Stockport-Leeds

Another unsatisying United performance. Another game sat being annoyed by the people around me. Yesterday I went to the Stockport-Leeds game. There was only one man that annoyed me sat near me, such is economies of scale I guess. He was quite annoying though. He was a small, thin bald man – the type of man who can’t sit still. Constantly fidgeting and looking around for someone noticing him or for something he can say something about so people notice him. Not that I judged him. His obsession was alarmingly predictable for someone folically challenged – he was obsessed with telling Leeds players with anyhting more than a mm of hair that they should get their hair cut. It was incessant.

We were sat right behind the goal and at one point one of his targets (I confess I don’t know the names of Leeds players anymore, Premiership snobbery) acknowledged the “get your hair cut” jibes. He didn’t do much other than look at him and give him one of them half smiles that says many things, including: ‘you’re a sad, pathetic little man’ and ‘I am definitely better than you’. Being the kind of man the hair vigilante clearly was, though, he didn’t pick up on the second level of signification from the scornful glance – he merely classed it as acknowledgement. He probably believed he had got inside the player’s head to the degree where he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his performance. He would end up being hauled off, ashamed of his poor display; Later he would find himself unable to have sex with his wife as his poor performance – not to mention his need of a hair cut – played on his mind. Sleeping fitfully he would be under par at training the following day, the very day he needed to impress the gaffer, or The Mister (if he referred to his manager with the same phrase as Italian players from the 1940s) following his poor display. Again he would be distracted so much by his poor show at training that he would again fail to satisfy his wife’s lust for sex.

This cycle would continue and within weeks he would find himself dropped and pretty certain his wife had taken a lover, suspecting it was their neighbour John – a builder with year round tan. He would begin drinking trying to mask the pain of his life spiralling out of control, the irony of course is that this would cause a further spiral. Turning up drunk to training several times would lead to his dismissal, word of mouth regarding his drinking ruining any chances of an offer from another team. In a drunken rage he would accuse his wife of the affair he suspected. She would admit to an affair, citing his abundance of hair as something she couldnt stand. He would get his hair cut, rekindle the romance with his wife and rebuild his career – gaining a contract with Stockport where a small bald man would cheer him on louder than anyone else in the crowd.

That was what the bald man would confidently predict his words would do. They didn’t. Although I am not the prophet Mystical Meg and cannot predict the future but the player concerned wasn’t subbed (and I am pretty sure he gave his wife a damn good seeing to, though she is still seeing John on the side). The bald man was a twat. At one point in the second half he noticed a Leeds sub, warming up, had VERY long hair, and got more excited than any child on any christmas morning and ran to the other side of the stand to shout ‘get your hair cut’ at the long-haired subsitute. Not even the boys of about 8 or 9 sat by him were impressed by his hair-related taunts. Because boys of that age don’t realise what fun a twat can be. [What a horrible and shit joke to end on, how fortunate it is that no-one reads this].

Arise Sir Brucie…Sir Brucie arise.

I have nothing against the popular entertainer Bruce Forsyth. I grew up on his comedy stylings. As much as my comedy affections drifted away from the mainstream as I got older, but not necessarily wiser, I cannot deny that I still have a great deal of affecion for the large-chinned, thin-moustached septagenarian and his multi-decaded career built on three or four catchphrases and the ability to enthusiastically deliver poor jokes written for him. But, hey, I could never have a go at anyone repeatedly drumming a bad joke for the amusement of millions – I do it all the time for the amusement of one person (me) and he even he isnt that amused.

I have nothing against the British honours system. I am not particulary proud of them, though I am proud of the MBE my garndfather received for his military service. “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOAH Wooooooooooooah, wait a minute why are you going on about this now, you were just talking about Bruce Forsyth and now you are going on about the honours system – how could the two possibly be linked? I cannot do the detective work myself, even if all that is required to make sense of this is to push the two concepts together.” Yes I am talking about a campaign to urge that Bruce Forsyth is knighted a, er…Knight of The British Empire. I just dont get this type of thing, I know they’re given prominence and amass numbers thanks to the lovely little internet plugging away at the brains of the masses. I understand people who think its funny or whatever forwarding an email or joining a group on Facebook – but occasionally there are people at the centre of these things who passionately want the thing to happen. Not beautiful things. Not cures to cancer. Not campaigns to stop bullying. Campaigns to knight Bruce Forsyth.

