Kid Charlemagne

Whew what a night. Dearest and I along with Eldest and his Darlin' and N and T took ourselves along to The Witchwood to see Steely Dan tribute band Nearly Dan. Sheer bloody magic it was. The place was packed with folk about my age listening to almost note perfect renditions from Steely's back catalogue. 'Do It Again', 'Reelin' In The Years', 'Aja', 'Peg', 'Babylon Sisters'. Heaven for an old timer like me and my ilk. In fact one bloke near me was so impressed he kept shouting "clever bastards" after every number. If they're ever in your area...etc...etc

This of course has resulted in a new iPod playlist featuring the real thing. What a fabulous way to spend a pre-drinkypoos Sunday afternoon especially now the nights are drawing in.

A great day yesterday. But then again it always is when United get beat. I guess last weeks defeat of Arsenal didn't kick-start their season after all.

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I've often wondered just what the point of a remake is. Hollywood-wise that is. The recent offering with Jude Law as Alfie was friggin' pointless as far as I can tell and a good example. Rehashed and inevitably transferred to the good ol' US of A, it has become a sanitised pile of crap - just like most other remakes. You would think someone in Filmworld would have sussed this out and put a stop to vast amounts of money being wasted. But apparently not. From Psycho to The Italian Job the dollars keep getting spent.

And now we have the worst ever remakes as voted by the discerning British public. Sylvester Stallone's Get Carter tops the list but the usual suspects are also there. Planet Of The Apes, Ocean's 11, King Kong. "Time after time, remakes fail to sparkle like the originals," said Alex Chesterman, founder of ScreenSelect.co.uk. "This poll is an indication that remakes can't compare with films which were classics of their time." So why oh why do they keep making the buggers then?

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Well it looks like George is going to be extending his stay at The White House for another four years. And now his old mate Mr Laden has reappeared to give his campaign a kick up the arse by reminding the waverers that politics is black and white and the bogeyman must be defeated. Four more years of pro-creationism. Four more years of treating the Bible like a manifesto for the 21st century. Four more years of lining Halliburton's pockets. Four more years of gung ho foreign policy. Four more years of fiscal incompetance. Four more years of disdain for the opinions of anyone else but America. Four more fuckin' years.

There's one policy I hope he will adopt. A policy that was all the rage back in the 30s I'm told. Isolationism.

I'm not holding my breath though.

World On A String

So 60,000 ballot papers have gone missing in Florida of all places. I can't quite believe that lightning is going to strike twice after the debacle of the 2000 election. I mean it's a friggin' disgrace isn't it? And sadly it's not the only instance of murky shenanigans surfacing as the day approaches. Perhaps the time has come to send independant observers over - French, Spanish, Irish for example. Y'know people with integrity and principles - to make sure that the election for President in the World's foremost democracy takes place in a free and fair manner.

When you swan round the world flexing your muscles in the name of introducing democracy here, there and everywhere, it makes sense to make sure your own version of it is waterproof.

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

Well. This is a turn up for the books isn't it? What a shame. Here's the Government intent on opening up the political process and blasting apart the incestuous underbelly of the corridors of power, only to find that most of the documents relevant to the recent history of the good ol' UK (ie the 1980s) are contaminated with asbestos.

I bet there's Sir Humphrey types all over Whitehall rushing to find asbestos they can sprinkle over the governmental documents of the past five years or so.

"Look, look at this: it's rife with asbestos - look at all the white asbestos powder on this file detailing discussions between PM and GWB from 2000 to present. It needs to quarantined for at least a century."

"I'm sorry Sir Humphrey but initial investigations indicate that the substance is actually baking powder......."

"Are you sure...there could be a Knighthood in this you know?"

I'm sure there are at least one or two historians or political scientists out there prepared to sacrifice their personal wellbeing in the search for the truth. I'm sure they would even sign wavers absolving the powers that be of any responsibility whatsoever. Anything to allow them to dig and delve into the primary evidence of the recent past.

And yet we all know that won't happen. Just like we all know that there's no asbestos been within 200 miles of the aforementioned documentation.

---

After listening to City go two down yesterday, I set off to the local to watch United and Arsenal. The local though was crowded so, Dearest and I set off for our Friday night pub and had a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon (apart from the result[s]).

How can my team score more goals in 45 minutes of one match WITHOUT Anelka than we have over the same period of time all season? A strike force of Fowler and Wright-Phillips and suddenly a Premiership top six side can't handle us. Strange.

Stranger still is the 'groin injury' to our only Muslim player as Ramadan begins. He's hardly ever injured is Anelka. In fact the last time he was injured and had to go off, we were 3-0 down to Spurs at half time in the Cup. Joey Barton got sent off for arguing and, just after the restart we lost Anelka to injury.

