Am I depressed?

I have realised that i haven’t blogged for a couple of months and I could hide behind work and other commitments (not that anyone’s been asking me!) but the truth is that I was challenged about the direction that the blog was going (or rather the aimlessness of it) and I found it quite difficult to decide the theme that I wanted to run through the thing.

My challenger had suggested that each post be uplifting, designed to give people a ray of sunshine, encouragement, light relief. I liked the idea of that, but it has also given me writers cramp!

Supposedly, if you think you are depressed you aren’t which is a relief, because of late my glass is half empty:

 

 

 

 I’m turning into a grumpy old man who gets agitated at:

·         Teenager neighbours playing Miley Cyrus loudly when I’m trying to read in the garden. (Yes it might be ‘your body’ but its my ears!)

·         Anything to do with Jeremy Kyle

 

Give me strength!!

·         Fly tipping which ruin my runs (its everywhere!) Why cant forensic scientists work out where it comes from and nick the buggers?

·         My gas bill

·         The additional charge of using a credit card when buying an airline ticket

·         Everyone else on a ‘driver awareness course’

·         That smug git who does ‘Moneysavings expert’ but who will be the first to complain when banking isn’t free

 

Smugness wrapped in exfoliated skin

 

·         My shoulder, it still hurts

·         Professional indemnity insurance (it’s a long story)

·         Nanny state (Supposedly we soon wont be able to order our stake rare in a restaurant)

·         The Daily Mail (For creating stories like the above)

·         Michaela Strachan for how to go from being a babe to butters in one single episode of Country file.

·         Ill informed people who give all the credit to Bowie for ‘All the Young Dudes’

·         Luton Taxi Drivers

·         The ticket inspector at Luton Parkway who enjoyed my discomfort and charged me when I couldn’t find my ticket. He’s seen me go through the barriers tons of times

·         Funeral for a friend. (Not the pop group, the reality of losing a mate)

·         People who don’t say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’

·         Queue jumpers

·         How political correctness doesn’t stretch to stopping anyone saying the most offensive things about Jesus (Think about it)

·         The Premier league

·         Alcopops. If you don’t like proper booze you’re not old enough to drink.

·         Cyclists and all that is lycra

·         iPod 5 having a different sized charger socket so I cant dock it on my pig  

 

This last point sums up the cynicalness of businesses today. Warning, if you have an in car iPod system, a pig, a Bose docking station which have happily worked on your iPlayer, or phone version 1,2,3,4 DON’T buy an iPod 5, because Apple haven’t screwed enough money out of you and so have changed the size of the charger socket so it doesn’t work with anything.

Oh, forgive me, for a cool £25 you can get this flimsy adapter, that appears (based on the reviews on the Apple site) to work about 50% of the time. Thanks Apple. I’ve always wanted to be known as a businessman of integrity, spell that P-O-O-R!

 That’ll do.

 
Actually that was quite cathartic.

I guess every generation rolls out the line ‘it wasn’t like that in my day’ and we do hanker for a past that seemed altogether happier when perhaps we look back through rose coloured spectacles and forget the mods, rockers, punks, great train robbers who made us think that civilisation was coming to an end, but have you spoken to a teenager recently? FFS, self centred doesn’t come into it with most of them, and hard work is always discussed in the third person. Having said that, I know some pretty ignorant adults and they’re not all South African either.

I need a break. A break from work. Is it selfish to want a week of just me, running shoes, fishing rod, sun cream and a couple of John Grishams?

 

One day Jon, one day…..

 

 

My gym

When the sun shines as it has been for the past few days, the last place I want to go for exercise is my gym. I’d much rather be out running in the great outdoors, however I went out on Saturday for a brisk 6 miler and have never fought such a mental battle to convince myself to carry on since I last ran a marathon. The heat quite simply took my breath away.

