Life Gets Tedious Don't It?

Well Easter's come and gone and the over-paid prima donnas of Manchester City have thrown away the chance to grab three points each against Wolves and Spurs. Given the fact that both Leeds and Portsmouth look like they've re-found their form, things are looking bad at Eastlands.

On top of that we now hear rumours of Russian billionaires showing an interest in taking us over. That's the last thing we need. To become the plaything of shady politician-cum-'businessman' who would presumably throw money at our problems in a bid for glory could, quite possibly cause us many more troubles than we already have. Bring back David Bernstein.

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Quite a nice Easter break and a good old fashioned Indian last night. Mmmmmmm. Reshmi kebab followed by chicken tikka and two pints of Bengal lager. A decent Indian restaurant 15 minutes from my front door. 30 years ago there wouldn't have been one 15 miles from my front door.

I Can't Stand Up for Falling Down

Oh dear, what's George up to now? Too many John Wayne films, hellfire, damnation and New American Century nonsense have surely fried the president's brain.

Yes there is, understandably, insurgency and pissed-off-ness on the rise in Iraq. But what did you expect you latter-day Crusader you?

Sorry? What was that George? Oh, you're not a Crusader. That's just the Left-Wing Commie bastards trying to make you look a twat?

Bit late for that I would've thought but, no matter. George, here's some advice from a dyed in the wool atheist.

DON'T ATTACK PLACES OF WORSHIP!

Regardless of who's in the thing. Leave it be. Withdraw. Starve the buggers out if you have to but, Mosque, Cathedral, Chapel or a Rasta 'Ganga-hut', leave the fucker well alone.

George, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you (I mean you must have hundreds of advisors), but now the Arab world has a lovely touchy-feely video of USA Helicopters firing rockets into a Mosque. A Mosque! A Video that will be replayed as much as the first Twin-Tower images were in the West. Are you *really* as stupid as 'Have I Got News For You' makes you out to be?

All I've heard since is 'kick-ass' speeches from the commanders and politicians that are doing absolutely nothing to ease the situation. You're digging a hole so deep you may never re-emerge. Wake up. Even Richard Nixon saw sense eventually and started the process that ended the Vietnam debacle.

But, then again, apart from being a lying, conniving, thoroughly unlikable main-chancer, at least Tricky had some intelligence. He recognised a dead end when he saw one. God knows he'd met enough before he swore allegiance in the thin January sunshine of 1968.

Mind you, by the same token, he probably only paid lip-service to the Big-Man.

I reckon Tone will be on his knees again next month when he visits the White House. George will get his election piccies and Tone will surely be praying that Kerry does the business come November.

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Another great night for Euro-Champ upsets. Milan well and truly done over after leading 4-1 before the second leg. It's been a funny year football-wise. Millwall in the FA Cup Final, Chelsea whupping the Arse's arse last night and City, having won nowt, are now struggling to avoid the drop. Unbelievable.

In a Broken Dream

Well, within the space of a few days, Arsenal's 'treble' has been divided into three by some God of Football. What a game that was tonight. First half I thought Chelsea had no chance. They lost the midfield and Hasselbaink and Gudjohnsen were playing too forward to be able to link effectively. The goal just before half time was, I thought, a killer. Second half the 'Tinkerman' (ie Claudio Ranieri) brought on Gronkjaer who added something in the middle and the wing. Suddenly the game began to change. In the end it was Chelsea hammering away at Arsenal and, eventually the goal came.

Claudio Ranieri has been the epitome of dignity throughout this season (and, indeed the last). From the moment he took over at Stamford Bridge he's been looked upon as some joke figure. A joke because when he first arrived he couldn't speak English. So much of a joke that even his translator took the piss by making up post-match comments from Claudio's Italian. Less than two years later, he has enough mastery of the language to conduct pre and post-match interviews with intelligence and a fabulous gallows sense of humour. Never once have I seen him explode. Never once have I seen him lose his rag when asked for the 40,000th time whether he's definitely going to be sacked at the end of the season.

This dignity, this forbearance has endeared the man to many football fans who support teams other than Chelsea. I just hope he wins the Champion's League and the Premiership then turns round and tells Chelsea's board - in broken English - to go and find some other punch bag.

That football tonight lived up to hype that went before. It doesn't happen often, but when it does you remember what it was that first drew you inexorably to it.

After the game I switched to ITV 2 to watch Monaco dump the mighty Real Madrid out of the self same competition. It's been a shit week for Becks hasn't it? Although proper United fans dismiss the reports and conjecture as so much 'who gives a shit'. Youngest as well actually. He was chatting away tonight on Messenger after the Arse and Real bit the dust. So near for the Red Devils - and yet - so far. Shame.

Bring it on Home

Yee Haa! I've been waiting for Martin Scorsese's Blues series to appear on BBC4 for a good many months. Over the weekend I received my newsletter from the Beeb's flagship arts channel informing me that it's on its way.

Produced as seven films all directed by such diverse aficionados as Mike Figgis, Scorsese, Clint Eastwood and Wim Wenders, hopefully the concept will match Ken Burns' masterful 'Story of Jazz', although the reviews I've read so far do highlight the overall fragmented result of so many differing approaches. Nonetheless we'll wait and see and make our own minds up. Critics have rarely tuned into the same wavelength as I. Although, on many occasions, the critics were probably more au fait with what was class and what was not. I await the 15th April with delicious anticipation: Howling Wolf, Muddy, BB, the various Messrs Johnson - Robert, Blind Willie and the rest, Bessie, Fats, Jelly Roll, Skip, Lightnin' and company.

