friday night. so what did I do with them? I gave them to my two sons and one of their mates. The question I am asking myself having spent most of the afternoon being shown truly brilliant clips of the exact same gig on You Tube is what in god's name made me give those tickets away????

I drove them down as a) it was so much cheaper than them all getting the train and b) it meant I could meet up with Reidski,his best mate from up North, T.N.R, and Mrs T.N.R. who are staying at Reidski's for a few days. The four of us went to what is our fave Italian restaurant in London. and had a great meal as always, but it was rather livelier than usual due I think to a new and inept waiter who somehow offended some regulars who left without eating, at which point it "All kicked off" * outside with lots of elderly Italians scrapping in the street including the manager (70 if he is a day) and his wife (kung fu leaps and everything! I exaggerate in the interests of keeping it unreal), and continued inside with the aforementioned new waiter being bawled out by the owner in front of a packed and frankly hugely entertained audience of diners.

Then I met the lads to get them home and they were just buzzing with the excitement of what had been their first 'major' gig, and I tried so hard to be more pleased that they had had such an ace time, than I was jealous sick although obviously I failed miserably.) I can't really remember my first 'major' gig as I don't believe Showaddywaddy(who I have just learnt are from Leicester - explains a lot, or Johnny Johnson and the Bandwagon really count. They used to play the Sands Showbar which was my haunt for lack of choice in the mid 70's. I just tried to find a link to this, but instead got side tracked by this which is Elvis at The East Coast Pensioners Hall, Christmas Party 2007. I had to register with the site to see that, but I am sure if you do likewise you will have to agree it is worth 3 minutes 2 seconds of anyone's lifetime to watch that craziness. ( A vision of the hell that could be retirement!)



* Our current favourite saying is "It's All Kicking Off" thanks to the genius that is Armstrong and Miller (see clip posted above - just for a change it is not my spelling mistake in the title but blogger won't let me change it. There must be copyright on the typo or some such thing.).

Not Stuart Gray* then!

But this guy instead.

Last night Five Live Drive asked people to ring in with their suggestions as to what English phrases Capello needed to learn first. My personal favourite was "We can take a lot of positives from that defeat." ("Possiamo prendere i positives molto da quella sconfitta" being the Italian for this useful phrase.)

Any more offers?

* Spelling checked and double checked Martin!!!!

Advice that would have fallen on deaf ears.

Yorkshire Pudding put me up to this one, and it has been on my mind for a few days.

What advice would I give to myself aged 13, given what I know now?

My own daughter was 14 in October and I look at her and think how much more sensible she is than I ever was at her age. She seems really comfortable with who she is in a way that I, awkward and shy as I was, could only have dreamt of being. I think she has benefited from having older brothers and being in a mixed sex school, and therefore having a fundamental understanding that boys are just – well – people, rather than being the alien species I suspected them to be when I was just 14 and at the time in an all girls school.

She has not done many of the stupid things I had already done by the time I was her age - snog boys when I didn’t really want to but was more afraid of being called a lesbian if I refused, drink alcohol I didn’t actually like (rum and black – YUK!!!) , skip school because I would be called a wimp if I didn’t, hang out with ‘friends’ no parent would ever approve of because I was too scared of them NOT to try and be ‘mates’. And the reason I am confident enough to state she hasn’t done these things is that she also has the ability to talk to me about these things, which stupidly I never did, but sincerely wish I had done when I was younger, to my mum.

I genuinely wish I could have been more like my own daughter is now than I was at her age. I look back and wish I had had more confidence in myself and in my abilities. I would tell myself being clever was something to be proud of and cherished rather than hidden as something to be embarrassed about. I would certainly tell myself that mum was right when she said one day I would be pleased I was tall because I spent much of my early teens desperately unhappy that I was horrible and gawky against all my 5 foot nothing petite friends. Oh – and keep my hair short – long never did suit me as my mother always tried to impress upon me, and as photographic evidence proves.

I could obviously provide a list of men to be avoided at all costs, and suggest that volunteering for the Nelson Mandela March in June 1987 from Glasgow to London might have a fringe benefit of meeting someone really special – but if I did that I wouldn’t have the kids I have and I can’t imagine anything more terrible than that. Plus I could tell my 13 year old self that there is still much to look forward to when you reach your late 40’s – not that she would believe me – that’s fucking ancient!

