Just Walkin' the Dog

I'm still waiting for a date for my operation. The latest news is that it will definitely before August (waiting list quotas an' all that). In the meantime I'm a little between the devil and the deep blue sea so I've been pulling the walking boots on while I still can and heading for the hills and dales. For company I've been taking the shit machine with me.

The pic above was taken from the top of Werneth Low - a local country park that provides spectacular view across the Lancashire, Cheshire plain and the Pennines and Peak District. It shows Manchester City centre. The tallest building you can see on the left is the recently completed Beetham Tower. It's the tallest residential building in the UK apparently. Well, until some other city builds a bigger one. Half way up it there is a Hilton hotel that the general public can grace via the Sky Bar. The views are stunning. eldest and prospective Mrs Eldest booked into the VIP suite as a special treat a few weeks ago and loved it.

Here's a few snaps from my recent forays.



The cenotaph at Werneth Low.



Looking towards Oldham and Ashton-u-Lyne



Steps Tandle Hill



It's a rusty thing on a mill wall by a canal.



Walkway over the M60.



A red farm vehicle.



Pub and Peveril Castle, Castleton, Derbyshire.

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In other local news there's been a massive fire in Manchester City Centre today - I was able to see the smoke from our bedroom window and you could smell the smoke the minute you opened the door. It looks pretty severe and there is a possiblity that some homeless folk have been caught in it. Poor buggers.

Another building caught fire. One that had been converted to apartments (or flats as we used to call them). I bet the insurance companies as well as the residents are frantically checking the small print of their policies. Those residences in the Northern Quarter cost an arm and a leg so there's a lot at stake.

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Big Sam Allardyce has resigned as manager of Bolton Wanderers and the rumours persist that the hefty head honcho is earmarked as City's next manager.

No. No. No.

I'm not knocking Sam. He's done a great job with very little at Bolton but I don't think he's the type of coach who can build a team for the long term. Bolton are where they are today due to his ability to cajole the likes of J J Okotcha to end their careers at the Reebok. As a result he has been able to produce the over-achieving Wanderers we now see fighting for a European place. It's not building a team for the future though is it?

So. Big Sam? Well thanks but no thanks.

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Speaking of Manchester City Football Club, I have finally given up my season ticket. The last game I actually attended was a tedious City display as Reading beat them 2-0. City haven't scored at home since New Year's Day! Coupled with my increasing disgust at the prices being charged for everything from pies to programmes, the whole match day experience has become an expensive ordeal. Something that I have looked forward to less and less as the season has progressed.

Next week it's the Manchester derby and I'm not going. I've let a friend have my ticket. The spark's gone. The light has flickered and died. Time to move on.

From now on I'll watch City live in the pub. Most games are screened live in our area so it shouldn't be a problem. For my live fix I'll be at Droylsden FC for their first season in the Conference.

Come on the Bloods!

The Carnival Is Over

Ah well Manchester United are through to the FA Cup Final probably to be closely followed by Chelsea. It looks like Manchester United or Chelsea are going to win the Premiership and there's a strong possibility that one of the two will be lifting the Champion's League trophy some time next month.

*Yawn*

Manchester City have now all but secured another season in the Premiership so I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies. But when I actually stop to think about this I end up thinking "and?" Another season of mid-table mediocrity with maybe a sniff at the Carling Cup and that's it. Boring, boring, boring. I've been reading the sports pages in the national press today and, as usual, they are creaming themselves over the "best league in the World". Hardly. "The best top four in the World" matybe but the rest of us can't hope to compete with the cash cows at the top.

And it's going to get worse. From next season the bottom club in the Premiership will receive around £30m. £30m to get relegated as the worst team in the division. That £30m will probably be enough to buy promotion within a couple of seasons and then another guaranteed minimum £30m. This will then create yet another glass ceiling in the Championship and the poor buggers in the lower half of the table and in the current Division One will find the financial gulf growing ever wider.

Money, money, money. It's killing the game in my opinion. So much so that I have not renewed my season ticket and I have started attending a local non-league club's matches. (Droyslden FC - top of the Nationwide North league and maybe a couple of games off promotion to the Conference proper). The match-day experience is brill even if the football leaves a lot to be desired.

Yesterday Youngest and myself got a taxi to the ground and had a couple of pints in a local before paying a tenner each to enter the ground and have another beer in the excellent social club. We then stood in the sunshine and watched a semi-decent game which ended in a 1-0 win for the bloods.

