It's a Wonderful Life

Well it's okay

Here are some things that are just a bit better than alright at the moment

The Felice Brothers

The 26th African Cup of Nations 2008
Not drinking

Hating Miranda Sawyer and all the other clueless journos masquerading as experts on abolutely everything!

The folks on http://www.mudhutsmedia.co.uk/

Ana Ivanovic and Maria Sharapova final - essential viewing

The goings-on at Liverpool FC

The FA Cup 4th Round

"Robin Park's Barmy Army"

The beautiful Duffy

Orrell Anvils

Oxtail, Rice and Peas

1650 Breakfast

and of course as always: Julie Christie

Deal or No Deal - Deal you b*stards

It's television for the unemployed and the unemployable; the slackers and the students; the pensioners and parishioners of Middle England. Monday to Friday from 3.30pm to 6.00pm it is the Holy Trinity of television: From 'Countdown' to 'The Weakest Link' with (new kid on the block) 'Deal or No Deal' squeezed in between. There's even 15 minutes at 5.00pm where you can put the kettle on, check out how distressed Judy looks on Channel 4 or realise whatever it is that you are having for your tea it cannot possibly look (or taste) worse than what the celebrity chefs have rustled up in 8 minutes on 'Ready Steady Cook'. What is there not to like about that schedule?

Countdown has had a new lease of life since (well) Richard Whiteley breathed the last gasps of his own life and Des retired. Whiteley endeared himself to millions and is missed yet he was fundamentally useless. Des O'Connor is the Status Quo of light entertainment. Shut your eyes and he could be jousting with Eric and Ernie but it matters not a jot. And of course there is always the glint in those pearly white teeth. With O'Connor you just know there's something "wrong" there. What it is you don't know but it just nags away at your psyche. Carol Vorderman provides the brains and alludes to beauty. She has appalling dress sense but somewhere deep down she stirs something in a man's loins. There is also just that hint of jealousy going on between her and Suzy that sits in Dictionary Corner. She's the real clever one, the really good-looking one as she primes whatever z-list celebrity sits with her. We know that - and so does Carol. Des is oblivious to it all. But like all good quiz shows it is all about the presenters and us (the punters) sat at home. The contestants are dull to the bone - and throughout it's lifespan has provided more outlets for single persons than at the local library's Christmas party whilst us lot sit at home; doing sums in our heads and shouting out with glee when we get the conundrum. You never care who wins - it's just about passing 45 minutes before the real action begins.

Without so much a pause for a stairlift advert Countdown is followed by 'Deal or No Deal'

Noel Edmonds hosts the British version of the worldwide smash game show where any one of 22 players could win up to £250,000. Does their sealed box contain hundreds of thousands of pounds? Or just pocket change? Guts and instinct are the key to success as Noel gives real people a real chance to win real money. Well that's what the official blurb is.

This show has garnered as much publicity about Noel's TV comeback as it actually has about the show's content. Like Des he is timeless. But unlike Des he is a twat. From his 1982-stylee shirts tucked into his black jeans to his Swap Shop 70s haircut. And of course this is the man that taught George Michael all he needs to know about sculptured facial hair.

Edmonds is in his element and although he's undoubtedly a twat he has surrounded himself by even bigger twats - the contestants.

Again here is the official blurb:

There are 22 of them and they return each day until they are picked to play and hopefully win fuck all. The daily player chooses one of the 22 sealed boxes. No one knows what it contains. One by one the player opens all the other boxes, revealing the amounts within. All the while this gives them a better idea what prize may be contained in their own sealed box. And then again there is 'The Banker'. Periodically, the player will receive a telephone call from the 'Banker'. The Banker is always watching the player, trying to analyse their psychology, and has has no idea what the contestant's sealed box contains. The Banker's sole purpose is to try and ensure the player leaves the studio with the smallest amount of money possible. Based on the amounts of money the player has eliminated and their perception of the player themselves, the Banker makes a cash offer to buy the mystery box. Whenever The Banker makes an offer, the player is left with a desperate dilemma... take the offer, or risk losing everything!

Edmonds comes out with pyschobabble, the people with the boxes that have apparently bonded through being together for weeks roar encouragement and then shed crocodile tears when they open a box containing a large amount. 'The Banker' (Cockney rhyming slang here?) calls, Edmonds utters some nonsense then the contestant in the chair asks one of the others some advice and they sensing this will be their moment (knowing that they are too old and too ugly for X-Factor) seize their chance and go into Sir Alan Sugar Apprentice mode. Fucking hell it's all too much. No it isn't! It's just fucking luck which numbers you pick out. But by now us (the audience) are willing the idiot up there to end up with 1 penny. I mean they've just turned down an offer of £9,000. Come on you're wearing a Primark tee shirt - you've never seen £9,000 in your life before - take the offer. But no they can see £50,000 still available even though the odds are 6/1 they won't get it. And sure enough they end up with £1. Edmonds is consoling the person in the seat (dock), some bird's crying and we are whooping at the screen with delight. Bring on the next bastard and let's hope he/she falls fucks it up as well. Meanwhile Noel prowls around the set like a man at a Formula 1 convention as he counts the wads in his crinkly-bottomed jeans sniggering inside.