I could also suggest some jobs never to apply for in the first place starting with Jackson’s Supermarket Trainee Manager in Hull – Worst Job in The World Ever!

What else to Young Gawky Jane?

Well…Strong advice to always hold on to your skirt when travelling on escalators could save future embarrassment of the ‘losing one’s dress in public’ variety.

Definitely travel more than I did before I had kids (but with care when on escalators – see above).

Life might be more pleasant if you could wean yourself off that stupid football team and pick another one who might actually win something from time to time (Not Tottenham!)


More seriously, put the effort in to keep friendships in tact, and show people who matter to you how much you love and value them. Two of my very best friends now are back in my life after a gap of far too many wasted years. And never ever for example say that you no longer care for someone in particular, as when two days later they have a terrible car crash and nearly die you will blame yourself thinking that had you never made the stupid remark as recorded in your diary at the time the accident would not have happened (illogical I know but …). Thankfully that person is both alive and kicking, and Reidski and I met up with him again recently.

But all in all – ‘Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again’ etc etc. I’ve obviously made mistakes along the way, but hopefully I have learnt from them and I think that mostly, you do need to find these things out for yourself - except for smoking where you will just have to take my word for how vile that is!

So Young Jane remember that it’s not all Cobblers – it is worth living – and to borrow another song title which you won’t hear for many years yet, ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’.


And now for God’s sake 13 year old Jane – Stand up straight and get your hair cut !!!!



It would be interesting to read what others would say to their 13 year old selves if anyone fancies having a go.

Apparently

the author of this article is single.

And likely to remain so I would say.

Our Service Sector

Reidski and I have had our fair share of crap service from miserable gits in the past few weeks as mentioned in his post Can't Shape Up which I can't do an exact link to for some reason. We are not alone if Katy Newton's experiences of trying to buy a cup of tea or trying to get a taxi
to London Bridge are anything to go by.

Very funny in the retelling, but both incidents coming one on top of the other, must have been SO annoying at the time.

Toff Pops Clogs

Count Gottfried von Bismarck, who was found dead on Monday aged 44, was a louche German aristocrat with a multi-faceted history as a pleasure-seeking heroin addict, hell-raising alcoholic, flamboyant waster and a reckless and extravagant host of homosexual orgies.

For those of you who inexplicably do not make a habit of reading the Telegraph obits this one is a classic.

A short life, but hardly dull.

When hassle comes

like troubles they don't come as single spies do they?

This morning I get a call whilst getting ready to leave the house from my son who announces he has run out of petrol. Naturally this means mum must drop everything and dash to the rescue. I get to him and provide the necessary juice for him to get to school, but then I noticed one of his tyres is practically flat. I impressed upon him the importance of getting his tyre changed as soon as he got to school.

I am by now a little pushed for time, so was not a happy bunny to find my back roads route of choice closed due to fallen trees (it was a wild and windy night round our parts.)So I go the way of all the other traffic - by which I mean I go extremely slowly - we crawled along but I still had half an hour to get where I needed to be at 10.00, and as it was ordinarily only a 10 minute drive I was quite relaxed.

Until the man in the inside traffic lane to me tells me I have a puncture. "What?" I asked myself "is it with my family and tyres this morning?"

I pull off on to what may once have been a grass verge, but is now a mud pit. I get out and sink ankle deep into the mud. I determine to be a capable woman and change the tyre myself. I fail miserably at the first hurdle when I can't even work out how the jack is supposed to work. Male assistance is summoned.

I arrived for my 10.00 appointment at 11.

On leaving my appointment I then got stuck in the traffic jams once again and a journey which should have taken 5 minutes managed to take nearly an hour. This can't happen soon enough. No wonder no one shops in our town centre anymore.

Anyway, what I need tonight is a drink.

And as tonight is Reidski's work Christmas party



I suspect getting one won't be a problem (or a drink ;-) )

Things that go bump in the night

Haven't mentioned my crazy sister for a while so here goes.

Twas midnight, and all through the house not a creature was stirring ....but outside it was a different story.

My niece aged 10 was woken up by very loud banging coming from the back garden. She was terrified and shouted for her mum, who upon hearing what she described as incredibly loud banging was terrified too.