With 10 men we scored 4 goals in 45 minutes to confound the pundits who had us down and out.

Perhaps that groin needs a few kicks in training.......

---

Well I was right in my prediction about the 'game of the millennium' yesterday. I had a feeling United would nick it - and that was before I realised the ref was Mike (I'd better give Utd a Penalty I'm at Old Trafford) Riley.

Arsenal are a set of moaning main-chancers who try every dirty trick in the book to win. I should know, I watched 'em a couple of weeks ago as they struggled to beat the Mighty Blues. Lehmann in particular I detest. He's a mard tart who deserves every mistake he makes. Sorry Alan.

And as for United? Van Nistelrooy, you are one dirty, cheating bastard. I remember watching your histrionic diving at Maine Road during the last ever Derby there. That tackle on Cole was a disgrace. It'll be interesting to see what the Video Panel make of it over the next few days. Personally I think he should be banned for a few games. It was a nasty tackle that could've broke Cole's leg.

Still, at least you won didn't you? A fellow professional's leg must be worth that anyday. Sorry Andy.

Sunday Bloody Sunday

I must confess there's some hyperbole spouted about this affy's United v Arsenal match. 'Game of the season', 'Premiership decider' and even 'Game of the decade'. I bet Andy and Alan are on tenterhooks waiting for the kick off. Youngest the traitor has gone to Old Trafford with a realistic outlook on the outcome. As far as he's concerned win, lose or draw United are not the team they were and Ferguson is certainly not the manager he was.

When were we last allowed a glimpse of Fergie admitting he was wrong? But suddenly there he is trying to justify some of his weird signings (Bellion fer Christ's sake) by confessing he has been picking the wrong team. Hmmmmmm Djemba-Djemba? Kleberson? Miller? Ricardo? Howard? Etc etc. When he does buy quality (Rooney, Smith, Saha) e plays them all over the shop. Last week against Birmingham he played Saha and later Rooney on the left wing. By the latter stages of the match he was that desperate to score he had Van Nistelrooy, Rooney, Saha, Smith, Ronanldo and Scholes all on the pitch at the same time. An embarrassment of riches?

Wenger on the other hand - when he does dive into the transfer market - tends to snap up players with no previous reputation who then become integral parts of the Arsenal team. I can only point to his purchase of Francis Jeffers as a recent mistake.

Having said that I've got a feeling the 50 premier games unbeaten record won't be reached. I reckon United are going to defy the form books and pull something out of the pan. We'll see. I'm off to the pub to cheer on Arsenal and wind up the local armchair fans who've 'supported-the Reds-all-their-lives-and-have-the-replica-shirts-and-United-duvet-covers-to-prove-it'.

With a bit of luck City might get something from Newcastle as well.

---

Dearest has proclaimed a need for something to talk to and stroke during the long winter evenings.

"You could always stroke me" I replied with a salacious undercurrent.

No dice. It was a precursor to the periodic 'I want a dog' debate that, in the past I have been able to win via references to dog shit on the carpet, walkies in the pissing down rain, odd smells, stolen food and embarrassing crotch incidents.

But this time she'd done some research and all my well-rehearsed arguments dissipated like mist from the morning sun. It's a well-trained guide dog for the blind she wants. One of those that doesn't quite make the grade when it comes to stopping their charges from walking in front of juggernauts, but are well able to control their bladders and bowels to the extent that you can tell them when and where they go for crap.

"Great", I said, "I'll tell it to do it in next door's garden - result!"

So the bottom line is: Dearest applied for one of these outcasts and has passed the stringent home visit/interview. We are on the list and the new arrival could turn up next week, next year or the next decade. We have to be 'matched' with our perfect companion you see.

So that'll be me taking it walkies in the pissing down rain then. Ah well.

Nothin' But The Same Old Story

It's true what they say you know. History does repeat itself.

'Home by Xmas' eh Tony? Now where have I heard that before? I predict that even if you do get them home by then, they will have been replaced by others. Furthermore some of the poor bastards will not be coming home with breath in their bodies. No sirree, their bodies will be coming home in bags. Mark my words.

Sounds to me like someone wants George to win the election to me. Here's the scenario:

Kerry: "90 percent of the casualties and 90 percent of the cost". (Repeats charge ad infinitum)

Bush: "Oh shit. He's right. I know. I'll tell Tony his chicken-livered Limey army'll have to help out more. That'll help me win the election".

Blair: "Dubya's right. If Kerry gets in he'll disagree with practically every bit of foreign policy George and I worked hard to introduce over the past few years. I'll have to bend over backwards to help him out.

"Hoon.....mobilise the Black Watch".

*Thinks*..."They're being disbanded soon anyway and on top of that they're Scots so nobody will give a shit.....heh heh heh heh....Sorted"

How Do You Sleep?

