And now for something way more serious.

LATICS BLAST REFEREE DRYSDALE.

Oldham Athletic have made an official complaint to the Football League after they were forced to wear Northampton Town’s socks last Saturday.

Club officials were surprised when Town opted to wear white socks as opposed to the burgundy* version listed with the Football League.

Referee Darren Drysdale refused to back Athletic, who had to play wearing the hosts normal home socks with their blue kit.**

The move left chief executive Alan Hardy fuming.

I am not making this up by the way
as this link should prove, if it hasn't been moved.

One can only start to imagine how nice calm Mr Hardy would react if a dodgy penalty was awarded against his side. He'd be really 'Raging!'I would imagine.

* Editor's note: We play in claret, not bloody burgundy.

** Fashion editor's note: Blue and claret did rather clash - it wasn't a good look.

In which I knowingly break the law

I go to London on the train a lot. What I always used to do was pay for my ticket on line and pick it up when I get to the station. I say 'used to' as I did this up until yesterday but will never do so again.

When you book tickets on line, you have to book a journey some two hours hence as it takes time (god knows why but it does) for the instructions to issue the ticket to arrive at the relevant station. I had never had a problem with this - until yesterday.

I was taking my mum, daughter and niece to London as a birthday treat for my mum. I therefore booked 4 train tickets in my usual on-line manner.

We arrive at Northampton station in high spirits. We didn't know that we would not be departing from there in such good moods. We had 15 minutes before our train was due to depart - plenty of time. I went to collect my tickets.

Right - imagine the most miserable, unpleasant, vilest woman you have ever met and then in your mind try and imagine that person being twice as awful as she already is, and then you may come close to envisaging the person I encountered at the ticket office. I gave this Evil Bitch From Hell (EBFH) my reference number and she entered it on the computer. She then looked at me with ill disguised delight to inform me there was no such booking. "Of course there is such a booking," I said - "You've got all the details there in your hand. "There is no such booking", repeats EBFH. "If you want to travel you will have to buy the tickets again." "I beg your pardon?" "If you want to travel you will have to buy the tickets again."

At this point I get just a little irate, on account of I have already paid for tickets in good faith, and now this EBFH is telling me I will have to buy the tickets again. I suggest she has to be joking (this was a stupid mistake on my part as EBFH obviously wouldn't know a joke if it hit her in her ugly and smug face), and that there must be a way for her to issue me with the tickets for which I had already paid. She assures me with relish that there is not. I ask if she could ring up the ticket issuers what with them being London Midland Trains, and what with her working for London Midland Trains. "No" she said in a tone that clearly demonstrated that the last thing in the world she would dream of doing was anything that might possibly help me and that I was obviously insane to think anything to the contrary.

I go in search of the station manager, although I am not after my experience, convinced that such a person actually exists. This involved the four of us being let through the barriers and pointed in the direction of what was allegedly "Customer Services". I explain to a blank looking young man the difficulty and explained that as I have paid for four tickets, and my payment has been accepted, I am therefore not very happy to be told no tickets can be issued and say "Surely there is something that can be done?" He shakes his head and says "No - I don't think there is."

I then see an older, though equally blank looking man. By this time we have watched the train we expected to be on depart.I repeat my tale of woe and he says "Just your luck to get Shirley" for that is the other name of the EBFH. "Surely" (I kept on saying 'Surely') I said, "You can issue a travel warrant as you have the evidence that I have paid for these tickets?" "I don't know" he says and wanders off with my reference number with a vague promise to talk to 'Someone.'

Well we waited, and we waited. The next train came in and was sitting at the platform. Eventually the two blank men return and tell me there is no record of my booking and I can either buy the tickets again or I can wait around until such time as the internet booking reference gets recognised.

It was at this point that a red mist descended on me and I announced "Right, we are now going to go and get on that train and I will sort it out when we get to Euston.Are you going to stop me? " Then they all but read me my rights and warned me I would get fined £54.00 per person for a single journey taken whilst not in possession of a ticket. "I don't bloody well think so" I said as I marched my mum, daughter and niece on to the train and therefore became A Law Breaker.


It was without doubt the most rebellious thing I have EVER done.







(I rang customer services for London Midland from the train. The very nice lady assured me it was not a problem and the tickets would be available for collection at Euston - as indeed they were. And when I told the ticket inspector my story - well, was I fined £216? No I wasn't. He laughed and told me not to worry about it.)

Windsor Castle is

"The most Romantique castle that is in the world." So said Samuel Pepys in 1666.

J.J, 2008 "Cool."

Well OK - I love history, and have in my time studied the Tudors in particular, and this tour of the castle brings so much to life, but as with the Eton trip, not life as was experienced by the populace at large. There were several things about the tour that were staggering, but rather a lot of things that were frankly obscene in my eyes, but I do have to declare a certain anti- monarchist bias here.