After the excitement and downright pleasure of the last 45 minutes it's time for:

"Any of the nine people brave enough to play The Weakest Link could win up to £10,000. They don't know each other, but if they want the Prize Money they have to work as a team. Eight of them will leave with nothing, as round by round, the player voted The Weakest Link is humiliated on the Walk of Shame. At the end of the show, the final two contestants go Head to Head. One gets the money, the other, leaves with nothing"

And away we go. Nobody ever wins anywhere near the £10000 and they never will because to a man and woman they are all as thick as pig shit. We know that, in most cases the contestants themselves know that and the show's producers and Anne Robinson definitely know that. She takes the piss mercilessly and shamelessly. Fat fuckers get it as do fashion disasters. Students are ridiculed beyond belief whilst those that think they have important jobs are dusted down with a caustic, nasty wit. Anne hates the pretty girls, destroys the biddies and eyes up the young lads that she undoubtedly would like a piece of. On some shows she's practically booking the hotel room as we reach the last four. As for the idiot contestants - they are irrelevant. We watch it for Anne Robinson alone. Of course it isn't as spontaneous as it looks but considering the old bird's got more skeletons in her closet than the Ghost Train at Southport she gets my vote.

So there you have it; more drama, comedy and excitement in two and a half hours than you get in 10 series of Casualty or whatever. O'Connor, Edmunds and Robinson - We salute you!

21 Everton Things

1. Drinking when people are at church – just doesn’t seem right but…
2. Andy Johnson (or should that be AJ) doing the A sign after scoring. Just knew that would happen even said so last week in 21 Derby County things: “Wot No "A" celebrations!?!?!?! Next one this Sunday at the JJB and hopefully not from Andy "Baldy" Johnson
3. Titus Bumbling Bramble. Again
4. The pitch with the ridiculous ridge/trench down the middle. Just an embarrassment, Father Jack. Either act like a premier league club or forget it
5. And on such matters, get some marketing in and attempt to fill those bloody seats
6. And on such matters again - More ticket office balls-ups (again)
7. Broke one of my golden rules and bought a pint at half time. And it was absolutely ghastly (and £2.60 a pint).
8. Loads of scousers in the Brick before and after the game and as normal all spot-on. Some of them even had decent trainers on!!
9. Wilson Palacios. Blimey is that a skilful midfield player wearing a Wigan Athletic shirt?
10. Steve Bruce getting bigger by the day. He’s almost as big as Baby Harvey now. Keep eating those pies, Steve.
11. Arteta or Cahill? Just who is the biggest whinging git? Close call but I’ll go for the Aussie Millwall man. Disgraceful behaviour right throughout the match
12. Phil Neville still getting away with being a woefully inadequate midfielder. Only slightly better as a full-back!
13. Got to say for thirty five minutes I thought we looked a decent side. Even allowing for the fact that Yobo, Yakubu and Pienaar were missing from the Everton line-up.
14. Rain all weekend but strangely dry for the ninety minutes.
15. Positive substitutions. Wot three strikers, three attacking midfielders. What is Latics World coming to? It wouldn’t have happened if Paul “Trust the Jeweller” Jewell was still here
16. “If you are a Premier League team, you need a decent pitch and that could certainly affect us." Steve Bruce in the Rugby Post today.
17. The bridge over the canal (again). Bloody disaster waiting to happen there. Just a case of getting your head down and let the crowd carry you onto it. Get a second bridge built!
18. Jason Koumas’ last appearance for the club?
19. Little Benidorm – as bizarre as ever at night. With some Thai Bride belting out numbers. I’ve heard worse. Oh and there were no fights. Well not what I can remember any way!
20. Waking up Monday morning and suddenly realising I’d had nothing to eat all Sunday!
21. FA Cup 4th Round next up and it’s not often Wigan Athletic fans have been able to say that. It’s on proper telly, the pitch will be even worse and there will be even more empty seats. Oh dear…

Mods, The Ivy League And Working-class Menswear

And again from a couple of years back - well it's Saturday and there's a pint in The Brick with my name on it!

"A mate of mine dropped me a text message the other week. He had been around Manchester on the Saturday afternoon and had dropped on Man United's mob. He was enthusing that they were all wearing semi-flares, Adidas shoes and not a gaudy label in sight. I concurred with him that this was indeed great news. And as we know in general where Manchester and Liverpool lead then the rest of the North West follows.

This whole dressing up at football was only in part about labels. It was also about "the look". For every £400 jacket there was an Israeli Army parka from Millets. The dressed-down look if it is indeed coming back is most welcome. Because football fashion was always a part of working class fashion and working class fashion has always been about simplicity. The general consensus of argument tends to be whether football fashion started in the North or in London. Yet there is always the counter argument that it is just an extension of the modernist look that was taken up by Londoners after the 2nd World War. Now I'm no expert but I'd like to delve into this latter theory.