 

 

 

Quick straw poll for all women: Is it ok for a man to go running with his shirt off? Supposedly it’s deemed bad form and I once read an article in Runners World which quoted some crazy statistic like 75% felt that men shouldn’t. We’re so different, because I have just conducted a straw poll and an emphatic 100% of men saw no problem with women not wearing their tops when out running. Funny that?

 

Anyway I ran without my shirt on so I didn’t come home with vest marks, but I’m a constant red all over instead!

 

Like any gymnasium, you have to keep your shirt on at my gym, and its not just in that aspect that it conforms to a standard. It’s also the standard cliché clientele which frequent it. At my gym there are the:

 

Weeble Bodybuilders: This is not a good look men. (It’s even worse in a woman) There used to be these little toys called weebles and the strap line was ‘Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down’ this was because of their low center of gravity and tapered upper extremities which gave them an egg like appearance.

You're soo interesting!

Weebles seem to have small heads, but they are  probably normal sized, but just look small because they have chests and arms which are stuffed full of Whey Protein and covered with a sleeve tattoo on both arms. A shaven head is a must and also the ability to believe the myth that ‘big equals hard equals girls’ when the truth of the matter is the vast majority of them couldn’t punch their way out of a paper bag, certainly couldn’t out-run me, and have the conversational skills narrowed down to only talking about one subject: Themselves. This vanity is not known as a particularly successful technique with the ladies, but don’t tell that to a weeble!

Over sixty and over the hill: Now don’t get me wrong, they are always nice friendly people but you just wonder why they are there, because stomachs that look like they have entered their fourth trimester will not magically disappear through ten minutes on a static bike followed by a sauna!

 

 

However I applaud you as a collective group because you apply the golden rule of any gym that nobody should feel self-conscious and they patently don’t! Amazingly there is one woman over 60 who is still quite a hottie and has a figure which has yet to head south. She remembers the war to, so gents, you’ve got more chance than the rest of us, so go for it!

The runner: I don’t get you? Get off the treadmill and go outside.

The rugby buff: Is he muscled, bulky or fat? I cant tell because he wears a British Lions or England repli shirt to hide the truth. But amongst his compatriots he’s king because not only is he a great laugh (remember that night when he drunk 20 pints of lager and a bottle of vodka, ate his best mates used jockstrap for a bet,  and still got up the next morning and had a cooked breakfast before playing loosehead prop for Uni and scoring the winning try) and he obviously does something in the gym because he’s always breathless and sweaty and he’ll never grow into an Over sixty and over the hill because its only when he’s become an alcoholic (funded by a good job in the City) that they’ll realise that he’s clinically obese and he’ll be dead by 55

The loner; Wears black. Talks to himself. Uses the mats and does inordinate numbers of crunches. Is well toned but the face that would have been cruel if put on a dog. He might even have a tattoo. Definitely loves guns. Don’t invade his personal space.

Govt Health Warning

This man is DANGEROUS!!

Miss Silicon: We only have one at my gym. Sometimes that makes me sad and other times it is a relief, but Miss S sure is a pretty little thing and doesn’t Miss S know it! And doesn’t Miss S like all the boys to know that she’s there and in need of a little help adjusting the straps on the rowing machine which sends a host of willing hormonal helpers swarming round her like flies round a fleshly deposited dog do!

And does Miss S know what effect she is having on the male populace every time she undoes a button on her t-shirt and are those really Pilates exercises or is she having sex with the invisible man on the exercise mats?

 ( I had so much  choice for a photo! More fool me typing in 'hot girl working out' on google images!)

 

 

The Grunter: I can’t help wondering what you would be like during a sexual encounter. I just hope nobody else is in the house.

 

I guess because of iPods, some people might not hear themselves, but the use of free weights or medicine balls can reduce some men to a litany of cacaphonic prehistoric animal grunts!! I can  only assume it’s all part of either a mating ritual in an attempt to attract the attention of Miss Silicon or a game of one-upmanship with the weebles (In fact, through cross fertilization there is now the grunting weebler)

 

No pain, no gain. But do we really have to listen to it.