My niece was in tears and my sister did not dare go outside on her own to confront whoever was obviously trying at the very least to break into her house. She rang her next door neighbours and when they did not answer left a voice mail along the lines of "HELP!!!" She then tried the people who live across the road from her and they woke up and answered. She told them about the banging, but they said they could hear it anyway. They said they would be across to help. My sister on seeing their approach opened the door and at the same time her next door neighbours who had been disturbed by the phone and then listened to the message also emerged in their dressing gowns. (Did I mention it was cold and raining?)

There was no sign of any stranger around, and the noise had stopped. They all looked around but to no avail - until a cat suddenly jumped over the fence from the garden of the elderly lady who lives the other side to my sister. At this point the incredibly loud banging commenced again.


It was my niece's pet rabbit scaring the cat off.


Very effectively.

Obviously my sister's neighbours were not at all put out at being woken up and dragged out of bed to tackle a pet rabbit?????

They are terrifying though don't you think?

Arcade Fire

Remiss of me not to have mentioned that Arcade Fire were also totally stunning.

Interpol - Evil (live)

Beg, steal or sell your body to get a ticket to see Interpol live.

They were fucking tremendous, and it was when they did this track that I am reliably informed I went 'Mental'.

Grey for England Manager's Job

I can confirm today that Northampton Town manager Stuart Grey has not ruled himself out of contention for the vacant position as the next England Manager.

Stuart Grey would find it hard to resist a serious offer to become England's new coach. However, the Football Association will lose this popular supporters' choice for the job if they continue to procrastinate over talking with the Northampton Town manager.

In contrast to Fabio Capello, who on Friday spoke about his desire to take on the job, according to associates of Grey's, Grey has himself resolved to say nothing publicly until he knows the FA's intentions.


The FA are yet to contact Grey directly about the England position in the aftermath of Steve McClaren's failure to qualify for Euro 2008 and subsequent sacking. Though a number of individuals claiming to represent the governing body have called Grey's agent, to poll his interest in the position, all inquiries have been deflected as they are widely assumed to be a wind up.


Grey has indicated to family and friends that he is waiting for a senior member of the FA hierarchy to make direct contact and that he is also not prepared to wait indefinitely for the FA.

Noting that England's next international is not until at least February, Brian Barwick of the FA has said that there is no need to rush the selection process. Asked if there was a danger of missing out on a candidate of Grey's calibre by waiting too long, he said: 'The most important thing is that we get the right person. The length of time it will take will be the length of time to get the right person.'

Any resemblance to
this article apart from the grain of truth to be found either there or here is purely coincidental.

A repeat

I promised John a story about me and Reidski at a Swinger's Party - only first we are going to have to get ourselves invited to one. In the meantime though here is one of my favourite stories of Village Folk, which I wrote about before in the Other Place.


The joys of living in a small village where everyone knows everyone else.

On Saturday night (two years ago now, ed.)there was an engagement party in the village hall which turned nasty. This kid aged about 19 announced to a married father of four that he had been 'shagging your missus' and proceeded to share with him the details of how and when it was that he was shagging his missus. Said married father of four wasn't best pleased. Said married father of four was so displeased,and his response so 'physical' that the police were summoned,and he spent the night in the cells to cool down.

On Sunday morning they let him out and he started walking back home (eight miles) but the woman who owns the village shop was driving past and stopped to offer him a lift and he, rather foolishly, told her the whole sorry tale.

It seems that every Tuesday night for the last couple of years, this bloke's wife, Angie, has gone to the 'bingo' with Michelle. But it transpires, this was not exactly 'bingo' as we know it. What it actually was was a swinger's evening, hosted by Michelle, and advertised in various top shelf contact magazines. Angie was it seems, an enthusiatic partipant, as was the 19 year old spotty youth (yuk). Michelle lives in the neighbouring village, in the middle of an estate of semi-detached houses. One can only wonder what the neighbours made of the guests as they arrived in thigh length boots, or whatever one wears for these occasions. And on a slightly bitchy note, what on earth the guests thought when they saw their hosts (think 'Sean of the Dead,' and eliminate the living characters).

Of course, everyone in the village has heard about this by now.