Mater and Pater have finally been transferred to the latest innovation in dishing out the state pension. It takes the form of a 'credit' card type affair which, when presented with your pin number, allows you to draw your pension each week.

'Cept of course when you forget your pin. As you're apt to do when the brain cells start fading and the events of 1948 seem a lot clearer and closer than the events of last week.

Which me Dad did today. He's convinced that the pin he used was the same as part of his army number. (He left in the early 50s but he's adamant that's the pin he picked - and I'm inclined to believe him).

So he's advised of the 'procedure' for getting pin numbers unlocked and given a phone number to ring. The two of them toddle off home and my Mother rings the number, chooses the myriad options available and finally reached the queue for unlocking pins

The usual crap: "Thank you for calling the 'I've forgot me pin I'm that old' helpline. Currently all our operators are otherwise engaged and you, you poor bastard, are 130th in the queue."

Now, most of that last paragraph was exaggerated for effect (I guess you noticed), apart from one stone cold, nailed on, absolute FACT! Yup, that's right she was 130th. Don't worry though 'cos the call is charged at local rate?

IT SHOULDN'T BE CHARGED FOR AT ALL YOU THATCHERITE BASTARDS. I'ts a phone line PENSIONERS HAVE to use to sort their pin numbers out so they can DRAW THEIR PENSIONS! You know, the friggin' disgraceful pittance that this SOCIALIST government reckons is all it can afford. Well, y'know, with the war and everything????

I've said it before and I'll say it again: 'is this what I voted for?'

---

Over the past few weeks I have, via t'internet, watched the Bush-Kerry debates in their entirety. I have one thing to say:-

? I don't care what your political persuasion is, Kerry won all three. I base my judgement on his abilty to speak whereas George...well was unable to piece together a rational sentence nevermind a road map to peace in the Middle East or an exit strategy for Iraq.

I'm sorry but if your President can't think on his feet (and I do believe that even Ronnie was streets ahead of George Jnr on this point), then you most categorically should not be electing him the President of the most powerful country on the planet.

Or at least if you do - and it's looking increasingly likely - then at least let's hope the new Administration adopts an Isolationist policy.

I doubt it somehow.

Hearts and Bones

What a complete and utter shite day. From the moment I put my head on the pillow last night and spent the next 8 hours wide awake, to this morning's trip to Oldham Royal for 'tests', to coming home and receiving a phone call that my Dad had collapsed in the street, it's been - as days go - an absolute disappointment.

Dad's ok. Shook up but alive. This is what happens when my mother goes shopping and he forgets he's had next to nothing to eat and decides to keep fit by going for quite a long walk. The point is though that he forgets in the first place. He can tell you all about the war and the early years of Frank Sinatra no problem. That'll be me in a bit. I'll be waffling on about the Falklands and The Beatles circa 1964-1970. It comes to us all.

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This morning's news regarding Christopher Reeve was sad, but I confess to being more affected by the reporting of the death of Pete McCarthy. In actual fact he 'slipped away' last Wednesday. A victim of the cancer he had suffered from for a mere eight months. I loved his Travelog programmes on Channel Four (I think it was). Erudite, eloquent and witty he provides a slightly skewed view of travel in the early 90s. His two books "McCarthy's Bar" and "The Road to McCarthy" made me feel as though I knew the guy - which I obviously didn't. But if any of you out there haven't read these thoughtful, irreverent and ultimately serious journals of trips here, there and everywhere, get yourselves here now!

He made me think. He made me laugh. I never even knew him. What a fabulous gift. Thank you Pete.

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How fed up are you at having to sit 'correcting' those suggestions by Micro$oft's spell checkers that you've spelt 'centre' wrong? Itemised? Surely it has a Zee? Same with all those other words that end with 'ised'. I, and others of my age are probably the last generation that will be able to hold out against the overwhelming onslaught of all things American/Texted/Dumbed-Down-Chav-Crap.

Orwell's 'Newspeak' we hear every day from the Planet's only 'Emperor'. But Burgess's 'Nadsat' we hear in more convoluted forms around us as we shop and work and eat and drink.

Cabernet Merlot and 5,000+ tracks on iTunes. Yer can't beat it can you?

Especially after today.

G'Night everyone, everywhere.

Apparently Nothin'

"Hiya. It's your Mam."

"Hiya Mam, what's the news."

"Your Dad's blood pressure's too high for them to carry out the 'procedure' so they're going to keep him in until Friday and try and do it then."

"Keep him in?"

"Yes."