I was doing the dishes with Radio 5 Live on and there was this story being covered. Some guy rang in and said “If he isnt knighted this year then the whole system stands for nothing”. I’m sorry? The whole system stands for nothing if a TV presenter isn’t made a knight of the realm? Surely this was a man with some issues. Then they had the man who had organised the campaign on who said “there is nobody more deserving of a knighthood than Bruce Forsyth”. Now I’m not too sure I care about this at all but I can’t just ignore that. NOBODY? NOBODY MORE DESERVING? Surely this man (not BS, the campaign organiser) has just looked at his own life (and remember this is a man whose life is so rich and filled with meaning that he has the time to organise a campaign to get the host of a celebrity dancing tournament knighted) and the life of Bruce Forsyth and summised that one of the two should have a knighthood, he has arrogantly thought one of them should be knighted but tempered his arrogance with a smudge of dignity in admitting that his deserving was less than that of Brucie.

That is the only solution I have been able to come up with. I imagine in the guy’s own head he has thougth that as the other of the two people he has deemed worthy of a knighthood will get knighted this year he will get knighted last year – for services to getting Bruce Forsyth knighted. So his saving dignity isn’t even that good, it will turn to smug arrogance in 12 months.

That said….I think Bruce deserves it if Terry Wogan got one.

Wii Wii

Much like my first experiences of the Nintendo Wii, my first exposure to the Wii Fit phenomenon came some months after the hysteria died down at the following Christmas visit to my sister’s house.  Each further time i use a Wii I think I would like to own one.  This was no different, even though the experience was essentially humiliating – when registering my little identity thing i was told i was obese (the really sad thing was I was aiming for overweight, not in life but as I registered and knew it was coming) and that I had a Wii Fit age of 65.  A few things occurred to me at this stage.  Firstly, a cheapish mirror (or a free one but I hadn’t paid for the Wii or the Wii Fit so i am speaking from a purely hypothetical standpoint) does the same job of telling me I am overwight, sorry obese as three hundred pounds of gaming hardware and software.  And secondly, though impressed by the software involved, I couldn’t figure out how it had worked out how fit I was based on a couple of brief balancing exercise.  I am not fit, but I am fitter than a 65 year old.  Unless, the 65 year-old in question was remarkably fit.  I was then beaten at various balance based activities by my 11 old niece (who had the Wii Fit age of 35 incidentally, I could definitely beat her in a race PROVING that the system basing fitness on balance is somewhat flawed). 

Not that being told I was fat and physically 35 years older than my real age and finally degraded by an 11 year-old girl stopped me thinking about buying one.

Stoke (Away)

It is becoming an increasingly frustrating experience watching the English, European and World Club Champions.  And they say there is no pleasing some people.  Frustration isn’t something you can reason with, though. Also, holding all those crowns does raise expectations somewhat – yes, to the level where you might expect to beat Stoke City in a convincing manner.  Or look quite good.  Adding to the annoyance was the repeated remarks from Sky’s commentator Ian Darke* about how the United players might be struggling to get over jetlag after flying back from last Sunday’s World Club final.  Am I alone in thinking that four days is long enough for athletes being supervised by expensive doctors should be able to get over a trip around the world.  Maybe it was jetlag, but I don’t think many of the other lacklustre performances against poor teams could be given the same excuse.

Against Stoke Christiano looked like he had little-to-no interest in the game.  Ditto Wayne.  Ditto Carlos.  Though not lighting up the Britannia with their skill both risked another stupid sending off.  I couldn’t care less about it hardly endearing them to the hearts and minds of the British public, I care about them missing big games due to ridiculous petulance/anger management problems.  I had little sympathy for Stoke though, they did try to kick us off the park for a while.  One other thing I didn’t quite get was every time Faye was called for fouling he did the thing where a player does the ‘ball’ mime – why the mime?  The referee was English, this wasn’t the World Cup with a Paraguayan referee where there might be a language barrier.

*not his only annoying repetitive verbal shit, yet another description of Tevez playing as a rare start.  Jesus, it must be the fifteenth rare start in the last few months.

Teenage kicks

There was a girl on my bus this morning, and yes she was over 16 (I can prove this as she got off the bus near a college, Your Honour) who was dressed what I would call nicely. If i was trying to describe her accurately ,though, I would probably used the word dirtbag or similar. Anyway, I’m digressing and making myself sound like some kind of perverted old (I’m 30 you cunt, OLD?) man leering at attractive 18 (17) year-old girls on a bus in revealing attire.  Which would be misleading as i’m mearly making a pre-amble to a not altogether interesting observation. 