A shadow of suspicion has been cast upon all the females of the village who have ever gone off to 'bingo', and an entirely new meaning has been attached to the word 'bingo' if the talk in the pub last night is anything to go by.*

Maybe this explains the spring in the step of the pensioners around here?

*And we still enjoy this story down the pub to this day. Though strangely Angie's husband never seems that amused by it - sense of humour by pass or what?

Don't mention the Autistic Society

It was a bit daunting when my supervisor and I arrived at the Conference yesterday. For a start, there were many more people than we had been led to expect would be there to listen to us. And then we couldn't find anyone we recognised. Worst of all, they didn't appear to be expecting us. Were we at the wrong venue and if we were, where the bloody hell were we supposed to be?

The answer to that last question turned out to be 'Downstairs.' Right place, wrong conference. We nearly found ourselves addressing the Autistic Society's A.G.M.

I do maintain that it is the kind of thing that could happen to anyone. (?)



(The rest of the day was a success.)

As if a speech at the village school wasn't enough

On Tuesday my supervisor and I are leading a conference in London on the difficulties involved with helping young adopted adults who have been through the care system and who want to find their birth relations again as they are legally entitled to do once they reach the age of 18.

All we actually asked for was the opportunity to discuss this issue with the leading researcher in adoption reunions, but one should know to be careful what one asks for. The researcher's very unexpected response was - "Yes of course, come and tell us all (about 100 fellow adoption workers) about the difficulties you encounter." I am fairly terrified.

But here is a strange thing. The only ever previous time I have been to the venue I will be speaking at on Tuesday I wrote in my then blog that I had been to London and Reidski made a comment that he wasn't speaking to me any more because I had come to London and not met him for a drink. At that time the only communication we had ever had was via comment boxes on his blog and mine but I had a bit of 'a thing' about him, and his comment gave me the nerve to e-mail him and say I'd have that drink next time. Well, when I go to the venue on Tuesday morning I will be leaving from his flat. Life isn't all Cobblers. Some times life is bloody wonderful in totally unexpected ways.

Where to start?

I really do not learn. The reason I left my first blog was because it got me into trouble at work - or rather because some anonymous cunt (yes, first casualty of me going private is my language) reported it to a director of the organisation I work for and he didn't exactly see the funny side. Since moving here I have strived to never mention my job, in spite of there being so many great/sad stories that I often want to talk about, but one good thing I think is that such restraint can now officially be lifted.

(Any reference to person or persons in this place will of course be made with identifying details altered.)

But let me start with a story about management because this is what we talk about every day at work with certain phrases being much employed in relation to it...'Disgrace'....'Scandal'...'Obscene'..and more in that vein.

This week a leaflet we send out to adopted parents and kids twice every year as a means of keeping them informed was rejected by our media and communications department, not because it was inflammatory, not because it brought the organisation into disrepute (my own particular speciality apparently), but because it was the victim of cost cutting. Never mind that not every one has internet access - they want it to go out on e-mail.

I am all in favour of our organisation not wasting money but I would approach money saving from another angle.

For a start, if my Chief Executive decided that he should jump before he was pushed and decided to take early 'retirement' aged 53, I would not send him on his way with a pay off of £297,000 (enough to pay 20 teachers for a year) and a guaranteed pension of £97,000 a year. Offensive enough, but at the time he went the organisation was looking to make approximately 800 job cuts by replacing all admin jobs with a Call Centre and a typing pool, (only we weren't allowed to call it a typing pool - it was officially a 'Professional Support Team' - where they would do all the typing).
This was the bright idea of a very well known company of Chartered Accountants - Price Eye Watering or something like that. For their knowledge and expertise at making people redundant, by which of course I mean making organisations more efficient, they have been charging our organisation (funded by local tax payers btw) £1.5 million a month. Me, I wouldn't spend money on bringing in consultants because if I was appointing highly paid directors I would expect them to be well capable of making strategic decisions themselves rather than bringing in others to do their thinking for them.

Our departed Chief Exec was very keen on the new plan and so was the man who covered his post when he went.