"What's the bloody point of that? he'll be wound up to high heaven with the calibre of dickhead they've got wandering around on the ward. Blokes with their 'personal' TV systems turned way up loud 'cos they're deaf and they 'don't like headphones'. Constantly being woken up by the groans, growls and God knows what else all night. His blood pressure will be sky high and the fact that he's stuck in there will probably send it even higher."

"Well the doctor wants him to stay in."

Doctors eh? The sun shines don't it? What they say is received like the ten commandments by my Mother's generation. I'd feel a lot better and I reckon he would as well, if he was sent home to try his new medication otherwise he could spend a week in hospital and, come Friday, his blood pressure could still be too high.

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Six hours later: "Hiya, it's your Mam."

"Hiya Mam."

"Your Dad's coming home."

"But I thought???"

"Yes but the Doctor's just checked his schedule for Friday and he's already got too much on so your Dad can come home."

"And the Doctor couldn't have figured that out six hours ago? I reckon he's just had a shedload of private patients book in."

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So another trip to the hospital and back to their flat. My Dad's pig sick. He was hoping that this latest trip would be his last for quite a while. It's bloody hard for my Mam as well. She's obviously worried to death about him.

It's a good job they've got me to ferry them about. He just wouldn't have been up to the constant bus journeys to and from Crumpsall Hospital. It's awkward to get to from where they live anyway and it costs money.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: old age, what an absolute bastard it is. Is this all we've got to look forward to?

I hope not as I've always harboured a vision of myself with a full head of distinguished grey hair supported by a snow-white beard, playing blues and jazz on my trusty Fylde and partaking of the odd glass of vin rouge here and there. Books, fillums, music, photography, art. Kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, baby-sitting, day-trips, holidays. Life!

And who knows? Perhaps I'll still be doing this.

Going gentle into that good night doesn't come into it. I am going to rage and rage and rage and rage against the dying of the light.

You Gotta Roll With It....

Ah well, Dad's back in dock for more probing and prodding. In fact they called him in the other week. So he spends a few days getting wound up about it, a couple of sleepless nights before I pick him and my Mam up and drive them down to the hospital. I had to get back to work so I left them with instructions to phone me as soon as they knew anything.

Six hours later the poor buggers phone me. Six hours sat waiting to be seen to. Six hours not knowing just what the hell was coming.

"It's OK, everything's all right"

"Why what?ve they done?"

"Nothing".

"????????? Nothing????"

"Yeah, when they finally got your Dad onto the ward, the nurse came and asked a few questions before saying 'right then, let's get that catheter out then you can go home'"

"I've not got a catheter fitted" said Dad truthfully.

"Are you sure?" said the nurse.

"Have you ever had a catheter fitted love? You would bloody well know if you had one up I can tell you".

So off nursey goes, coming back ten minutes later with some profuse apologies and an explanation that included staff turnover, the outsourced clerical function, some guy called Cobleigh. And all.

---

So they finally get their act together a few weeks later and call him in for a check up. He has to stay in overnight and look forward to a camera up his penis in the morning. Some time. Or maybe the afternoon. Possibly even the evening.

Pleasant.

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I watched the Bush/Kerry debate online the other night. The full 90 minutes. How anyone who watched it can honestly believe that Dubya came out of it looking anything but an incompetent is beyond me. And this was the one about foreign policy and homeland security - George Junior's strong point!

I have to say that I really don't know that much about Kerry, but how that incoherent, God-bothering smug little prick Bush could even be thought of as presidential is beyond me.

The man is blessed with all the absolute certainty of the terminally stupid. He's as certain he's correct in his world/otherworld view as Bin Laden and the rest.

I'm beginning to look with a truly critical eye at the concept of Democracy. Especially in a world where opinions are formed via news media owned and controlled by a rich and powerful few. Is it any better than a dictatorship? Well. Is it?

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Is Elton back on the Coke? Not content with the "rude, vile, pigs" outburst in Taiwan or wherever, now he's dissing Madonna at the Q awards.

"Madonna, best f***ing live act? F*** off."

"Since when has lip-synching been live?.

"That's me off her f***ing Christmas card list but do I give a toss? No."

Now either she mimes (suddenly known as lip-synching) or she doesn?t. I have to say this though, she must be extremely fit if she can throw herself round the stage in those arduous dance routines while singing in tune and without loss of breath for hours and hours. Hmmmmmm

Still, Elton. Grow up.

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Dearest and I have become great friends with a couple of contemporaries who have never listened to Neil Young (apart from the ubiquitous 'Heart of Gold' etc.) They've been to ours a couple of times now and have uttered comments like: "who's this? It's great!". So I'm sorting out an 'Introduction to Neil Young' CD for them both. How the hell do you reach the grand old age of 50 without ever knowing what Neil Young sounds like?

Anyway, as I put it together this evening - to distract me from the shenanigans with my father - I have ended up enjoying a marvellous trawl through the bugger's back catalogue - along with a few Long Island Teas. And mighty fine it was too. Mighty fine

Our friends are in for a treat.