Anyway when she got off the bus I noticed she was carrying a bag that was embossed with the logo ‘100% Rock Chick’.  A couple of thoughts struck me, (1) I don’t think someone who was 100% Rock Chick would wear a handbag declaring this (she would probably carry all her worldly goods [spare pair of knickers, gram of speed] in a used hypodermic needle or something) and (2) This was a girl making some attempt at rebellion or personality* in a way that highlighted the immaturity of youth (fucking hell what else is youth meant to be?  I’m only saying….Yeah well you were ready to marry her a minute ago…I was not etc). 

She was unlikely to be sporting a handbag with slogan on it that read ‘I’m kind of rebelling and trying to find my own style and I’m going for this rocky goth image – that isn’t really rebellion anymore, if anything its quite conventional so many girls do it – as I’m like becoming a woman and i like men looking at me as it makes me feel attractive but if I wear it in the right way i can pretend I’m just empowering myself rather than doing it for attention.’  I would like someone to wear that handbag.  It would have to be quite a large handbag, or have quite small writing on it which would make it hard to read from anything other than close up.  Then again would someone so wise as to have such a statement be interested in letting other people know how incisive and mature their views of their won youth were?  Well yes if it was a 18 year-old girl in a short skirt with fishnet stockings on, she probably would and then would want to get fingered by someone in My Chemical Romance or something.

 

*This reminds me of an idea I had years ago of mass producing a t-shirt with the slogan ‘individual’ (I suppose ‘unique’ would work just as well) and laughing at the irony of everyone wearing it.  Of course it is ironic that I’m probably the 566, 894^th person to have this oh-so-world-weary slight at people.  I did think of an extra tweak on it though (probably making me a member of a group of just 20,348 or so) that you could have a number on them i.e. 12/10,000.  But i couldn’t decide which was more delicious with my satirical eye – actually having 10,000 of them numbered (in a way making the t-shirt somewhat more selective and quirky, but actually making it unique so undoing all the society crumbling satire my messiah-esque mind unfolded) or having them all numbered something like 128/10,000.  Given the point I’ve made in the brackets its got to be the latter option really hasn’t it?  And i did just have another thought, numbering it something like 334,756/6,000,000,000 would be like really meaningful and shit – but again ruins the point of my Chuck Palahunik styled anarchy though, god damn my innate populist soul.

A short story (previously available on MySpace)

 

I never really thought anything of me da not going to the pub or having any friends.  I just thought that’s me da.  He just worked and came home and read a paper and had some tea and sat and did a crossword or something, he didn’t play much wi; me or our Kenny or Lindsay.  We didn’t really ask him to so it wasn’t like he was denying us owt.  That’s what someone said to me once when I were saying what me dad were like.  They said something like he sounds cold and distant it mustn’t have been very nice growing up in a household like that.  It were all I knew though and I’m sure I could have been very different person now had I played Connect4 with me da every night or we’d gone on family trips an that but we didn’t and I think I’m ok. 

Anyway I’ve digressed – I was gonna tell you about how I found out why he were like that. Suppose you needed to know he were like that first though.  My English teacher said that’s what Charles Dickens did though s it cant be too bad.  I cant remember what its called though – but its like having dead long sentences cos loads of stuff is explained and it goes off at angles and stuff.  I’m just saying if Charles Dickens can do it then I can.  I’ve done it again.  I’ve digressed about digressing.  Our Kenny would say that were clever and I wouldn’t admit that I had just done it by accident – so I were looking clever by being stupid.  I never admit to it though, I just pretend I meant it.

So me dad then.  Well the first I time I heard someone talking about him being the life and soul were when I was at someone’s birthday party and some old fella asked me how me dad were and to say hello.  I didn’t say hello, but anyway he said something about how me dad used to crack him up in the pub.  Which I thought were weird as he never went to the pub.  So, I thought maybe he’d got it wrong then once Our Kenny said he’d been in the pub and some guy said something about da and the landlord had got pictures out and they were like da laughing in the pub and one of him singing with a microphone and everyone was looking at him like they were paying attention and not just him singing and being ignored.  Kenny didn’t say anything to ma or da because he was only fifteen and he’d get it if they found out he’d been in the pub.

I didn’t hear anything else about da being fun or anything.  But i couldn’t stop thinking about it every now and then and one night when he went to bed and i asked ma about it and was it true that da used to go out and have loads of friends and be normal and that.  She said she couldn’t really say anything about it but that Da did used to go out and that something had happened and that I couldn’t know.  This just made me want to know loads.  But I asked ma more times and she started to get angry about it and said sleeping dogs lie.  Then one day I saw the man from the party and asked him why da had stopped going into the pub and he said no-one really talked about it much but that he’d tell me as he thought it were better that I know.  So he bought me a coke at the café on the high street and he told me.  I wont use speech marks or owt but until I tell you then its in his words.