Our NEW Chief Exec upon appointment a month or so ago was not so keen. In fact so unkeen was she, she scrapped the plan. It was perhaps unfortunate that at that late stage the Call Centre and Typing Pool that was Not a Typing Pool had already cost £35 million, not including Price Eye Watering's fees. Still, at least the previously Acting Chief Exec did the sensible thing in his circumstances and cleared his desk that same day - his circumstances being that if he walked he took £97,000 with him which wasn't bad compensation for a Job Badly Done. Back to me and my cost cutting ideas - I wouldn't pay for failure but maybe it is only poorly paid people that get the sack these days?

Of course it isn't only failures in local government that walk away with huge payoffs, is itMr Steve McClaren?.

And don't get me started on the England players - Peter Crouch being the honourable exception.

There was never the slightest possibility I was going to be able to avoid the subject of England was there?

Justice

though not as we know it.

I do wish that we were a bit fussier about which countries we choose to call our very good mates.

Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking

- as in, I have never done it before.

In September this year our village school opened with the brand new extension we had fought for 7 years to obtain. Today we were having an open day to celebrate our wonderful new building. I, as chair of governors,was asked if I would say a few words before the ribbon was cut, and I said that was fine, assuming that I could turn up and say a few thank yous, safe in the knowledge that it would just be the kids at the school, staff and a few devoted parents, most of whom I would know. I was due at the school at 3.00.

So imagine my delight when one of the women who have been organising today rang me up at lunch time whilst I was still at work to check I knew what I would be saying. "Yes," says I, "I have a rough idea." And then as an after thought, "How many are you expecting?" "Oh", she says, "well I have had about 350 replies so far, plus the children of course, and not including the people we have invited as special guests like our M.P, councillors, Director of Childrens Services, the press...." I think she carried on listing people who would be there after that but I had died of shock and my colleagues were having to give me artificial respiration so I didn't quite catch all the names.

Why, oh why, oh why had I not long since prepared a proper speech?

Any pretence at work was abandoned as I set about doing just that. The only advantage in finding out what I was actually going to be faced with at such a last minute stage was that I didn't have time to get nervous. And even though some bastard sabotaged the microphone (or maybe it was knackered?) I did it. I didn't forget anyone I needed to thank. I didn't inadvertently insult anyone. I did however make some people cry, and a lot of them laugh. And people were really nice to me about it afterwards.

So today I did something I would never have thought I could do. And that feels good.

Paxman on another Owen.

If anyone was unfortunate enough not to see Jeremy Paxman's programme about Wilfred Owen there is an article by him about it here.

It must have been good because after I had insisted on watching it I found my 16 year old checking out some of Owen's poems.

Euro 2008

I heard Owen Hargreaves say this week that he hoped England would get what they deserve in the qualification stages for the Euro 2008 competition. Well I bloody well hope we DON'T get what we deserve as I would actually still like to see us qualify.

When this lot was pulled out of the collective hat - Croatia, Russia, Israel, Macedonia, Estonia, Andorra and England - not many England supporters could have anticipated we would be reduced to supporting sodding Israel on 17th November in order for us to have an outside chance of qualifying. Hang on though - surely I dreamt that we failed to beat Macedonia at home last October?

I didn't????!!!!

Oh shit - we really are that bad.

On the same day as I was starting to put in place my travel plans for Austria I was sympathising with Reidksi over the fact that Scotland had managed to end up in the same group as Italy, France, Ukraine, Georgia and Lithuania, though I did fancy they could get a draw against the Faroe Islands. And now there sits Scotland, second in a table that contains both the World Cup Finalists, with 'only' Italy to beat to ensure qualification. Respect!

Meanwhile a group of Austrian football fans calling themselves 'For the Love of Football' have launched a petition to get their own side (who automatically qualify as joint hosts) to pull out of the Finals. They complain that when the Austrian team are on the field "displays of true skill... occur about as frequently as meteorite impacts." Or also according to the guy I heard on the radio - "As frequently as an articulate comment from David Beckham." I like these guys already.


It's a Funny Old Game as I do not believe anyone has ever mentioned before.

Eastern Promises

Reidksi and I saw this last night...most of it anyway. We arrived too later for the first throat slashing scene, and I had to hide my eyes behind his hands for some of the seriously gory scenes. I thought the nude wrestling scene in Women in Love was quite risky until I saw the sauna scene in this film.