There was one moment when I felt a stab of pity for the Queen. There is a display where some dolls were on display. These dolls were presented to Liz and Margaret when they were little by the French and came complete with an entire set of clothes, jewellery, shoes, cosmetics you name it these dolls had it. What a GREAT present for little girls. The pity I felt was when it was immediately obvious these dolls had never ever been played with. "Don't touch children!" Oh and to have a doll's house which they couldn't play with either. I LOVED my doll's house so much when I was little and can imagine no worse torture at a young age than to be able to look at the best doll's house EVER, and not be allowed to rearrange the furniture. Anyway, I soon got over the sympathy bit when I saw the conditions the royals have had to put up with over the years.

What is really good about a trip round this castle is that you are given an audio commentary which tells you about each area or room you see so even with purchasing a guide book you learn a lot. I did also buy a guide book and am glad I did for the subtle royalist propaganda. For example it describes the armour worn by Henry VIII thus : "The armour records the King's impressive proportions, which were quite exceptional in the sixteenth century. And there was me thinking all these years that he was just a fat bastard!

There is a section in the book about the 1992 fire. It says the Duke of Edinburgh oversaw the restoration project as a whole whilst the Prince of Wales presided over the Art and Design Committee. I can only start to imagine what a delicate task trying not to piss those two off must have been for the other committee members, especially given Charles's views on modern architecture.

Talking of Charles there is a special exhibition in the castle at the moment about royal weddings from Victoria's onwards, but sadly there seems to have been no space (in the biggest castle in Europe) to mention his wedding (either of his weddings in fact.)A veil also seems to have been drawn over the wedding of Andrew to Sarah (see this link for welcome reminder of her dress sense, which for some reason puts me in mind of Aintree.)

So, in brief now as I am in danger of waffling on for ever and I need to get to the gym, I saw lots of expensive paintings, lots of expensive furniture, lots of expensive stolen goods (nicked whilst we were busy expanding the empire), and a lovely Gothic chapel. Very strange feeling indeed to know that at one point the mortal remains of both Henry VIII and Charles I were below my feet.

But as to which part I liked best - no contest.

The garden in the castle moat was stunning.

An encounter with an alien life form (for both of us)

I went to Windsor yesterday, and will return to the subject of our visit to the castle but I am still reeling from a conversation I had whilst purchasing a newspaper in Eton.

I hadn't realised before just exactly how close Eton is to Windsor. Generations of royal pupils have had absolutely no excuse for not popping in to see their family - in fact they could probably wave to them on a daily basis from the top rooms of Eton to the top of the castle battlements. I digress. The point here is that mum and I walked over the bridge at Windsor to look at Eton College.

Eton is indeed another world; one of extraordinary privilege. This is reflected in every shop window by the items on sale (like socks for Lower Boating????), and by the fact that they clearly see nothing odd in the name of their primary school. Most obviously of course it is refelcted in the school with which Eton shares its name.

Messalina observed to me recently when we went on a guided walk round London Inns of Court that there must be a whole section of society that thinks that all of England looks the same. They go to Eton for school, progress to Oxford or Cambridge where the colleges look just like school, and then they go on to the Inns of Court which looks just like Oxbridge and there they stay until they die, blissfully unaware of any century after the 17th.

So mum and I take in this world in which we are complete outsiders. It is like being at a zoo seeing these exotic creatures in their strange school uniform,



whilst they presuambly look back and say "I say Miles old chap - is that a common person over there in that ghastly velcro tracksuit?" (For that is the kind of thing I wear.)


There is a Blackwall's bookshop directly opposite the main college building and I decided I wanted a newspaper. I picked one up from the rack outside and went in to pay. The paper was folded up and the very posh young chap behind the counter asked me what I had got. I told him it was the Guardian but I added in what I thought was a jovial and friendly manner "I did think that being in this environment I should have bought the Morning Star." "Oh" replies bloke, "What is the Morning Star?" At first I thought he was joking, but I looked at him and very quickly sussed he was completely in earnest. "Erh, it's a daily newspaper." I offered. "Is it?" he asked. "It's a Communist newspaper" I added for his further information. "Good heavens! I never knew there was such a thing," says posh (and ignorant) bloke. "Oh dear!" says I, and left with the words "Come the Revolution mate....."

I think we both found the other equally weird.

Great Family Day's Out

I have a few days off next week so what could possibly be nicer that taking my daughter and two of her friends to a theme park for the day?

I have such clear memories of my last but one trip to a theme park. Let’s call it Alton Towers for that is its name.

I don’t know which part I enjoyed least.

Was it

a) The happy hours spent in queues for rides manned by semi – house trained bullies. b) The joy for a non smoker of inhaling other people’s poisonous fumes, whilst in those endless queues.
c) The litter that was everywhere.
d) The rip off prices.
e) The filthy toilets.
f) The total lack of shelter when it rained.
g) The amusing way the rides tended to break down after one had been in a queue for the sodding thing for absolutely ages, and the total lack of apologies when this occurred – twice to us on that particular day.

or

h) The fact that they had the nerve to ask me to fill in a customer satisfaction survey on my way out.

Now Reidski would confirm that when really pissed off I do have a tendency to make my feelings known. In this instance Alton Towers were treated to what was eventually a four page letter of vitriolic complaints, ending with the assurance that I would NEVER return to experience the thrills of Alton Towers again.

They replied with a set of complementary tickets for the whole family, and as the kids found them before I had managed to burn them….yes, I had to go again.