 

Thank goodness for normal people like me who would never leave the scene of a methane crime for some unsuspecting fellow gym member to ingest, or who wears his headphones pumping out Prodigy or Pearl Jam and is unaware that the little methane exhalations coming from within his shorts are so loud that they can be heard across the room! And heaven forbid he would wear a white, yellow and blue striped vest which he wore on the beach last year in Dominican Republic which makes him look as camp as a row of tents, and which after 30 minutes is so wet that the smells of last weeks sweaty exertions are re released (even though its been washed!) and mixed in with the stale smell  of last years sun cream.

 

No. I’m the only normal, non-annoying one there!

Why I hate cyclists!

I went for a drink with my mate Jonny this week. I’ve known him for nigh on forty years and I think we got as close as we ever have to falling out! You see, Jonny is a mad keen cyclist, and I’m sorry but I just have no time for them. I know it’s healthy, environmentally friendly and a cheap form of transport, but does that give them the right to consider themselves above the law?

....and no friends

 

Jonny’s argument is that the worse he can do to my car is chip the paint or dent a wing mirror. The worse my car can do to him is kill him. My response is ‘don’t wind me up then!’ If someone has a gun in their hand you show them respect, not look down on them, flaunt breaking the law in front of them and just generally carry on in your own little zone expecting everyone to see life the way they do.

Now, I have to be balanced and, of course it goes without saying that not all cyclists are like this, just as not all dog walkers let their dogs pooh on the pavement (& not pick it up) not all Scotsmen are mean, Irish thick or Portsmouth fans lunatics….ok, it might be difficult to disprove that last one.

I'm sure the lady in black is normal?

 

I’m sure as a runner there will be things that I do that causes offence, particularly with drivers on country lanes. Case in point: runners with headphones: Wrong, selfish, very dangerous.  

 

You're a very bad lady

 

But cyclists, if you are decent human beings, please note the following:

In the car I get wound up by:

Undertaking – every evening I have to crawl through a part of Harpenden because the road is just slightly too narrow to overtake an idiot cyclist on his fold up bike in his pinstripe suit who has just got off the train, if there’s a car coming the other way (& at 6pm there are plenty!)

 
Having finally got past him you come up to traffic lights that have turned red and you have to wait helplessly as this idiot undertakes and goes to the front of the queue! We then start the whole process again. (Well, not now because I go as hard up to the curb as I can to stop him getting past on the inside)

If there’s a cycle path, why do some cyclists persist in using the road? Don’t tell me, you want to go fast. So do I, but sometimes I can’t because of you. Go fast on your cycle path, but keep your eyes open, I fail to see the difference.

Please don’t cycle two abreast, you just deserve grief. Yes, you still see this!

 

Red light at traffic light means stop for cyclists to. Particularly in towns and cities.

When I’m running, I am very often startled by cyclists who come up behind me. Where’s your bell? I have checked this out and supposedly it is the law to have a bell on a bike at point of sale but not a stipulation when the bike is ridden, leading to many cyclists removing them. (Perhaps without it the bike becomes more aerodynamic?)

From 20 yards, a hearty cry of ‘bike’ ‘morning’ even ‘run fatboy run’ or a ring of a bell really does make a difference. One day I will accidentally step out in front of an overtaking bike and it wont be pretty for either of us.

 

Great Film, still an inspiration!

 

 

Secondly, and this applies equally to runners. I’m a friendly guy, if you are coming the other way, or overtaking me, just acknowledge me. A nod, a wave, a word is alI ask. I don’t want to hear about your job, your sick aunt or even where you’re going, but you are, like me, someone who has escaped to the great outdoors and this is a joy and a privilege as we share creation. That gives me empathy with you and I don’t think it hurts to acknowledge that. So go on, nod back.