 

It were quite odd what happened really and I’m not sure why it did or why it never got sorted out.  It’s quite embarrassing for most people really. Now I cant say as to why it started as I just cant recall but fellas in the pub started wearing bits of womens clothes.  It started off with a couple of the guys wearing like a blouse and maybe a necklace.  Like I say I don’t know why.  It seems really daft now i think about it.  (He started laughing here so I started laughing too, a bit out of nerves but it did seem funny men dressing like women for no reason.)

 

Your dad was one of the main guys in the pub. He was always one of the jokers and everyone thought he was pretty much the main guy. At first all him and his mates ripped into these guys calling em puffs and stuff and saying how they were barmy and should be embarrassed.  But then a few more started doing it and things like earrings and makeup were used at weekend or stuff.  Before you know it there’s just a couple not wearing some women’s clothes.  And one of them’s your old man.  He started getting used to the others though – yeah I were one of them, couldn’t say why i did it.  Everyone else was doing it and I don’t know you just kind of go with the flow and then you get used to it.  Some fellas started wearing like dresses and stuff and the odd skirt.  I don’t know what the women made of it, I’m a bachelor.  Was then and still am but most of the folks was married like your dad.  Don’t know what the women thought at all.

Anyway its become like your dad’s odd cos he wont join in.  The others all gave in – even if its just wearing a bit of blusher and some leggings.  But your dad wouldn’t – he used to get some stick.  And it must have been hard for him because slowly he got left out of stuff because he wouldn’t join in.  He had a few rows with people and one night he stormed out and didn’t come back for the next few days.  The lads all felt a bit bad on him and were having a chat saying how mean they’d been.  This leads someone to say what we doin here?  We’re all dressed like fuckin women  what are we doin?  And its like we’ve been snapped out of a trance or something and the next day we were all dressed normal it was kind of forgotten straight away.  Then your da phoned and he said to make sure everyone was there on the Saturday as he wanted everyone to be there cos he was going to come back and he wanted everyone to be there.

Well we were all in on the Saturday, we were every week but no-one wanted to miss your dad coming back – we all wanted to buy him a drink and listen to his opinions about the football and horses.  Anyway we’re all sat there and the door starts to open and your dad walks in in a mini skirt and tight top and tights and high heels. I feel bad telling you this but he had gone to town and he must have bought it all himself cos as you know he couldn’t fit in your mother’s clothes.  It was good clobber too he must have spent a pretty penny and the make-up was done well and it was said he’d spent a couple of hours getting ready.  Well we weren’t expecting it and we all just laughed.  And your dad took it the wrong way.  We’d all dressed normal and there he was dressed like a tart and he’d really made an effort and everyone just laughed at him.  Anyway he just turned round and walked out and never came back.  If he see’s any of us in the street he just walks on by, a few people have thought it should be sorted out but everyone one of us is too embarrassed.  So i hope that explains whatever you needed to know.

And it did.  So that’s why my da stopped going to the pub.  I never said anything to anyone. Not even our Kenny.

 

 

 

The Bluetones play Expecting to Fly, Manchester (10 December)

Watching the Bluetones in the same venue as I saw them do basically the same set about 12 years ago was (a) perhaps a signal that I am living in the past, and (b) an interesting chance to look at a band on the opposite side of the climb to fame.  When I first saw them Slight Return had just hit the charts, Expecting to Fly was about to be released and – with some reason – The Bluetones were hailed as one of the brighter things that ‘Britpop’ wanked out.  There was certainly something about them, the music had a certain Stone-Roseyness that never hurts and Mark Morris had a way with words, not to mention the cocky charm a good frontman needs.  In short: I really liked them.  So, it was with some excitement that I trundled along to the Students Union at the University of Manchester to my first proper standing up gig.  I wasn’t let down either, they were awesome (as were their SUPPORT act The Cardigans) and though my affections waned  somewhat over the years The Bluetones, and Expecting to Fly in particular, have remained close to my heart.