So next week – can’t wait. I take the kids to Thorpe Park in this instance, which I am sure is every bit as wonderful as Alton Towers: by which I mean, it is probably hell on earth.



And then I sod off to Windsor Castle with my mum, and pick the kids up again later.

The sights

to be seen in the women's changing room at my gym are varied. We come in all shapes and sizes, and people can be quite imaginative when it comes to body piercings.

But my question this evening is this:

Why the bloody hell would any grown woman get a tattoo of Mickey Mouse on her arse?

Speaking as a social worker myself

For Fucking Hell's Sake.

It's

The Frocky Horror Show!.



Well worth scrolling down in order to fully appreciate the dress sense of the young ladies at Aintree.

In which I have my legs waxed.

So anyway, I am having my legs waxed. The woman applying the wax is a friend who lives and waxes in my village, and so we chat away. I ask if she has seen a mutual friend of ours called Jack recently. "Oh!" she says, "He has been really poorly recently!"

So I do the appropriate amount of 'Oh dears!' and enquire as to what was the cause of his illness, and she explains and says he is now on the mend but that he will unfortunately not be able to take part in the Parish Marathon.

"Blimey!" thinks I. "I know I don't get out and about in the village so much these days, but I didn't even realise there was going to be a Parish Marathon." However, I don't want to admit to the level of my ignorance so I go along with the conversation and say what a shame it is that he will miss the marathon. "Yes" continues my friend as she slaps on the wax, "And there were so many people coming along to watch him. Some were driving, some were going on the train and others were flying." "Flying to watch Jack in the marathon?" I ask whilst wondering where the bloody hell they were intending to fly to. We don't exactly live near any major airport - although we are handily placed for the M1. "Oh yes," says she as she whips a load of leg hair off my right calf and I cry out in agony. "But they have all decided to go anyway and will make a weekend of it." "Well", says I - now struggling to prolong the conversation about the Parish Marathon - "I hope they can find enough to entertain themselves over an entire weekend, marathon apart." "Oh" she says, "I'm sure they will. I have never been to Paris myself, but I'm sure there is plenty to keep them occupied for a couple of days."

I nod wisely and say I expect there probably is.

"Bikini line?" she asks.

"Pass" says I.

What would you do?

You are passing some time on the beach with your kids. You hear them scream. You run to each other. They insist they have just found a head in "that bag over there".

One would surely be inclined to think they were imagining things or making it up. It was after all April 1st.


So may be you tell them to not be so silly and go back to building the sandcastle?

But they insist...plus they are presumably throwing up all over the place.

Do you risk a peek? You wouldn't want to but could you risk calling the police without checking first?

So glad I wasn't the parent concerned. (And how many sleepless nights are they going to have with those little girls from now on?)

I am also grateful that when Reidski and I were on the beach on Tuesday the only dead body we found belonged to a dogfish. (The poor thing.)

Footnote:

Det Ch Insp McMillan ....said the case was still not being treated as murder.

Suicide by wrapping own head in plastic bag and then cutting it off with the slight disadvantage of having already cut off own hands then?

North Yorkshire coast.

Yesterday was pretty much perfect.

We went up the coast from Scarborough to Staithes which was once a very important fishing port, and is now incredibly popular with artists for a rather obvious reason - it is seriously pretty.




We were really lucky with the weather as it was clear, sunny, and erh - bracing.

We then made our way back down the coast to Whitby. Here we had a drink and the much anticipated haddock and chips at the Magpie Cafe which exceeded expectations. We also paid homage to Captain Cook and climbed the 199 steps up to the abbey. We were sorry though to have missed
the Goth Weekend.



Then we carried on to Robin Hood's Bay before going back to our hotel in Scarborough.

Our hotel was very odd. It was in many ways a typical seaside hotel. It had a claim to fame as Wilfred Owen had stayed there recuperating from injuries he sustained during the war - just a shame he got himself fit enough to go back to the front from there. Downstairs it looked like it was entirely unchanged since the 1950's, but our room was lovely and newly refurbished. We also had a wonderful sea view. Our three course dinner which we had the first evening took all of 45 minutes from walking through the door to leaving - yes, I am sure it was all cooked to order! We were asked for our sweet order at the same time as we ordered our starters and main courses. I think the kitchen staff were after watching Coronation Street without the inconvenience of having to cook for residents at the same time. We did n't bother eating there the second night - not that it would have been humanly possible after the fish and chips anyway. We gave the tea dance a miss as well.

We were the youngest people there except for the obvious junkie daughter of a harassed looking mother who would seem to have successfully found the least likely place to score drugs in all of the UK to take her daughter.

Although I suppose that tea dance could have been a very clever front for drug dealing? One can never quite tell with those elderly Yorkshire folk.

Road trip

In which Reidski and Jane boldly venture North.

I saw a hotel deal for a place in Scarborough offering dinner, bed and breakfast for 2 at £45 a night. That is £45 for two. That seems cheap. In fact it seems so very cheap that one wonders just exactly how basic this hotel will be. I will report back.

Anyway, I'm not too bothered about eating at the hotel as I am fully intending to stuff my belly full of fish right here.

