I have two points of issue at this time of writing. Both sports related. So, for those with no interest in either Football or the NFL, please have a look at my other offerings. Anyone left? Hello? Hello?!
Oh, well, I'll carry on regardless.
1) The England Manager's Job:
Ah, yes. This week's 'Big Story'. The bigwigs at the FA take the decision to relieve John Terry of the England captaincy, and then deem it suitable to inform the manager after the fact. Then there is the sharp intake of breath when said manager publicly disagrees with their decision on foreign telly in his home country. Now, I agree that John Terry should not be England captain. He shouldn't even be in the squad. But this is the manager's decision to make. The rationale that the John Terry-Anton Ferdinand situation shouldn't be allowed to side-track England's Euro 2012 doesn't wash with me. If the press don't have that to harp on about, they'll find something else. Because, let's face it, the British press just can't bring themself to get behind the team and their manager. They have to find something to pull at and stick the knife in.
Now Fabio Capello has resigned, I can't help wondering if he is breathing a huge sigh of relief. He is much better off out of it. And we wait for the bumbling, incompetent FA bigwigs to appoint the next mug, sorry, well-qualified, successful, hungry manager to bring long-awaited success for the England team. DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH!!
The current squad are nothing more than over-paid, over-hyped, under-developed, selfish, self-aggrandising halfwits. There is no other explanation. How else do you explain the inability to carry out simple instructions? Or Wayne Rooney's decision to unnecessarily kick out at an opponent in the final qualifying game?
Which brings me on to those England fans who think the England team has the God-given right to win tournaments, just because we did so in 1966. That was 46 years ago. When there was real pride in playing for England. These days player's loyalty is all down to money. How many times did Rooney kiss his Everton badge? Then, in the blink of an eye, he's kissing his United badge. Do a Google search for pictures of Wayne Rooney. Count how many pictures of him kissing his England badge.
I digress. England are not World-beaters. They don't have the players with the technical ability to adapt to differing situations. They can hardly string ten passes together before punting the ball towards goal. The infrastructure in this country benefits only one party. The clubs.
The general consensus is that the England manager should be English. Why? If you want success, you must get the best manager available. There are no world class, English managers. Harry Redknapp? Don't make me laugh. He's done a great job at Tottenham, but he's been able to work with some top quality foreign players. FOREIGN PLAYERS. Last time I checked, Gareth Bale, Luka Modric and Rafael Van Der Vaart weren't English. And let's be honest, they're the key players in that team.
My tip for the job? Guus Hiddink. Experienced in International football management, success with modest talent (Russia, Turkey and South Korea), and, above all, experienced with the vultures of the British press.
2) The NFL and it's British fans:
Superbowl XLVI was great. I stayed up to watch it until gone 3 in the morning. In the run up to the game, the NFL announced that the St Louis Rams had agreed to play a game in the UK for the next 3 years. Great. I looked at the ticket prices. Not great. £50 for the cheapest seats. Add to that, travelling costs to get to Wembley, and you're looking at close to £100 for the whole shebang. Who can seriously afford to spend that in this current climate? And why is it that only London gets to host the party? (I can answer that one myself, it's because to the American's, London is the only place of importance.)
It's not like Wembley is the only stadium in the country capable of hosting an NFL game. Through gritted teeth, I say that Old Trafford could easily accommodate the NFL. Plus, it's in the North.
Apparently there is a Parliamentary committee set up to help promote the sport in the UK. Is this just a show? Time will tell. A good start would be to get the merchandise widespread and affordable. As a Pittsburgh Steelers fan of 25 years, it has proved a fruitless quest to find reasonably priced gear. In this cold weather, I thought, what better way to show my support for my Steelers than to buy a Steelers hat to keep my head warm? Most of the stuff comes all the way from the US, with the postage charges to boot. Or what about a t-shirt? £20 for something remotely satisfactory.
Apparently there is talk of there one day being an NFL franchise based permanently in the UK (who are we kidding? It'll be in London of course). I don't think this is a good idea. We tried American Football here once before. Hands up who remembers the London Monarchs?? No? They were a team set up to take part in a world-wide tournament that culminated in the World Bowl. Completely separate from the NFL itself, it was designed to capitalise on the late 80's-early 90's boom, but it eventually petered out, leaving barely a trace. And this would happen again, but to a current, well established NFL franchise. Which would upset the NFL bigwigs, who would then arrange to ship the franchise back to the US for resuscitation. Leaving the UK fans with nothing again.
