Tagged thrice

By Reidski and Prenderghast

and Rob

to:
List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring. Post these instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they’re listening to.

Tag 7 others!!!! Do they not know the abuse I was subjected to by some total arse hole for having the audacity to tag the Fatalist recently? I am still in therapy as a direct result of the upset that caused me. I really must tag that same arse wipe now I think about it ;-)

So 7 songs....

1. In the car when left to my own devices I am muchly playing The Auteurs 'After Murder Park', and out of a very fine album indeed it is 'Light Aircraft on Fire' that makes me reach for the repeat button.

2. But in the car with my daughter it is Billy Elliot, The Musical soundtrack. 'Solidarity' probably my number one favourite, but who couldn't love 'Merry Christmas Maggie Thatcher' with its words 'We all celebrate this day with you cos it's one day closer to your death."

3. And strictly only when Reidski is not in the car on goes 'Somewhere Only we Know' by Keane which he says is a complete and utter load of shite. But I love it - and sing it with feeling (although sadly not with any hint of a tune).

4. At home my ultimate feel good record 'Yes' by Butler and McAlmont. Sheer joy.

5. It may be pissing it down with rain for days on end, but I am still listening to the Divine Comedy 'Pop Singer's Fear of the Pollen Count" and pretending the sun is shining when I hear it.

Even when I get hay-fever I find
I may sneeze but I don't really mind
As long as I'm in love with the summertime

6. At the gym I listen to my MP3 player, but it no longer allows me to pick tracks since I dropped it and it is now stuck playing a playlist I put together some time ago in random order. There are something like 40 different tracks on it but it always seems to come up with is 'Clampdown' by the Clash. I'm not complaining though.

7. But I am complaining about the very few times it comes up with 'Enough is Enough' by Chumbawamba. I wish my MP3 player came up with this track more frequently because I always use it as a sign that enough is indeed enough and I can go and sweat in a sauna instead of on a bloody treadmill.

But following my horrible encounter with the Arse Hole who hates tags - and in particular any tag that comes from me - I daren't pick out 7. But will hope that the very sexy, interesting and attractive Kevin might erh - oblige me?

I am being told off

for lack of blogs...by Reidski of all people! Pot. Kettle. Black.

Anyway, I have been too depressed to blog this past week having spent much of it realising I am morphing into an out of touch old git.

Yesterday I took my daughter down to London - she to go to her first ever pop concert with two friends, and me to get pissed with the other parents whilst the younger generation were watching the band. This was the first thing that was making me feel old. My daughter has been counting off the days before this concert. "Only four weeks and three days before I see...." etc. My problem was that I just could not get my head round who it was she was going to see. "What are they called again?" I asked over and over, to the total disgust of my daughter. "Who is it you are taking her to see?" people asked me. "Erhh, I am having real trouble remembering this - funny name for a band - something about girls I'm sure of that bit." And I never did manage to tell anyone who asked who the bloody hell it was. I knew they had had at least one big hit - that I liked - but that didn't seem to help. Middle aged block had got me in its grip.

Then there was my Litter Rage Incident.

I had just dropped Reidski off at the railway station and just about to reverse out when in my mirror I saw a young woman in a car behind me chuck a load of rubbish out of her car window. Red Mist Moment. I jumped out my car, picked the rubbish up - McDonalds debris - and threw it back in her window on her knees with the words "You seem to have dropped something darling. It's called litter!" She was too stunned to respond - or I was back in my car too fast to hear what ever abuse she threw in my direction. Naturally she shot off at speed, but not before throwing her crap back out the window. I was incensed. What kind of a moron thinks that such an anti social action is perfectly OK? Anyway, that also proved to me that I am getting old. The younger me would have avoided confrontation at all costs.

Back to last night. No trouble remembering the name of the restaurant where we adults had a very lovely meal indeed. although I am probably spelling Edera incorrectly. And now I finally know the name of the band the girls went to see - even if i have to sneak a look at H's new tee shirt for a prompt. Scouting for Girls. I knew it had 'Girls' somewhere in the name.

And I do like 'She's So Lovely' - so am trying to convince myself that must mean I am not quite so utterly out of touch after all.


Yeah right Jane.

A morning of contrasting emotions

Fucking brilliant.


Fucking nightmare.

Monday

There is a tiny village, not far from Skegness, that on Monday was simply swamped with people from across the country who came to say goodbye to Peter. I have never seen anything like it. There were literally hundreds of us in the churchyard listening to the service transmitted through speakers.