Not sure about the film really. Certainly it was a gripping film to watch, atmospheric, and Viggo Mortensen was very good indeed (though whether his character was is open to debate), but the ending was poor and cliche ridden, and whilst I can happily accept the odd huge coincidence in my reading or viewing, there were one or two too many of those in this even for me.

Still, a good evening was had. A drink and bite to eat in one of Northampton's better pubs first, followed after the film by a second drink here which used to be a dive used by 14 year olds and is now very nice indeed - although I was bemused to read in the link that it is in the heart of Northampton's theatre land. What bloody theatre land? Although in all fairness it is next to the fire escape of our one theatre complex so that probably counts in Advert Land.



On another subject entirely - what a good job I just yelled upstairs to enquire if my sons were in fact thinking of going to school today at all. Both sound asleep and supposed to be there at 8.55. Panic has just ensued.

Weekend

Reidski and I went for a walk in Hampstead Heath yesterday. We were up near the Golders Green end, and came upon just by sheer chance this beautiful hidden garden called the Hill Garden.

This is one of the beautiful plants we saw.




There was also an avery which was part of a conservation project for threatened birds. I am really 'into' birds since I was in South Africa. (Have I mentioned my trip to South Africa at all?) So though I felt a bit uncomfortable seeing these birds in pretty small enclosures, it did seem they were doing some good. For example, they have some red crowned cranes - there are now only an estimated 2,000 left in the wild. Part of the reason for this appears to be that they make crap parents. They get so bored laying on eggs that they wander off to find alternative entertainment. Result = no chicks hatch. But at Hampstead in the next door pen they have some silky hens - known for their maternal instincts, and so when a crane lays an egg they give it to the hens to care for. Neat eh?

Talking of neat and breaking my promise not to mention S.A anymore. We saw these nests



built by the male weaver bird to attract the ladiees. Only it has to be a damn good nest to do the trick. Often the female bird will take one look at the pathetic efforts of the male and will just go 'Take a hike loser - not good enough.' And she will expect him to make another one, and if necessary yet another and another before it will meet her exacting standards. The female of the species huh? :-)

After the walk we had a drink here, but having read what the link says about the place I am only surprised they let us over the threshold. Maybe they thought Reidski was in fact George Graham. They wouldn't be the first people to make that mistake.


In the evening we had the most fantastic meal at Chez Gerard which featured the best French onion soup I have EVER tasted.

Thoroughly recommended for a special treat.

Well my eldest is desperate to get on lap top so I will love you and leave you.

Over and out.

So funny

I think so anyway.

Like totally.

Brassed Off - En Aranjuez con tu amor

Watched this when I got back from seeing Reidski today. What a moving and beautiful piece this is.

Friday

I am sure that somewhere in my blogging past I have already reproduced some of the jokes from Mark Billingham books. For anyone who doesn't know, Billingham was a stand up comedian but now concentrates on writing crime novels about a detective called Tom Thorne. During the series of books an underlying theme is about Tom's relationship with his dad Jim. At first it is about his guilt that he doesn't see him as much as he should, then his feelings when his very bright father is diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Two books ago his dad dies in an accident which is probably related to his condition. Now Tom is haunted by his dad in his dreams as he deals with his grief and loss.

I finished Buried last night. Part of the stuff about Tom and his dad have made me cry, but last night a dream that is recalled in the book just made me laugh. So here for a Friday morning are the jokes his dad was telling him about Alzheimer's:

"Do you know they have spent more money on developing viagra than they have on research into Alzheimer's?"
"That's terrible."
"You're telling me. I'm walking round with a permanent stiffy and i can't remember what I'm supposed to do with it."

"Alzheimer's wasn't all bad...you never have to watch repeats on TV, you can hide your own easter eggs, and you are always meeting new friends."

Humm

As opposed to our match last Saturday, last night's match was one upon which I do not care to dwell. The men who were playing in our strip looked exactly the same as the 11 who started the game against struggling Bristol Rovers, but the difference was that this 11 could not play football. We were bloody awful and deserved what we got - we got beat. It didn't help my evening that I took along three Rovers supporters.