Now this IS what the BBC is all about.

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Are City going to survive this season? I'm beginning to get extremely worried now. Listening to the radio commentary on Sunday, it was painfully obvious that too many members of the squad seem to think that they are 'too good to go down'. Well, there's many a team languishing in the lower divisions because of that attitude. Teams that once graced the top divisions (and even Europe) before falling. Nottingham Forest, Sheffield Wednesday, QPR, Derby County, West Ham and the rest. On Easter Saturday we play Wolves at home. Wolves have not won away this season. I've got a profoundly uneasy feeling about it.

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Just over a year ago when I started this blog, George Dubya was starting his 'war on terror' in Iraq. At the time I made the point (like many others) that it would all end in tears for the Bush dynasty. Problems with the Shi'ites, possibly resulting civil disobedience on a massive scale and evolving into a full blown civil war were, in my opinion, a distinct possiblity. Can George turn it round? I doubt it. It's election year and good ol' Dubya has to play each card with both eyes on the domestic every time he makes a decision abroad. It's gonna be an interesting year.

It must be nice for George though. I mean, with his 'hotline to God', he'll already know who gonna win in November. Surely?

Welcome back my friends to the song that never ends........(er well obviously one day it will but....)

Back on line at last. The little beavers that constitute the 'coal-facers' of BT have finally burrowed deep enough under the subsoil of central Manchester to fix what was unfixed by that most elemental of elements - fire. Strangely my land line was fine. Big deal. Youngest suffered even more. He lives just over a mile away and both his land line and broadband were bolloxed. Someone else I know on BT who lives half a mile from me had no problem with either land line or broadband. Both provided by BT. The Byzantine shenanigans involved in network routing has always left me dazed and confused. I wouldn't dream of even attempting to understand it at my advanced age.

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Speaking of advanced age, my colleague and I have established a monthly dinner-time trip to a local Gent's Barbers. Although the only 'barber' in the place is female, she is a man's female. Doesn't constantly waffle on about nothing in particular. Cuts your hair with the minimum amount of fuss, time and cost. 4 years or so we've been regulars.

So, come Wednesday, resembling an aged chorus line from a local Rep's over-50s presentation of 'Hair' (without the gratuitous nudity obviously), we presented ourselves and our £3.50s at the threshold of Maria's.

But, it wasn't Maria. A young lad was being attended to with the gusto of Edward Scissorhands as his twitching mother vacillated between distress for her offspring's scalp and the need to make small talk. The scalper was a jet-black haired, mascarared, push-up bra'd, too-tight-jeaned-for-her-age scarecrow.

Maria is finding her success hard to deal with as a one-man-show and she felt she needed to share the burden. Edward Scissorhands was the solution. All the while she snipped and snapped, she never stopped talking. Ex-boyfriends, husbands, places she'd worked, her PMT, how she was always being asked out by her clients. She never drew breath. Death, life, mucus and jizz. Bargains, rip-offs, holidays and divorces. It didn't bode well.

So, seven hours later, when she had finally finished with the 6 year old, I approached the chair. The first two minutes went well. I began to relax. Then:

"Is that your son?" My head a blur of snipping, snapping steel.

"Sorry?"

"Is that your son?" Gesturing at D my colleague. My colleague who is, incidentally, a mere 10 years younger than I.

"You what??????"

Cue much raucous laughter from 'my son', red-faces from the scalper and a supremely pissed-off occupiedcountry.

After some, frankly embarrassing, back-tracking, she blundered on:

"I have to dye my hair every couple of weeks because I'm not really this colour."

Fuck me you're kidding aren't you? I mean you can't be a day over 52 and here you are in your obsidian-headed splendour. She carried on...

"In fact, if I didn't dye it you'd see that I'd probably be almost as grey as you!!"

Is this 'You've been framed?'

Once again deep apologies. "Oh I'm sorry I didn't mean it to come out like that, I mean, err....at least you've got a full head of hair."

Caught off guard by this apparent compliment (I get so few), I confessed to a small bald spot round my crown.

She considered this for a moment. The scissors stopped. She stared.

"Yeah you're right" she said, "you have got a bit of a 'CHIMP'S ARSE' haven't you?"

What seemed like two hours later, when she'd stopped pissing around with my head (internally and externally), I paid up.

"Thank's love, you've really boosted my confidence."

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It was D's turn next so I nipped along to the Butty (sandwich) shop next door. Within 2 minutes I was back with my tuna and cucumber creation.

"........so I bought myself a 'Rampant Rabbit'."

"A what......?"

"A 'Rampant Rabbit' love. It's a vibrator."

A brief pause ensued. I eyed my tuna and cucumber creation. How the hell had they got on to this subject after 2 minutes? D has led a sheltered life and has ,evidently, never had the need for a 'rampant rabbit'. I caught his eye in the mirror as his face turned the same colour as his neck. Predictably Edward Scissorhands observed:

"Fuck me, his face has turned the same colour as his neck."

Later we discussed the rota that was pinned to the wall. Obsidian-head has one day a week off. We'll be going on Thursdays in future.

We'll attend counselling sessions on Wednesdays.