There were four people who spoke about him. One of them mentioned a sketch Pete and I did in a school concert. We were in the sixth form then. He was Wellington, I was Josephine, and a very short third year was Napoleon. I thought I would have been the only person who still remembered that, though it did manage to be extremely funny - mainly due to Pete.

I am not religious. The service was not especially religious although I am sure it did comfort the faithful, but a prayer said by his mother in law reduced me to tears. She just spoke simply about how we would remember Pete when the blossom comes, and in the heat of a summer day, and when the leaves turn colours in autumn, and on cold and frosty mornings. The thought that he will never again see these simple pleasures was too much for me and many others. As that was immediately followed by his 7 year old daughter reading out a poem about how much she loved her daddy - well you may imagine the effect that had on us.

Pete now lies buried in the beautiful churchyard, dressed apparently in his scuba diving tee shirt and favourite pair of jeans.

I saw many old friends - some of whom I had not seen for 25 years or longer although several of us had also been together for Nigel. As with Nigel's funeral, the comfort gained from these people was significant, and I only hope I gave some of that comfort in my turn. One friend in particular was absolutely beside himself with grief. It was heart breaking to see him like that.

There is still no answer as to why he died. The post mortem was inconclusive. All we are left with is the cold reality that Pete is gone from our lives. But he will always be in our hearts.

On Monday

I go to a friend's funeral.

Pete had ridden a motor bike since he was legally old enough to do so. I seem to remember a broken leg as a result of a previous accident, but he was experienced enough to know how to handle a bike properly.

A week last Friday I spent an evening with two girl friends who I have known since school. We chatted about who had seen Pete recently, and there was general agreement about what a great bloke he was. We said goodbye to each other about quarter to 11...at the exact same time as Pete was coming off his bike.

A lorry driver saw his bike in a dyke (ditch for those unfamiliar with Lincolnshire terms), and called the police. Pete was already dead. There were no clues as to what could have happened to cause this.

On the Wednesday he had been taken ill where he worked at a sea front stall where he and his dad before him sold buckets and spades, and other essentials for a day on the beach. An ambulance was called - he thought he was having a heart attack. The hospital thought not and he went home. Maybe he was taken ill again whilst riding his bike, but at this moment that is just speculation.

Before I try and say how I felt about Pete here are a few tributes others have made already:

It was only a few weeks ago that we had the family come and stay with us and it was a delight to have a proper catch up after a long time of only 'snatching quick hello's' at Skegness sea front. Pete was on perfect form that evening; sharing his passion for life, his family, travelling experiences and his biking with me. I remember thinking at the time that this was a man who had got it right; a good man with good values and good intentions. A great role model. I can only hope that by knowing Pete some of his 'magic' has rubbed off on me and I can get close to being the father, husband and man that he was. P.L

Peter was always a warm-hearted, open and extremely generous friend, and his positive nature and love of life were infectious and an inspiration. He was also very talented and active in many fields - as an artist, teacher, sportsman or in business, he always gave himself wholeheartedly, and was successful because of it. Perhaps my fondest memories of him are seeing him at home with his family. Few fathers could have been so loving, and his family were always his priority. Peter was a wonderful man. C.T.


Pete was one of those genuinely nice guys you rarely find. Always the big personality in the room and one of the first to offer help if it were needed.J.M.


It was always a joy to bump into him in Skegness because he was the kind of person who was always very pleased to see you.
He always had a smile on his face and he really was one of the warmest and giving people that I have ever had the pleasure to meet.
I actually saw him in town only a few weeks ago and his enthusiasm for life and for people shone through and five minutes with Pete would always guarantee a smile. S.S.

Bill Hight, living in Augusta, Georgia, USA, wrote: "I am writing from America, stunned and saddened to learn about Peter's death.
I came to know Peter through his former classmate, Nigel Smith of Skegness, who also died too young.
Peter visited twice in the US when Nigel and I were both students in North Carolina.
The first time, Peter and Richard, a travelling pal, bought a rusting, old Volvo -- barely intact -- and drove off laughing to explore America from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
And then, a few years later he visited with Lindsay. I recall the spirit and joy he and Lindsay brought--an energy as bright as their blonde hair.Watching the two of them befriend and charm people everywhere we went is still a vivid memory for me.
His kindness and full engagement with life were still tangible when I visited with him and Lindsay in Skegness later on."