After the 2nd World War a whole new-world literally opened up before peoples eyes. As rationing was phased out many products and influences entered the nation's senses. Most of these came from across the pond and nothing was more influential than clothing. In Soho the jazz bars would be full of American sounds and by the end of the fifties the clothes were also American. This was an East American cool that was based on the clothes that formed the Ivy League look from the influential colleges in America. Button-down shirts, penny loafers, wing-tip brogues and flat fronted chino trousers.

As the 50's became the 60's the sharp young lads around the cities of Britain began to appropriate this look but added Traditional English and European looks to it as well as the Jamaican rude boy look that the newly arrived immigrants had brought with them. By 1965 this was becoming a much sought after look and a lad from the East End of London called John Simons opened 'The Ivy Shop' on Richmond Hill. A shop that is, arguably, the most important menswear shop in Britain ever. Here he took the imported American clothes along with all the European and Jamaican influences and his tailoring skill and created the proper Modernist look. This wasn't the cartoon Carnaby Street mod that can be seen in Quadrophenia. There were no mirrors, rabbit tails and patches here. It was simple quality clothing. In 1969 he invented the Harrington Jacket that was a variation on the golf jacket that Ryan O'Neal's character Rodney Harrington wore in the then popular soap opera Peyton Place. That jacket is still a staple item in many a lad's wardrobe.

And that is the influence. As Mod split two ways with the hardcore tough mods mutating into skinheads and the "artier" mods moving towards the hippy movement those clothes from the sixties remain the constant among many a young buck's look. As well as the Harrington jacket much of the clothes that John Simons and others brought into the country and introduced to sharp dressed young working class men can still be seen today. The omnipresent Duffel Coat was worn by the modernists. As was the reefer jackets. Flat fronted trousers, Levi's and Crombie coats. The suit that never loses its appeal is a simple three-button slim fitting 60's influenced coat. The anoraks of Massimo Osti are strictly modernist in design. And take a look at your shoes. They can produce as many variations of design as they like but they will never better a pair of English brogues or an American loafer. As for boots next time you pass Jeffrey Tonks shoe shop in town take a look at the Clarks Desert Boot. It is perfect. As for the brands - John Smedley, Lacoste, Marks & Spencers, Ralph Lauren, Levi's, Barbour, Champion sweatshirts and everything else that is just right are made along modernist lines. Paul Smith has made his fortune from such ethics and produced some of the most desirable clothes you will ever see or wear.

And then there's Adidas. Adidas trainers with semi-flared jeans and cords might strictly be an 80's Northern casual revival look yet the semi-flared jeans can be seen on the arse of The Beatles on many of their covers while the classic Adidas trainers are purely modernist in design and spirit.

I realise this is an indulgence and will only be of interest to lads that are interested in clothes but hey that was always the modernist viewpoint. It was elitist and it still is. Let the others follow FASHION while the discerning amongst us will forever be interested in the CLOTHES. And that is the massive difference.

Best Trainers in the World ... from Bolton

From a few years back because, basically, it's raining, I'm tired and well ... I still feel the same about this footwear stuff.

Pic: the new Walsh PB Elite Racer

I’m not sure about everybody else but I’ve become tired of all these Adidas and Nike reissues that are springing up every couple of weeks. Sure they look good and the odd style even resembles the original but there’s something not quite right about it all. We’ve basically got to the situation where if you earn enough money you can simply go out and buy the stock and excuse me if I’m wrong but it was never about that. The last ten or so times I’ve walked into Ran and Size? I’ve just not been bothered, seen nothing to interest me. So what is a footwear fetishist to do?

Don’t tell me another of life’s (few) pleasures has gone by the wayside. Nah while I’m leaving the two main players aside for a while I could never give it up completely. It was hard enough to cope when Church shoes priced themselves out of this pauper’s range so whilst I moved from Church’s to Clarks it’s time to move onto something else in the trainer market. But what?

There’s Puma – but despite a couple of old school models they look just too gay. Too Disco Dave. K-Swiss is a total no-no and while there’s no denying that Reebok Classics are (well) classics they are ubiquitous. I could always go the whole rock and roll by getting a pair of Converse but the chunky frame might lessen the effect whilst I have never had the balance for the skateboard brands. Now New Balance I like and a couple of pairs lay neatly boxed at Hawkins Towers. It’s an option and then I remembered that classic that held sway in the North West for a few months in the 80’s: the Walsh Trainer. Or the Walsh PB Trainer to be precise. Blimey I’d forgotten about them. A quick Google and yes they are still there – and the trainers look utterly superb. Get the address, a few quid in my pocket and a few days later a new pair of trainers and a new love in my life!

My first insight into Walsh was in the early 70’s when my Dad bought me a pair of their wonderful hand made Rugby Boots. They did Low and High. Low for the backs and High for the forwards and all that rucking they have to do. They were simply the bees’ knees. But the story of Walsh Sports is more than just rugby boots. It’s about one man Norman Walsh and how he developed this iconic company. Norman was born in Bolton, Lancashire, in 1931. He started work for Foster Brothers Shoes in his hometown in 1945. While working as an apprentice shoemaker, he was asked to make sprinting shoes for the 1948 Olympic Games in London. During the late 1950’s, Norman worked closely with the Foster Brothers’ grandsons, Jeff and Joe. These two branched away from the family business and formed the legendary Reebok. In 1961, Norman decided to start his own business and took over a small corner of his father’s shoe repair shop and called the company ‘Norman Walsh Shoes’.