So, leave it how it is. Just send a variety of teams to play over here, and rotate the locations to give us all a chance to witness the show.
Moan over. I feel alot better now, thanks.
And here we are at the latest helping of my tips for the perfect record collection. We're in to the month of February now, you've all managed to survive the post-Christmas cash flow panic and things are looking up. Hopefully. So, what better way to celebrate this feeling than with the latest must-have offering.
The Fleet Foxes by The Fleet Foxes
Now before the purists kick up, I'd like to acknowledge the fact that this first album is not actually their first release, it was merely the first full length studio album. I was non-the-wiser myself until reliably informed and presented with the evidence by my girlfriend. The thing that stands out for me is how an American band managed to produce such quintessentially English sounding music. But, by jove, they pull it off with uncanny perfection.
The album kicks off with the perfect album opener, 'Sun It Rises'. Just listening to it, you want to look out of the window and see the sun actually rising. The vocals and harmonies are heavenly and compliment the melody. This is quickly followed by 'White Winter Hymnal', possibly the best song on the album. Again, conjuring up the essence of English-ness, and lyrics that talk about "scarves of red tied round their throats, to keep their little heads from falling in the snow" and "turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime". You will find yourself singing along before too long, this I promise you. And the album continues in this vein. Yet another stand-out track is the beautiful (yes, I've just used the word 'Beautiful' to describe a song. Can't believe it myself) 'Your Protector'. Words can't do the song justice, so I merely implore you to give it a listen. And I defy you not to be filled with emotion by the end. I will even tell you that in the infancy of our relationship, for my girlfriend and me, this was 'Our Song'.
The album's first disc (oh, didn't I mention there was a second disc? Yes, there is, and we will come to this in due course. Have patience) comes to a close with two more brilliant tracks, 'Blue Ridge Mountains' and 'Oliver James'. Both contain the haunting harmonies that flow and persevere throughout the entire record. The latter is nothing but vocals and minimal musical accompaniment.
Right, disc two. This is essentially one of their earlier EPs included because it contains the most successful of their UK singles (reaching the shamefully low peak of 51 in the charts), 'Mykonos'. This is yet another gem of a song.
There it is then. Go and buy the album, listen to it and be amazed. In fact, with the cold weather upon us, this album is the perfect antidote as it will give you a warm feeling by the time you've listened to it all the way through.
Thank you for reading.
What you are about to read is an excerpt from one of my many started then abandoned writing projects. I have about six or seven of them kicking about, and after an initial burst of creativity, the concentration wanes, then Television or Facebook take over, and then I lose interest, or the next idea has taken over... It's a never ending cycle really, and I really ought to break it and actually finish something for a change!!
Anyway, please cast your eye over what follows and feel free to pass comment either positively or, if you so wish, you can leave some constructive criticism. Which means you can't call me any rude words or just call it rubbish. You have to tell me WHY it's rubbish, or why you think it's justified to call me a rude word.
So, make sure you are sitting comfortably, and I shall begin... (also, this idea is still so much in it's infancy, I have not deemed it necessary to give it a proper title - the file name on my conputer is simply "Another novel idea". And it's in a different font, so you know where it ends too. I'm helpful like that.
Chapter 1
The winter sun set behind the hills as I drove home from work. I fumbled around for my sunglasses in the glove compartment. Finally, after littering the passenger seat with various pieces of rubbish and CD cases, I put my hands on them. Emitting a sigh of relief, I used my mouth to open the arms and put them on my face.
Oh, for fucks sake!” My vision was now impaired by a huge scratch on one lens. I angrily ripped them from my face and flung them on the passenger seat. I took a quick glance at the road, then fumbled around for a CD. I put my hands on ‘The Best of The Stone Roses’ and nimbly opened the case and slid the CD into the stereo. As the familiar sounding intro to ‘I Wanna Be Adored’ filled the speakers, I turned the volume up a few notches. I turned my attention back to the road in time to see the traffic in front ground to a halt. As my swearing mingled with the rumbling bass of the music, I rammed my foot on the brakes and eventually came to a halt amidst squealing tyres just millimetres from the car in front. I sat there gasping for air and sweating profusely. I opened the window for some air and turned the fans on to cold air and full blast.