Bill who I have quoted above was for many years the partner of my other friend Nigel who died two years ago. The person who helped Nigel's mum arrange his funeral was Pete.

Pete had the knack of making any person he spoke to feel like they were the most important person in his world. Whether it was old ladies, small children, bored teenagers, whoever he spoke to he made them feel special. Right now I am trying not to think about how I will never see his smile light up an entire room again, and instead try to concentrate on the thought that I was lucky to have been able to call such a wonderful man my friend.

I'm easily pleased

Finding out today via this letter that there is in existence a publication called Inflated News makes me happy.


I realise that this, read in conjunction with the post below, may give the impression I have done nothing today but read letter pages in newspapers. This is not entirely true. At least part of my day was spent being driven around Northamptonshire by a coach driver who as soon became apparent, was totally and utterly lost. I ended up having to give him directions or I would by now have been in Arbroath. And I did not want to go there.

I now stand corrected on any opinions I may have aired here. There are people who actually need sat nav.

But in case the coach driver concerned is reading this....

Wellingborough railway station to Northampton. Leave station. Take first left. Join dual carriageway. IT IS NOT SODDING DIFFICULT!!!!!

From the letter pages of the Skegness local newspaper

EDITOR - Last week I had fish stolen from my garden and felt moved to write this verse.
It may strike a chord with your readers who have shared a similar happening.

Coy carp the national fish of the Japanese,
They swim in their pool with dignified ease,
They filled our hearts with joy and peace,
Til late one night all that would cease.
Before my husband died, he'd sit,
To watch his coys and proud of it.
He'd built the pool and fed his fish,
To keep them well, his only wish.
Now he's gone his fish I've nurtured,
Until some nasty person murdered.
Plundering my peaceful pool by night,
They've taken my memories out of sight.
Destroying 20 years of devotion,
And leaving me deeply sad with emotion.
H. W. (Name removed by me to save author further distress.)
SKEGNESS

Essential Management Training

One of the advantages of not being in management is that I do not have to suffer courses like the one my poor sister had to endure last week. Although that link is not the exact same course she went on it does pretty much describe the one she ended up on called 'Embodied Leadership'. As you will see in the unlikely event that you can be arsed to read such a load of crap: You will learn to notice the beginnings of your patterns of reactivity, and to quickly find center in the midst of the turmoil of leadership.

They had a morning learning how to do 'centred' standing, and an afternoon of gripping onto the hands of complete strangers. The woman who held on to my sister later announced to the entire company that when she had held my sister's arm she felt 'So much power my juices ran.' That self same nutter is now raving about it on line but I dare not link to her website in case it gets back to my sister's company. But she does say of the course my sister described as a complete and utter waste of time thus: I'm so full of it…
it was such a rich experience for me… that I'm pretty wordless and
continuing to process what I learned and the exponential difference
it made to my sense of self, my confidence, my passion and power.

Yeah that big!

Try google for more utter tripe in that vein.

But as I said to my sister upon investigation of the company who provided (at truly VAST expense) the 'life changing' course she got landed with, it could have been worse. She could have had to do this one! This revolutionary program utilizes the universal principles of horsemanship to deepen understanding of team management and leadership presence.

Bad things happen

to good people.



And tonight I am remembering a hysterically funny evening at the Sands Showbar Skegness, spent with a good mate of many, many years laughing at just exactly how awful Brotherhood of Man really were live. (Yes, I have seen them already. And Cannon & Ball since I am now in confessional mode.)

Let's have a blogger's night out!

We could go to Blackpool (or Lowestoft) and see this.


Unless anyone can think of a worse way to spend an evening?


Best of British Variety? Are you sure? (ed)

I demand a replay

Me and my sister knew perfectly well it could not be true. Our angst at this travesty of a result led to tears before bedtime in our household. My sister (aged 6 at the time, though faced with a similar miscarriage of justice would be likely to do the same today) had to be restrained from kicking the television in.

Yes, even then we KNEW that Cliff only coming second in Eurovision had to be a fix.

Congratulations Sir Cliff on a belated moral victory.

Has anyone else read

Kate Atkinson's 'One Good Turn'?


Ian Rankin said it was 'The most fun I've had with a novel this year.'

Same here.

Although it has caused me embarrassment whilst reading it on the train due to my complete inability to stop myself crying with laughter at this wonderfully funny book.

