This is not a complaint but

Because we were travelling with Abercrombie and Kent hereafter to be known as A & K, who provide very luxurious tours indeed, there was an assumption made that we were all 13 of us extremely wealthy. Our retail ‘opportunities’ offered as part of the trip included visits to pearl markets and silk factories where it would have been nice if there was a single item for sale that we could actually afford. My guide book warned to be alert for trips to the Great Wall that could include unwanted diversions to cloisonné workshops and jade factories. Ours managed to include both of these, the first of them cunningly disguised as a toilet stop.

As I mentioned before we left, the thought of the toilets in China filled me with horror, but in fact all facilities that the clients of A & K were confronted with were better than anything we encounter in England. On this particular morning though our guide said we would stop for the toilet break at this spot because they were much cleaner than those by the Wall itself. They just happened to be at a cloisonné workshop.
This is a multi-step enamel process used to produce jewellery, vases etc. Hummm- all very nice stuff, but rather on the pricey side. I was just about to buy a Christmas decoration for the tree when my son pointed out to me it actually cost £12.00 rather than the £1.20 I had calculated. If only he had been there to save me from buying the fridge magnet which cost me a bloody fiver. A rather expensive toilet stop – it cost one of our party over 200 quid!

Small diversion here on the subject of fridge magnets. As Reidski well knows (he has a fridge covered with magnets from my various trips) I do like to get fridge magnets when I am away. The one in this story cost me a fiver. They wanted £12 for one at the Terracotta Warriors museum (they didn’t get it though as thankfully I had sussed the exchange rate by then). £1.50 for the exact same magnet in Xian itself – and £1.00 in a village outside Shanghai. So shop around for your fridge magnets in China people!

So onwards to see The Great Wall. We went to Mutianyu (90 kilometers northeast of Beijing) which opened in 1986, which was designated by the Beijing Government in 1987 as one of the 16 most scenic spots in China. This section of the Wall was begun in A.D. 600 and reconstructed 1,000 years later. The main section stretches for 2.5 kilometers, and is punctuated by 22 watchtowers, including three connected bastions to the lowest part of the pass. We were very lucky to be there on a beautiful clear day and we could literally see mile after mile of the Wall wending its way over the mountain tops.







Now I appreciate that 2.5 kilometers doesn’t sound like far, and that the following risks making me sound like a right out of condition slob, but I did get to the end of the section that is open to visitors, along with three others from our group of 13, and if I have done anything more strenuous in my entire life, then the pain of that particular exercise what ever it may have been must have been so dreadful I have managed to get rid of that memory completely. I wish these photos could show exactly how steep it was – especially in the last part which is the last bit of Wall you can see in the middle picture – because I can’t describe how tough the going was. It was also extremely hot and humid. It also took simply ages. In fact we were supposed to have been back at our coach when we still weren’t quite at the end. Being a law abiding sort of person myself I was worried that we should turn back but as one of the other four said we weren’t ever going to get the chance to make this walk again, and anyway – “The coach won’t leave without us.” So we did make it....a triumphant moment, only slightly marred by the realisation that we now had to get all the way back.

The coach did not in point of fact wait for us. (Although our guide did, and we caught up with the others eventually via a taxi ride.) Our guide told us that it is very rare for his clients to walk the entire stretch of Wall - especially rare for clients of A & K who generally just take the chair lift up, take a few photos, and go back down again. I am so very glad I did it. My h ours spent at the gym have not been in vain.

After a wonderful lunch in which I must have consumed about a million calories at least, we went on to visit the Ming Tombs, which comprise the burial chambers of 13 Ming Emperors plus countless wives, concubines and assorted high ranking eunuchs (complete with their precious parts we hope).
The site of the Ming Dynasty Imperial Tombs , which is stunningly beautiful, was carefully chosen according to Feng Shui principles, which are still taken very seriously in China today (more on that when I get to our trip to Shanghai).

A seven kilometer road named the "Spirit Way" (Shen dao) leads into the complex, lined with statues of guardian animals and officials.

This is me with My Little Pony. Thankfully we did not have to walk all the 7 kilometers – some of us still hadn’t dried out from our earlier walk.

The day was rounded off with the aforementioned visit to the jade factory. “Oh lovely – the finest quality apple green jade used for this necklace. A mere £90,000 too. Moving swiftly on....” As I say, the expectation was that we could afford this stuff. I don’t even think I like jade very much myself.

Random bits from Beijing.

First impressions were amazement at the beautiful Terminal 3 at Beijing airport (designed partly by Norman Foster, and larger than all five Heathrow terminals combined), and astonishment at the sheer number of ultra modern skyscrapers in the city. Everywhere we visited we heard the same story of massive investment in building work over the past 10 to 15 years transforming the appearance of the cities. Most of the investment though is centred on the Eastern side of China whilst the middle lags behind considerably and the West is still virtually untouched by modernisation.

So dramatic is the redevelopment in Beijing that it took one individual to draw attention to the fact that if some of the old buildings were not preserved no one would know what the original Beijing looked like. Because of his foresight an area has now been protected called the Hutong and we visited a family living there. Madam was none too impressed with the changes that had taken place around her – least of all the now thriving night life that has sprung up in this quaint and previously quiet, part of town. She did however take our visit as an opportunity to try and flog us some of her husband’s paintings which she displayed on her wooden clothes horse. They were very good.

It is now 30 years since China was once again opened up to the outside world, yet throughout our trip, and most noticeably in Beijing, we were the object of curiosity and interest. We kept being asked to pose for photographs with the Chinese, and others would none too subtly video our group, although my blond haired, blue eyed daughter was in particular demand – we should have charged for each photo taken of her! Whilst initially this seemed unexpected in Beijing it was explained that the vast majority of tourists to Beijing, not surprisingly really, are Chinese. Many of these tourists are from areas that scarcely ever see a Westerner and it was these people who were so fascinated by us.

The changes Chinese people of my age have seen during their lifetime are quite staggering – let alone what their parents’ generation have experienced. Our guide in Beijing was born in 1964. When he was growing up if he didn’t want to eat up all his dinner his mother would say “But you must eat all your food. Don’t you know that in America and Britain the poor children are starving?” The first wave of American tourists soon put paid to that illusion!

Less than a hundred years ago there were still eunuchs at the Imperial Court. Some actually volunteered for ‘the cut’ as it could be a lucrative career. The actual operation was performed by a ‘knifer’. The patient would be given a herbal infusion meant to anaesthetize (let’s hope it was effective), and was then held down and sliced with a specially designed knife. A metal plug was then inserted in the urethra and he was made to walk immediately. No food or urination was allowed for three days. The plug was then taken out and if he could urinate at that point it meant he would probably live. The severed penis and testicles, known as the ‘Precious’ were carefully kept by each eunuch as they needed to be shown when ever they were on the brink of progressing to a higher level of service. Sometimes they got nicked so they would have to borrow a colleagues ‘Precious’. They also needed them when they died in order to gain entry to heaven as men – though some may feel it would all be a bit too late by then. The reason the eunuchs were required within the Imperial Household was to ensure that only the Emperor and his male heirs got to shag the concubines and that their offspring were guaranteed to be the Sons or Daughters of Heaven.




Chairman Mao must be spinning in his grave. Designer goods were on sale all over the city – as well as some very convincing fakes. Attitudes towards Mao seem to verge from veneration, through acceptance that he did some good things as well as having made some horrendous errors, to those of the teenagers “Yeah. I’ve heard of him – but he’s ancient history man!” If you can see some writing high up on the hillside on the photo of the Great Wall ,that says something like ‘Worship Mao,’ and only appeared a few years ago. Tiananmen Square is the largest square in the world – it is said to be able to hold a million people, and the queue of people waiting to see Mao in his mausoleum wound round the square at least twice. The people we saw waiting must be there still – although we were reliably informed that his body was badly embalmed and decomposed so was replaced by a wax work copy.

Our guide told us that when the massacre occurred he had a group of Australian tourists who cut their trip short because of it. He thus had some free time and the brother of one of his friends was missing so he went round the hospitals to see if they could find him. This man was a medical student who had just qualified. He had not been one of the protestors but had gone to the Square to assist with some of the students who had been on hunger strike. They eventually found him in a mortuary with four bullet holes across his chest. The Chinese government says 27 people died in the square that day. Following the massacre the paving in the square was all replaced with marble. Locals say this is because blood doesn’t stain marble.