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Today, on the Jeremy Vine show, a radical explained why no muslim should ever let the police know that he or she suspected, or even knew, that a fellow muslim was guilty of terrorism.

"Allah says that no true believer can talk to 'the enemy' (ie. us secular, christian, jewish, jedi, branch-davidian, Blake's Seveners). "

He refused to condemn the Madrid bombings. He refused to accept the culpability of his own 'true believers'. He constantly referred to the past - and had a point. But when he was presented with a scenario of a muslim suicide-bomber killing 100s of people on a train in Spain - including his own brother - and asked would he tell the police who the bomber was if he knew, he said no.

He said no.

Once again a 'Big-Man-Who-Lives-In-The-Sky', a man who died centuries ago, was presented as justification for this. At the same time the tosser explained that he was a muslim and, naturally, didn't believe in democracy. He also felt that it was OK to live as though under Sharia Law in the UK, regardless of the actual laws of the country until these sceptered isles become a Muslim dependancy. Later he pontificated on the inability of the decadent to live purely.

I truly despair.

I thought that, by now, we would've become completely rational human beings. I mean, it IS the 21st century!

The Sound of Silence

Can't stop. Sneaking this update at work. Occupied Towers has fallen victim to the great Mancunian phone fire. Broadband access? No.

All I Hear is Radio Ga-Ga

It's an incredible beast music. Classical, Rock, Blues, Jazz, Zydeco, Folk, Pop. Light Opera, Dark Opera, Uptempo, errr, Downtempo, Hot, Cold, Hip, Square, Refined, Amateurish, Raw, Smooth and, best of all, amalgamated. Like Folk-Pop, Zydeco-Light-Opera and Amateurish Blues.

I do, of course, draw the line at most (not all) Rap and modern R&B. Sorry - just don't *get* it. Never did and I'm probably too old now to start. Ah well. What I've never had I'll never miss. C'est la vie.

'Old Fart' I can hear you cry and, yes, well maybe. But, frankly I couldn't give a shit. There's more than enough ear nectar from the past to keep me occupied until my dying day without having to make the effort to listen to misguided youth bragging about its ability to fuck and kill with impunity.

To be fair there's also much modern music that deserves respect. Sadly there is really no place to hear it on today's popular radio.

Radio One should be the flagship for today's youth. More of 'em should be listening to this 'shadow-of-its-former-self'. Why don't they? It can't be the DJs (or whatever they call 'em these days). I know they're crap, but they were crap in my day too. Tony Blackburn? Noel Edmonds? Ed Stewart? Jimmy Young for Christ's sake??? Need I elaborate?

Listening to it the other day and all I heard was constant, inane references to *it*. It's like having that kid who knew all there was to know about doing *it* when you were at school having free reign to turn everything into innuendo. I can't remember Ollie and Fred even obliquely, tangentially or otherwise, dropping sexual references into their jolly banter during 12-0-clock club (or whatever it was called) way back in the 'permissive' 60s.

Radio 2 is the most successful station in the UK today. But, even so, it's no place for young bucks or buckettes. The station these days, is for non-threatening fare such as Coldplay and Travis. Occasionally they still pay lip service to the Rat Pack and Sing Something Simple-type stuff, but it's usually tucked away at the arse-end of the schedule. It's certainly NOT the place you're gonna hear a 21st century Nirvana, Hendrix or Van Der Graaf Generator.

Which leaves what? Radio 3? Well yes it does give time over to some pretty esoteric, in-your-face stuff these days but, well, who the hell listens to the station? Stop pissing about with it and give it back in its entirety to Gluch, Beethoven, Holst, Mozart and the rest.

And that's it. All three NATIONAL music stations given over to what? The highbrow, the bland and the murderous.

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Talking of music - good, bad or otherwise. A mate of mine has had an LP (remember them? Ask yer Dad; they're at least two formats down the line these days) transferred to CD-r by some guy he knows at work. Audience - The House on the Hill. He was of the opinion that nobody anywhere would have ever heard of this album and he has gone to great lengths to get the transfer done. Impossible to find the disk anywhere, in the World. Ever.

He came round today to ask if I could do some copies of the CD-r for me and anyone else who wanted it. I stuck it in the CD player and all the jumps and pops crackling out of the speakers reminded me of what we used to put up with when listening in days gone by. All this talk of vinyl sounding 'warmer' is surely bollocks when compared with the once unheard of pleasure of listening with no aural distractions whatsoever.

Let's raise a glass to new technology. For a start off it found remastered copies of the 'no-chance-of-finding' CD within seconds on Amazon's UK website. Secondly it's allowed me to rediscover Audience and, in particular, Howard Werth's voice, songs and nylon-strung guitar. Keith Gemmell's woodwinds and the extraneous noise that used to accompany every piece of music we ever used to beg, borrow or steal.

Incidentally, I should have begged, borrowed or stolen this Long Player many years ago. A classic.

What We Did On Our Holidays

20 Mars 2004

Nice. Le Trocadera, 7 la rue de Belgique. Arrived at 2:45pm local time. €25 dans le taxi. The hotel is basic but adequate and right in the thick of things. First off we sauntered down Rue Jean Medicins to the Place Messina. Then down the Rue de Verdun to the Promenade des Anglais. After a brief perambulation we found ourselves eating Croque Monsieurs with salad and dressing outside a small bistro in one of the sidestreets.