During the 70’s he moved away from the luxury leather boots and became interested in manufacturing shoes for the runners that traversed the local fells. It is a sport that is as arduous and gruesome as it gets and that needs a shoe to cover all terrains. During this time he linked up with the legendary Lake District fell runner Pete Bland and over the next five years they created the shoe that took the sport of fell-running by storm. – the ‘Walsh Trainer’. Its colour was, and still is, blue with yellow flashes. It had all the requirements for becoming a classic running shoe: no bulk, a great lacing system that gave a tight fit at the toe crease, a thin sole for minimum shock absorption, good heel cushioning for navigating those descents, and made from a quick-drying fabric. These were all the factors that contributed to winning races. Norman added a little rubber cushioning to the front area in the mid-1980’s and this design became known the P.B. Trainer, which is the most popular fell-running shoe of all time. They also look great with jeans when you’re propping the bar up.

Norman sold up in 1996 but remains in a consultancy capacity for the company that is now known as ‘Walsh Sports Limited’. Other trainers in the range include the PB X’treme’ which is a more robust shoe with a (gorgeous) yellow background and the ‘Raid’ which is an off-road shoe suitable for walking - another fine-looking shoe.

Away from the performance aspect of the shoes and the market it essentially caters for the time is surely right for the brand to be embraced by the trainer afficianados. A small range of trainers, extremely comfortable, all easy on the eye and importantly also made in Britain as shown by the discreet tabs stating “WALSH, BOLTON, ENGLAND complete with UNION JACK” - Wonderful.

Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads

Well if they are playing Fog on the Tyne on Talksport this morning it can only mean one of two things. Unless Gazza is back at The Priory then I think it is safe to say that King Kev, the Special K, The Messiah has returned to St James' Park.

I have quite simply never seen (or heard) anything quite like it. Dads with their fat-cherub-faced lads giving it the "Keegan Wonderland" for the benefit of the cameras. In what must be the greatest second coming since Jesus fancied a Cadbury's cream egg one Easter, Keegan has returned and the Geordie Nation has gone apeshit.

I don't think it is any secret but if Geordies didn't exist then you'd have to invent them! Throw in the world of SKY/Setanta/606/Talksport and you have a right royal circus. And enter the circus master supreme - a man called KEVIN.

Excuse me but what did he actually win at Newcastle? Sure, they scored lots of goals and they did indeed entertain but his win record was 55% and NO trophies.

His last managerial position was with Manchester City where he managed a 44% record and NO trophies. It is also safe to say he was indeed "England's worst-ever manager" with a 39% win record and NO trophies.

But, hey he's back and the Geordie Bootboys - the world's most loyal fans - are going to embrace him like there is no tomorrow! Don't get me wrong Newcastle is a great place and when you go up there you truly appreciate what a football town it is and they surely deserve some success but will they get it?

Football's changed since he was last there. He will do well to attract a Ginola or get lucky with an Asprilla. He'll probably start by bringing in Chris Coleman who - completely out of his depth -resigned as Real Sociedad boss yesterday. And of course Terry Mac will keep his job. Will Shearer be co-opted onboard. Who knows?

Last night amongst the handshakes, smackers on the lips and autograph signing, Keegan looked pale and ill. Adrfit from it all. Lost in the flashbulbs.

He may be "back home" but will it bring success. People are saying that Newcastle will be everybody's second favourite team again, which is of course be absolute bollocks. For every Giles from Cheltenham calling up radio stations there will be a Baz from Manchester that will hope he falls flat on his face.

Meanwhile it is just another twist in the Premiersoap. The Lovejoys of this world will love it. Thousands will whack school for tomorrow's press conference and Bolton will get stuffed on Saturday.

But where will it all end? It may just end in a host of trophies yet then again it may end in one of the murky north eastern lay-bys.

Whatever happens this story will undoubtedly run and run...

Now how did that theme song go

"Oh, what happened to you?
Whatever happened to me?
What became of the people we used to be?
Tomorrow's almost over,Today went by so fast,The only thing to look forward to is the past?"

GREAT COATS OF OUR TIME NO 1

WOOLRICH ARCTIC PARKA

From Oi Polloi's website

The Woolrich original Arctic Parka, with 100% goose down, polycotton shell, two handwarmer pockets, two button fastening outer pockets, one internal pocket and drawcord waist. Adjustable fur-trimmed hood with velcro throat tab.

This classic jacket was originally made for Alaskan pipeline workers (to protect them from the 40 below temperatures) and is the benchmark by which all other parkas are judged.

Check out American suppliers on the web - what with the weakness of the dollar and all that - oh and stuff your £680 Italian designerwear coats up your jacksie and go for the real deal.