The last time I was in Scarborough I ended up at the hospital watching my then three year old daughter have her eyelid stictched up following an accident on an astro glide. She still has the scar and I blame myself as I knew at the time I should have been demanding the best stitcher up of eyes that Yorkshire had to offer.

The time before that I was in Scarborough half of the hotel garden disappeared over the cliff and into the sea during an over night storm. A year or so later the entire hotel followed it.

I am due a disaster free trip to Scarborough.

Back Wednesday if Dracula doesn't get me first.

Odd Pub Guide

Reidski came up to see me last night and I thought we would go some where 'different'. Well where we ended up was different alright.

My bible - The Good Pub Guide - doesn't extol the virtues of very many Northamptonshire pubs but this one is always in it, yet I had never been there. It is - and I can say this now having driven to it twice last night - far from the madding crowds, and getting to it was rather a challenge but find it we did. However arriving as we did at 6.15 we found it well and truly shut. A check back at the bible revealed it would not be open till 7. We were now several miles of winding, narrow gated country roads away from any other pub, but where there is a significant need for a pint...well, obviously we did find another pub, but we decided we would go back to the Kings Arms as the food recommendations sounded brilliant. Back round the winding, narrow gated country roads we went and result! The pub is now open - and quite packed in the bar. In we go. The place does that thing as happens in American Werewolf in London where our heroes enter the country pub and it goes completely quiet as all eyes fall upon the strangers at the door.

There then followed a quite remarkably difficult scene at the bar in which our attempts to order some wine ended up with me having a gin and tonic and Reidski having a pint. This incident was partly explained by the local behind the bar having difficulty understanding a Scottish accent, and partly by as we later realised, the fact that the old boy serving us was clearly a customer, and not a bar man. Not a bar man by any stretch of the imagination. All of this scene was carried out in full hearing of, as well as for the amusement of, everyone else in the pub.

The bar itself was decorated as though we were sitting in the front room of a 19th century cottage. Chintz was us. And it would obviously have been out of place to add signs to this front room decor like 'Toilets', although it would be everso helpful if they could see fit to put such a sign up in future. I think there was one other woman in there, but it was a bit difficult to be absolutely certain about the gender of the person concerned. Anyway, much as I fought against it, it became inevitable that I was going to have to go in search of the ladies and that meant I had to make my way through a sea of men, and worse, ask them where the toilets were hidden. I would like to say that not every man in that pub knew I was going for a wee - but I can't. They were all so helpful; they all but escorted me to the door of the ladies loo. And on my way back to my seat, they parted in the manner of the Red Sea when Moses was on the job. Inconspicous I was not.

And what of the mouthwatering sounding food as highly recommended? Well, we don't exactly know. There was no one eating. There was no smells of cooking. There were no menus - although there were pamphlets about the cheese they sell over the counter. (I have never known a pub that sold cheese before but I am sure it is very good cheese.) And yes, we are both adults, and I am sure we really could have asked about eating, but we are both also very susceptible to being embarrassed in public,and neither of us had the nerve to enquire as to the availabilty or otherwise of any pub grub.

We ended up in a Chef and Brewer.

Which really just serves us right for being such wimps.

Which is madder?

Either:

To spend a bank holiday Monday travelling from Northampton by coach all the way to Carlisle for a football match (which we lost) and back again?

Or:

To eat a deep fried Cadbury's cream egg at a chip shop in Penrith?

My eldest did both of those things yesterday.


He looked pretty sick when he finally got home which could be put down to either of these things.

I have been

at a bit of a loss as to what to write about this past week. I usually enjoy writing about the ridiculous, but in a week when we learnt that Heather Mills requires £39,000 a year for wine when she doesn't even drink, I feel that the art of describing the ridiculous has been somewhat surpassed.

There was of course our very own Rob Styles incident last Friday night. Football fans amongst you will know that this referee excelled himself in this match involving amongst very many strange incidents a bizarre penalty he awarded for Chelsea against Liverpool. The more devoted football fans may also know about his controversial refereeing of this match a fortnight ago between Watford and Stoke City. You probably won't however have heard that he doesn't just confine his inept refereeing performances to the higher leagues. In our match against Nottingham Forest he sent one of their players off after 20 minutes with scarcely any justification whatsoever. He did however atone for his error towards Forest by awarding a penalty against our goal keeper for the sin of getting the ball and having Nathan Tyson fall over him. Not even the Forest fans thought it was a penalty, but Mr Styles has his own version of footballing regulations. Fortunately for you all though, as Reidski hates people who have a go at referees, I do not intend to mention this at all. No, not at all.

I can however report that Reidski and I went to this exhibition to see some of the First Emperor's Terracotta Army.

Lots to be amazed about. Not least was that aged 13 in 246 BC this kid became King and promptly declared himself First Divine Emperor or the Qin, China, The World, The Universe and got grown men to go out and risk their lives for him conquering the rest of China, The World, and The Universe without at any point any one saying "Get lost squirt - and have you finished your homework yet?"

I knew of course about the army of soldiers, but I didn't know about the administrators, the musicians, the acrobats, the birds and animals, and everything else the Emperor would need to ensure he conquered the after life as effectively as he conquered every place on this earth. (I didn't see any women though. Maybe sex was considered an unnecessary distraction to manly pursuits?)