Later - after a kip, we sauntered into the old town and had 2.5 litres of draught Kronenburg outside a bar which cost us €30. Both of us got locked in the toilet because the lock was faulty. Not – I emphasise because we are stupid. I got rescued with the help of a screwdriver, a pair of pliers and the extremely short-tempered bar-owner. I wonder how many times he had performed this operation. He had put a sign up saying "don't shut the door", but, did he really expect folk to be sat there, thrutching away, as people nonchalantly chewed their crudités and knocked back the 1664? What was actually needed was a new frigging lock.

We were both a bit pissed off with the waiter and owner who made great play of attempting to prove that the bill was actually €30 not - as I pointed out - vingt-quatre. My first ever argument in CSE French ensued and....I lost.

Twat.

Back to Le Trocadera for Jambon et fromage baguette et vin rouge a Bordeaux. Watched A 'jeunesse' program sur la TV which had Dr Boutros Boutros-Ghali as one of the many guests. The liver-spotted bugger was obviously punching below his weight and, in my yeux at least, shot way up the food chain. Tomorrow never knows.

21st Mars 2004

Dearest was up at 9:30 and went hunting for cafe au lait et eau. After a shower we took a tour on a motorised train for €6 each, just like tourists. Later we walked around the old town admiring the beautiful architecture.

A walk in the sun down the Promenade des Anglais, dodging the roller bladers, skateboarders and cyclists left me sunburnt. We got into a conversation with a Parisian lawyer - now based in Nice - about the Islamic problem dans la Français. Plus ça change, plus çest la méme chose.

A kip then a walk to the old town for a meal and then back to the hotel where we were greeted by a gang of hip hoppers blasting their abysmal 'music' out of their car stereos as they (drivers also) threw bierre down their necks. This went on well into night. Question: whenever you come across those-who-like-to-play-their-music-loud-so-everyone-else-can-hear-it, why is it ALWAYS the same type of fucking music they listen to? Always aggressive, loud and uncompromising.

22nd Mars 2004

The day began with a walk round the old town, then round the headland into the Port of Nice. A litre d'eau and a jambon sandwich later we walked back. Very hot - I am even more sunburnt.

We sauntered round ancien objets d'arte in the old town before we spotted an Irish bar that was showing the City v Leeds game in the evening. A half carafe du vin rouge in Rossetti Square as a trio (double bass, two guitars and three part harmony) made the afternoon special.

Later we realised that we should have paid more attention to the geography of the pub where the match was.

After a kip and a very, very nice shower, we set off for the main town to eat and then watch the match. We ended up finding no 'snack' places, they were all proper restaurants. I forewent the promises of a lifetime and tried a McDonalds. Dear me. I mean I don’t want to act all thick but, seriously, what’s the attraction? Or did I just happen to get a bad one? Woeful soggy bun with a desultory, insipid burger smeared with relish with a sliver of tomato embedded in it. Awful.

By this time it was 8:35. 25 minutes to KO. We legged it to the old town and spent the next 24 minutes trying to find O'Neill's - the only pub in Nice showing the game.

Well what can I say about the evening? €5.40 for a pint of lager!!!! We lost a most one-sided game (again). However we met a load of lads and lasses from Ashton-U-Lyne who were in for the match. Some French kid (18? 19?) thought it would be a good idea to shout 'Manchester City are Shite', before, discretion being the better part of valour, he realised he was being an antagonistic prick and left.

We met another 8 City fans in that bar who had all been there longer than us. They had done their homework. This was the only pub showing the match. Not Utd, Arsenal or Chelski you see. Global brands only, get blanket coverage. On to the match and, well, what do say? We dominated and got beat. This time by an extremely dodgy penalty and a red card.

23rd Mars 2004

Last day. Rain and thunder throughout the early morning. A walk down to the seafront to say à bientot to Nice. A jambon et beurre sandwich pour moi et un croque monsieur pour Dearest refreshed us before Joe le Taxi whisked us back to the airport and back to Liverpool John Lennon.

All in all a great break and a welcome dose of le soleil. I managed to keep the worst manifestations of the previous week’s cold at bay and was able to admire the fin de siècle-ness of the place. The architecture, the boulevards, the back streets, café culture, the Alps and the people (with the obvious exceptions).

'God' bless Easyjet.

Happy Birthday To You

Jesus wept! Just realised - this blog started a year ago today and here I am with nothing to say.

OK, on my first blogday I was mostly ill in bed reading The Complete Pratt. I boiled a couple of eggs at around 1:30pm and, out the corner of my eye, spotted a pair of baseball-capped, hoods-up scrotes attempting to break in the house at the back - in broad daylight! They just couldn't give a shit could they? I mean this isn't a fuckin' sink estate or anything, oh no, this is, literally, Semi-Detached-Suburbia, and Semi-Detached-Suburban-Mr-Jones' ticky-tacky houses are chock-full of fabulous consumer durables. Essentially they must've done a risk assessment and figured "let's go for it - hell the police will never get hold of us anyway, and, if they do, well our Mam's and Dad's will support us when we accuse the victims of using excessive force." Meanwhle there was I wearing nothing but a rancid blue towelling dressing gown and a pair of slippers with a football motiff. Ready for action? You bet I wasn't.

Twats.

A few neighbours spotted the wankers as well and gave chase, but they were well away.