Ruby Tuesday

Fecund. What a great word that is. It’s one of those words that, to me, sound the opposite of what they actually mean. To me fecund sounds as though it’s describing a barren landscape, bereft of life and all shagged out.

“Christ almighty that prick Keegan’s fecund when it comes to original thought regarding the tactics we are employing on the pitch week in week out.”

However the Cambridge dictionary tells me it means:-

“able to produce a lot of crops, fruit, babies, young animals, etc”

Hmmm “Christ almighty that prick Keegan’s able to produce a lot of crops, fruit, babies, young animals, etc when it comes to original thought regarding the tactics we are employing on the pitch week in week out.” Doesn’t have the same ring does it?

Anybody else got any words that sound as though they should be describing the opposite of what they do?

---

So, Tony’s big speech. A few hecklers and no reference to ‘New Labour’. A warm thank you to Gordon and a big verbal slap on the back for Two Jags.

It really is odd when, in the middle of a war that is costing literally 1,000s of lives – British, American and Iraqi – the press and the Party are more interested in what we can discover regarding The Great Rift between Tone and Gord. The media manipulation of politics has finally ‘progressed’ to the American model circa 1976. Once again the medium is the message.

Today for example Conference voted to re-nationalise the railways. Unbelievably, given the vitriol that was heaped upon British Rail in the years before deregulation, one would have thought that the very idea would be unthinkable. Remember the promises of faster, streamlined, leaner and fitter train service providers galvanised by profit, falling over themselves to take us here, there and everywhere? Yeah. So do I.

Consequently, I reckon there is now a sizable majority out there who think that renationalisation would be a good thing. They may be right, they may be wrong. But I happen to think that the policy would be popular.

The media though have hardly reported it. When they have it’s usually been part of a ‘look how Conference’s power has been emascualted’ type of story. I suspect it’s partly due to Tone’s speech, the Pro-Hunt Protestors and a nod and a wink between editors and spin doctors. The fact is 10 or 15 years ago that would have been a massive story. But it would cost big money - so it’s quietly throttled.

We can’t afford to waste big money on stupid things like reinventing our public transport system. No, we need every spare penny to prop up Dubya’s piratical shenanigins in the Middle East.

So what do we end up with? Honest debate? Ideas freely exchanged? Do we bollocks. We end up with media coaches arranging who sits where on the top table. Where the flowers should placed to best effect, what’s said/not said and making sure everything stays sanitised till the whole kit and kaboodle rolls out of town at the end of the week.

---

Mind you, I reckon the Pro Hunt Protestors were praying for media manipulators on a par with the People’s Party.

Why oh why would anyone, anywhere think that dumping the carcasses of horses, calves and cows on the streets of Brighton would attract ordinary folk to their cause? Seriously I can’t even follow the logic that reasons that people who are fundamentally opposed to the idea of hunting with dogs would have their beliefs shaken by the introduction of dead (and in some cases profoundly rotted) animals in the street?

I can only conclude that the dipsticks the Police finally arrested for this crime were Burberry-capped and blinged beneath their waxed jackets and green wellies.

Country Chavs that’s what they are. I know now that the Countryside Alliance has actually come out and condemned the action. But when I was listening live on 5live at dinnertime all of those interviewed stopped short of condemnation.

I guess they hadn’t received their orders at the time.

If foxes are a menace then shoot the buggers. Or poison ‘em. Just like gamekeepers do with all sorts of other ‘vermin’ they feel needs controlling. Just stop pretending that the most humane way of doing it is via a pack of dogs and a pack of tossers on horseback. You ENJOY it: that’s why you do it. Just admit that one fact and I might, just might have more sympathy for your future.

Pricks.

Everything Put Together Sooner Or Later Falls Apart

Just listening to a bit of debate on 5Live lamenting the loss of the Album Cover. Already battered by the hegemony of CDs, the argument takes in the rise of download culture and concludes that the medium is finally dead. These days even the concept of an album itself is under threat given the pick'n'mix nature of downloading, so why do we need something to wrap a virtual product in?

I guess they're right. Certainly my own experience of trying to decipher some of the miniscule text presented on some CD covers has left me with a can't-be-arsed-lookin' attitude these days. Aimed at youngsters with 20-20 you see. Us older folk aren't considered when it comes to cutting edge design. I guess they think we should be content with Daniel O'Donnell, Mantovani and Max Bygraves.

This constant miniturisation has rid me of the urge to spend days on end browsing through rack after rack of good old-fashioned 12 inch Long Players gazing at the sophisticated artwork and the concepts contained therein. Certainly as the Sixties progressed and the gatefold sleeve made an entrance, some of the designs far outclassed the pretentious crap on the vinyl.