Timeless beauty

Watching Love Story means never having to say you're sorry

Well there was nothing else on. I'd had my tin of Heinz Beef Broth and cheese and ham toasties so thought - why not, and sat down and watched the glorious load of tosh that is Love Story.

My excuse (and I'm sticking to it) is that Ryan O'Neal is quite simply the best-dressed man in cinema and (well) Ali McGraw is gorgeous.

As for the film: well you know what you are getting when a forlorn Oliver Barrett IV (O'Neal)'s opening lines are - "What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died? That she was beautiful and brilliant? That she loved Mozart and Bach, the Beatles, and me?"

The action then pans back to when the rich Harvard boy meets the poor Italian-American and they fall in love. Simple story, simply executed and beautifully acted.

Add in an perfect oscar-winning musical score that helps to tug the heart strings, marvellous Cambridge, Mass. sights/sites and a lovely understated performance by Ray Milland as O'Neal's WASP father and that is about it.

Romantic films rarely work for me but this is exquisite.

*Hawkins holding back the tears to check the cut of O'Neal's sheepskin jacket and drool over the beauty of his MG TC car

GREAT SHOES OF OUR TIME NO. 1

CTHE CLARK'S POLYVELDT

In production between 1976 and 1984 it was the most comfortable ever (well maybe).

It followed the natural contours of the foot and was aimed at the "outdoors type."

PREVIOUSLY ON THE PREMIERSOAP

So Bruce is linked to Newcastle. More worrying is the fact that he was in Ampesand club with those two idiots: The Dudley Dunce, Big Fat Sam and Drunken Duncan Bryan Robson.

Drinking lager and champagne by all accounts, Big Sam not looking arsed that he had lost job. Why should he? It's rumoured that he got a £6m pay-off.

Down the East lancs the fat Spanish waiter is quite simply knackered . Banners will be unfurled and protests organised but by speaking to the German hippy, Klansman (sic), the Yanks have nailed their colours to the mast. Rafa is a a dead man walking whatever they may say.

Not that the situation is unique. It happens all the time in work. I remember one particluar horrendous job I had when I knew they were looking to get shut of me and I couldn't wait. One day there was some girl sat in reception and as the lazy receptionist was nowhere to be seen I asked if I could help. She simply said she was here for the credit control job. My job. Fantastic stuff as I marched into the fat cow of a boss's office and said: "There's a girl in reception waiting for an interview for my job" and walked out.

Panic on the face of the lunatic boss. Oh how I milked the situation and as well as having the ejeeit in tears, negotiated myself a nice pay-off after threatening to go to the usual citizen's advice/union etc.

That's what Benitez should do. Just screw the fuckers. A bit like Sam has done and then go for lager and champagne with the professional Liverpool drunks down at Baby Blue. Sod 'em!

But back to Wigan Athletic and Big fat Sam's drunken ramblings that Bruce is the man for the Newcastle job. If there was a grain of truth in it - would he go? Of course he would. He's part of that ridiculous Geordie nation and all that bollocks. He's also got previous - a lot of previous on such matters.

I hope it's all bollocks as I'm quite warming to the big fat get. He's instilled some spirit in the side, got us playing and battling and is ten times the manager that Jewell was/is. He conducts himself well, is self-deprecating has a good backroom squad and hasn't yet called us a set of fucking tossers.

His success has also seemingly shut Father Jack. That will never last and if he does become the ninth or tenth or eleventh (whatever) Premier league manager to change jobs this season it might just see our chairman explode.

ps Has anybody seen Doris?

21 Derby County Things

1. The police's paranoia about anybody from Wigan going into the town centre. Blimey middle-aged men are going into a town centre and maybe having a drink.
2. "Billy Davies was good in the Championship but he couldn't hack it in the Premier league" - Oh dear you really don't know what you have let yourself in for.
3. "Paul Jewell is a Wiganer" - sure enough try and wind up the home support by all accounts but get your facts right. Isn't, never was and never wanted to be
4. That Claude Davies really is a very bad player and the other ten weren't much better
5. The Brunswick Inn - very good pub, indeed
6. As was Ye Old Dolphin Inne
7. 30,000 and not a sound - but you couldn't blame them
8. Robbie Savage -why?
9. Wilson Palacios totally and utterly unphased by the fool that is Savage
10. A boisterous away following for once. It was like being back in the Championship
11. Man for man we were better than them in every position and should have had it tied up by half-time
12. The walk by the river back into town. A bit different to walking down the cut and no bloody bridge to try and get over
13. A certain well-known London Latic on Rambo No 2 (8.5 ABV) in The Brunswick
14. Sibierski's goal. Say what you want about the bloke but he has got something
15. And good to hear today: "Lille contacted me three weeks ago to ask me if I wanted to get back to France.'I told them 'no' straight away, I don't want to go back to France. My family are happy living in Manchester and I'm very happy at Wigan'."
16. That's 20 points and half way to the definitive 40 points. 38 will do it easily this season so that's six more wins...
17. Wot No "A" celebrations!?!?!?! Next one this Sunday at the JJB and hopefully not from Andy "Baldy" Johnson
18. Lamb's Navy Rum - wrong!
19. That Giles Barnes looking a lot fatter and not being as good as I thought he was - but he couldn't half moan!
20. Titus Bramble - immense again. Player of the season so far.
21. The torrential rain when we got back in Wigan. Thank God for other men's wives and my lift home - via the chip shop of course. A very good day out, Mr Jewell and we'll enjoy taking another three points from you at our gaff.