Green Fingers

I have quite a lot of ground round the house. Once upon a time - as old folk walking past my garden have mentioned rather too frequently to be a subtle hint - the ground around my house was apparently one of the best kept gardens in the village. (Much use of the past tense there.) Well, hey - I work full time, I have kids, I have a social life - and the garden tends to suffer somewhat. These days, so long as I can keep it vaguely respectable I am happy.

Last weekend I realised that 'something' had to be done garden wise. I decided the fastest results would be achievable with the strimmer. In I waded, 18 inches deep in long grass, waving the strimmer left and right,back and forth - if not exactly with enthusiasm, with at least a degree of determination.


CRACK!!!!!

"What the fuck???"

The case in which the strimmer cord was contained had split in two. My strimming was over less than 15 minutes after it had commenced. I decided that gardening that day was 'not to be' and went to the pub instead.

The following day I went to Homebase, clutching my broken strimmer cord case. "Do you " I asked a man whose badge assured me he was 'There to help me', "sell replacement parts for strimmers?" Helpful Man shook his head and told me I may be able to order one but it was likely to be so pricey I would be better off getting a new one. "Sod it" thinks I, whilst thanking him politely for his help. But no way could I get a new strimmer that day as I had in fact to get my first ever hedge trimmer. For the past many years I have always borrowed my next door neighbour's hedge trimmer but the selfish sod has moved. (Maybe he moved as he was so sick of the next door neighbour continually scrounging the use of his hedge trimmer? I hadn't thought of that possibility until just now.)

I get home with my brand new hedge trimmer and set about the hedge with that kind of thrill that you get from trying something new out - which never lasts that many minutes. Only in my case the thrill never had the chance to diminish. The hedge trimmer mysteriously stopped less than half an hour after I plugged it in. "Hummm." Plug still pushed into extension lead? Check. Extension lead plug still pushed into the socket? Check. Then what on earth could have gone wrong? Obvious answer was that I had gone right through the electric cable. Sod it. Clearly gardening that day was 'not to be ' either, so I opened a bottle of wine instead.

The following day I popped into a specialist lawn mower shop just on the off chance I might be able to get a replacement part for the strimmer. The guy who wore no badge at all to assure me he was 'there to help me', said he could order it for me. "How much is that going to cost me?" I asked with a sense of foreboding. "£2.35" he replied. It has duly been ordered.

But although it may sound a little tiny bit as though I am rather a rubbish gardener, I do take pride in knowing that I am nurturing plant growth, and in some cases, with quite spectacular success. I bring you for your delight, my prize winning pot dandelion.....

I've been trying to decide

which is the very worst vehicle on British roads at the moment.

I think it could be this one.



I expect Boris rather likes them though. (Just wasted a ridiculous amount of time on that site I just linked to.)Boris may be a gift to would be comedy writers but I fear he will be a fucking disaster for London.

End of season

Well it is for me anyway, although I know those fans of teams who have made the play offs, or of Premiership sides, or of Scottish teams aren't there yet.

I am very happy as whilst we noted with dismay that Northampton were many pundits tip for relegation this season, we actually finished a very respectable ninth in League One. We have one of the best managers in our league and he is building what looks to be a side very capable of challenging for promotion next season. (Bugger - why have I gone and said that? The astute reader will indeed be down the bookies tomorrow betting on us to get relegated now seeing as how I just tempted fate so brazenly.)

My personal highlight of the season was our stunning win over the league champions to be - Swansea, and in particular the goal scored that day by my player of the season, Danny Jackman....all five foot four of him. Fondly known as Barney Rubble.



I am pleased Forest went up - we seemed jinxed against them, and never managed a win against them in the past two seasons whilst they slummed it in our league, and anyway, I still like Colin Calderwood (who managed us before he went to Forest). And whilst I HATE Peterborough, and LOATH 'Milton Keynes Dons' (aka Franchise United), I am looking forward to stuffing them both in local derby games next season.

I have confessed before to my secret weakness for Man Utd and shall be cheering them on next weekend against Wigan. I really hope they do win the Premiership because their football had been such a pleasure to watch this season - in marked contrast to the vast majority of Premiership games I have seen this year. They are mainly too shit scared of the price of relegation to play free flowing attacking football. I am sure I generalise there a touch.

Talking of Manchester - I can not believe that City really do appear to be on the brink of sacking Eriksson....madness.