Some of our family and friends were worried we may have been caught up in the typhoon that hit Eastern China whilst we were there. I guess the rain that fell in bucket loads on the first Sunday afternoon must have been connected to what was going on elsewhere, but it was the only time we got rained upon – as the photo hopefully shows there was rather a lot of it that day.



Coming next – how I sprinted up the Great Wall of China. Or should that read how I staggered up the Great Wall of China????

I just don't know where to begin

So how about with Beijing, which was where our holiday did in fact begin....albeit not without an anxious 'We are going to get sent back' moment.

The Chinese are taking no risks with swine flu. Upon our arrival at the airport all staff were wearing face masks. We had to walk through sensors which took our temperatures automatically. Imagine our alarm when my daughter and another girl travelling with us were then immediately hauled into a medical check area for further investigations. Thankfully both of them passed the subsequent checks and we were allowed to enter The People's Republic of China. And thus began a truly sensational twelve days.

Whilst in Beijing itself (or Peking if you are from Southern China)we visited the Summer Palace; a family living in the Hutong which are some of the typical housing areas of which the majority have been demolished to make way for the skyscrapers that now constitute most of Beijing; The Forbidden Palace,The Temple of Heaven and various restaurants and markets.

The most surreal moments occurred in a park adjacent to the Forbidden City. We saw a middle aged Chinese woman dancing to music by a traditional Chinese band. We stopped and applauded her. This prompted three other women to join her and commence dancing to some Chinese tune, whilst urging us to join them. I threw dignity to the wind and joined in, as did my eldest, and after a while the remaining teenagers in our party. We made it through the dance and thought that was enough - a large crowd having already gathered to laugh at the Westerners attempts at Chinese dance styles. But no - the band then broke into (and this was somewhat incongruous) 'Jingle Bells', and followed this up very swiftly, and before we had time to make our escape,with ' I Come from Alabama with a Banjo on my Knee.' We were finally allowed to leave after participating in a Chinese folk song in which we got the hang of the chorus which consisted of shouting the word 'Hoy!' very loudly. Apparently the song translated to say that if you smile every day you will look ten years younger. We certainly made lots of Chinese people smile that day.


Have so much to say about this incredibly wonderful country that I have no doubt I will bore the arse of anyone who still pops by this place - but please stick with me over the next few weeks - I really do have a wealth of wonderful stories to share.

Vacation, vacation

Well unbelievably I am off to China tomorrow. I won’t actually arrive there until Saturday morning – complete with my first proper experience of jet lag no doubt. My trip will include Beijing, Xian (this will be so helpful if my A-Z travels ever get as far as ‘X’!) , a three day cruise down the Yangzi River, and will end in Shanghai* where my son will get to celebrate his 18th birthday. (When I was his age I had never even been on an aeroplane.)

We are so incredibly lucky to have a friend as wonderful and generous as the lady who is paying for a total of 13 of us to have this amazing trip.

I know it is going to be a series of extraordinary experiences although I am hoping to avoid the experience of the public toilets there if remotely possible (described in my guide book with words like ‘squalid’ and filthy’).

I have never been anywhere humid before and so the fact that the humidity is currently up to 92 in some of the places we are going to doesn’t mean an awful lot to me right now – maybe just as well huh?

Don’t know if I will get on- line whilst I am there but I will try really hard not to alienate visitors to this place by droning on infinitum about the wonders of the Orient for too long after my return.

Back on the 20th. Till then I love you (in different degrees depending upon whether or not I sleep with you), and leave you (but I will be back soon).






*Note for Yorkshire Pudding – I had thought we were going to Hong Kong but arrangements were altered. I think I have more than enough to look forward to regardless.

Don't miss

Manuel on Paris.


"I was determine not to let any small incidents of fisting get in the way of enjoying my trip."

Has my absence made your hearts grow fonder?

Never mind – I’m thick skinned and I plough on regardless ;-)

Reidski and I have had a few days away and we stayed in Lancaster.

We got up early the first morning there determined to make the most of our time in the city. Our first trip was to the Tourist Information Office – which was shut. So we walked up to the (very impressive) castle – which was shut. Undeterred we walked down to the Maritime Museum (strange but true fact – Lancaster used to have a thriving port) and you will already have guessed that that was also shut. So having got up and about early we found ourselves killing time in Reidski’s idea of hell – the local shopping centre. I can tell you that Lancaster shopping centre looks remarkably like every other shopping centre in the UK.

We did eventually visit both the Maritime Museum and the Museum of Lancaster. Returning briefly to a previous topic regarding how when one lives in a place one never does what is on ones doorstep, Reidski had been in Lancaster for less than 18 hours and went to its Maritime Museum. He has lived near Greenwich for more than 18 years and only went to the Maritime Museum there last April.

Picked up one or two little snippets of information in the museums as one does. I learnt that John of Gaunt (Father of the Lancastrian king Henry IV, and known in Shakespeare as 'Time- Honoured Lancaster") spent precisely 9 days of his life in Lancaster. I also learnt that before the railways travellers went to the Lake District on horse drawn coaches across Morecombe Bay when the tide was out. We went to Morecombe Bay and very attractive it is too but what with all the quick sand around I wouldn’t want to cross it by any means other than boat. It was very easy to understand how this disaster happened there.

Should you ever find yourself in Lancaster this pub was superb.

We came back via the Peak District, stopping off for a walk round Buxton which I have just learnt is the self styled Cultural Capital of the Peak District, and continuing on for a bite to eat here. The Good Pub Guide describes this place as an’ Unpretentious local with very tasty home-cooking’, and very accurate that description is too. I had what the menu listed as ‘Chicken fillet’. The sauce it came in had no fancy title but was described as being ‘delightful’ – which was true. Reidski had a steak sandwich which came in a ‘cob’ the size of a dinner plate and the ‘few chips’ that according to the menu were served on the side was actually a chip mountain. We both agreed the place had obviously not been altered one iota in the past forty years and it was a surprise for me just now when I found the place has a website . It was an even greater surprise to find in this ancient village pub, the trendiest toilets that I have ever encountered.

We finished our break with a walk in beautiful Dove Dale.

No pictures yet as Blogger doesn't seem to want to co-operate with them just now.


And now back to work – groan – for all of four days before I jet off to the Far East – hooray.

More on that to follow.

Much more I suspect.

Westminster Abbey

As I said in a comment recently to Gill – when I lived in London I hardly ever visited galleries, cathedrals etc, and I am only now starting to tick some of them off. It was only last year that I went to the Tate for the first time (shameful I know).


On Saturday Reidski and I made our first trip to Westminster Abbey.
It was a complete revelation. For all the times I must have seen the inside of it on the tele , Di’s funeral etc, I had no idea just how ornate it actually is, with over 600 elaborate memorials and monuments packed into it. Some of them pretty freaky like this one.




And it is a 1,000 years old. A door there is said to have been there since 1050. No built in obsolescence in those days.

As a historian of sorts, to stand next to the tomb of Elizabeth I is pretty mind blowing, as is seeing the spot where Oliver Cromwell lay – for all of two years before he was dug up to have his body well and truly desecrated.

I did have a moment when I nearly had to smack someone. In Poet’s Corner I went to search for the memorial to Wilfred Owen. His is one name in a list of war poets engraved on the floor. Just as I spotted him, some oaf put his foot right on top of Owen’s name. I was outraged! Mind you, should a certain female prime minister ever end up in the Abbey I think there may be long queues of people all wanting to stamp on her grave.

It wasn’t cheap - £15 each, but the website explains that the Abbey receives no regular funding from The Crown, the Church of England or the government. It states “Neither a cathedral nor a parish church, Westminster Abbey was established as a ‘Royal Peculiar’ in 1560 by Queen Elizabeth I. The Abbey is outside the jurisdiction and responsibility of the Church of England and the Government. In short, this means we must seek our own financial support.” It seems that the million plus visitors they get each year are still not enough to meet their overheads. So here’s a suggestion. Seeing as how the queen was crowned there, has many of her predecessors buried there including her namesake, got married there, most probably will have her funeral there, and as she is one of the richest persons on the planet, estimated at being worth around 40 billion pounds sterling (all the residences, pieces of art, royal collection, the lands, the ships and the financial resources hold by the monarch) – how about she dips into her pocket to fund the place?

Yeah right . Dream on JJ. She didn’t get so rich by giving any of it away don’t you know?

I'm good but....

Caller: "I just found out my dad got another woman pregnant so I have a half brother. Can you find him for me? He was adopted. I don't know what his surname was, but his first name was Kenneth. He would be in his early 20's. "

Me: "Well that narrows it down."