Dirty Old River

FROM A WORK IN PROGRESS 'SKIN AND BONE'

I cross Hungerford Bridge above this big, old river. This river that some old poet called Elliott said:

"Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends"

Well it fucking does now! As I stop and I stare.

I like this bridge. Generally, I hate heights but this is okay. There's no thoughts of suicide as there are on the Archway Bridge. This is a footbridge that creaks yet you know nothing will come ill of you as trains carrying their unhappy passengers to their final destination brush passed your shoulders.

Midstream I stop and look east. The sun drizzles through the wrought iron behind me and bathes the water and panorama in a gentle light.

Zip the jacket to my nose and bask in the glory of being young, foolish and happy. And just ever so slightly drunk. I smile at Japanese tourists that click and then flick the November cold from their noses and then click again as Waterloo Bridge returns to Tokyo via Nikon.

Makes me smile, that does. Makes me want to hurry to the pub but I need another look at this "dirty old river" that (that) proper poet Raymond Davies fretted over as it rolled and flowed into the night.

Ten minutes - maybe more - I stand there. And then I make haste and cut across the concrete and clay beneath my feet, ignoring all the modern day Terrys and Julies and down Waterloo Road and into The Cut and into Webber Street and into The Stage Door.

A light and bitter would be nice and a barmaid pours one to perfection, passing me the remains of the light in the bottle and I sit by the fire.

I am early - as usual - but that's good. I sit and read the Standard and think about ardour and soul and Kevin Rowland and Dexys Midnight Runners. For tonight we are going to the Old Vic to watch their Projected Passion Revue.

The Old Vic, eh? The home of Richardson, Gielgud, Thorndike, Burton and Olivier. And now Rowland. No need for him to "black-up" like Olivier did in Othello. Kevin has soul.

And there are not many white men called Kevin that you can say that about...

Thanks, mate

Q. How do you tell a Lancastrian in London?

A. He/She thanks the driver when he/she gets off the bus.

In my ever-desperate attempts to avoid anything that can be construed as "Proper work" I have recently found myself travelling to Ormskirk four times a week and what an adventure it is.

Now are there two truly great ways to travel. The best by far is on foot while a big yellow/red/green/claret/turqouise and white bus pushes it close. By foot you see and hear everything. Keeps your senses open and you'll hear arguments and fights, see beautiful and not so beautiful girls and be asked innumerable times for a ciggie - amongst other things!

However Ormskirk is just a little far to walk. It's probably about twelve miles away - which means my bus us travelling at something like 11MPH as it takes over an hour to get there. See, the bloody thing goes everywhere - and that is one of the joys of bus travel. They are provided for the people so of course they go through every bloody council estate in the world. And of course the Ormskirk bus goes through Skelmersdale Old and New towns. Both oxymorons and Skem (as in the new town) while it might be a shithole - there aint half some daft buggers that get on. Thankfully when I travel they tend to be harmnless daft buggers that have usually been to the supermarket via the pub/hospital/doctors/probation officer.

The great joy about travelling through Skem is that it lasts longer and costs less than the "Big One" at Blackpool. All that's missing is that they don't take your picture when you get off! Your legs and stomach are churning more than a night on the Guinness and kebabs.

As the planners decided that Skem would be built without traffic lights all you have is endless roundabouts. Add in to the mix the fact that they didn't build pavements and every fucker's walking on the road meaning the maniacal tattooed drivers are hitting sixty and the brakes at the same time resulting in the thirty minutes through Skem being quite simply the most exhilarating fun you can have with your clothes on!

Oh and as for the punters

1) Everybody says "thanks" when they get off
2) The Skem kids are a 100x better behaved than the Wigan kids
3) The concourse shopping centre is "the Conny"
4) And ASDA is "THE ASDA"

Next week more classic bus journeys - maybe

Chelsea at home in the FA Cup

And on the BBC @ 5.15pm Saturday night as well!

Time for Shearer, Jug Ears and Drunken Al to pontificate on the merits of Wigan Athletic Football Club

Should be fun

It's FA Cup Third Round Day

And I can't be bothered.

Sunderland away, I haven't gone and doubt whether I'll keep my eye on the scores.

Who'd have thought it would have come to this. Ah well "live the dream" and all that - Premier league survival, lack of money, the club playing its reserves.

And to think 37 years ago Wigan Athletic of the Northern Premier League was playing Manchester City of the First Division. We lost 1-0 but it was a great day with 17,000 Latics fans in the near 47,000 crowd.

Today there will probably be nearer to 170 there from Wigan.

Football's changed - for the better?

Well that's for the individual to decide!