Pie, peas and gravy as well. Lovely. Next week there's a few more United and City mates coming with us to watch the crunch match against Harrogate. Now I remember what made me love football so much. Local passion and pride. Selfless volunteers painting, repairing, helping. Players playing for a love of the game rather than an over-inflated wage packet. A thoroughly enjoyable experience.

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Since I took my redundancy I've been dragging the shit-machine up hill and down dale snapping away with my new camera and generally toning up and shedding a few pounds. Sadly though the lure of the pub and my local's superb Dobcross bitter generally proves too much and the ounces and pounds creep back. Still a corpulent status quo is something I can live with at the moment. What does worry me though is I'll be seeing the doc next week and I should finally get a date for my foot operation. When I've had it I'll be out of action for 6 to 8 weeks. Immobile and thirsty I'll be bloody huge before I'm back on my feet again.

Comments?

Spanish Bombs......

A midnight flight from Barcelona on Friday, after three pissed-wet-through and one glorious-azure-skied-pleasure-to-be-alive-day. Add to that my newly acquired unemployed status and, well, I really should be blogging more.

I really should be doing a lot more actually. Taking the dog for a daily walk shit doesn't, in all fairness, get the ol' cardio vascular system working that much. It's more a "'urry up I'm sick to death of standing here waiting for you to shit what you've got to shit before I dive in with my trusty "doggy bag". I should be at the Cutting-Edge of technology somewhere: explaining how to add four columns in MS Excel. Beating an understanding of the two times table into a recent graduate. Or simply trying to draw as much Pension as possible and "downsizing".

I spent a lot of time taking photographs with my new Pentax K100D. A lot of camera for a very reasonable price. Furthermore, all my old Pentax K lenses should work with it - albeit in manual mode but, hey, that's why I bought it.

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I love the place (Barcelona). This must be our fourth or fifth visit and, apart from the weather, this was one of those "we know what we're doing and where we're we going" holidays. Parc Guell, the Noucamp, the beach, las Ramblas and if you take into account the fact that our hotel was smack dab in the middle of the Gothic Quarter.........Superb.

The bed was King Size plus. "Where are you?" queried Dearest. "In the North West corner of the bed" I replied. We could both do "stars" and still not touch. Add to that free internet access in every room (should've took my laptop) and an Internet and Photoshop corner on our floor and you couldn't go much wrong.

They had a reasonably priced restaurant with live jazz on Thursdays and Fridays and the breakfast was brill. If you're going to Barcelona get yourselves in there.

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We did all the usual, Gaudi this, Gaudi that. Tour the Noucamp (now that's what I call a trophy cabinet - are you listening the board of Manchester City?), the Joan Miro museum and the whole Montjuic thing.

I've never really been a Miro fan but it was raining and we were stuck up Montjuic in that fine rain that soaks you through so in we went. Hmmmmmm. I can hear all the philosophical "what is Art" debates raging in my head but when the culmination of a life's work becomes three huge white canvasses (the size of a living room wall) with a single black line drawn on each, then it's time to either a) disappear up your own fundament or b) start painting fucking landscapes and fruit again.

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Coming home along the M60 at 3:00am I had to keep coughing and generally making a noise in order to keep the drowsy taxi driver awake. I made that much noise (on account of my fear) I fully expected him to turn around and say "are you talking to me?" Frightening.

And then back to the hospital to see my Dad who is improving mentally but not physically. We're hoping that we can get him into the old folk's home at the end of our street. If we're successful we'll be able to take him for a pint of Dobcross in the local every now and then.

It's great our local now. It's still a City supporters club and the new, young landlord is going for CAMRA status. He's already had an honourable mention in one of the magazines and he's now looking to putting on a mini beer festival. It would be great to get my Dad along to that. The problem is fitting his couple of pints in with his Draconian pill-taking regime. Blood pressure, diabetes and everything else means whatever is introduced into his system is going to have some effect.

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A barbecue at Eldest and Prospective Mrs Eldest's yesterday, Quorn and salads and wine and beer to a soundtrack of CSN, early Chicago, Creedance Clearwater Revival, Canned Heat, Zappa, Stones, Beatles............all Eldest's selections.

Class. Later we all retired to the local and finally to bed.

Today Dearest and I went and watched City attain Premiership safety with a decent 3-1 defeat of Fulham at Craven Cottage. God bless Arabic sports channels.

And tomorrow I finally find out what happens to Sam Tyler. Can't wait. Things have changed since 1973.

My comments have disappeared again. I'll add another post.