But most exciting league this time round by a country mile was of course the Championship. My dad's family come from Stoke and I grew up with them as my second team. (What is it with my chosen football teams and lack of success?)Until yesterday this was Stoke City's finest moment. I am chuffed they have made it - and hope they at least manage to do better than Derby County have done this season. The fact that their final game also meant we have another derby match to look forward to next season against Leicester was a bonus.

Soft spot for Hull City so will be supporting them to join Stoke and West Brom in the Premiership come August. And out of League One I'd like to see Carlisle go up. Failing that Doncaster or Southend, which is another way of saying Anyone But Leeds. Rochdale in League Two because they have never ever got out of the lowest professional league before. And finally but most importantly - Celtic to win the Scottish Premiership......please, please, PLEASE.

A miracle and related rubbish.

The best part about this story of a miracle for our times is the comment left by Cat from Surrey. She certainly sounds like she knows what the son of god looks like.

But good news for those of you blokes who could never hope to get a bottle of cider whose foil wrapping appears to depict the face of Jesus...the Sun is in talks with a lager company to produce Page 3 lager cans. Scantily clad women on the side of your tinnie...what could be better?

Progress eh?

Sightseeing - or not

This post got me thinking about an occasion when I failed to do some pretty basic sightseeing. As I said there, it took Reidski 20 years of living in London before he visited the Tower of London, and in the comments Darren confessed to having lived in New York for almost three years without yet seeing the Statue of Liberty.

This story also involves not seeing the Statue of Liberty. Some years ago, my friend who takes us on wonderful holidays was living in Connecticut and had sent me and some other friends tickets to go and visit her and her then husband for Thanksgiving. I had what was absolutely one of the best weeks of my life. They were very close to New York City so we went there several times as well as seeing some of 'Up State' which was just how New England always looks in the movies. I had never been to New York before and was just blown away by that wonderful city. I was so excited when I there - it was incredible. Anyway, after my first few trips into Manhattan it was noted that I had not yet seen the Statue of Liberty and so it was decreed the three women who made up our Thanksgiving group should go into town so as to show me this iconic symbol of The United States whilst the males did the child minding. (Superb arrangement.)

Now my two friends are not the earliest of risers so a lateish start was made, but never mind - Grand Central Station (- can there be a more beautiful railway station anywhere in the world? -)





was only a 45 minute train ride from where they lived. We arrived about mid morning and were headed for the station exit when Anne said "Oh, I think there is a really lovely little Christmassy market in here somewhere. Shall we have a look first?" Well we are girls - of course we had to find the lovely little Christmassy market. And it did not disappoint. Lots of completely irresistible things to touch, try on, and in the case of the others who are considerably better off than me - to buy. Our visit to the market took quite a while. We then headed once more for the station exit. "Ah", says Anne before we got on to the street; "It might be quite hard to find something to eat down by the Statue of Liberty. Shall we get something to eat here?" We readily agree this could be a good idea, and Anne says Michael Jordan has a bar there and suggests we try there. This meant nothing to me and we are led up the steps to what is Michael Jordan's bar - only we are led past the bar and into the poshest most wonderfully located restaurant I had ever seen before - or indeed since.

We had a little cocktail to start things off rather nicely, the waiter asking of my other friend in a very cute French accent "'As madam got an 'ole in her glass?" as he noted the quite extraordinarily impressive speed she had downed her first cocktail in. We had another cocktail. And we had a starter each. And we had the best steak I have ever tasted. And we had wine. And we had a dessert. And then we thought we really did need to get to the Statue of Liberty.

Only when we finally did get out of the station it was dark. So we went to Bloomingdales instead.


The men were utterly appalled when we finally got home, complete with mountains of shopping, to hear that it had taken us five hours to get out of Grand Central Station, and that it had then been too dark to go and see the Statue of Liberty - but hey - these things can happen. And it was a GREAT day out.

The men made sure that the following day they were the ones that took me into town in order to ensure I did not leave New York City without having had a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty.


Has anyone else failed to see a really obvious sightseeing spot on their travels?

Darren invited me to participate with the following:

"A very simple meme this one. Ideal for when you have no time for blogging but still want to show the world you haven't lapsed into hibernation."

1) What was the last 1980s song you heard?

It was probably The Ruts, ‘Staring at the Rude Boys’ …if that was in fact out in the 80’s? Pause to look it up….. Yes, just checked and it came out in 1980 so just qualifies.

2) What was the last thing you saw on Youtube?