POP WILL EAT ITSELF

The Pop on Trial series has been up and running on the red button on BBC for the last week. Tracks from the 50s to 90s have been shown. Stuart Maconie has worn progressively worse shirts as the decades have gone by whilst the music has varied from the gruesome to the glorious.

There will now be a series of shows and a panel(s) that decide which decade was/is the best. I'm not holding my breath but hey, here's the blurb:

BBC Four teams up with BBC Radio 2 to put British pop music in the dock. Over six parts, Pop On Trial scrutinises pop from the Fifties to the Nineties, reviewing the good, bad and ugly music of each period.

Stuart Maconie presides as three guests per episode debate the relative merits of each era and work towards a final judgement on the best musical decade.

A 90-minute finale invites one guest back from each programme to put their case for the best decade to a pop jury. The panel then makes the final decision on the best musical decade based on the evidence put to them.

While the TV panel examines the evidence, listeners to Radio 2's Stuart Maconie and Mark Radcliffe Show decide their all-time favourite track.

This first episode scrutinises the Fifties, with musician Pete Wylie, pop historian CP Lee and eternal rock 'n' roller Joe Brown reviewing the decade in which pop was born, with the help of extensive archive material.

The panel discusses how Bill Haley – a middle-aged man with a kiss curl – imported rock 'n' roll to a nation of excited youth, whether skiffle brought Britain's first pop star in Lonnie Donegan and how a hip-gyrating bad boy called Cliff sang on Britain's first rock 'n' roll single.

Under Stuart's supervision, the guests look at the fashions and lifestyle of the period, give first-hand accounts of a music revolution taking place and see some of the most passionate, vibrant music performances which rocked the world to its very foundations.

An exclusive compilation of great pop performances from the Fifties will be available to digital television viewers after the programme via the Red button.

Pop On Trial is part of BBC Four's Pop! What Is It Good For? season celebrating British pop music.

So Maconie and his cronies will decide what era is the greatest. What a load of fucking bollocks!

Music is either good or bad. Somebody's bad is somebody else's good ... and frankly who cares?
My favourite era is the 70s - that's because I was a teenager then and if your favourite records don't come from your teenage years, well it's really not worth bothering.

As for the sartorially delinquent Maconie looking at "the fashions and lifestyle of the period" I think we'll reserve judgement! It is quite simply a series that should not be taken seriously and ought to be watched just to see the good, the bad and the ugly of whatever they deem to be pop music.

The whole look at pop on tv starts tonight with Pop Britannia (1/3) - BBC 4. 10.00pm - 11.00pm

The history of pop music from the aftermath of the Second World War to present day. This episode charts British pop from post-war to the early 1960s.programmes

The European Capital of Football Culture - or maybe not

A brief history of how it all began

Some may claim it was Ian St. John that founded the port of Liverpool in 1207 but records will tell you it was King John. Whether his second name was Toshack I'm not sure. Basically King John needed another port as well as Chester to send men and supplies over to the recently conquered Ireland. Liverpool was near to Chester and had all the natural resources to dock ships. The origin of the name Liverpool seems clouded (or muddied) if you believe that it was originally called Liuerpul meaning a port of muddy water. Others suggest that it was originally known as Elverpool due to the large number of eels prevelant in the Mersey. Personally I cannot see Scousers dressing as Pearly Kings and Queens, eating jellied eels and saying: "Gawd bless you King John's Mum" but you never know. With so many men and so much trade passing through the area King John set up a weekly market. This can be seen as a precursor to the Dock Road market of today and was probably the beginning of the great trading tradition of the city. Whether snide Lacoste polo shirts were being sold back then, the records don't tell us.

The area soon became a bustling yet small port and as well as a weekly market the king also gave the citizens of Liverpool the right to hold an annual fair for a period of a few days each year. Again this tradition is with us today but is generally known as the Grand National Meeting. How much trading and selling goes on nowadays is debatable but there are few better days out than Ladies Day. A day bartering over a turnips and trading horses or a day in the company of glorious women and backing horses I know where I'd sooner be. As Kings and Queens came and went Liverpool pretty much remained the same for many years. It remained a small town and by the 14th century it's population numbered no more than a thousand. And then nothing really happened. There was a spat in the English Civil War in 1644 when Prince Rupert led a royalist army into the town to try and recapture it back from parliamentarian hands. The townspeople resisted but many were killed and the town was back in royalist hands. Not for long however as they lost the battle of Marston Moor a few weeks later and then the whole of the North of England fell to the parliamentarians. It could be argued that royalty has not been welcome in the area since. But then again parliamentarians have been given an even rougher ride.