What is really rather mind blowing is the fact that they have opened 600 pits thus far but are unlikely to open the Emperor's actual tomb for many many more years. It is rumoured to contain rivers of mercury replicating the rivers of China (indeed, readings taken of the soil there show extremely high readings of mercury), and pearls in the sky to replicate the stars in the universe. They hope to maybe one day have the technology to see inside the tomb without actually disturbing it. Whatever happens there, it won't be in any of our life times.

And on that cheery thought - Laters!!!

A True Story

over on my other place.

Congratulations

to the police in Hemel Hempstead for this rescue.

"All in all, not a bad day off" according to He Who Was Rescued.

Special Offer

Hurry, hurry. Get your half price chocolate Easter bunny now.

As opposed to buying your chocolate Easter bunny at any other time of the year when they will no longer be on special offer.

A little piece

for you at my other place.

It concerns death.

But I thought it was funny.

I am very disappointed.

My hopes were raised when I read in the latest circular to all staff that our very own parking service was shortlisted for no less than TWO categories in the prestigious national British Parking Awards 2008.

My reading went on to inform me that The British Parking Awards are recognised as the leading showcase for innovation, excellence and achievement in the UK parking sector – but you probably all knew that already?

So it was with baited breath that I logged on to The British Parking Awards website> to read how the awards (attended by a packed house of nearly five hundred parking professionals over lunch at the Dorchester Hotel on Friday) went.

Alas, I have to tell you my employers came away empty handed.

However, I am sure you will all join me in congratulating Haringey Borough Council for their triumph in the
Enforcement Team of the Year Award (sponsored by The Enforcers*)

And this looks like the sort of car park one would wish to visit…

The Best New Car Park Award was won by:

Ocean Car Park, Southampton.

The Ocean Car Park provides 776 spaces for the new Ocean Village Marina. The designers wanted to create a car park where the architecture aided the subconscious understanding of the first time user. It has iconic spiral ramps and there are daylight sensors to control lighting and rainwater is harvested to irrigate landscaping.

(We are talking about a car park here aren’t we? Ed.)

Well done indeed to all the worthy winners, most of whom are too deeply dull to mention. (OK. ALL of whom are probably too dull to mention, but I mentioned two of them anyway.)



Another slight disappointment from the same staff circular. Towcester Recycling Centre HAS won an award – but my hopes for national recognition for Towcester Recycling Centre were shattered when on further investigation it turns out they were only up against the other recycling centres in the county.

Still, many thanks to my employers who obviously feel we need to know this stuff.

(You need n’t thank me for taking the time to share it with you. Hey! It is my pleasure!)

• Sounds like a ‘70’s cop series.

Parisian highlights

What a beautiful museum the D'Orsay is. The building itself (a former railway terminal) is stunning, but the stuff in it must have been good because the art illiterates that are also known as Reidski and Jane could hardly tear themselves away from the place.

At one point as we drifted along past various priceless works of art Reidski said to me; "I know that one through a board game we used to play as kids". "I had that game too!" I shrieked, much to the annoyance of the more refined art appreciators. We remembered it was called Masterpiece, and we both agreed that any art education we had was gained via that one board game. (And it seems it is still available.)Impossible to choose a favourite painting from there, but when I go away I always have to bring a fridge magnet back (how sad am I?) and this was on the fridge magnet I bought there so I guess it was one of my top 10.



We spent some time wandering around the islands. I had never been on the Ile St Louis before, but it was lovely; so atmospheric, and entirely untouched by hen party's or stag weekends. We also had a lovely crepe there (Yes Cookie - I did say a crepe!)(At the Sarrasin et le Froment.)

The other area we went to which was new to me was Le Marais where my normally legendary sense of direction (for once I am not kidding here - I have a great sense of direction) completely deserted me, and I don't think Reidski will object to me telling you that given his not exactly quite so sharp sense of direction, that meant we were in the words of that superb record (I am kidding here OK??) "Lost in France." But not for too long.

Reidski has already mentioned our 'Not so great' meal. Note to selves in future - We have a guide book that suggests great places to eat so use the damn thing. Because when we did we had wonderful food but when we did not we had tourist trap (rhymes with 'crap'. Coincidence? I think not) average, and you don't want average food in France.

And to end, I really don't want to repeat word for word what Reidski has already said about our trip to Paris, but this cemetery which is close to where we were staying in Montmartre was wonderful.And amongst very many moving tributes and monuments there the one that reduced me to tears was one we saw dedicated to the children of a Jewish family who were taken away by the Nazis.

Strange to think that within our parents life time, France was an occupied country.

Bonjour

Yes, we are back. Now Reidski has already written about much of our trip so I will refer you to him here for part of the story.

Like he says, we both saw much that was new to both of us last week. We also both had an entirely alien - but very welcome - experience whilst travelling there and back. We got an up grade!!!