 

When I saw that they were playing a celebration tour consisting of playing their debut album from start to finish I was understandably keen to go and see it.  It meant missing an almost meaningless United game and people laughing at the fact that I was going to see a Bluetones concert in 2008, but it would be worth it surely?  Well yes it was.  I know most people reading this would probably settle for me finishing there but unfortunately for the 3 or 4 people who will read this I’m going to carry on for a bit.  A couple of aesthetic points – the room seemed so much smaller as a 30 year old at the back of the room than it did for a 17 year old at the front.  Yes, I’ve been to numerous gigs in the SU (it’s not even called that anymore it’s the  Academy 2 now) but this was the first time I’ve compared it in my head.  Also, the band – as with any indie band- they were essentially three normal looking guys with some guy with that bit extra drop of looks/charisma stood in front of them, they didn’t look too different, but Mark Morris looked 12 years older: and not in the way a lot of singers look better going from mid-twenties to late thirties.  He just lacked whatever extra he used to have in terms of appearance.

 

What he didn’t lack was the voice.  He had a great voice then and he’s got a great voice now.  His voice and the musicianship of the band were great, augmented by a keyboard player, The Bluetones sounded fantastic live, as ever.  They played their debut album in order and played a few other b-sides as an encore.  Time may have expanded waists and withered their standing but it cannot dilute the quality of that album.  Peppered with bitter swipes at a former lover and laments to a dead relationship every song on Expecting to Fly stands up today as it did back in the crazy days of the mid 90s when people could survive without a mobile phone and Peter Kay was still funny.

 

Having seen Gomez tour their debut album in a similar fashion already this year its kind of hard to have a go at the idea of these reminisce-fests.  On one hand you can kind of feel sorry for the bands, they can dress it up as they want but they are doing this because it guarantees people have interest in careers that have faltered somewhat as they only want to hear ‘the good stuff’.  Alternatively you can see it as a fun walk down memory lane for band and crowd alike, and what’s wrong with a bit of nostalgia?

Where have I been?

Oh …yeah I meant to write, my dog ate my keyboard. Ok, I’ve been lapsing into being a lazy bastard again. Though, yes I did break my laptop the other day. So I’ve made the decision to upgrade to a new model as any repairs would have meant i would have spent more money on it in repairs than i did in buying it, plus the battery being dead was really getting on my nerves and i like the idea of having it by my bed to sit watching US tv shows illegally, while lay in bed, rather than wait another 12 months until they are on in England.

 
This is why I get put off writing anything – i just lost about 400 pages about what I’ve been watching in the weeks while I’ve not written anything. Not literally everything you understand, just what i felt worth commenting on. I hate trying to recreate things so I’m just going to gloss over what i said and sulk a bit at the rubbish pc I’m using while i wait for my new lap top. What did i say now? Ok – started watching the wire and I’m with the consensus: it’s fucking awesome. I think I’ll write something more comprehensive than that when I’ve watched it all, currently I’m four or five into season 3 so I’ve broken the back of it. Still wouldn’t like to say if it’s any better than The Sopranos though.

 

What else? Heroes. I was ready to give up on the Petrellis et al. I really thought season 2 was poor, the highlight (other than anything with Clare in her Cheerleader outfit/anything) was Ali Larter’s shit evil reflection character being killed off. So hip-hip-hoo-fucking-ray she’s back as her own triplet, at least she had a proper power this time I suppose. The season started poorly for me and I was literally ready to cut it free (Fringe got 2 episodes before I gave up), but gave it one last go and watched about 6 or 7 over a couple of days and think it had finally returned to form, Robert Forster has proved a much better sinister figure than that attempted by Malcolm McDowell’s Linderman as the patriarch of the Petrelli clan. I still think Matt Parkman is shit as is Suresh but the rest of the cast are more than making up for it at the moment.

 

Which brings me to 24:Redemption, a reminder of the brilliance of Bauer come trailer for the new season. I needed a bit of a reminder to be honest, a year without a 24 fix wasn’t too much of a hindrance, the show was declining with quality over seasons five and six and was in need of a reboot. Which seemingly we were getting, the trailer for season 7 (the one that never happened due to the writer’s strike) with Almeida in it!! Tony ‘Dead’ Almeida. Yes, thats more like it. Dead people coming back is NOT a sign of desperation, it’s awesome – ok?? But it was not to be. One thinks that they would have struggled out a season last year had it not badly been in need of an excellent run. Which brings us to this 2-hour special, set mainly in a fictional war torn African country. The screen time was shared between Jack tackling his demons and Druglords with the help of Robert Carlyle and the set-up of the mulligan for season 7. In 24-universe we are of course 2 black Presidents in, so what next??? A woman, that’s right a woman in the White House. The US part of 24:Redemption focused on the comings and goings of the incumbent female President and the drug addict friend of her son who was embroiled in the African war via work for a sinister John Voight. Hopefully Voight will get more screen time in the new season as we didn’t get to see much of him here. 24 wasn’t out of this world, but it wetted the whistle.