 

As a little aside on this, I find runners and cyclists ruder the more affluent the area I’m running through. I suppose this is an identity thing, and perhaps politeness or acknowledgement is considered a weakness. Pathetic eh, but true!

I’m scraping the barrel on my last point, but why do some bikes not have mud guards? I cannot stand seeing the backside of someone whose lycra shorts look like they’ve been soiled. I’m sure you had some great fun whizzing through those puddles and dirt tracks, and now you’ve got half of it up your backside!

Sort it out.

Why such a polemic against cyclists? It’s like people who have a fear of dogs will typically have a story of being bitten when they were younger. When I was 18 I was walking home from work along the path which runs alongside the Harpenden to St Albans road, and it was winter and it was dark. Suddenly I was hit hard in the chest and sent reeling to the floor. I was confused and thought I was about to be mugged until I heard this sound of a wheel spinning and some groaning. A cyclist without any lights had hit me at top speed. We both were shaken up, a bit bruised and grazed, and my suit was covered in mud. He never offered to pay! I guess I have a long memory.

Jonny will always be my mate. When we go for a beer we’re always like a couple of grumpy old men ‘It wasn’t like this in our day’ etc, but this is one subject we’ll never agree on.

It’s a natural progression from running, to knees/hips/ankles giving way, to cycling. When my injuries cause me to hang up my Asics I’m just going to become fat!

 

 

 

 Postscript: I've just told my wife that i've had  bit of a rant about cyclists. her face dropped and she told me how she found out today that a chap called Rob who goes to her church was recently knocked off his bike and now has brain damage. Nobody deserves that, and my comments are meant a little to provoke, perhaps amuse, certainly think but NEVER to hurt or desrespect anyone who has suffered a loss or an injury whilst out cycling.

 

The Great Ian Hunter

Those of you who know me well know that an item of clothing synonymous with me is a Mott the Hoople t-shirt! I actually own three of them, and the amazing thing is that there are still three different designs that can still be purchased today, even though this great band split up in 1974!

 ‘In Seventy four, on the Broadway tour, we didn’t much like dressing up no more, don’t want to be hip, but thanks for the great trip’ Saturday Gigs, Mott the Hoople.  

I can still remember, quite vividly, a pastiche of seminal performances by various artists on Top of the Pops: Bowie & Ronson together singing Star man (it was always Ronson who I thought the cool one, I loved his hair style, his gold boiler suit and gold Gibson) the Bohemian Rhapsody video by Queen, and to tie in with all those weird changes from boy to man, a band called Tight Fit singing ‘The lion sleeps tonight’ (those girls were hot!)  

I just can't work out what I saw in them......

But to me, the life changing musical event was hearing ‘All the young dudes’ performed by a  disparate group of sequined, glittered, platform shoe wearing, long haired, slightly camp, ever so theatric, brash glamsters from Hereford, fronted by a charismatic, naturally permed, permanent shades wearing rocker known as Ian Hunter. To me, the man is Mott the Hoople, and the legend lives on, having celebrated his 74^th birthday last Monday.

 

Is that a gun in your pocket ian?

 

This weekend he played the Isle of Wight Festival  and on Friday, I went to his warm up gig at Leamington Spa 

 

              Still a Rock n roll legend!

 

A fan shouted ‘Happy Birthday Ian’ and was rewarded with a ‘ah shut up!’ The master not needing to be reminded that his body, his work ethic, his continued creativity defy his age. He’s never hit the same heights as a solo artist, but to me he’s matured like a good piece of stilton, and theirs a continued rich seam of quality lyrics and riffs running through his veins. Although it pains me to say it, the best thing that could have happened to Ian was to leave Mott although his bank balance may not agree.  