Now granted, we were on a train to France, so this may not have quite the same impact as say an up grade when travelling Trans Atlantic to the States, however it was a very pleasant surprise indeed when the nice lady attendant asked us if we would like a drink and then suggested "Champagne?" Well - it would have been rude not to - but both of us were half expecting to get charged for it only we weren't. Nor were we charged for our second glass of champagne - or our lovely meal - or the wine we had with that. We also travelled back same class, although that train left a bit early for alcohol consumption - yes, even too early for us. We have no idea why it happened, but it was only later when looking round at the assorted fur coats and Chanel handbags that I realised that someone somewhere must have made some kind of a mistake by admitting a woman in a red berghaus walking jacket* into that particular carriage. I can only conclude it must have been Reidski's posh accent when he was making the booking wot done it.

Anyway, Eurostar is unbelievable. Two and a half hours from St Pancras (St Pancras International as we must now call it) to Paris. Wow.

* I may have been the scruffiest woman in Paris, but I was very glad of my wind proof jacket. Christ it was cold in that city last week.



I would go on a bit more but my internet connection keeps recovering from 'serious errors' so I am going to quit whilst I am still a few inches ahead. Does anyone ever actually understand what those errors are?

I lead a glamorous life

This thought occurred to me yesterday as I was on my hands and knees in the bathroom cleaning the floor, and wondering why exactly it was that I was doing this on what was ostensibly my doubly special day...birthday AND Mother's Day.

But later, when I had finished cooking a big dinner for all my family, and I found myself drinking rose verve cliquot champagne I decided life wasn't so bad after all. We were not only celebrating the two occasions already mentioned, but were wondering how on earth my mum and dad had succeeded in staying married for 50 years? It was their Golden Wedding Anniversary at the weekend too, and the mystery of how they made that milestone is one of the big questions of our time. As my friend of many years past said of my teenage years when I was with her on Saturday evening - the many many rows between my parents were memorable.

I could now attempt to make this blog a bit more interesting and make out I was mentally scarred by all those years of living in the middle of a battle field - only I wasn't.

And now I have a week off work and tomorrow Reidski and I will be in the very glamorous city of Paris. Our first night there will be spent in an Irish bar watching Celtic. Yes, I really do lead such a glamorous life!

Now to go and see if I can bribe the local garage into giving me a valid MOT certificate.

As I have nothing to report this morning*

I thought I would direct readers here cos it's funny.

* Except an addition to my story of the 'Unfortunate coincidence.' Unbelievably, our so called friend is meeting the 'Match.com quality controller'. I am quite shocked.

Oh, and there is actually something new on Just Jane.

I feel lost

You will know the feeling when you have been reading a really superb book, and you can't put it down, but you don't really want to finish it either because it is giving you so much pleasure.

Last night I finished C.J. Sansom's Dark Fire. If I tell you this is a book based around a lawyer in Tudor London who has a hunchback it may not sound overly inviting, but what a great, great read it is.

Sansom has written three books about his lawyer Matthew Shardlake. I picked up the first one 'Dissolution' by sheer chance having noticed a little recommendation by a someone who worked in a local book shop. This one was about murderous monks and I enjoyed it well enough to read 'Sovereign' which is around how far rebels in the north of England were prepared to go to challenge the legitimacy of the Tudor's claim to the throne of England, as well as how Henry VIII's marriage to Catherine Howard headed towards tragedy. Now that is a brilliant read, and I couldn't wait to get hold of 'Dark Fire'.

'Dark Fire' is actually the middle one in the series and involves events some factual and some fiction, leading to Henry's marriage to Catherine Howard and the fall of Thomas Cromwell. There is lots of intrigue, mystery, and danger, but what sets these books apart is Sansom's ability to bring Tudor England to life. This one is based in the City of London and it manages to perfectly capture the sights, sounds, smells and attitudes of life at that time. He brings in the politics of the day, as well as the confusion the ordinary people experienced as one religious edict was contradicted by another: "What, in order to best avoid a charge of blasphemy, am I supposed to believe this week?" And Shardlake has a moral conscience and is angered by - for example - poverty, slum housing, and the threat posed by the 'WMD' of his day - the Dark Fire referred to in the title.

So what more do I have to say here to persuade people to read these wonderful books? Reidski incidentally thinks they sound like utter 'pish' but he has no taste. He does after all go out with me!

How was it for you?

The earth certainly moved for me. 1.05am and following my rude awakening I was outside with a torch seeing if my roof was still on the house. And yes, I did hear birds singing at that time of the night.

Mott The Hoople - Roll Away The Stone

Never let it be said my blog is all cobblers. This post at least is superb :-)

An unfortunate coincidence.

So last night my sister and I travel 40 miles to a friend's house for the evening. My sister, as previously mentioned, is unlucky in love. If she falls for someone my mum and I now know immediately that the person she has fallen for is a dodgy double dealer at best, and a complete and utter cunt at worst.

My sister wasted 18 precious years of her life on one of the world's major league bastards, for reasons that no one who knew her and him have ever been able to fathom. It was at least four years after they finally split up before she could even think about looking at another man.

Now it is a fact that most of the single men round these parts would give their eye teeth to take her out, not to mention several of the married ones as well, but she isn't interested in them, preferring instead to take out an advert in Match.com saying "Blonde, 40 something, looking for total shit bag to make my life miserable." (Or something along those lines.) And on several occasions she has struck gold so far as locating total shit bags is concerned.