Peter Blake's Sgt Pepper, the Andy Warhol Sticky Fingers cover with its real zip, and hordes of lesser artists and designers commendable efforts. Many, many overblown progressive rock offerings. There was an explosion of artistic expression. Arguments between bands and record companies over the rising cost of these 'works of art' began to be reported. The Beatles' Abbey Road cover was apparently going to be a photograph of loads of monks and the band somewhere up a Himalayan mountain. In the end inertia on the part of the group left us with one of the most recognised zebra crossings in the world.

Even the Punk backlash was infused with artistic endeavor when it came to the sleeves. Stripped back for sure. Angry and angular definitely. But still interesting works in their own right. And produced in bedrooms utilising the original cut'n'paste concept. Cutting stuff up and pasting it (using actual paste no less) onto the artwork. Like their predecessors, they became objects that would be pored over for hours, looking for clues.

Sad. But the rot did set in with the rise of the CD. There's not many covers that have become as iconic as the Dark Side of the Moon or Led Zepellin II since the work area shrunk by over 50%. Nevermind by Nirvana is one of very few that come to mind and even that one offended the American Bible Belt so they had to erase the baby's penis! If you buy it over here though those innocent naughty bits are still there in all their potential glory.

The question is: does it matter? Surely it's the music we all revere? Certainly, these days when your entire music collection can reside on a 4" x 2" bit of plastic and technology, the days of lugging round a few albums to your mate's or a party or wherever seem profoundly neanderthal. But something deep inside of me suspects that when the acquisition of music becomes too easy and we end up with thousands of cheap or free mp3s, we don't quite revere it as much as we did.

So times change. Technology drives that change and the commercial/artistic community respond by adapting and adopting. The medium is the message. Sadly, if we do download some crap, we won't be able to console ourselves anymore by admiring the artwork on the cover, we'll just delete the bugger.

Easy come. Easy go.

The Bogus Man

The world is chock full of liars, main-chancers, cads, mountebanks, thieves, ne'er-do-wells and fundamentalist religious bigots.*

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition eh Jimmy? You are the pits. Dripping with hypocrisy. You, of all people, dare threaten murder in the name of your 'forgiving' God while your congregation whoops and hollers its whole-hearted support.

Y'know if it was pointed out to the fundamentalist prick that he was no better than the likes of Abu Hamza or some other Islamic hate figure, he would react with horrified disbelief.

According to a transcript of the program, Swaggart said: "I'm trying to find the correct name for it ... this utter absolute, asinine, idiotic stupidity of men marrying men. ... I've never seen a man in my life I wanted to marry. And I'm gonna be blunt and plain; if one ever looks at me like that, I'm gonna kill him and tell God he died."

"I'm gonna kill him and tell God he died." ???????? Errrr.... Jimmy..... According to you and your mates God is all-seeing and all-knowing. Don't you think he'd know what you did? An inkling perhaps? He's supposed to be omnipresent and omniescient isn't he? I mean even if YOU hadn't remembered that, I thought that at least the pious and devout in your congregation may have.

After all the media focus on the other side of the religious divide, we need to be reminded that idiocy is not the sole preserve of the medievil nutters swaggering around the Middle East. Killing Homos, puffs, queers? It's one area where Swaggart and Abu Musab al-Zarqawi could shake hands and agree with each other.

I despair.

* Thanks to Christine for the link.

Farewell

So long Cloughie. You were definitely a one-off. In an age of spin infecting every aspect of football these days, to read Ol' Big 'Ead every month in 4-4-2 magazine or hear his rare interviews on 5Live, was a breath of fresh air. An honest opinion, given without recourse to the polish of a PR machine to buff his words into meaningless diamonds.

One of the great managers of the post war era up there with Shankly, Paisley, Busby, Mercer and, dare I say it, Ferguson.

A sad day.

Gee But It's Great To Be Home Again...

A weekend of sporting happiness has kept me from this here blog on account of the fact that, non-believer though I may be, when it comes to Manchester City's future and the Ryder Cup my rationality goes AWOL.

Consequently I was sort of praying to the Gods of Sporting Justice to a)let City win and b)allow Europe to completely shred the Yanks.

Cheers Gods of Sporting Justice.

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OK. Barcelona. What a city. Up there on a par with Manchester and Prague. Holy shit it's even got a fabulous beach that goes on for miles and miles and miles and miles and............

The busking was classy (usually Hot Club du Paris 1930s jazz played by groups of four with two accordions one clarinet and a percussionist) although classical guitarists also held sway.