This evening Dearest went to the quiz without me as I sniffled and snotted and croaked and grunted at home listening to the BBC's radio playback facility. Oh yes, I *do* believe in the BBC.

First off was Stuart Maconie's Critical List. Tonight it was The Blue Nile. Later I revisited George Melly's "Memories of the Blues" (twice actually).

So that was it, my first blogday. Hot Damn! I feel like the Queen - I've now got TWO birthdays. Yee Haa!

11:30am flight to Nice on Saturday so I need to be fully fit. Dearest is a powerfully fit woman when it comes to exploring foreign cities - especially the shopping areas. Here's hoping.

School's Out

The past two days have seen me acting the 'typical male' and staying in my bed for most of the day with only my 'severe bout of *flu*' for company. Apart of course from the medical concoctions, radio and books. Yesterday I finally finished the 'His Dark Materials' trilogy. A remarkable achievement to produce a popular children's book that is so anti-church in all its forms. How he gets away with it I'll never know. Good job it was Christianity he picked or he might be holed up with Salman Rushdie right now.

After that tour-de-force I set off with David Nobbs on the story of his life so far. A superb, easy read that is one moment hilarious and the next......a bit like his novels really. I was quite amazed to discover that he'd been raped while still a young man. The humour shines through though. It's a great gift to have to be able to make people laugh. Boy did he succeed with me. On describing his fascination with the Doris Day/Rock Hudson comedies of the late 50s/early 60s he says:

The two stars weren't bad either. Doris Day playing a virgin and Rock Hudson playing a macho heterosexual - that was acting.

After, it was more Nobbs so to speak as I began to reread 'Second From Last in the Sack Race', Pratt of the Argus' and 'The Cucumber Man' in an omnibus edition.

I hope this life-threatening illness deserts me before the weekend as Dearest and I are off for four days to Nice. I can't imagine promenading down the Promenade Des Anglais would be much fun with gallons of snot pouring out of me.

Everything Put Together Falls Apart

Is the sun finally setting on Ol' Red Face's all-conquering cup-winning machine? Well you would sure think so given the rabid United fans on BBC's FiveLive football phone in last night. Also much of today's press has run "Fergie's Mistakes" copy to supplement their (one-sided) match reports. Well I for one bloody hope so. As a City fan I have had to endure some powerful piss-taking over the past 10 years or so. Up to last season's 3-1 defeat of the Red Devils (the last Derby to be played at Maine Road) we hadn't beaten them since 1989 when we stuffed 'em 5-1. If I remember rightly that was Ferguson's first Derby and the fans were calling for his head then as well.

So, maybe this is his last season? It would be perfect symmetry - he starts off with a Derby defeat and finishes with one. Who knows? Football's a funny game though and in month's time United could be on Arsenal's tail again. However - believe me - I have experience of what Board Room shenanigans can do to a team trying to focus on the job in hand. All this Coolmore share dealing and lawsuits flying thick and fast can only have a negative effect. Uncertainty abounds. Speculation is rife and the football suffers. A slow decline and a drop down the table soon follows. Management teams are chopped and changed, players bought, players sold, wage bills soar, leaks to the press, back-stabbing. Obscurity. In City's case we went from finishing in the top six of the Prem to the modern equivalent of the old Division Three in 5 years. It really is that quick and that easy to achieve once the rot sets in.

So, here's hoping !

It made a change yesterday to see all 5 goals in the match scored by British (indeed English) players. Three of them were scored by Mancunians (Macken, Scholes and Sinclair), one by a product of City's youth sytem (Wright-Phillips) and a Scouser (Fowler).

Who's Next

We spent a fabulous weekend in Madrid in November 2002. We stayed in a hotel not far from Atocha station. We have friends who live there who are, thankfully, OK. It's one of those cities you want to go back to, as Eldest and Youngest have frequently. In fact they'll be going back there in September for a friend's wedding.

All of which means that yesterday's atrocity touches me in a way it wouldn't have done prior to our visit. Travel does broaden the mind. I now know that Madrid is a cultured, friendly and beautiful city. I now know the Tapas bars around the area in question. The stalls selling everything from flowers to Real Madrid memorabilia. The teeming Peurto del Sol where Madrilenos queued in their 1,000s to donate blood. The grandiloquent Parque del Retiro full of promenading couples, singles and entire families. I know now that people walking beside me that weekend ended their lives on those trains on Thursday morning and I wonder if we'll ever know who carried out these unfathomable acts?

The current government is convinced that ETA is the culprit but I just don't get it. God knows I'm no expert on the mangled logic of terrorists, but just what would ETA gain? Marginalised and moribund by all accounts, what could they possibly hope to achieve with actions like this? Yesterday's outrage outstrips all ETA's previous horrors. Furthermore the lack of a warning also points the finger elsewhere. Add to that rumours of ETA denying their involvement (although, given the revulsion, they would wouldn't they?) and I think I've got to assume that someone else is responsible.

I think the truth may lie buried in the rubble until Sunday's elections are over. Simply put, if ETA are responsible the current ruling Party Populare looks good. They have successfully campaigned against ETA, reducing it to a fragment of its former self. If it's Al-Quada however (and they have claimed responsibility), the Party's support for the Iraq debacle leaves it looking very vulnerable.

So, OccupiedCountry is predicting an Al-Quada link. If I'm wrong I'll admit it and be suitably ashamed.