Alarm bells therefore rang in my head when she confessed she recently had a date with a man via Match.com who she had found she really liked. He had made her laugh in e-mail exchanges by saying he was a quality controller for Match.com. charged with taking out women who were yet to find true love through the web site and compensating them with a champagne filled evening.(That worried me too - how could she possibly be amused by anything that naff?) They met and seemed to get on really well, but then there was a long silence from his side during which she became quite fraught ("Why do the ones I like never call?"), but then he took her out again a week ago. Once again they got on really well. They arranged another date; albeit it not for a further four weeks, which seemed a little odd if they were both so keen.

So back to last night. There were 5 of us women sat around the table chatting, drinking and eating couscous (delicious). Our hostess then asked my sister how it was going with this man, who incidentally lives in Kettering. G explained that it was all very odd, and how they seemed to get on really well, but dates were few and far between. This is probably the moment where I should mention it was our friend who had persuaded my sister to try Match.com. as she also uses it. "Well" says our friend, "I have been chatting to a guy from Kettering. He seems quite good fun. He reckons to be a quality controller for Match.com."


A tumbleweed moment then occurred as what exactly she had just said sank in with me and my sister.

And yes, it is of course one and the same man.

Another potential love affair bit the dust.

I think they might actually have a bit of fun at his expense before revealing to him what they have learnt.

But how unlucky is that man? What I wonder were the chances that he would contact two women, living 40 miles from each other, who just happen to be very good friends?


UPDATE: Our friend is meeting this man on Sunday. Is it just me, or is that a really strange thing for a 'friend' to do? My sister is pretending to her she doesn't mind but....

I am enjoying this whilst it lasts.

OK - it is unlikely to last beyond 5.00 this eveing, but as things stand right now.....


WE ARE ON THE SAME POINTS AS LEEDS U-BLOODY- NITED!!!!!*


Coca-Cola Football League One Table
22 February 2008 21:56
P GD PTS
1 Swansea 32 35 70
2 Doncaster 31 20 56
3 Nottm Forest 31 23 53
4 Carlisle 30 13 52
5 Tranmere 33 8 51
6 Walsall 32 11 49
7 Leyton Orient 33 -4 49
8 Southend 32 3 47
9 Leeds 32 23 46
10 Northampton 34 0 46
11 Oldham 31 6 43
12 Swindon 31 5 43
13 Huddersfield 31 -12 43
14 Brighton 30 5 42
15 Yeovil 33 -10 41
16 Bristol Rovers 29 1 40
17 Hartlepool 33 0 40
18 Cheltenham 33 -19 35
19 Crewe 32 -18 34
20 Millwall 32 -17 33
21 Gillingham 31 -19 32
22 Luton 32 -13 24
23 Bournemouth 33 -17 22
24 Port Vale 33 -24 22


* Please don't look at the goal difference though; that would only spoil things for me :-)

Flimsy defences of our time

Pub chef: 'I regret having sex with body of dead model'. Yes, I am sure he does.

One of those cases where I can't help but wonder why we go to all the time and effort of providing a trial in the first place. I know that 'presumed innocent until found guilty' is an important pillar of our legal system, but if this bastard's best line of defence is "I happened to find a dead woman lying there and had sex with her" I would venture to suggest he is guilty as charged.

Also on the subject of flimsy defences Steven Wright has unsurprisingly been found guilty of murdering 5 women in Ipswich.

He was confronted by things he claimed were just coincidences - the fact he had picked up all five women at around the time they disappeared, the fact that he did so in the same order they disappeared, the fact his partner Pam was out on each of the nights they went missing. I am all in favour of the occasion coincidence myself (I do after all love the novels of Jane Austen) but that lot plus the DNA evidence would seem to suggest that his defence team in considering an appeal won't need to dwell on that subject very long.



P.S. The jury came back after three and a half hours and found Mark Dixie guilty. I wonder what they all talked about for the three hours 25 minutes after they had all said "Yes of course the bastard did it."

Day trip

I took my daughter (from now on to be known as OD on this blog - 'Only Daughter') to London for the day. She had been on at me to take her without actually seeming able to tell me what she wanted to do when we got there. I kept looking at theatre tickets but either there didn't seem to be any available, or prices were prohibitive. Both of us had previously seen Billy Elliott, although not together. I went with Reidski and then went on about it at length here. We had both absolutely loved it. Anyway, to cut a long story down to size - I managed to get what appeared to be the last 2 tickets for it at the very last minute. I was led to believe we would be sitting at the back of the second circle, but I was sure we would still be able to see something; I have after all only recently got a new prescription for my contact lenses. Anyway, O.D's delight made every moment of hassle obtaining them totally worth while.