Sadly the 'hostel' we stayed in was an absolute shit hole. I mean, c'mon, have you EVER stayed in a place with no plug socket in your room?? I wouldn't mind if we'd known we were going to a hostel, but the place advertises itself as a friggin' HOTEL. Lying bastards. We booked this place in good faith via lastminute.com having no qualms whatsoever regarding internet transactions, I mean, we've done so many!

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On this occasion though we got a dump - and a dump that we'd paid upfront for because 'that's lastminute.CON's policy'. A policy incidentally that does not fly in your face until you click the button marked 'confim?'

Totally and completely unimpressed.

It's a bloody good job Barca is sooooooooo cracking!

The beach and the architecture and the food and the Olympic Stadiums and Village. Gaudi and Picasso and Miro and cheap transport, great little bars here and there with multitudes of Tapas on display and ready to eat.

We tried really hard on Tuesday to book a different, quieter hotel, but they were ALL booked up. *weep*

In the end we had to stay where we were. But hey....life's like that.

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Days spent in indolent architectural appreciation and evenings spent soaking up some great music, food and drink.

On Thursday evening we sauntered into local square and it was alive with music and audience. A free concert from a jazz band so tight you couldn't have got a credit card between the buttocks of any of 'em.

So much free live music and such a happy crowd from youngster to pensioner. It was a pleasure to watch and listen.

Travellin' Man

David James was colossal yesterday. He pulled off saves that shouldn't be possible and kept us in with a chance when we could've been so easily 3-0 down by half time.

So if England don't want him, that's OK. He's doing just fine at Eastlands.

Stick with Robinson, Green and Kirkland. I'm sure the press will be comparing them to donkeys as well in the not too distant future.

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Off to Barcelona tomorrow for a few days staring at Gaudi's architecture and Piccaso's early stuff (Blue Period I believe). On top of that they've got Joan Miro. That new camera of mine is gonna get some serious use.

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Hard to believe that the anniversary of September 11th has passed again. Sheesh, 31 years since the democratically elected Allende was toppled and murdered by the fascist, best friend of Thatcher - Pinochet. Backed, of course, by the land of the Brave and the Free.

Summer In The City Part Two

St Ann's Square

A trip to sunny Manchester was the order of the day for Sunday and a mighty fine day it was. I took my new camera along to capture the glorious sunshine. We were treated to more European markets - the panorama above shows a German stall in St Ann's Square surrounded by seated patrons.

The busking was top class also. From the Hootchie Cootchie Man belting out the blues to a James Taylor wannabe via a classical guitarist, a wide selection of musical taste was catered for.

It's not long ago that all the buskers would have been 'moved on' by over-zealous coppers suspicious of anything even slightly bohemian. From hippies with guitars to war veterans with harmonicas it was all the same to plod.

Manchester seethed with humanity. I can remember the days of Sundays being all about "THOU SHALT NOT", TV dominated by religious twaddle until 7.00pm, pubs shutting early and the repressed sexual hypocrisy of rags like the News of the World - ("I made my excuses and left...."). It almost seemed a punishment for the hedonism of Saturday night. And now I hear people talking about the 'good old days', days spent with the family in quiet contemplation. Bollocks, those that could afford it were on the golf course or enjoying a weekend at their country cottage. It was the rest of us poor buggers who had to experience boredom on a scale that sheer we positively welcomed the prospect of Monday morning. There's no contest in my book. I accept all the arguments about shopworkers and the like having to work at weekends but, to me that means extra jobs and money in the pockets of folk who would otherwise be cashing Giros on a regular basis. Sundays are positively wonderful these days. You young uns don't know you're born.

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I finally traded my Waterstone's vouchers for a few novels including Monica Ali's Brick Lane and the latest word-of-mouth blockbuster The Da Vinci Code.

Hey Judas!

So, the world's richest club has lured a chav with a talent from the backstreets of Liverpool (Croxteth if I'm not mistaken) to Manchester Utd Corps (European Division).

Quite a lot of money has changed hands as well. £27 million appears to be the consensus. £10 million up front, £10 million next year and the rest dependent on appearances etc.

Will Mr Rooney cut the mustard? Has Sir Alex lost the plot? Wouldn't a centre back and a world class midfielder have been dosh better spent? The next few months should be quite interesting. Certainly the brothels of Manchester must be stocking up on PVC boots from Harpurhey market at this very moment and I definitely predict a 'fracas' in a Mancunian nightclub involving Shrek and his sink-estate scally relatives and hangers-on friends before his contract expires.

Time will tell.

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Over the border from Old Trafford, the transfer deadline activity has been minimal. Well, non-existent actually. Deep down I'm relieved on two counts. First at least we have managed to keep hold of Shawn Wright-Phillips for at least another 6 months. Second I'm chuffed that the board has not capitulated to Keegan's heavy hints regarding the size of the squad and has kept the purse strings as tight as possible.