.....I'm not that bloody good.

She did think she knew the woman's first name - but she couldn't be sure.

So I told her to sod off and stop bothering me ;-)

C is for

Cogenhoe which is a village near where I live.

A prize will be awarded to anyone who is able to tell me how Cogenhoe is pronounced.

Decided this is too difficult so will have to tell you that for those in the know, Cogenhoe is pronounced 'Cook - know'. God knows why.

But I am not going to write about Cogenhoe even though I have indeed been there on several occasions.

There are two English counties that I just love which both begin with C and they are Cornwall and Cumbria. I have gone on recently about the innumerable delights of Cornwall, so I am going to talk about Cumbria today, although obviously there will be nothing original I can possibly say that William Wordsworth hasn’t already covered. Such are the little challenges we bloggers do face.

Carlisle is of course in Cumbria. It is not an issue for my family this coming season as by managing to get ourselves relegated we are no longer in the same league as Carlisle, but the last time we went to Cumbria it was on account of the football fixture list. “Can we go to Carlisle away?” is the question I always get asked by my insanely fanatical Cobblers fan of an eldest son. This particular season I said “Only if we draw them away in August. If we do we will have a week in the Lakes at the same time.” We drew them away in the August, and that was how a group of 9 members of my family (it kind of escalated) came to be in Keswick the week leading up to the Big Match – Northampton Town v Carlisle. One of those family members was my niece, then aged 8. My niece will be given the last word in this post. (She always likes to have the last word.)



I have been to the Lake District many times. I’ve been up Helvellyn via the notorious Striding Edge, and I have been up Great Gable, but I have yet to go up Scafell Pike. In common with many other parents over the years, I have taken my kids up Catbells for their first real hill climbing experience. Also in common with those other parents over the years, it was mainly a nightmare of moaning and complaining, until they reached the top and then I had to listen to the bragging about how easy it had been. Choosing a favourite spot in Cumbria would be difficult, but I have to say that I can see why Alfred Wainwright chose Haystacks as the spot where he wanted to have his ashes scattered. The views in every direction are breath taking. I am so jealous of Gill and
Karen who both live in this wonderful county.

This particular week was mainly (as is so often the case) wet. In fact it was very, very wet. There was serious flooding and we thanked our lucky stars that on this occasion we were in a house and not camping. I am afraid very few hours went past that week without someone (and very often it would have been me) complaining about why the bloody hell we had to draw a match against Carlisle this of all weeks? Holidays often have a theme. Ours was very definitely the fact that we were in rain sodden Cumbria all on account of a bloody football match against Carlisle.

The day of the match dawned and off we went to Carlisle. My niece and sister for reasons that can only be attributed to sanity did not come to the match, which as you will by now be aware was against Carlisle, but went shopping instead in Carlisle town centre. They came to meet us at the ground after the game which we, and all of 125 other Cobbler fans, had seen us win 1-0. My sister told me that as they approached the ground my niece asked a security guard who had won. ‘”Northampton” he replied. “Oh good, “ she said. “Who were we playing?”

Errh, that would probably have been Carlisle sweetheart.

My niece had obviously spent the entire week managing not to listen to a single word any of us said – nothing new there of course.

In which the past came back to haunt me..

I do not have happy memories of my first secondary school. From September 1970 to May 1974 I was one of the ‘scholarship gals’ (ie I passed the 11+) at Northampton High School for Girls.

It was at the time a direct grant school which meant that whilst it was mainly a fee paying school, under sufferance they would accept a limited number of pupils who did not pay because that way they received some additional funding from the government..

Some of the girls there had been in the school since they were kindergarten age. To say it was a culture shock for those of us joining the school at age 11 is an understatement. I remember a uniform and equipment list that ran to three pages in length. This included both outdoor shoes and indoor shoes, as well as regulation navy blue knickers. All items (knickers included) had to have our name tag sown in them – it must have taken my mother the best part of a week – and yes we did have regulation inspections to ensure those tags were there. Yes – they did inspect our knickers too for goodness sake.

Two memories of my first year – or should I say my Upper Third year (how jolly hockey sticks does that sound?) stand out. One was from our Speech lesson. Yes – they did attempt to teach us how to speak. Only aged 11 I didn’t quite get that bit. We had to learn a poem for homework, and come back and recite it to the class. I learnt ‘I remember, I remember, the house where I was born.’ Word perfect then, word perfect now - it has stayed with me. Anyway, one line in particular stays with me about how the sun never’ brought too long a day’. I had to say that over and again and simply did not understand what the problem was. With the benefit of some wisdom acquired over my years at that school I later learnt the problem was my Northamptonshire accent – with particular reference to my ‘A’s’. ‘ Aaaa Daaaay.’ I also learnt that according to the teachers ‘Off’ was pronounced ‘Orrrffff.’ I did not previously know that!

The other memory was of Writing class (Writing AND Speech!). We never had lined exercise books as lined paper was unladylike (and more expensive). Anyway week in week out my writing was marked B+. Until that was, the day my teacher found out my parents had a pub and thereafter my writing was B- every single week.

We used to get a coach to our sports fields as they were some distance away. Unbelievably, what ever year we were in, we had to get changed into our gym kit on the coach. I don’t think that would happen these days!

I guess one either conformed at the school or one rebelled. I was in the second category, and by my fourth year (Lower Fifth) my card was well and truly marked. My physics report that year noted ‘Jane makes absolutely no effort’. Although it didn’t seem it at the time, my parents moving us to Skegness was the saving of me academically. As a new girl in what was happily a normal fifth year as opposed to a stupid Upper Fifth I got down to work and did well. That would never have happened at Northampton.

So having said all that, why on earth did I find myself on Saturday afternoon at a High School reunion? And how come I enjoyed myself so much? It was all girls who had been in my year. It has to be said that some have aged somewhat better than others. I did feel pretty bad assuming Judith D must have been an old teacher but I think I talked my way out of that faux pas. It was interesting to realise that most of them had hated the place too. Always fun to find yourself with people with whom you share common experiences from the past and to see old photos – I did have the widest pointy collars in the whole world (surely?), and the shortest skirt no question. Looking though at letters sent home that inexplicably some people had kept and brought along it really did reek of a bygone era. One letter warned girls to keep their purses with them at all times as leaving them in the cloakrooms provided ‘Temptation for the weak minded amongst our community.’ The thought that I ever received a letter written in such a style makes me feel far older that I thought poor Judith D actually was.

But all in all, a great afternoon, and hopefully some old friendships have been truly revived once again.

Guess the price

of obtaining a visa, advertised by the Chinese Embassy as costing £30.00, to enter China as a tourist.

You might suppose as I did that it would be £30.00 but you would be wrong like I was.

Because you were recommended a company called Visa Swift by travel agents arranging your trip you might expect to pay something on top of £30.00 for their service, but you would probably expect that something on top to be half way reasonable. But no.

You might expect that the website of Visa Swift to which the travel agents directed you, would make their charges clear. Wrong again.

You might even expect that if you spoke to not one of their representatives but to two, trying to ascertain just exactly what it was they needed from you that charges might have been explained. Just plain wrong.

You might not expect to be charged £109.14 per visa (My children are coming on this trip too).


It has taken me four days to be able to speak of this. I've done the tears, I've done the blind fury. Now I just want to warn as many people as possible not to use these charlatans who say they can help you obtain a travel visa.

(Not exactly impressed with the travel agents either.)




P.S. Before anyone thinks that if I can afford for my whole family to go to China I can afford the cost of the visas, the same lovely woman who took us to South Africa, Lapland, Dublin and Egypt is paying for this further trip of a lifetime. In that respect I do of course know that I am incredibly lucky, and it is that thought that has just about enabled me to calm down over the visa charges.

To laugh or to cry?

My favourite obsession - yes, I have been on the Daily Mail website AGAIN - has photos of Jerry Hall on the beach. Aged 53, shock, horror, the Daily Mail who is so notoriously hard to please when it comes to women's bodies, is quite impressed.

But not so all their commentators. I give you the words of 'A' from Aldershot:


She looks nothing at all special to me. And if she didn't have all that money and time to spend on herself i dread to think what she'd look like. Sorry, but it is a fact that a woman's appeal fades away over the age of around 40, whereas a man can remain ferttile and attractive into his 80s. I'm 82, my girlfriend is 29 and a model.
- a, Aldershot, 15/7/2009 8:44



Any suggestions as to how one could respond politely to such a total arsehole/ fantastist?