This week I have been an initially rather reluctant participant on a three day diversity and heritage course ( I had too much to do in the office to be able to spare three days going over stuff I thought I already knew). However I have to admit it has been excellent, and not only because one lunch was great Bangladeshi food, and another was even better Caribbean nosh. I often work with people who have been adopted into families that do not reflect their own ethnicity, and have frequently felt helpless as to how to help them deal with issues around their sense of identity, but the course has really helped.

One thing we had to do as an early exercise was to get into groups - I was with one white guy, a Bangladeshi woman, a Chinese woman and an African Caribbean woman. We had to produce a list of words used to describe people whose ethnic background is not white British. The words that we listed were mainly vile - although we had also to identify words which are not offensive - but whilst I hated the unacceptable terms we came up with as a white woman hearing them they are not directed at me. To be with a mixed racial group, the majority of whom would have felt the hatred behind such words personally was a very uncomfortable feeling indeed. How papers like the Daily Mail manage to make 'Politically Correct' such an insult is beyind me. Isn't it actually about simple humanity towards others?

On a lighter note Reidski came up to see me on Monday. I think we just laughed all evening. He's my best friend as well as the person I happen to be very much in love with.One thing we discussed was how a rock star avoids becoming a total prat. Most fail to avoid this as evidenced here,
and here, and here, and oh good grief - you don't even want to go here.

There was one person who we both agreed had not only avoided becoming a prat but had achieved a god like status, but if he hasn't yet seen the folly of this goatee I may have to revise my view.



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Stars of the Show Part 2

Sorry - is this cheating on my declaration not to post on South africa again? But I couldn't resist putting these photos up.

Football team victim of daylight robbery

From our scene of crime correspondent:

Northampton Town yesterday put on a scintillating display of footballing skill, forcing the opposition, Southend United to defend for 88 of the 90 minute match. Northampton Town hit the post, hit the bar, and had ten corners to Southend's one. They were also - unbelievably in view of these previously referred to statistics, awarded a penalty for handball. It was perhaps inevitable as the team have had no opportunity to practise penalties since the dawn of time, that when the penalty was taken the ball hit the inside of the post and came straight out again, only then to be kicked wide of the goal.

Northampton Town failed to convert any of their numerous goal scoring opportunities, as an invisible force shield protected the Southend goalmouth.

On the other hand - Southend used their one and only corner to score the only goal of the match.




Games like yesterday's make me want to SCREAM.

The stars of the show

Probably time to draw a line under my trip to South Africa although you will have to excuse the occasional lapse into "When I was in South Africa blah blah."

I have come away with an enhanced appreciation of wildlife and have found myself paying much more attention to our native trees, plants, birds and wildlife than was the case before I left. I think in particular the trip has got me interested in birds, although I don't suppose I am likely to spot four different varieties of eagle round here as I actually did last week.

I am also more aware of how dangerous animals can be. We were told the most dangerous on the reserve to humans were probably the buffalo and the hippos which kill more humans than any other South African animal, but a ranger was killed there four years ago by a crocodile. His dog got into trouble in the river, and he tried to rescue it...unfortunately that was the last thing he ever did. Our ranger told us the only animals which hunt humans as natural prey are crocodiles and polar bears. (We saw the former, but oddly enough - not the latter.)

So here are a few more pics of some of the animals I saw. There were many others - rhino, hippos, wildebeest, a serval which was rare and far too camera shy to stick around and pose, a white tailed mongoose, monitors, various types of antelope, tortoise, turtles, LOADS of different frogs and toads (noisy buggers they were), and we did see a croc too. And I can't believe I haven't already mentioned this but I held a bloody great big millipede - bravest moment of my life!

Sorry to have gone on at such length, but it really was an experience of a life time.


THE VIDEO WORKS!!!! HOORAY!!!!

So

Steve Bell in the Guardian

is spot on with this.

I've had a piece of good news

I got a call from a policeman in Essex.

Going back to March this year as mentioned here, I had my handbag stolen, and as a result of that I ended up as yet another victim of identity theft, with mobile phone contracts and store credit cards being taken out in my name here, there and bloody everywhere.

Well what the nice policeman told me was that they arrested a woman who was caught trying to use a stolen card, and upon searching her found many cards which were clearly forgeries, and several cards which appeared genuine,one of which belonged to me.

She is well and truly nicked.

And I am just SO delighted.

I bet

no one will ever notice I am at home ill again with sod all else to do.