So we did some girly shopping first comprising of H&M (purchases made - O.D), Cos (no purchases made), Top Shop (no purchases made though many eye brows raised at some of the items on sale which brought home to me that I am indeed getting old) and Zara (purchase made - me). And then to Victoria where I went to the box office to collect the tickets for what I assumed were the worst seats in the theatre. I thought it was lucky that of the three box office windows I ended up at the one that just happened to have my tickets right there, and thought it was a little odd they didn't have my name on. We went up to the top circle and showed our tickets to the doorman, who pointed out our tickets were for the circle below. So here, for what it is worth is Jane's theory on buying last minute tickets. I have decided the sellers of these do not allocate specific tickets to named persons. I think they must sell a certain number, and it is totally random which ones you actually get when you collect them. In fact our seats turned out to be really good, and this has happened to Reidski and I before too.


After the show I took O.D for a meal at an Italian chain called Strada. I ordered a pizza and it looked simply perect on arrival - only it wasn't. On first bite it was hardly warm, let alone hot. Dilemma time! For one thing, O.D being a typical 14 year old girl, is mortified by the thought that anything might draw attention to us and I knew she was likely to hate me complaining. But for another - I don't like upsetting anyone - especially not waiters as I know from past experience what a shit job it can be. But the pizza was not of the tempertaure where I could really just put up and shut up and eat up, so I very quietly mentioned the fact to a staff member. A new (and very delicious) pizza was produced. Three different people took the time to come and apologise to me, and it wasn't as if they weren't busy; but in addition, when the bill came they had knocked 20% off which I certainly had not expected. So - good on Strada. I am quick to moan to others about rubbish service so I wanted to highlight how well they responded to a problem.

And now back to normality - work beckons.

Football chants

Never let it be said that I ignore the important issues in this world, and with that in mind I want tonight to talk to you about football chants.

As can be seen here Reidski, (who IS really annoying in his flat refusal to ever critise referees) thinks the worst football chant is "Your support is fucking shit" (usually aimed at home supporters), closely followed by "You don't know what you're doing" (usually aimed at the referee but can be aimed at a manager following an inexplicable substitution).

"Wanker, wanker" is an odd one. Always meant as a term of abuse aimed by a bunch of men at one isngle male, but which one amongst the chanters has never....never mind.

Now when we Cobblers are abroad (by 'abroad' I mean places as diverse as Swindon, Hartlepool and Oldham) we are a noisy lot. At home however it is often the case that "our support is fucking shit." Last Saturday the Gillingham fans (poor unfortunates that they were) sang at us "4-0 and you still don't sing." Although in fairness that was due to us all suffering from a collective case of deep shock.

My worst chant by many miles is the truly idiotic and asking for grief - "Easy, easy," especially when we are only 1-0 up.

I like ones where a player's name lends itself to a certain chant...our captain Chris Doig is greeted by "Who let the Doig out?" and our new cult hero Adebayo Akinfenwa (four goals in three games and he has yet to play a whole match) has already earnt "Bayo, Baaaaayoo."

But the best are the ones that reflect gallows humour and I will end this for now with the reaction of the Gillingham fans when their player Thurgood went in with a late tackle and caught our player... A few Cobblers fans started chanting "OFF, OFF, OFF", so they just joined in. As one commented later "Three games without him would be fantastic."

Open House

Well I don't know about anyone else but I am sick and tired of this signing in performance and so I hearby declare this blog well and truly open.


How so very ever - I know I have to be more careful about what I write and so I have revived my old blog but made that invite only. Everyone who was an invited reader of this during what will now only be referred to as 'The Crisis' which led to me disappearing underground has access to it and once it is tidied up - it looks a RIGHT state - anything that could identify me will be over there. If anyone else wants an in to the other stuff- e-mail me at cobblerjane@yahoo.co.uk.

The other blog can be found at www.justjanentfc69.blogspot.com.

There will of necessity be a bit of chopping and changing before this is all sorted sufficent to ease my paranoid mind, but please stick with me!

F.F's.S

Awoken by the phone. Son on way to work ringing to say he has gone into a bollard and car is fucked. A combination of heavy frost and a low sun dazzling him resulted in him being in need of a new car. I bare in mind that it is 'only a car' and no one is hurt.

Then follows much aggro what with trying to borrow a tow rope, and then getting his car back.

After all this I return home and as I walk into my kitchen I ask myself "Why is there water all over the floor?" Answer - Because fridge freezer is defrosting and is on the blink.

"What?" I ask Reidski via the phone, "will go wrong next?" (for as we know, troubles always come in threes).

I ring off and put the phone in my pocket. I go for a wee. I provide the answer to my own question when the phone slips out of my pocket and into the toilet.



I guess this must be pay back for the tremendous afternoon I had yesterday watching my lot demolish Gillingham. Sorry Cookie, but your lot were woeful.

Never let the facts

get in the way of a story with which to beat social workers.

This is a horrific case of a baby girl who was abused and murdered by her father and it happened in my area.

Up to 30 medical workers saw her but took no actions which could have saved her - like for example inform social services of their concerns. However, as you will see from the Daily Mail, the fault for this poor child's death is placed fully at the feet of social services workers...even though we knew nothing at all about her until after she had been killed.

Reidski is so right about journalists.

STOP PRESS: Obviously I wasn't the only one offended and it has been changed.

The previous headline was: How 30 social services workers allowed a sadistic father to murder his 54-day-old baby girl.

I love a movie quiz

And this one is especially entertaining ;-)

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.