Whoever it is I've got a feeling there'll be a massive turnout for the elections this weekend.

No Pasaran!

****UPDATE****

I was extremely moved this evening watching the millions of *ORDINARY* people thronging the streets of Madrid. ETA or Al Quada, who cares. Fuck 'em, the cowardly arseholes.

And now we are told that yesterday was eactly 911 days after September 11th 2001,. and 11/03 is exactly 6 months between the last anniversary of 9/11 and the next. True? I can't be bothered checking. Innocent people went the way of all flesh yesterday because of the twisted logic of a group of dickheads who's political ideals are not persuasive enough to convince the electorate to give them power. That's the final analysis. Roll on Sunday. I'm so looking forward to seeing the results.

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Youngest and his Darlin' came round this evening. We had a few drinks at ours then walked to a local pub (The Street Bridge), before ending up in The Saffron for a superb Indian. We still can't make our minds up what we do on Sunday for the 130th Manchester Derby.

In Every Dream Home a Heartache

So, dental records have confirmed that actor and monologist Spalding Gray had, as feared, thrown himself off the Staten Island Ferry back in January. That man needed a blog. A conduit to his audience. A link that would have allowed a little two-way communication. Communication that could have maybe kept him buoyed up enough to still be with us. (Pun intended btw - I think he would've liked that.)

I still remember the effect Swimming to Cambodia had on me the first time round. One man, a desk, some notebooks and a story to tell of the time he was an actor with a small part to play in Roland Joffe's Killing Fields. Absolutely riveting. One camera for 90% of the performance. A few scenes from the movie thrown in. Genius. No doubt he'll start getting the accolades he deserved in life now. Stilll, as long as his work finds a new audience.

Perhaps that was his intention as he gazed into those murky waters. Artistic temperaments can be strange bedfellows.

Not swimming but drowning. (With apologies to Stevie Smith)

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As I write I'm listening to a few of those MP3 CDs that are readily available from any market stall, car-boot sale or *dodgy* mate at work. Artwork as well as music included so true Chavs cheapskates can print a couple and hand 'em out as prezzies come Xmas, Mother's Day or birthdays.

One in particular has just transported me back 30-odd years. The Best Prog Rock Album in the World Ever. From a waist-thickened, almost 50 year-old semi-detached suburban Mr Jones, I'm spinning - Quantam Leap-like against a Bridget Riley background - to the early 70s. Radical. On the verge of changing the World. Fighting oppression and injustice wherever I chance upon it....and bedding the grateful and adoring females I emancipate along the way. Jam sessions are organised with the recently free musicians and profound, ground-breaking albums are recorded with the more talented and original.

In my *spare* time I express myself visually; creating massive canvasses of stunning, yet controversial beauty. My autobiography - though short - is a bestseller. I stand, a modern colossus: my flares flapping wildly as the winds of change caress my perfectly chiselled jaw. All over the Western World proud parents are christening their offspring OccupiedCountry.

On occasion - despite the pain from my freedom fighter wounds, I'm able to turn out for Manchester City (left side of midfield - a creative and cultured genius). This doesn't happen often as in the early 70s the team win trophy after trophy without my help. They also take the piss out of the Red half of Manchester on a regular basis. Soon we will be helping to relegate them with the fortuitous help of an ex-Old Trafford favourite. Life is anything but nasty, brutish and short.

Ah yes! A Leviathan. That was me.

Actually, 30 years ago today (11th March 1974) I started a proper, married man's job. Just for a few weeks you know. To pay the rent, buy a carpet, some food, curtains, nappies for the new nipper, something to sit on in our newly-acquired flat (£6.25p per week. Almost fully-furnished), and keep us going until I was recognised as the clever and talented git I really was.

After that I figured the World was my oyster.

The Doughnut in Granny's Greenhouse

Once again Amazon has entwined and enticed me into buying stuff I really don't need. A David Nobbs Omnibus, a David Nobbs autobiography and a three-in-one Herge's Adventures of TinTin (so I can be 10 years old again).

But I also chanced upon this, which has made me very happy indeed. One of the reviewers has plagiarised Stanshall's prose to praise this little masterwork.

"English as tuppence, changing yet changeless as canal water, Rawlinson End sat armoured and effete." This is true, electric soup poetry. It parodies, and laments the end of an England that never really existed.

A very, very English musical Gormenghast is the only way I can even begin to attempt to describe it.

The Ginger Geezer, a creative genius who is sadly overlooked - probably due to the medium he chose and the times he lived in. Combined with chronic alcoholism you end up with a recipe for oblivion. Which is precisely where he ended up. Well here's to you Viv, one day....one day.......

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

My erstwhile comments system - Squawkbox - has just decided to attempt to extort money from me. Instead of doing this in a nice, touchy-feely way, y'know like giving me some prior warning perhaps, it opted to deny access to my comments until I'd paid up front.

Well, tough shit squawkbox, you can fuck right off. Hello Haloscan.

So, who's going to be the first to make their mark?

The Hand Don't Fit the Glove

These nutters are thrashing themselves senseless in order to assuage the guilt they feel for their forbears not helping to stop the killings of Mohammed's remaining family hundreds of years ago. 'Latmiya' it's called and for years it was banned in Iraq. These days though this Shia-only ritual is back with a vengeance.