Or should we just torture him to death?

Have you seen this chicken?

Police are appealing for information after two men climbed a garden fence to steal a chicken from a Northampton garden.


Witnesses or anyone with information about the whereabouts of the chicken is asked to contact police on 03000 111 222 or Crimestoppers anonymously on 0800 555 111.

B is for

Is for Brighton, but it always cold when I go to Brighton – even when the rest of the country was enjoying a heatwave back in 2006 it managed to be cold when I went to Brighton with Reidski so I am not going to write about that. It is also for Bocastle in Cornwall, but I wrote about my visit there back in February and one must try not to repeat oneself.

And it is for Beijing – only I haven’t been there (yet, but thanks to me having the most generous friend in the entire universe, I will be going there in August).

So today B is for Birmingham. I went to Birmingham in April. I didn’t write about it then as I needed some time to get over it...and when I was over it, I had managed to blank it from my memory bank, but now it all comes back to me in its full technicolor horror. I do not refer here to Birmingham itself but to the reason that I was in Birmingham....

‘Dancing on Ice Live’.


Let’s get that part over with first. I got stuck with taking three teenage girls to see this show for reasons previously mentioned here. It was, shall we say, an experience of the grit your teeth and pretend you are having a good time variety.
It was taking place at the National Indoor Arena.

Now I freely acknowledge that I am a snob but oh dear! The state of most of the people there was a sight to behold, not previously encountered since last time I was in Skegness on August Bank Holiday Monday. All low life was there. Tattoos everywhere, ill fitting clothes, skirts up past their arses on women who really should have asked the bum question* before leaving home, foul language every time they opened their mouths and disgusting fast food in their paws. Have I sufficiently proved that I am a snob yet? But you get the (not very pretty) picture.

Worse was to follow though as we had – oh my fucking god no! – a warm up man to deal with. I will say something for the assorted chavs and chavettes – they do know how to give their all to the Birdie Song. As I was personally being very closely monitored by my daughter for the merest hint that I was not having the time of my life, I sang
"Hey, hey hey baby!
I want to know if you'll be my girl
Hey, hey hey hey hey, baby
C'mon, baby now..... " whilst waving my arms in the air and shaking my booty with the best (worst) of them.

It was all completely hideous.

And just when I thought things had got as bad as they were going to get, I found out Andi Peters was our host for the evening.

Oh alright then – some of it was quite good I suppose. Torvill and Dean did Bolero. Todd Carty still couldn’t skate but comes across as a helluva nice guy, and the main thing was that the girls I took loved every single second of it.


But back to Birmingham...that city with such a terrible image amongst those of us who don’t know the place. Here are some random facts about Birmingham.

In the Doomsday book Birmingham is mentioned as a village worth 20 shillings. The city's reputation was forged as a powerhouse of the Industrial Revolution in England, a fact which led to Birmingham being known as "the workshop of the world". Now like everywhere else in this country it is mainly reliant upon the service sector for its economic wellbeing. Crossroads was made in Birmingham. Neville Chamberlain was from Birmingham. So was Enoch Powell - and Ozzy Osbourne. Musically there seems to be some kind of a theme with the likes of Judas Priest, Black Sabbath, Napalm Death, Electric Light Orchestra and Led Zeppelin all hailing from this city. That explains the profusion of Brummie accents when Reidski went to the Download festival last summer. More to my particular liking are The Streets, Steel Pulse, UB40, The Beat, and Editors. (How can the likes of Liverpool, Manchester and Sheffield compete with a musical legacy like that eh?) The city currently has two Premiership football teams - Aston Villa and another one whose name escapes me. We must thank Birmingham inventors for numerous innovations, including custard powder.

The day we went there was spent here, wandering along the canals and stopping off for drinks and pasta en route, and it was absolutely fantastic. I was massively impressed with this vibrant and exciting area, and came away from Birmingham determined to return sometime very soon – only I do not intend to see Dancing on Ice Live again some time ever!

* Answer – yes it does.

Dot

We have a family friend called Dot who has recently been very poorly. Luckily she is now on the road to recovery but is at present unable to return to her home while she convalesces.

My mum went to see her at the weekend. As she entered the room she heard Dot flatly refusing to take the medication she was being offered. Mum asked her what the problem was. "Huh!" says Dot. "I am NOT taking any of their medicines. THEY say I have got a heart problem. Doctor P told me there is nothing whatsoever wrong with my heart. No way am I taking any of their so called heart medicine. Look what happened to Michael Jackson."

Dot is 90.

Maybe it is being so careful that has helped her live as long as she has?

Silversun Pickups - "Lazy Eye" (Single Edit Version)

Seen on Tuesday night - fantastic stuff.

The rewards of friendship

I am always on the look out for good offers.

Gyms are of course often keen to encourage their members to introduce their friends to the joys of gym membership and often offer incentives – eg if one introduces a mate to the gym and they sign up you will receive a gym bag, or some nice toiletries etc etc.

Anyway, in the past two weeks leaflets and posters have appeared in profusion at my gym – Virgin Active – that encourages us to be ‘Active Amigos’. ‘Friendship’ as they say on the front of the leaflet ‘ is so rewarding’.

So how rewarding exactly is friendship?

Well this scheme aims to get four of our friends to join Virgin Active through our recommendation.

I don’t know what the average monthly charge is for my gym, but I pay £40 and have done for years under a scheme that I signed up for ages ago that guaranteed no price increases whilst one remains a member. I assume therefore that the average charge per month is higher than £40 but let’s stick with that amount to discover how rewarding friendship actually is.

Now if I get one of my friends to sign up – and the minimum contract is for 12 months - my reward will be a water bottle. Yes! A whole water bottle all of my own! Virgin Active meanwhile would get £480. So far so rewarding.

If a second of my friends signs up my reward will be a towel. You can see that it is starting to get quite an exciting prospect now. A water bottle AND a towel! I can scarcely dream of such things. Virgin Active get £960.

Friend number three signs up (have I actually got that many friends I am just wondering?) I get a whole hour’s worth of personal training – worth £22, during which I can drink out of my water bottle, and after which I can dry myself on my towel. How rewarding is that? Virgin Active are so incredibly generous aren’t they? They get £1,440.

Anyone who has actually bothered to stick with this will be desperate to know what reward I can expect should friend number four sign up. Well I would get a whole entire month’s free membership which you may recall is for me £40. Now you are talking Mr Branson pal! Virgin Active would get £1,920. This scheme is clearly very rewarding indeed – for some company of other.

As you can imagine I was completely enthused when reading about how friendship was so incredibly rewarding and how I stood to receive a water bottle. I was therefore all set to start work on coercing four unsuspecting mates to join Virgin Active – they would not need to know there would be SO much in it for me. But hang on just one moment. What are these dreaded words I see? 'Terms and conditions apply.’

I check out the small print to read that ‘All prizes must be redeemed before 30th June 2009.’
(My highlighting - not theirs.)

So actually should (in a parallel universe where the impossible is possible) four of my friends to actually take up gym membership at my recommendation Virgin Active would get £1,920 – and I would in fact get, rather than the as advertised practically fuck all, absolutely fuck all.

A truly brilliant marketing ploy wouldn’t you say?



Post script.

Bizarrely this post has today attracted numerous visits from the same IP address. Mr Branson is it you? If it is you and you are concerned that I am pointing out just how crap this offer is, please note that I am open to bribery and can easily be persuaded to say how great Virgin Active offers are for a sum of money to be negotiated. E-mail me!

A is for

Achurch.



I am a neglectful blogger these days but I just had an idea for when I am stuck for something to write about. An A-Z of places I have been. The idea may well have been prompted by my walk last weekend that took me to Achurch. That is not (for a change) a typo. The photo is of me at a church in
Achurch. A tiny Northamptonshire village that until my walk took me there (twice) I didn't know existed. The reason it took me there twice was because instead of consulting an Ordnance Survey map, I pulled a pub walk directions off the internet and followed it blindly, but it was still a little bizarre when some three quarters of an hour after leaving Achurch, I found I was back in Achurch and still with four miles of the walk to go (in the rain)(without a jacket)(I don't like to complain).

So what can I tell you about Achurch? The church in Achurch has a well preserved tomb of a crusader from 1200 and something, which is quite impressive, and the guy who designed the First World War recruiting poster 'Your Country Needs You' was from there. I wonder how many men died because they responded to that?* Humm, that's about all I can tell you apart from the countryside around it is lovely.