His last two albums ‘Man Overboard’ and ‘When I’m President’ also herald his backing band, the Rant Band as an entity in themselves. This carries over into their live act, and at Leamington, once again, Hunter allowed them the opportunity to show their quality. Some fan I am, I couldn’t tell you the names of any of them (unlike Mott where I could tell you every member of their ever changing line up) but particular credit has to go to the lead guitarist who is just a throwback to a seventies axe hero, getting his Gibson to almost plead as he takes centre stage with his solo on the excellent ‘Black tears’  

I guess I’m at an age where I see nothing wrong with a lead guitarist pulling the kind of face I imagine someone with kidneystones pulls when they pee. This guy is no exception, its pure rock n roll.  

 

But lets get back to the master. As well as a reasonable smattering of tracks from the latest album, there were still sufficient homage to his earlier solo career including ‘Shrunken heads’ ‘All American Alien boy’ and of course ‘Once Bitten twice Shy’ which has the immortal line ‘You didn't know what rock n' roll was, Until you met a drummer on a greyhound bus, I got there in the nick of time, Before he got his hands across your state line’ 

Hunter the iconerial punk poet. (is that a word?)I love his lyrics, which remain as perceptive today as thirty years ago. Take ‘Man overboard’ a ballad about an alcoholic ‘They’ve got lasers that zap, they’ve got cures for the clap, you can see your insides on tv. They’ve got all kinds of pills for all kinds of ills but they aint found a cure yet for me’ It could almost be John Cooper Clarke (& if that means something to you, you were there in the days of punk!) 

And then of course the Mott years: ‘All the way from Memphis’, ‘Saturday gigs’, and of course no Hunter show is complete without ‘Dudes’ which takes on an almost religious worshipful response from the 500 or so devotees, resplendent in Mott or Hunter T shirts, hiding beer bellies, a smattering of denim and leather and a fragrance of lager and belched beefburger. A roar goes up as those instantly recognisable first notes of that iconic riff begins and we all sing along, arms waving, like a bunch of born-agains on a Sunday, or Fratton enders on a Saturday. My life really is that narrow! 

 

 

Got it already thanks

 

I’ve seen Hunter more times than I care to remember. To me he’s a legend and I treasure each gig as if it’s the last. Sadly at 74, there is the reality that he’s going to have to retire his plectrum at some point, and it will be a sad day when he does. But his music will live on. Its never too late to join the movement, I’ll lend you a CD if you want!

 

And finally, here's a little known fact (unless you've been around me) A certain band who went on to enjoy a modicum of commercial success only ever were the support band once on a tour before they became the headliners themselves. Mr May (along with Morrisey, Gallagher Brothers, Def Leapord, Mick Jones of the Clash) speak very highly of  the influence of Mott the Hoople. Remember that next time you play them!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming up for air

It’s funny how life just seems to pass you by. I hadn’t realised that it’s been quite a while since I last posted, and yet I don’t seem to have done anything ‘significant’ of late. I’m as equally unprepared for the ‘Hitchin Hard Half’ which I’m running with my mate Kev on Sunday. I’ll settle for about a 1:45 as it is going to be hot and there is one hell of a hill at about mile three which is why I suppose it’s called ‘The Hard half’

Anyway, although I love my running, I prefer writing about books which I have read, and I’m one and a half books on from DH Lawrence’s sexually supressed ‘The Trespassers’ The half is a devil of a book called ‘How Novels Work’ by John Mullan which I bought at what I consider to be the best bookshop this side of the Atlantic: If ever you are in Ely or Bath, visit Topping & Co, sip green tea or coffee, pick up a novel, listen to a bit of classical, pretend you’re well read and enjoy the ambience. It’s a booklovers bookshop. Case in point: Dickens classics, all of them by Penquin, next to all of them by Vintage, next to all of them by Oxford Press. They know how us book snobs like to collect sets all with the same coloured spines and all by the same publisher. You’ll end up buying something.


What's not to like!

Anyway, I’m well on the way to finishing ‘How Novels work’, and it’s certainly putting a dampener on my ardour to write a novel! I mean, I would never knowingly include a metanarrative, or for that matter be able to distinguish between plot, narrative and story! But there you are, I’m just a humble pleb who loves a good book!