For me, images such as this bring home just what an uncertain future Iraq has. I feel for the many 1,000s of secular Iraqis who have to tolerate medieval behavior such as this because you can be damn sure that the toleration wouldn't be reciprocated. Shia v Sunni v Kurd that's what's going to happen. The first flexing of the Shia muscle came yesterday when Ayatollah Sistani instructed his followers not to sign the country's interim constitution. Apparently he's not happy with the concessions being given to the minority factions in Iraqi society. He's fully aware that he is the representative of the largest group - Shia Muslims and he's not going to let anyone legislate without his agreement.

Ayatollah Sistani. I've got a feeling I'm going to be hearing that name a lot over the next year or so. Unless somebody assassinates him of course. He's obviously the guy with a hot-line direct to the deity. A perusal of his website reveals a man with the answers to all those tricky questions that leap, unbidden, into your mind as you go about your business.

Question:I want to know which sea animals are halal and which ones are not?
Answer:Of all sea animals only those are halal that have scales, the rest are haram except for the shrimp which is halal too.

Question:Can a Shia man or woman marry a Sunni?
Answer:If he/she does not fear being misled, it is permissible.

Question:Can we have an oral sex before or after the sexual intercourse or can we have oral sex at all? Is it haram?
Answer:Oral sex act is permissible with the consent of both husband and wife provided that no liquid gets into the mouth.

Question:What does Islam say about masturbation? If a man is doing this what type of punishment will he deserve and how can he do\ get Tawba?
Answer:He has committed a forbidden act. Repentance would be sufficient for Tawbah.

Question: Is anal intercourse permissible?
Answer:Anal intercourse is permissible if wife is consenting but it is strongly undesirable (makrooh).

Good old Sistani - that's sorted out my worries and confusion about seafood, inter-faith marriage and anal sex. I still don't see why shrimp should be exempt from the banned list though - the scale-less bastards, and I presume it's OK for women to masturbate as you don't mention them in your answer, but, apart from that I can see that you're the guy with the 'knowledge'.

I just hope you've got the good sense to keep the lid on fools like those in the image above. So far so good. I expected a backlash from the Karbala atrocity earlier this week but you - according to reports - swiftly snuffed out talk of retaliation. Riverbend has also written about the outbreak of sanity that occurred after the tragedy between Sunni and Shia in her area. (Scroll down to the entry 'Ashoura Tragedy'.) Here's hoping.

Welcome to the 21st century folks.

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I see the Red Cross has delivered a letter from Saddam to his daughter Raghad Hussein. I wonder what it says?

"When are you coming to visit? I've been here for weeks now and not one word have I received from you. Is it too much to ask that you at least write? Incidentally I'm sorry I had your husband and Brother-in-law murdered. I was just having a bad day.

Your loving father Saddam."

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A nice, relaxing Saturday afternoon without having to worry about City's fall from grace. Disappointed to see the Reds finally get the better of Fulham but you can't have everything. I've got a funny feeling their name's on the cup this year.

Right I'm off to cook a couple of steaks with baked spud, salad and pepper sauce. I think we'll wash it down with something red and alcoholic before a night in the local and a party at one of Eldest and Youngest's mates later on. It's hard work enjoying oneself, it really is.

Idiot Wind

Has Reverend Blair been taking courses in stupidity? Or are we once again witnessing Dubya's spinners advising Number 10 to keep talking about the 'War on Terror' ® in the same breath as the War on Iraq?

War on Terror/Iraq, War on Terror/Iraq, War on Terror/Iraq. Terror/Iraq, Terror/Iraq, Terror/Iraq. Keep saying it and eventually (just like the USA) most people will equate Iraq with terror and link Saddam with Al Qaeda.

Terrorism, we are told, represents a "new type of war", one that we can presumably wage without recourse to niceties such as International law. This "new type of war" will also require an overhaul of the United Nations, so that its "security council represents 21st century reality". It must be able to "act effectively as well as debate". Hmmmm that sounds more like "me and George want you to do what we say in future". Yeah Tone we don't want any of that Democracy interfering when we scour the world looking for places we can impose democracy now do we?

BBC Report.
Guardian Report
Full text of the speech.

Once again 'our Tone' is attempting the 'right or wrong this is what I truly believe' line of defence. Well that's as may be Tone but, right or wrong I don't believe you - and that's what I truly believe. This cod sincerity just doesn't wash any longer. Your actions over your two terms have defined you. I know what you promised and I know what you delivered, you can spin it as much as you want but you delivered less than you promised. From the NHS to crime to pensions to reform of the Lords to education, education, education you let me down on every issue. On top of that you've squandered billions on gung ho wars against third world countries all in the name of a 'special relationship' with the most right-wing, intolerant, fundamentalist government since Ayatollah Khomeni's.

Step down man you blew it.

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Turns out that there was a very real fire scare at one of our southern bases yesterday. There was smoke and heat but no flames. Still it was enough to set off the sprinkler system at our national data centre dragging down the network on a scale that makes you realise just what damage a strategic terrorist attack could achieve. All our systems were down from 4:00pm to 7:00am costing the company quite a few quid in repair bills never mind loss of service compensation for our clients.

WeCouldn'tGiveAShit Ltd MUST have sub-contracted that job to We'reStillEagerCosWe'reNew Ltd or else they would still be waiting for the southern equivalent of Gaz and Mick to turn up.