So let's hope that if this series ever gets as far as B, that place will have had a bit more going on than a sleepy hamlet in the heart of the English countryside has had in the past 800 years.

* Reidski takes the piss out of me as whenever we visit some kind of amazing structure I always find myself asking him how many people he thinks may have died in the construction of the palace/cathedral/bridge - delete as appropriate. I am a terminally boring person to go anywhere with!

Words fail me

but I am going to have a go at expressing just how angry I feel right now on behalf of someone whose name I don't even know.

All I do know of this person is that she is female, in her late 40's, and she just happens to be the mother of the girl the tabloids tell us is 'The Nation's Sweetheart' aka Mrs Cheryl Cole.

So it seems that last night Mrs Cole had a birthday do and along came her mum. Lots of show biz 'pals' and lots of paparazzi along of course to get the photos of Mrs Cole and show biz 'pals'. So for, so 'Who gives a fuck?' And yet, not content with taking the photos of various members of Girls Aloud and Simon Cowell they somehow feel that Cheryl's mum is fair game too. They take a photo of her sitting in a car,which various papers have elected to print this morning, to graphically illustrate that this woman (who as far as I am aware has never done anything to court any publicity) has come out without knickers under her dress.

I can't start to imagine how humiliated this woman must feel. She would presumably never have dreamt in her worst nightmares that anyone would ever pay so much attention to her that they would even bother to take a photo of her - let alone a photo like that. What has she ever done to deserve such a thing? And what the hell have we come to as a society that not only do they take such a photo, but apparently it is worth good money to the photographer concerned because the papers have paid for it, and they have printed it.

Bad enough that as Gill pointed out earlier this week certain sections of the media are obsessed with printing unbecoming photos of people in the public eye, but when it is some woman who just happens to be attending her daughter's birthday party you have to wonder just how low these scumbags working in this area will end up stooping. What are the limits to ones connection to a famous person that will ensure one will NOT attract the attention of those prying lenses? I'm quite worried myself actually. Does the fact that I met Trigger and spoke with him for all of five minutes mean I now have to build security gates round my garden to prevent the paparazzi taking photos of me sunbathing? "Who is Trigger's mystery female friend, and what does she think she looks like in that M&S bikini?"

Tempting, but no thanks

Or at least I hope that will be the reaction of fans of Michael Jackson who spent a ridiculous amount of money on a ticket for a show that ain't going to happen, to this 'once in a lifetime' offer.

"For the price of a ticket to see a show you can have a ticket NOT to see a show." FF's S.

You know that

something seriously weird is going on in the world when you hear the words:

"We interrupt this news broadcast to bring you the thoughts of Uri Geller."

I did not dream that. It genuinely did happen on a Radio 5 late night programme that was clearly struggling with the fact that a major news story had broken when they were totally unprepared to deal with it.

I remember hearing the first news of Elvis's death which on News at Ten was initially reported thus: "We have just heard that Elvis Presley is dead. Erhh, no he's not. Erhh. we have unconfirmed reports that Elvis Presley is dead." So that really cleared that up for the listening public.


And when in future years I am asked "Where were you Jane when you heard about the death of Michael Jackson?" I will instantly recall that I was attempting to have a wee in peace and quiet but failed due to my daughter's hysterical reaction upon learning of the news the modern way - via Facebook.

MJ is (was) only a few months older than me. I can still remember exactly how sweet he was singing about how 'Ben' had a friend in him. I wonder how many true friends he ever had in his lifetime?

Those of you

who have been kind enough to have stuck with me over several years of blogging may recall that I got myself into all sorts of nasty brown stuff when I wrote about a certain ex-friend who works for a company that distributes what we will refer to here as Portable Rubbish Disposal Units. Therefore I have thought long and hard about whether to mention this, and find I am unable to resist.

What does it say about the madness that is Middle England when on the first day of this 'campaign' before the morning was out they had had over 300 comments about said Portable Rubbish Disposal Units? Mind you - it is all quite shocking. Do you know that some poor women are forced to push their PRDU's over a distance of literally YARDS from the backs of their houses to enable those nasty smelly council disposal men to empty them? (Not quite on the same scale as walking miles to fetch the water is it?)

Councils are apparently 'ignoring protests, petitions and marches' in their haste to issue households with these monstrosities. What? Run that past me again? Protest, petitions and marches? WHO in their right mind bothers to take part in an anti- PRDU march? Does anyone know of one that has been organised as I would have to go along - it sounds hilarious.

If you feel life is probably too short to bother with the entire article (or indeed to go on an anti - PRDU march) I will just highlight this particular gem for you:

Politicians and celebrities are joining the fight. Shadow Local Government Minister Bob Neill said: 'Households up and down the country are being hit by the curse of PDRU's - an obsession of bin bureaucrats. Obsessed bin bureaucrats! They sound like fun people. I want to meet one of them too! (Are we really shortly to be electing a government made up of people who genuinely believe in the existance of obsessed bin bureacrats?)

But here is in fairness a good point: And without plastic bins, (Richmond) locals are free to enjoy their front gardens or walk down the pavement without bumping into a bin. Though having acknowledged in true liberal fashion that that is such a good point I would mention that I have the things (two of them) but still find that as a general rule I am capable of walking down the pavement without bumping into one - but then may be I tend to do that old fashioned thing of looking where I am going? I also manage to feel fairly free to enjoy my front garden.....except for that sodding bindweed of course.

Anyway, how about a campaign for the return of the good old days when we used black bin bags? They were great weren't they, especially when they tended to spilt sending rubbish blowing about all over the road. Our local rats will be joining this campaign forthwith.


(Please don't mention W.B's here! google is all powerful - and don't I have good reaosn to know it!)

An 'Oh my God' moment

As you know I live in the sticks. Therefore it is not every day that I am at the same house party as a comedy legend. Last Saturday however....

Reidski and I were at a party in Kentish Town. We had been there long enough to have knocked back more that one glass of champagne so my defences were not at their sharpest when I saw this man walk into the kitchen. You know when you look at someone and just know that you know them, but you can not place them? I had that moment - and was smiling in welcome at this familiar face approaching me and smiling back with what I now recognise must be a 'This is how I smile at complete strangers when they know who I am' sort of smile. It took me a little while for my brain to process the information that I was smiling at TRIGGER!!!!



I did talk to him later but as the subject was the difficulty of using a knife and fork to eat whilst standing up at a party I fear I may have failed to dazzle him with my own brand of wit and repartee.

I thought

this was funny.

And if school sports days I have been to are anything to go by, John Lewis are going to be inundated.

Absence

Well it has been a while hasn't it?

What glamorous holiday have I been on this time you may ask?

Well I have been down to New Cross in South East London since I was last in touch for one night, but I have been further than that actually because I have been back in time.

Back to that long distant era when workers used old fashioned implements like pens and paper to work with.

Basically a week last Thursday a virus was let loose on the computer systems where I work and had the effect of knocking out an entire network of some 5,000 machines for an entire week.

Technology is bloody marvellous isn't?

Or at least it is when it works.

It is a beautiful world

Isn't it?

Great quote

from David Blunkett:

"I know the public are furious with politicians, but I didn't realise the anger has spread to Britain's cow population, too."

It is

65 years since countless young men lost their lives on D-Day, defending Europe against the Nazis. Ironic then that on the weekend of that anniversary we send a couple of Nazis along to represent our country in the European Parliament.

The winning candidate for Yorkshire and Humberside Andrew Brons (A former leader of the National Front with a 40-year history in far-right politics) said that “Despite the misrepresentation, we have managed to win through.” However Nick Griffin, another winning candidate, and leader of the BNP says "We are not a racist party."

I would therefore say "In spite of the misrepresentation the Nazi scum have managed to win through."

Don't you just love your annual appraisal?

One of the special joys for me is asking my colleagues to provide me with a 360 degree appraisal form - ie, ask everyone from the Head of Service to the caretaker what they think of me and my work. It is always so embarrassing to read so much praise about moi, moi, moi. And obviously I love the opportunity to complete them on behalf of my much valued colleagues: "So and so is a skiving toss bag."

And it's appraisal time again folks. (Yes, so soon after with much sighing of 'Thank god that shite is over for another year' we finished the last ones.)

But wait! What is this that comes down to us from the new powers that be? It is our new 360 degree appraisal form! Hark for what is this I hear?

The excitement!

The consternation?

The howls of derision.

SO last year is responding to whether or not our various team members:

1. Always do what they say they will

2. take responsibility

3. learn from their mistakes

4. strive for excellence

5. act on facts

6. treat people fairly.