Now this is a bit of a tricky one to answer with any real accuracy. Reidski and I were mucking around with Youtube the other night, and whilst Elected by Alice Cooper definitely wasn’t the last one we played, it was the last one I can clearly recall. Yes – too much to drink again. I am a disgrace.


3) What was the last entry on Wikipedia you viewed?

See the link below as I answered that question before this one.

4) What was the last computer/video game you completed all the way through?

I used to be quite good at Tetris, but naturally I never managed to finish it. It was SO addictive. I stopped playing it when I got a life instead.

5) What did you last pig out on?

We had a curry in Brick Lane last night here. We were with Marc and Deana who are still on holiday here from Chicago. And it was bloody lovely.

6) What is the last undeleted text message on your mobile phone?

It was a weather report - “Absolutely pissing it down here.”


7) When did you last have a conversation with someone other than a family member?

Reidski is always telling me off for talking to random strangers – he says it is just not done in London. (Except in pubs when football is on of course.) However, my last conversation – I don’t actually know if you could call it a conversation but I was just talking at one of the admin women here. She obviously hates her job and she clearly thinks all social workers are prats. Getting a response from her is a challenge I always enjoy of a morning. She did finally condescend to tell me the photocopier was out of order – again. I told her how much I had enjoyed our little chat. (I didn’t really – I am far too scared of her to say anything like that to her face.)

8) Aside from where you live, what is the last village/town/city you visited?

Well I was in London E1 last night as previously referred to. It was actually the first time I had ever been to Brick Lane to eat which is almost as mad as Reidski taking 20 years to visit the Tower of London, or Darren living three years in New York without ever actually seeing the Statue of Liberty. Reidski was telling us houses in the area are now going for over a million pounds so the expectation is that Brick Lane will lose its curry houses as the rents become unaffordable and all we will get there will be Starbucks and McDonalds. What a depressing thought.

9) What was the last competition you won?

I haven’t won anything for ages, but the last thing I remember winning was well worth winning. I won a weekend for two at Henlow Grange health farm. I took my mum. That was where I found out I could do levitation. Reidski refuses to believe I can do this, and will not allow me to demonstrate on him that I can. But I am a woman of many* talents.

10) What are the last three blogs you visited?

Darren’s, Reidski’s and The Fatalist. The last of these has ensured I will never again sit down on a bus seat without very careful scrutiny of the empty seat first.

And as for who I will positively encourage to do this little exercise I am tempted to say Pixie as she has made it clear how much she loves doing these (not!), but I like her far too much to risk her wrath!

I will say The Fatalist to punish him for the misdemeanours on the buses of his youth.

Also Karen.

And Steg.

* For ‘many’ read 'few'.

This and that

On Thursday evening Reidski and I met up with Marc and Deana who are from Chicago, and who we met via blogging. They don't even blog themselves, so the fact that we have met up and that we now count them as good friends is really quite incredible. We had such a good night, and I was not sick later. As I had what for me was a very significant quantity of wine on an empty stomach, this counts as a definite bonus. Hopefully seeing them both again tomorrow for a curry in Brick Lane.

On Friday I dragged Reidski along to the Tower of London. He has only lived in London for 20 years, so I guess one can understand how he may have struggled to find an opportunity to visit the Tower before now. It is such an amazing place - the White Tower having been built almost 1,000 years ago by the Normans. The exhibitions seemed to have improved a lot since I was last there and there was a lot to learn. I never knew before that amongst various illustrious prisoners held at the Tower over the years, the Kray twins did a couple of days stretch for failing to report for their National Service*. Although I was closely monitoring Reidski for any hint of boredom, he did assure me he really enjoyed our visit.

Yesterday was a stay at home day, and we did some gardening, as well as some very important football viewing.And I managed to miss the very end of The Assassination of Jesse James, because I fell asleep, but I am fairly sure it was the Coward Robert Ford what done it.

Back home now and writing an essay on Richard III. Well, not exactly writing it, but fine tuning it for my son who is doing Richard III for AS Level. What he has done is really quite remarkably good - considering he has just assured me he hasn't actually read the play.


* National Service didn't stop those particular young thugs from turning to crime did it? Daily Express readers take note.

Joke?

John Arne Riise was arrested on the motorway last night. Apparently he was heading the wrong way.

I might laugh if I had not personally wanted to see a Liverpool win.

In Bruges

Is a great film and you should see it.


In my opinion anyway :-)

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 ;-)