Tell It Like It Is

You know, for an occupation that acquires more than its fair share of opprobrium, there are a surprising number of journalists who could be described as honest, rigorous and independent - regardless of which paymaster they've served. I'm thinking James Cameron, Michael Herr, John Simpson and even Boris Johnson - and that is just a few. There are many more. Tonight BBC4 had the fabulous idea of screening a documentary detailing the remarkable doggedness of Charles Wheeler's incisive brand of journalism.

Never one to shy away from the difficult question, Mr Wheeler is now in his 81st year and his mind is still razor sharp. Tonight's documentary was yet another coup (well in my opinion at least) for BBC4. No doubt it will be on BBC2 in a few weeks.

BBC4 comes good again tomorrow with a documentary or two about Gram Parsons. As a teenager (and as a thirty-something) I could never understand why anyone would think that Gram was 'cutting edge'. His stuff sounded just like all the other C&W I'd ever heard. I later realised I hadn't grasped just how conservative the Country scene was and that the simple fact of putting a rock drummer on these tracks made them futuristic in the extreme. He influenced so many others as well. Most notably Keith Richards and, to a lesser extent Mick Jagger. Let It Bleed and Exile on Main Street especially have some heavy Gram input.

Why Don't You Try Me Tonight

Today's soundtrack is provided by Ryland Cooder. Master guitarist, mandolinist, bottleneckist and all-round clever bastard. I needed some more of the master as I returned to work after the 'fire scare' earlier in the week. Needless to say, we arrived the morning after to the alluring sounds of the fire alarm still in full cry. How the hell do you do your security-guard type 'rounds' and fail to recognise an alarm in full voice? God help us if we ever experience a *proper* terrorist incident.

"Sorry? Reset the alarm? Sorry mate.....not our job any longer. You need.........."

"Don't tell me: "WeCouldn'tGiveAShit Ltd?"

"Yeah, give 'em a bell on extension XXXX."

"Incidentally......there's no alarm going off according to our equipment."

"What was WeCouldn'tGiveAShit Ltd's number again......"

Fire in the Hole

So I enter the secure area at work today and discover the overwhelming smell of electrical over-heating. It was so bad it triggered the fire/smoke alarm. There on the panel on the wall all the warning lights were flashing in rythm with the warning whine.

"In the event of the alarm sounding immediately phone the Fire and Security Department on ext XXXX".

"Hello is that Fire and Security?"

"Errr....yeah."

"I'm in such-and-such room. There is a strong smell of something possibly burning and the alarm's going off."

"Well it's not going off according to our equipment."

"What?"

"According to our equipment there's no alarm going off."

"Can you hear that?" *Holds phone up to the alarm*

"Yeah...yeah I can."

"Well that's the frigging alarm and, as you can hear, it's going off regardless of what your 'equipment' says."

"Have you reported it?"

"Err I'm reporting it now aren't I?"

"No mate, you need to phone ext XXXX and log it with WeCouldn'tGiveAShit Ltd. They look after the fire side of things now as the function's been outsourced."

"Outsourced?"

"Yeah to WeCouldn'tGiveAShit Ltd. On ext XXXX. You need to log it with them and then someone will come out."

"So what do we do if the place bursts into flame in the meantime?"

"Give us a bell and we'll get the fire brigade in."

So, an hour later two 'pillars of the community' turn up. One of them is wearing a Burberry baseball cap as well as other evidence of Chav-ness and his mate has got a shaved head and an arse the size of Jordan's ego.

"I can't fuckin' smell anyfin' - can you Mick?"

"Fuckin' 'ell Gaz. It stinks like fuck."

"Does it? Mind you I've always 'ad a fuckin' shit sense o' smell I 'ave. Me Mam always said I smelled fuckin' awful - ha ha ha."

This continues for another 15 minutes or so before they finally discover one of the air conditioning units is overheating and proceed to contact somebody else who deals with air conditioning units. Another hour passes before another two turn up.

"Fuckin' 'ell that's 'ot as fuck that is. Didn't they turn it off?"

"Well...obviously not......look are you gonna sort it or what?"

"Yeah no problem mate. They should've isolated it though. Fuckin' thing could go up at any minute."

"Errrr....right I'll err leave you to it then." *Exits at speed whilst attempting to appear outwardly calm*

Half an hour later the air conditioning man comes to see me to tell me that everything's now OK. I thank him and get on with a few things before going back into the secure area. The smells gone, everything looks fine - apart from the fact that alarm's still wailing away. So I phone Fire and Security to explain that the emergency is now over and the alarm needs resetting or whatever it is they do.

"Alarm?"

"Yeah, it needs restting as the problem's been sorted by two lads from WeCouldn'tGiveAShit Ltd."

"Well it's not going off according to our equipment."

"What?"

"According to our equipment there's no alarm going off.........."

I felt in dire need of a Lyle-like explosion of well-honed and well-directed abuse of the highest order. In the end I settled for a diplomatic "ok fine" and replaced the receiver. I figure that when (or should that be if?) they do their 'rounds' tonight, checking for terrorists and the like, they might - just might - hear the alarm a-howling and do whatever they need to do to stop it.

Mind you perhaps that's not their job either. No doubt WeCouldn'tGiveAShit Ltd have sub-contracted 'turning off alarms' to We'reStillReallyEagerAndSon Ltd because they've just started up and WeCouldn'tGiveAShit Ltd couldn't give a shit decided that it would benefit their client to offload this particular task.