Not for this go ahead organisation matey boy - oh no.

Instead we are invited to mark each other on a scale to 1-4 under the following (mystifying) headings:


1. Get on the bus / Lets go faster. (The first bus out of town?)

2. Treat people as human / Team N------shire (Treat people as human? That's a new one on me.)

3. Make Staff future proof / Golden Roller Skate ( Botox us? And Golden Roller Skate? That's crystal clear what they are asking there isn't it? (Any suggestions gratefully received as I am going to have to work with this.) )


4. Taste the Small Red Fruit* (The Times may say that but I couldn't possibly comment.)

5. Deliver on promises / Deliver, deliver, deliver (Do they want us to deliver perchance?)

6. Face it / Tackle wicked issues ( In the modern or traditional sense of the word 'wicked'?)

7. Do your job /Job plus (They want us to do our job??? What will they want next - blood?)

8. Develop a toolkit / Nimble and savvy (This one has totally defeated me. I have absolutely no idea what they are asking here. More suggestions anyone? )




It's Management Speak gone mad I tell ya!


In fact I would go further and say it is management gone mad. Does it not occur to them upstairs that the ordinary employee has not the first idea how we are supposed to use those headings as any kind of a basis for a meaningful appraisal system? Does it also not occur to them that the reaction of the ordinary employee to such headings will inevitably be along the lines of "What a load of bollocks."


* Rhymes with Law and is a berry. Just being aware of google searches here.



P.S. The power of google led me to discover ours is not the only rebranding going on. See here for the unfortunate result of paying vast sums of money to a London design company. I like the article's heading: 'UK Office of Government Commerce cracks one off.'

Who might he have in mind I wonder?

When Max Clifford says people in Boyle's situation "need people around them to understand how the business works."

When Reidski

has blogged more recently than I have I know just how remiss I have been attending to this place.

I do so have an excuse, and it isn't that I have sod all to talk about. On the contrary, I could sit here and write all day on the subject of why Northampton So Called 'University' is the crappiest teaching organisation in Britain (I don't want to think there is anywhere worse), but I will spare you that rant and just say that it would have been nice to have had more than two days notice that in addition to my assignment there was a little matter of an evidence grid to submit, which ran to 18 pages by the time I had finally finished the thing.

That evidence grid was all the more difficult to complete because last week whilst I was physically here in Northampton, my mind was very much still wishing I was eleswhere as I couldn't get how lovely Pembrokeshire was out of my head.

We stayed here. I cannot recommend this place highly enough, and the fact that it only cost us £99 each for a four night stay is practically day light robbery for that standard of accommodation.

I had never been to this area of Wales before and I just fell in love with the place. We were lucky with the weather, only getting soaked to the skin briefly the twice. (For the benefit of Joe in Las Vegas, that definitely counts as being lucky for any break taken in Britain in mid May.) For the rest of the time, deep blue sky and sunshine ruled, although granted the suntans we both came back with may have owed more to the wind than to the heat of the sun.



I think it is arguably quite good if the last day of any given break/holiday is the worst day as that makes it easier to return home. Our last day was I think our best. Coming home was shite! Anyway, on that particular day we went across to the St David's peninsular. Wow, wow and thrice wow! It was completely stunning, with an absolute profusion of wild flowers simply covering the cliffs all the way down to the rocks at the bottom. And as I had temporarily morphed into a twitcher whilst I was in Wales - we saw SO many different birds - if only I knew what on earth they all were that would have been good - this day was a real highlight. We took a boat trip around Ramsey Island where there were literally thousands of nesting sea birds on the cliffs, as well as flying in each and every direction around us. And they weren't nasty old sea gulls either. They were pretty! As was the island itself as hopefully this second photo will illustrate.



We saw seals too, and choughs, which are apparently some of the rarest birds to be found in Britain and who nest on Ramsey Island.

The perfect day (almost)ended with the perfect seaside food - fish and chips with mushy peas, from a fabulous chip shop in Tenby listed here at No. 5 in the best fish and chip list according to the Independent. (Just noticed Reidski and I have also visited the one at No. 9. This could become my next mission - to visit each of the ones listed.)

As to what the perfect day really did end with, I leave that to your imagination. But believe me when I say that that was pretty much perfect too.

Been away

near Dinbych-Y-Pysgod. Non Welsh speakers may know the place better as Tenby.

More to follow but here are some pretty pictures to be going on with.

Congrats

To Torquay and in particular to my favourite ever player for the Cobblers, Chris Hargeaves, who is their captain and scored their first goal at Wembley to win the Blue Square Premier Play off final and therefore return to the league. And if you look at this I think you may agree he was due some good luck. Note especially what he says about his play off semi with Northampton. The most emotional experience I have ever had at a football match that day. (From the days when I used to love my football team which is of course now all in my past????)


Come on Millwall in their play off final tomorrow!

Football hooligans

Following MK Dons heartbreaking* loss on penalties last night in the League 1 Play Off semi-finals - (they lost 7-6 after 18 penalties in total were taken) their long standing** fans rioted in Milton Keynes shopping centre. Reports that plastic bullets were fired have yet to be confirmed.


* SO heartbreaking that I haven't stopped laughing yet.

** Some have been recorded as having supported them for in excess of an entire fortnight.



P.S. Come on Millwall!

What is a blogger to say?

When a Tory grandee uses tax payers money to have his moat cleaned out, and when Jordan and Peter appeal for privacy, it just feels like one of those times when genuine news stories are all the entertainment we need.

Recently

Kev W took up the challenge of the Digital Detox and he switched off the tele, internet, X-boxes etc for an entire week. No e-mail for seven days? Heaven or hell? Discuss.

Anyway, this is just a very brief post on the off chance that anyone has noticed I haven't been around to say - no, the relegation blues has not resulted in me being carried off to the local funny farm. (You can tell I am a social worker by my empathetic attitude to those of us suffering with mental illness.)

I am almost tempted to say 'If only' as that experience may have been more interesting than the reason for my self imposed internet exile.I have in fact been on study leave doing the most boring, mind dulling assignment ever devised by any university anywhere.I didn't dare switch on the internet or the damn thing would never ever have got done.

It isn't finished - but it is nearly there. But I have tried to avoid the net, tele etc for three days. Kev did it for a week -and he wasn't even away in some remote outpost of this planet... and no, English Persons - Edinburgh is NOT a remote outpost of this planet.

Kev has nothing but my admiration. Staying away from the internet is tough. Especially as my kids have just introduced me to this site. Now - if you will excuse me I just need to go and see how many football league teams I can name in 10 minutes.



Answer 63 out of 72. Will just have to do it again!

The end of a love affair?

I’ve devoted an insane proportion of my life, and I dread to think how much of my income, to following a lower league football team. There have been some highs – the occasional promotion - but lots of lows. Relegation is far from being a new phenomenon for fans of Northampton Town Football. I have afflicted my eldest son with this ridiculous affection for a bunch of perennial non achievers. He was at Leeds on Saturday and confessed to coming away from there in tears – even though he had placed £20 on us going down. As I have found out myself this weekend – winning money on something you really didn’t want to happen doesn’t actually make one feel that much better.

Since this happened it has been like all fight has gone out of my team. Our record since then, at which time we were comfortably placed and even discussing our chances of reaching the play offs (ha ha) has been simply atrocious. We have sold our two best players at a profit, and we haven’t replaced them with permanent signings, instead dipping in and out of the loan market and producing an ever lengthening list of no-hopers. At the last count we had used 17 loan players this season– some of them stayed less than a week. They probably didn’t know their team mates names let alone their talents (or otherwise) on the football pitch. We threw a rookie goalkeeper in at the deep end having got good money for his predecessor, and wondered why he struggled (not his fault).

My friend works at the club. She has consistently complained about a lack of discipline and how the senior players have been providing poor examples for the younger ones; strolling in for training an hour late for example, and not being fined for that. Or how about this one? Leading strikers announcing they don’t fancy playing the next match??? She says there has been no application either in training or to recuperation following injury. I quote from the text she sent me on Saturday at 17.14. ‘The thing that makes me so angry is that too many players couldn’t give a shit and tossed it off all season’. No – she didn’t mince her words did she?

There was a time when I would have argued that supporters of small clubs like mine are quite privileged in that we do hear the inside story, do bump into the players at our local Sainsburys, and do feel a connection in the way that supporters of Premiership teams never could. Now I am not so sure – has hearing the stuff about the players who couldn’t care less affected the way I have watched my football this season? Or actually – would I have seen quite clearly enough as it was that they were not putting in the effort at all?