I sometimes worry that I’m as shallow as the Nick Hornby character Will Freeman in ‘About a Boy.’ It’s like football, I hate talking football with my mates after the game and they are saying things like ‘why didn’t so & so drop into the hole’ or ‘why do we persist with a 5-4-1 and let whatshisface play a little deeper’ and I’m thinking ‘I thought the kit looked nice and shiny today’

Fond memories of this kit!

It’s the same with books. I remember my O Level English teacher Miss Fraser (a very stunning ginger haired lady who helped me get a grade A!!) telling me that during her degree she met a famous author who she was studying and asked him lots of deep questions about the interpretation of his books. Half the time the author would say ‘gosh, that’s brilliant, I never thought of that!’

Sometimes we can over analyse literature, art and football. 

When you think of George Orwell you’ll typically think of Animal Farm (four legs good, two legs bad) and, of course 1984, (no, not the Bowie song!)

But that’s only touching the surface with this author and the other book I have recently finished is a delightful read called ‘Coming up for air’ which although beginning to appear a little dated is a wistful reminder of a childhood long since forgotten and never to reoccur.

The central character, George Bowling is an insurance salesman who is putting on a bit of weight and approaching that mid-life crisis. The book is essentially split into two parts: His reminiscing of the village that he grew up in and the experience he has when he decides to return. It’s the first half that really resonates and will take you back to a childhood of innocence where it never seemed to rain and summer holidays were endless. This is perhaps a book to take to read on a British summer holiday where the fragrance of sweet peas and freshly cut grass in pungent. 

Perhaps this book will resonate most if you are a fisherman. The memory of finding a hidden lake filled with monster carp took me back to holiday I don’t know where or when, but I spent hours sitting on a high ledge overlooking a deep brook, watching inquisitive small roach and perch surface as I dropped small pieces of soil into the water. Then, out of the corner of my eye I became aware that I was being watched. In the shallows, among the reeds lay a massive predatory pike which, with malevolent stare, appeared to be stalking me! I remember the frustration at not having my fishing tackle with me, but back then, I would have only succeeded in hooking the far bank, the bush behind me or my right ear lobe. 

 
Perhaps after all, some things don’t change!

I don’t remember a time when sewing needles were burned over a candle & bent into a hook, and catgut sounds more like slang for a fur ball, but there certainly was something more innocent, optimistic, even obsessive about fishing as a youngster. I can hardly believe that I used to catch grayling on the river Lea at Marford farm in Wheathampstead. When I’m out running along that way, I still see anglers, but fishing for what? Considering the state of the river in Luton, in which to fall in would result in drowning as a blessing, I struggle to imagine anything living for quite a distance on from that point. Perhaps these anglers are looking to re-connect to their childhoods? Perhaps there has been a run on a certain George Orwell novel? 

But this book has certainly inspired me to get the old tackle out of the shed. Watch out fish, Mr Crabtree’s coming after you! I’ll let you know how I get on.

Not sorry to see you go Sir Alex!

This has nothing to do with books, art, running or movies, but as every journalist, politician & celebrity wants to give their verdict on ‘Sir’ Alex Ferguson, I thought I’d give mine.

Let’s first put this into context. I’ve a Mancunian mam. Now, whilst she is completely ambivalent about the game, I have other relatives whom I love very much, but who are very much RED! I have fallen foul in the past of making silly  hurtful Facebook comments which were clumsy and that is not my intention with this post. It’s also fair to say that back in the seventies, before my love affair with Pompey began (affairs never end happily) City were my team.

 

I remember in the half-term holidays, getting the Number 16 bus from my Grans in New Moston to Moss side to stand on the Kippax and watch Lee, Bell, Tueart, Marsh..the list is endless. They were far superior to United back then, whose supporters used to console themselves by finding  entertainment off the pitch by systematically dismantling away grounds and smashing windows as local terrorised terraced house dwellers cowered behind sofas (nice, but also conveniently forgotten)

We've taken Norwich!!