Prudence. It's the new extravagance you know.

Sweets For My Sweet

Just a quick link to a great Premiership highlights site. The commentary's in Hungarian, but you don't need commentary to watch the beautiful game.

Enjoy.

Just Gimme Some Truth

The best EVER description of late 20th - early 21st century Pop music I have heard. Courtesy of one of the Man City message boards and penned by a chap called OldBourney. I quote:

"just get 19 seconds of an old record and play it in a loop.

Then shout a lot"

Quality. Absolutely spot on quality. In fact he's that quality he should be writing for the Qualities. There's no justice.

Watching Reading The Detectives

As I lay in bed for most of the day, recovering the strength I need to continue the important role I play in a multinational IT company's attempts to take over the world, I read another Ian Rankin 'Rebus' novel.

Now I like Rankin and I like Rebus, but I've always considered 'crime writing' as essentially 'Airport' stuff. It's bought to fill in the time you spend sat on balconies, swanning round pools and beaches or stuck in forlorn B & Bs as the rain sweeps in - once again - from the Atlantic.

This one, though, was definitely different. All the rest have been written well enough. The characters have been well fleshed out and everything, but, once it's been read, it's forgotten.

'The Hanging Gardens' is different. Looking at the dates of publication it's the latest book of his I have read (1997), so that might explain a few things. If that's the case though, all I can say is roll on all the rest.

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Here we have a cracking example of 'Big Business' and the be-suited, business-degree automatons that they employ really excelling.

Apparently 'Mr Eddington said there was always criticism of BA over whether it was "doing enough to take costs out of our business".'

"It's a very difficult balance to get right - clearly we have to get it right." '

His admission comes a day after BA's director of operations Mike Street apologised to passengers.

So Mr Eddington, I have a question: who is critising BA over whether it is doing enough to take costs out of your business? 'Cos from I'm sat I don't hear it.

What I do hear is passengers pointing out that you are too friggin' expensive. But, as I know only too well, that does not equate to staff being paid good money - nor indeed the hiring of enough staff to 'man the gates' when needed.

Nah. To me, costs = overpaid 'management' making the wrong decisions time and time and time and time again.

Have the customers finished paying for your woeful tailplane designs yet? Your disgraceful attempts to put Branson out of business? Your complete and utter ineptitude?

It sickened me yesterday to see the same management lackey attempting to reassure the shareholders and media (NOT THE CUSTOMERS SAT IN THE TERMINAL) that 'everything was under control', 'management was volunteering to man check in desks' and ' everything would be back to normal in a few hours'. Anybody would think it was anybody but his fault in the first place. Who caused the problem? Adolf Hitler? Shakin' Stevens? D C Thompson? A typical management bollox-speak twat simply trying to impress the MD - nobody else. "I might get a rise out of this".

When, when, when are we going to realise that the shit these 80s throwbacks come out with have nothing to do with reality? It's about time the Government legislated so we could shoot the bastards as they held their press conferences. I can feel a mission statement coming on.

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So, speaking of 80s throwbacks, Mark Thatcher eh? What an odious bastard he ALWAYS was. Thick as pigshit but 'blessed' with a Daddy who owned a business brain and a Mummy who had power and contacts.

In my book he's on a par with Jeffrey Archer, Hannibal Lector and Pol Pot. Just a shifty, evil bastard who - like Hannibal could be fictional he's that much of a comic-book liability.

There's always been doubts about young Thatcher. 3 O levels after attending a private school. Failing his accountancy exams three times on the trot and, of course, getting lost during a famous rally - at a time when Mummy could've simply ordered out the Nimrods and Daddy could have paid the World to find him. Questions asked in the house about how he was able to earn a reputed £12m deal to sell planes to the Saudis while his Mam was still the PM?

Strange that not too long after Daddy shuffles off his coil, the protection seems to have stopped and Thatcher junior suddenly gets pulled in over allegations that have been flying around for quite a while now. Allegedly financing a coup, organised by one of his mates. A coup that - due to the shitload of oil reserves that the country involved controlled - could've landed him a fortune. Well, actually most of the reports don't mention that fact but, for me at least, it seem the most plausible explanation for the spawn of Satan's daughter.

Nice to see him being tried in post-apartheid South Africa though isn't' it ? Y'know, after all the support his Mam and Dad gave to the Anti-Apartheid movement. I guess they'll be falling over themselves to give him the benefit of the doubt.

I still can't believe he'll do time. Can you? Here's hoping though.

Too many of the 'great and good' from the eighties still believe they can get away with whatever they want. It's good to know that there are people out there still willing to track them down. Like latter-day Simon Wiesenthals they are tenacious. From Pinochet to Shirley Porter we shall hunt them and exact revenge.