Whatever – the fact is that whilst I have seen us relegated on more occasions than I care to remember, this is the first time I would say we have done so without putting up a fight, and it has left me feeling cold. Whereas at one time I like my son would have been in tears when the relegation was confirmed, this time I just felt angry and short changed for all the time and money I have given to watch them go through the motions, throw matches away, and pick up their over inflated salaries regardless. For the first time since I became a season ticket holder I have not renewed it – and nor do I intend to. I don’t even know that I would have done if we had stayed up, because where I once felt an emotional attachment to the side, this season I have felt at times as disinterested as the majority of the players have been. (I give honourable exceptions to Danny Jackman, Jason Crowe, Mark Hughes and Andy Holt – no one else.)


Reidski might question some of what I have said – in particular the bit about having lost the emotional attachment as he was the one who got the unenviable task of cheering me up this weekend. Maybe, if we start beating the likes of Aldershot, Dagenham and Redbridge, Burton Albion, Accrington Bloody Stanley (that lot makes Chesterfield sound like a glamour tie in comparison) I will snap out of this and my passion for the team will be renewed. But right now it is lower than rock bottom.

Life is indeed All Cobblers.

Or rather – no it isn’t.

(This not being a fan will take a bit of getting used to I suppose.)

Status Quo - Down Down (toppop)

says it all :-(

Throw away the key

I'm only guessing here but the poor child is probably Baby Peter's sister.


And don't let the so called mother out either - ever.

Any subject but football will do

Last night Reidski and I went to the National Theatre and saw England People Very Nice.

Fair to say it has had mixed reviews with some people saying they were uncomfortable with people around them laughing at racism, but having seen it I think the audience laughs at the stupidity of racism.

Anyway, blatant plagiarism coming up now as I repeat here a particularly poignant moment from the play.

This particular scene takes part during the Blitz. Our Cockney barmaid is mourning the loss of her lover, killed as he was by a bomb. She stands at the graveside and announces she had intended to read a poem, but had instead decided to say a word for Hitler. And that word was............

'Cunt!'

There was a time when I would have found that word, used in such a context as totally offensive to women, but these days I tend to think that if anyone has a better word for Hitler, I have yet to hear it.

I have made the ultimate sacrifice to save my team

And believe me - I have only done this for them.

NOT that they deserve it. We lost again last night, when one measly little point would have secured our League 1 place for another season. Oh no though - why would they want to put their pathetic little supporters out of their misery before Saturday? We are now faced with a trip to Leeds - who have already sold 40,000 tickets to their own supporters - and we have no chance of getting anything from that whatsoever. Our only hopes prior to my own personal sacrifice were that either Stockport beat Brighton at Brighton (which they won't)or that Millwall get a point up at Carlisle (which contrary to what a very close acquaintance of mine says - they won't either).

It is clearly too late for half measures, and the time comes when a fan has to put herself on the line and do what ever it takes to positively ensure that the worst (relegation) does not happen.


And that is why earlier today I placed a FIFTEEN POUND bet that the Cobblers will in fact be relegated.


If that doesn't work nothing else will.








Editors note: 10 - 1 people! Believe me its the best odds for a cast iron certainty you will ever get.

A geology and a history lesson all in one blog!

The long over due account of what I actually did in Edinburgh.

Long long ago children, there was a volcano in the area that we now know as Edinburgh, and it erupted spewing molten lava all over the place, but particularly in two big piles. Over the years this cooled and was covered by other stuff until, during an ice-age, a big glacier rolled over the landscape, simultaneously stripping off the layers of other stuff from the piles of volcanic rock and creating the valley which runs east to west through what is now the city centre. The pile of rock on the west end of the city is the thing they built the castle on top of, the pile of the east is now Arthur's Seat (presumably King Arthur but no-one seems to know much about this) and the valley became a loch, which was drained and where now sit Waverley Station and the gardens south of Princes Street.

In the National Gallery of Scotland (where we saw the Titian which has just been saved for the nation), there is a picture painted in seventeen hundred and something which portrays the castle and it is, indeed, sitting on top of a hill, overlooking a loch. Looking at this picture you can't help but wonder who first had the bright idea of draining the damn thing and to build a city in it's place. Did some-one turn up at the parish council meeting one day and say "I've had a great idea !". Who took him seriously? How do you drain a loch?? Where does the water go? How do you know that there's not a water source below which will refill it as fast as you empty it?

Anyway, they did it and Edinburgh exists, a city dominated by the castle on top of the hill.

Except, really, to truly dominate something you do have to be, at the very least, visible. The day we arrived was grey and, from street level, the castle was shrouded in low cloud. As we walked around the west bank, it became no clearer. We decided to see how close we could get and still not be able to see it. As it turned out, we managed to go into car park of the castle itself (the bit where all the marching up and down goes on in the Tattoo) and still we couldn't see anything as illustrated in the photo I published early. Please keep up! .

This may be military brilliance of course. Obviously, if you are Scottish and you build a castle, it will only be a matter of time before we English attack it. But if you make it invisible, then you could lure a hapless English enemy into a trap - the opposing army wander around blindly peering up at the skyline, while you tip boiling hot oil down on their heads.

Unable to enjoy the full glory of the castle, we decided to come back the following day to have a better look, and set off down the Royal Mile, running through the old part of the city between the Castle at one end and Holyroodhouse at the other, which is a palace that sits beneath Arthur's Seat and was built mainly for Charles II because he didn't like staying at the castle (either because it was too cold - we can vouch that it is cold - or because he couldn't find it in the mist).

The following day was clearer and by the time we get back up the hill, there was blue sky. And F finally got to see the castle which is, indeed, impregnable looking. There's lots to see in the castle including St Margaret's chapel (it's a great thing to stand in a small room that some-one built in 1100), the very moving Scottish National War Memorial room (it made me cry), the Great Hall, the room where Mary Queen of Scots gave birth to James I, the Scottish crown jewels (re-discovered by Sir Walter Scott, a feat which more likely explains why a 200ft gothic spire has been erected in his honour in Princes Street, than the fact that he wrote "Rob Roy" a novel which no-one has ever read), the stone of destiny (formerly The Stone of Scone) and Mons Meg.

Mons Meg is a massive cannon made in 1455. It took 100 men to drag it into position and they could only move it two miles a day. It was capable of hurling a 5 cwt stone ball about a mile and a half. In it's day it was an awesome weapon...

Except that, (and I speak as a military strategist myself obviously,) if you knew all that, then surely the smart move would be to position yourself one and nine sixteenths miles away from it, also moving two miles a day but with considerably more ease than the poor blighters who had to drag the blasted thing around. However, when I suggested this to the uniformed officer who happened to be standing next to me, I was met with what I can only describe as a stony silence. That will be the last time I try to be helpful to a Scotsman ;-)

Later we walked down to the Grassmarket where there is a small raised platform on the spot where they used to hang people. Next to this is a pub named after a woman who, having been hanged and placed in the body cart, woke up. This illustrates, we were told, an interesting distinction between English and Scottish law. In England, you would be taken and "hanged until you are dead". In Scotland, in contrast, you would be taken and "hanged". In our womans case, the fact that she was not dead did not mean that the sentence had not been carried out and she was therefore free to go and open a pub. Had all this happened in England she would have had to go around for another go.

One thing we did that I especially enjoyed was a trip below ground where there are still preserved medieval houses and streets. It is an amazing experience. You can get a rough idea of the size and shape of the accomodation (tiny) but it's impossible to imagine what life was really like. The street is very steep and narrow. With buildings ten plus stories high, there would have been little light. And this was one of the busiest trading streets in the old city - full of stalls, people, livestock etc, claustrophobic beyond imagining. And worse, there was no proper sanitation, which meant that sewage was tipped into the street (bad enough if you live at the top of the hill, but at the bottom......) and flowed down the hill, as it turns out, into the loch which some-one wanted to drain two hundred years later for reasons that we suddenly better understood.

Apart from no space, no sanitation, no daylight and no comfort, they also had the plague which killed a third of the population until, as in London, it was wiped out by fire. Rough times indeed. And can you think of a worse job in the 17th century than being the guy charged with disposing of the plague dead? It makes being a child protection social worker sound like a walk in the park in comparison. And speaking of walks in the park - or in this case the gardens - Princes Gardens have the most beautiful tulips....although I don't know about that wallflower...she could at least try to look as though she is having a good time! (Which she very definitely was.)