I also remember getting a kicking at White Hart Lane as a 13 year old after Paul Power beat the offside trap and Pat Jennings consecutively to give the sky blues a surprise point!

 

Hypnotic eyebrows!

So I accept I’m biased.

I’ll counter this by stating that one of footballs all time showmen is Eric Cantona, and I loved watching him, unsure whether you were to witness devilish magic with the ball or the devil off it. Likewise Ryan Giggs (apart from extra curricular dalliances) David Beckham (apart from extra curricular dalliances) and George Best…ah.

No, here’s my gripe with United and in particular Ferguson. You had the quality to win without having to apply bullying, intimidation and thuggery to achieve the success.

Case in point: Roy Keane. Look at this photo of a game which United actually won, but the little man in black has just done the unthinkable and given a penalty to the other team.  If Keane was in the stands, adopted this stance, and hurled abuse at the away fans he’d be out, he might even be on a charge. 

'Ya know da feckin rules ref, ne feckin penalties to de uder syde!'

This is not the behaviour that I want to see my children replicate, but there are 600million supporters worldwide who, the majority, were prepared to turn a blind eye...for the greater good. (A United win)

But this type of behaviour was only ever half heartedly condemned by the Boss.

There’s something romantic about united, particularly for people a little older than me who remember Munich, and please, there is never an excuse to ever mock, provoke, devalue this awful tragedy as certain other teams fans do, but I’m afraid I missed that, so my view is somewhat hard headed but watching a game of football should be entertaining, and not something that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Ferguson has always had players who have looked to pushed the boundaries with regards to physical intimidation: Norman Whiteside, Paul Ince (well he thought he was the guvnor) Gary Pallister, Steve Bruce, That annoying little Irwin fella (cant remember his first name and can’t be bothered to Google it) Paul Scholes etc. Oh and lets not forget Wayne Rooney, now there’s someone you want your little lad to aspire to be, yes?

Case in point: Think it was last season, I had been running in the morning, and I’m recovering on the lounge floor (doing my stretches like a good boy) and I turn on the telly to see what the score was in the lunchtime encounter between United and those likeable east end chappies in claret and blue! Shock, WHam were leading, but then along came Rooney, and two goals later, it’s the reverse. But what got me again was the contorted expression on Rooneys face, which he pushed into the Sky camera mans face whilst unloading a string of expletives and once again adopting the thuggish ‘C’mon then!!’ pose favoured by yobboes captured on CCTV on a Saturday night or matchday & displayed on YouTube for our edification.

 

But he was excited because he’d just scored a couple of goals and won the game.

But that’s his job?

This week I’m pitching for a big investment case. Imagine the scene if I get it.

 ’Mr Cobb, we’d like your company to manage our assets’

 ‘YEEES, F***ING Get in yOU F***ING C***!!! F*** F*** etc etc.

 Just doing my job.

Going back a bit further (even pre SAF) Bobby Charlton looks like a surly bugger. There's a wonderful book called 'Manchester United Ruined my Life' by  Colin Schindler which is a delightful tale of good honest Manc fandom and liberally littered with good tales from Old trafford Cricket ground to, but in that book, Schindler tells the story of meeting Sir Bob and not being impressed.

(Actually that reminds me: I leant this to my ex Pastor (good bloke, keen utd Fan) and he never gave it me back!! You know who you are!!!

So, Mr Ferguson. For endorsing Thuggery, intimidation (I haven’t gone into the things YOU have said about refs) Bullying, Gamesmanship, I am personally glad to see the back  of you. Enjoy your horses.

To United fans. I wish you all the best. You now have a fantastic manager who, although dour, could not just emulate, but better SAF. I sincerely wish you well, particularly in Europe.

I on the other hand will be unaffected anyway, as I start a new adventure discovering the delights of Rochdale, Accrington & Dagenham. You know what, I can’t wait!