I drove slowly the rest of the way home. I finally pulled up outside my parent’s suburban bungalow. I stuffed the various bits of rubbish back in the glove compartment and slammed it closed before the things could topple back out again. I picked my bag off the floor where it had been thrown by the earlier braking manoeuvre and removed the key from the ignition. I sat in silence for a moment, then, taking a deep breath, got out of the car and, having locked the door, walked up the driveway and round the back. There were no cars on the drive, so both mum and dad were most likely out. Probably just as well, I thought as I shut the gate behind him. As I rounded the wall, I heard the dog barking and scratching at the French windows. I let myself in with my key and made a fuss of the dog, scratching her tummy and rolling balls for her to chase. Leaving the dog spread-eagled on the floor, I got up and made myself a cup of coffee and cut a piece of birthday cake left over from my sister Marie’s birthday at the weekend. It was still tasty, but was now beginning to dry out a bit. I peeled the icing off and dropped some cake on the floor for the dog, who greedily ate it up. Glancing at the clock, and seeing it was almost quarter to six, I went and got changed.
This had pretty much been my routine for the last three months, ever since my wife, Lucy, decided to screw me over with her boss. It was still bitter, but as far as I was concerned I was better off out of it. To think I was considering having a child with her was frightening on reflection. Now she was living in my house with her boss, causing me all sorts of grief, and I was reduced to living out of my old bedroom after almost six years away. My confidence was shot to pieces and I couldn’t see a way out. It was a good job my family were supportive, and my friends too, as there were many times I considered ending it all. Sinking into a pit of depression and alcoholism had been all too easy, but thankfully, I was on my way up. For now, anyway. I had never told anyone about the time I sat on my bed with a glass of vodka, feeling low. I had emptied the glass and smashed it against the wall. Then taking a shard of glass, I held it over my wrist and paused. Luckily, I was far too afraid of dying to actually go through with it. Now I can look back at that moment and I know my life was supposed to go on. Maybe I had a reason. All I know is that I’m glad I didn’t slice my wrists open. And so are my loving family. If only they knew.
But anyway, as I got changed, I read the newspaper from front to back, reading the sports pages in detail. Having been on her own for a while, the dog was lying by my bedroom door looking sorry for herself. It was a Friday, and I needed to do something. Having got changed, I ran through my mobile phone contacts, texting my mates to see if anyone fancied a night out. Jim, Dave, Mike, Rick and Phil. Slowly, over the next half hour, they all replied in the negative. Looked like it was just me. Never mind, there was enough for me to do on my own in town.
......
etcetera, etcetera...
Any good you think?
Laughter is indeed the best medicine, unless you're diabetic, in which case Insulin is probably more beneficial. So said Jasper Carrott. And it's difficult to argue. I've been lucky enough to see some great comedians strutt their stuff and deliver their own style of witty repartee and observations. Some in my own backyard (not literally of course, I don't know if I'd clear Health & Safety) and some I've had to travel to. With January almost over, and for the lucky ones, the first pay-day of the year reached intact, here is a run-down of the funny men I've seen in action, in no particulat order, except the order in which I remembered them:
Rich Hall
Saw the man twice in Shrewsbury (at the Music Hall). The first time Rich did the whole show, and the second time, he shared the limelight with his alter-ego, Otis Lee Crenshaw. On the first occasion, I made the mistake of needing to go to the toilet mid-way through. Big mistake! No surprises then when he picked on me. The stand out moment for me was when he was talking about getting angry. American's go on a rampage, shooting people. Us Brits? We write a letter.
The second time was less eventful (I ensured I went for a wee in the interval) and I even met the man and got a signed CD after the show.
Ardal O'Hanlon
Saw Ardal in Telford a while ago now. Having been in awe of him courtesy of his starring role in Father Ted, the chance to see him doing a stand up show was too good to miss (even if I had to take my now ex-wife with me). I haven't regretted it. He had great observations about relationships and parenting, and even found time to comment on the number of roundabouts in Telford!
Frankie Boyle
Telford was also the venue as I made my acquaintance with Frankie Boyle. He took a moment out of his dark, twisted routine to scan the first couple of rows and made his way along to me. There I was wearing a bright orange T-shirt. I should have known better. A few questions came my way, and ultimately he decided I had the perfect voice for Insurance. I did find him funny to start with, but after a while his cruel, crude jokes start to wear thin when the novelty has gone. Which is probably why Mock The Week were glad when he decided to leave the show.