A title for this fiasco totally escapes me. Any suggestions?

This is not about football before I scare off my non-football fan friends. It is about me, but will of necessity include some references to the match I was at on Saturday.

First off – we had to win. We are in a battle to avoid relegation and were playing an already relegated side. On paper, an easy game, but in practice, they could relax and play, whilst we were really tense and nervous.

With some 12 minutes remaining the score at 2-1 to us, they attacked and to my absolute horror following some Keystone Cop type defending, the ball ended up in the back of our net, and the last thing I registered before texting Reidski with the dreadful news, was 10 Hereford United players running off to celebrate with their fans. I was so frustrated and anxious as that meant we simply had to get another goal in the short time remaining, that I made a mess of the text and had to start again. When I looked up they were bloody well attacking again.

When one is watching a game and one needs a goal, time of course flies by, but when one is in the lead of course it drags. I was simply willing us to score again, but we could hardly get the ball out of our own half, let alone look like getting a goal. It began to look like the best thing we could hope for was to avoid defeat, especially given the score lines we were hearing from other games that mattered to our survival. My friend who sits in front of me was moaning to me about our defender who was responsible for both of their goals. When the final whistle blew lots of people around us were cheering so I assumed Carlisle must have lost which would have meant we were safe (sorry Karen) but then I heard that actually they had drawn and we still weren’t safe. I was very despondent.

As I walked back to my car Reidski sent me a text which read ‘Sky say you won 2-1.’ ‘We didn’t’ I texted back, thinking how crap Sky Sports were. I got in the car and switched on the local radio, to be told the Cobblers had won 2-1. ‘Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?’ I ask, and my son obliged by asking me what the fuck I was on about?

The upshot of this bizarre episode is that I, who have been attending football matches for 40 years, and my friend who has been attending them for even longer than that both completely failed to notice that their second ‘goal’ had been disallowed. How on earth that could possibly have happened I have simply no answer. I looked at the clock every thirty seconds after their so called second goal, and the score is recorded directly above the clock – and still I never spotted that it did in fact read 2-1, which was indeed the score. I am a complete and utter idiot.

Today’s essay title is ‘Women should be banned from football’ – discuss.

I would like to say my friend is male....but she isn’t.

My nerves

are shot to threads.

By the way - in our last 3 home games we have scored 8 goals but have only 1 point out of a possible 9 to show for them.


Just possibly not unrelated to the fact that we have conceded 10 in those same 3 games?


Currently just out of a relegation spot on goal difference alone with three games remaining.

In which we English ladies blend seemlessly in with the locals

The friend I was with in Edinburgh has recently been mentioned in this blog as it was she whose parents were friends with T Dan Smith. F and I have been friends since we were both six years old, and this trip was in recognition of 44 years of knowing each other.

To reiterate that it was F’s first time in Edinburgh, and indeed her first time north of the border since a family holiday in the Highlands when she was 14.

F, although intellectually far ahead of me, left school with one poor A level owing to her having basically not attended sixth form due to lack of interest. Whilst I went on to university, she got a job and has been with the same employer ever since – by coincidence – the same employer as my current one. The difference is that she with the poor qualifications is earning five times more than I do, and running a significant proportion of the place. Partly as a result of that F has over the years developed a taste for fine wines and food. Her idea of a bar is one that sells a range of champagnes by the glass, thus she was somewhat thrown when I took her in The Half Way House. This pub may win awards for its real ale, but she was a bit iffy about the wine selection (although it did turn out to be very good). She ended up drinking a Pimms Winter Warmer, as suggested by the very friendly lady behind the bar.

F then started surveying the food selection. This was a little odd to me as we were already booked in at a very posh restaurant for the evening, and at this time it was 4.00. She quizzed the staff about what exactly were ‘stovies’, and she ended up deciding we had to try them, oh – and some haggis, neeps and tatties for good measure.

The stovies cost £3.50 and the haggis etc was a fiver.

As we sat down, and in full ear shot of the small but crowded pub she announced “I always enjoy some tapas with my drink.” TAPAS!!!! In totally basic beer drinkers pub in Edinburgh??? General hilarity ensued. I laughed too once my acute embarrassment had died down a little.

Turned out under cross examination that she genuinely thought that owing to the price of said items, that we would indeed be getting tapas size portions. However, as the menu made clear when quoting from the Good Pub Food Guide: ‘There are no half sized portions at the Half Way House’ and two enormous plates of food duly arrived.

We ate the lot and still managed to eat here later too.

This week I shall be mainly – dieting.

I spy

with my little eye something beginning with 'C'?



Luckily, there was this helpful little sign to give us a clue where the mist covered castle could be located.





I felt pretty bad for my friend as she had never been to Edinburgh before and I had gone on and on about how scenic it is. When we arrived on Wednesday we could see what I can only describe as Bugger All. I was talking to a guy in a kilt about the lack of view a few days later. "Aye" said he, "I had never seen it that bad ma sen." 'Oh my God!' thinks I - 'Just how unlucky were we?' "And how long have you been here?" I asked noting that he looked about 30. "Three weeks", he replied. Turned out he had only just moved to Edinburgh from Stirling.

Mind you - no complaints about the views when the weather did clear.

On my way

to Edinburgh for a few days with a girlfriend.

It's gonna be great.

Hopefully will actually have something worth writing about when I get back. One never knows!

It's great to be appreciated!

I can't remember ever getting an above inflation pay rise since I have been in social work. Last year with inflation running at 4.5% and petrol and energy bills going up every day I was one of the Unison members who went on strike for two days as our pay offer of 2.45% seemed derisory. I'd like to say it was worth it, but the eventual extra 0.3% (which took 11 months to agree)tells its own story. It got me an additional £80 before tax. That's per year -not per week.

And so to the new pay negotiations.

The following is word for word of the message all staff received on Thursday.

Pay 0ffer for 2009/10

You may have already seen in the press information about the pay offer made to local government employees from 1st April 2009 – this message aims to share with you details of that pay offer and the Unions’ position.

There are two important parts of the offer:

The offer is for an increase of 0.50% on all pay points from 1st April 2009

The offer will remain on the table until 1st June. If a negotiated settlement has not been achieved by that date then the offer will be withdrawn and employees will not receive an increase in 2009/10.

These are very difficult times for everybody - local authorities, local government workers and council tax payers. The offer is being made in circumstances where:

• RPI is 0% and likely to be a minus figure in the months ahead

• Companies across the country are going out of business and people are losing their jobs

• Many employees in the private sector are having their pay frozen this year and some have agreed pay cuts to protect jobs

• Local authority finances are stretched to the limit. The recession is increasing demand on our services and reducing our income.

Because of these difficult circumstances the employers had to weigh up very carefully whether any offer at all should be made. But in the end they have decided that an offer of 0.50% is fair recognition of the important work being done by our employees.

Nobody wants a repetition of the long pay negotiations of the last few years so the employers have told the trade unions that the offer will remain on the table until 1 June. If a negotiated agreement has not been achieved by that date then the offer will be withdrawn. If the offer is withdrawn then there would be no pay increase for 2009/10.

0.5% is a fair recognition of the important work being done by us!!! A lesson in how to motivate one's work force don't you think?!?

Tally ho chaps

It was only a matter of time before the Tories came out with this. Surprise, surprise - they want to repeal the hunting ban.

Support is growing for the ban on hunting with dogs to be scrapped, shadow justice minister Edward Garnier has told the BBC. And what do you know? Mr Garnier is a member of The Countryside Alliance.

According to their website which I can't be arsed to link to, The Countryside Alliance 'works for everyone who loves the countryside and the rural way of live.' Well I love the countryside and the rural way of life but they sure as hell don't work for me.

Does anyone else remember them claiming the hunting ban would cost 16,000 jobs? I read recently how many jobs it actually cost. Nil. Narda. Not a single one. Trustworthy, honest bunch aren't they?

And does anyone else remember their marches? I do because the landowners round our way ordered their staff to attend them, whether they wanted to or not.

I heard Mr Garnier bring in the old line about how we anti hunters suffer from class envy. Well no, although we may note that Mr Cameron was at Eton and has many chums who are likely to enjoy a morning out with the hounds. What we do suffer from though is a rather strong anti cruelty streak.






But no matter whether people do or do not care about the issue of hunting per se, does it not seem somewhat antiquated to even be considered bringing such a 'pastime' back? This is the 21st Century after all. They will be letting people smoke again in public places next - and doesn't it seem incredible that that was still allowed less than two years ago here?