 

 

Wild at Heart?

Ok that’s book number nine so far this year. Since my last blog I finished The Trespassers by DH Lawrence and all I would say about that book is that if you are having an affair with someone and you think you might find kindred spirits in Sebastian & Helena you will be sadly let down.

'I did not have sexual relations with this woman'

My last post was more about the author than the characters, and it’s not really a book which particularly grabbed me and bettered me in any thought provoking way, so, not for the first time, it simply became a challenge to get through it as quickly as possible, so as not to waste too much of my life which I sense is now in the latter half of its course!

I’d only read one Christian book this year, so when I received a gift from a wonderful hero of mine which was the latest offering from John Eldredge, I was keen to promote it to next on my list. Eldredges finest hour was a book called ‘Wild at Heart’ which I confess I have read four times as I had never encountered writings which so summed up the challenges, hopes and dreams that a man has, but who also wants to know more of his creator. In a nutshell, we are all wearers of masks, as a way of protection against ever having to address the wounds that we carry from our Fathers.  


No seriously, I'm fine!
 

I know many people who have changed their lives on the back of that book!

Funny, I didn’t feel the need to address my wounds with my old man. He’s eighty something for goodness sake, does he need me dumping guilt on him in the name of catharsis? Don’t think so!

Anyway, it’s still a good book, and it’s just good to read a Christian writer who empathises rather than preaches or prescribes.


Okay Okay, i believe!

In fact apart from Philip Yancy, Eldredge was the writer I would most seek out. That is, until the awful ‘Way of the wild heart’ and that cringe wrenching moment when he describes his sons thirteenth birthday when he writes of  presenting the young boy with a gun, followed by a sword, and then some cake. That’s the moment when you realise why about three quarters of the worlds population hate the yanks! I mean, I know plenty of really good American people, but they’re not English are they! We would settle for cake.  

So, I hadn’t read anything for a few years, and reading ‘the Utter relief of Holiness’ was a bit like getting a letter from an old friend. However, I’m sorry to say that Jay EE has regressed into the prescriptive camp, and his examples were all pretty standard with the proximate cause of the exampled problem typically being previous sexual abuse or some drunken Dad. I didn’t feel any kind of connection, and I’m not convinced that we can blame al the ills of the world onto our folks. That’s simply not fair. However I do believe JE has the right to blame all his ills on his drunken dad, and that’s fine.  

It’s weird that I write so cynically having just spent the weekend in one of the most spiritual & scenic places I know (& a little closer to me than Lindesfarne) Once a year I visit a retreat in Ely with some other guys. The city is about the size of Harpenden, so it has no reason to be called a city but for this incredible Cathedral which, because of the flatness of the surrounding area, can be seen for miles. You really get a sense of historic  pilgrims journeying there and catching their first glimpse from many miles back. 

 

I have returned refreshed, and challenged about certain areas of my life. As always, when men find the courage to speak up about their weaknesses and fears, they invariably find they are not on their own. Of course, openess, weakness, fear are not ‘manly’ so it can be difficult to remove the mask and reveal the real you. Hey, I’m sounding like John Eldredge! Perhaps I better read his book again? 

On a completely different note, what fantastic news that Mott The Hoople are reforming for a tour including a London date. But the O2? They’re not Take That FFS! Seventies bands should play seventies venues and for me, the Hammersmith Odeon (Apollo to younger readers) IS the definitive seventies location. It worked so well in 2009, and they sold out all four nights. Methinks this has something to do with age, and it being easier to do one gig than four in the smoke, but guys, sorry but it’s a bit of a sell out. You are often quoted as being a big influence on the punk scene that followed you, but this action is definitely punk-less.  


 

I’d love to take a stance, but with Ian hunter now 73, and the drummer Dale Griffin too ill with Alzheimer’s, you have to throw your principles out the window and buy (4) tickets. This really could be the last time I ever see them.