Dara O'Briain
I saw the big man over in Wolverhampton, and having seen one of his previous live DVD's, I knew what sort of show to expect. Good stories and great banter with the crowd. He didn't disappoint. There was a couple of empty seats in the front row I seem to recall, and this provided some good banter with the folks either side of the gap. Also, the night before, Michael McIntyre had done a show, only to trip over and hurt his shoulder!!
Jasper Carrott
All the way to the NIA I went to see the legend himself on what was essentially a Greatest Gags show. Upon booking, you could request a joke and if you were lucky, Jasper would tell the joke/do the routine during the show. Not thinking anything of it, I made my request ('The Mole' if anyone's interested) and completed the ticket booking. Then, as I was sitting in my seat awaiting the start, I noticed the big screen was scrolling through a list of names. Before I knew it, my name had scrolled past!! I don't think he ended up doing the routine, but who cares?!! All his jokes are funny. My appreciation of Jasper Carrott can be attributed to my dad and his classic cassettes. For this I thank him.
Russell Howard
The third of my visits to the metropolis of Telford. I think he'd only been a regular on Mock The Week for a short time, so hadn't had the chance to air his routine and impose his character on the show. Proud of his Bristolian roots, but not afraid to poke fun at their less than bright reputation, he was a good showman if a little shouty, but overall an enjoyable time. It'll be interesting to see his act in a few more years, to see how he's adapting his act with advancing age.
Stephen K Amos
A first visit to the new Theatre Severn for me. I wasn't sure what to expect from Stephen, but I was pleasantly surprised. Plenty of stories about his Nigerian upbringing and observations on present day peculiarities to turn any frown upside down.
These, then, are the comedians I've been lucky enough to see in action. There are many more I'd hope to see before my time (or theirs) is up. John Bishop for one, Jason Manford another. Tim Vine has a style of comedy that some find 'old-hat' but I think the one-liner jokes are as good as anything.
Fin.
Today sees the start of another of the Masterchef series. This time it's the amateurs turn into the hotspot.
Regular shouty, eaty judge Gregg Wallace is joined by John Torode as they run the rule over a load of people who think they can cook, or have been told they make a nice Steak.
In my opinion, Masterchef is a brilliant show that mixes food, stress and comedy. Yes Comedy. You just watch an episode and look at the facial expressions as Gregg and John wander around the kitchen taking in the contestants and their methods, ingredients and so on.
Recently, I enjoyed the Professionals version and got quite carried away with my support of one chef in particular. She didn't win, but she really produced some intriguing food (and was a bit of a cutie too). Alongside all the food, there was the fun and games from all those skill tests in front of Gregg and Monica, followed by that moment when, having prepared the chefs for the next challenge, Gregg turns to the kitchen door, and Michel Roux Jr enters to dramatic music. And of course, the food tasting. How many times did we see Gregg almost melt into a plate of food after one mouthful?! Or say "I could eat the whole plate!"? TV Gold in my book. I'm even considering patenting a new Masterchef: The Professionals Drinking Game where you have to take a drink everytime the phrase "2 Michelin Stars" is repeated. Trust me it has legs! (Unlike anyone who will play the game - they'll be legless... gettit?)
And yet, possibly the most ironic thing is, I'm not really a foody person. I like food, don't get me wrong, but I don.'t get excited or orgasmic over it (some people would wonder if there is anything that gets me excited). In fact, I don't even cook. The only time I go into the kitchen is to get a drink, but when you've got a girlfriend who can cook like mine, why would I even try?! I used to have a go in the kitchen, well, I had to thanks to my ex-wife who spent most evenings working at a pub or shopping or whatever, and I was left to feed our son and occasionally her 2 kids from a previous marriage. But I never enjoyed it.
The last time I was in the kitchen, I almost dropped a tray of fish fingers. Actually that was the first time my girlfriend heard me shout and curse. In my defence, it was a narrow kitchen and I didn't have an oven glove!!
So, watch Masterchef and see food being cooked and eaten. If nothing else, you'll feel bloody hungry!!
Now Fabio Capello has resigned, I can't help wondering if he is breathing a huge sigh of relief. He is much better off out of it. And we wait for the bumbling, incompetent FA bigwigs to appoint the next mug, sorry, well-qualified, successful, hungry manager to bring long-awaited success for the England team. DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH!! 