By the late 17th and early 18th century Liverpool found itself literally pointing the right way as trade with the English colonies in America and the West Indies flourished. The deepwater port in the Mersey basin was ideal for the ships that crossed the oceans. The first dock in Liverpool was built in 1715. Another four more docks were built in the 18th century as Liverpool grew to be the third largest port in the country behind London and Bristol. The growth was due completely to the Slave Trade and the merchants of Liverpool made huge profits from this slave trade triangle. Liverpool's own triangle involved goods from the area and Manchester in particular being exchanged for slaves in Africa with the slaves ferried across the Atlantic to the West Indies with sugar then being brought back from there to Liverpool. The merchants built ostentatious houses and sugar refining, rope making and shipbuilding flourished. By 1801 the town's population was 77,000, many were immigrants from Wales and Ireland and almost all were poor. It was the early defining days of what was to become the city of Liverpool. A flurry of immigrants, a mix of extremes both socially and religiously made for a heady flammable mix. By the 1840s the Irish Potato famine saw even more Irish immigrants passing through Liverpool. Some sailed forth to America and stayed, others were sent back and remained in Liverpool.

By 1882 Liverpool had by now been granted city status and the population had reached 611,000. At the grass roots of this community the working man was beginning to find they had a little leisure time and a bit of money to spend at the end of the working week. By now a number of local football clubs had appeared and the Liverpool and District Football Association was founded and the working man gravitated to the sport; as players and spectators. The early clubs were church organisations such as the teams from St Benedict's, St Peter's, St Mary's and the St Domingo's Methodist Church team that was created in 1878. By 1886 the popularity of football had increased so much that the number of clubs was now 151. The leading clubs were Bootle, Liverpool Caledonians and the St Domingo club that was now known as Everton who became a founding member of the Football League in 1886. Their first home match saw them beat Accrington Stanley, a team that would become synonymous with Liverpudlians and milk almost 100 years later, by two goals to one in front of a crowd of nine thousand. The Everton club attracted many professional players and in the third season of league football won the championship.

Earlier at the beginning of the 1882-3 season another "King John" had an impact on Liverpool's history. Given that moniker by the local press John Houlding became president of Everton Football Club. He was a self-made man who began his employment as an errand boy at Customs House before making his way up the owner of his own brewery called 'Houlding's Sparkling Ales'. In 1884 he moved the Everton club to land owned by another brewery in Anfield Road. He argued with other members of the board over the purchase of adjoining land. These other members steadfastly refused to support Houlding and purchased their own land on the north side of Stanley Park for the sum of £8,090 and Goodison park was ready for the 1892-93 season.

John Houlding initially refused to budge but eventually gave notice to leave the Everton club and soon set up a new professional club. Aided by John McKenna he attempted to register the new club as 'Everton Football Club and Athletic Grounds Company Limited'. The Football League refused to allow another club with the name Everton leading to "King John" registering the club in the name of Liverpool. For the remaining years of his life Houlding ran the club superbly well and it soon became a respected rival to the club on the other side of Stanley Park. The rivalry had begun and some would say that a hundred years later the initial argument has still not been resolved.

The first game between Everton and Liverpool was a Liverpool cup fixture that Liverpool won 1-0. The first league meeting took place in 1894 with Everton winning 2-0 in front of 44,000 fans with gate receipts over a thousand pounds; a significant amount for the times. In fact, crowds were generally high for all games and both clubs became wealthy from the high gate revenue. This wealth made both clubs major players in the transfer market, a factor that led to both clubs doing consistently well. In 1906 Liverpool won the league championship whilst Everton won the FA cup. Further championships 'came' to both clubs in the twenties and thirties. By now heroes began to appear in Dixie Dean and Tommy Lawton at Everton and Elisha Scott at Liverpool and the support became far more partisan with a real rivalry building up in the city. The Archibald Leitch-designed Goodison Park stands would be packed to the rafters and in 1928 a roof was built on the Spion Kop at Anfield giving protection to 37,000 fans and improving the acoustics for the shouting, singing mass of fans that populated that end of the ground.

GLAM TO THE SLAUGHTER

21 Glam acts in no particular order

T Rex: Poets, poseurs and some exquisite tunes

Gary Glitter: After a decade of squeezing into tin foil he thought it would be more interesting squeezing into…

The Sweet: Brickies in eyeliner but we’ll forgive them anything for Ballroom Blitz

Mud: The campest guitarist ever, a lorry driver that wanted to be Elvis – what’s not to like?

Wizzard: I wish it could be Christmas everyday. Well maybe not but what a scruffy mess of a bloke. Very West Midlands

Alvin Stardust: A regular on the Wigan Beat scene as Shane Fenton. Put a leather glove on and the rest is history

Silverhead: One of the links between glam and punk and one of those album covers that I doubt they’d get away with nowadays

David Essex: One of the nicest men in rock/pop – well for a West Ham fan anyway. More gypsy than glam but he kept the ladies happy

Mr Big: They weren’t but for a short while EMI had great hopes for them

David Bowie: Nuff said

Alice Cooper: An American man called Alice. Hints of devil-worship, heavy metal oh and a couple of killer tunes. “School’s out for ever”

Suzi Quatro: More Yanks but this time female and dressed head to toe in leather

Cockney Rebel. Two glorious albums of pure glam rock genius. Taught the likes of Richard Ashcroft how to be really arrogant!

Mott The Hoople: Half Dylan/half Stones and possibly the best live band of the first half of the seventies. The Bowie-written All the Young Dudes is THE glam anthem

Deaf School: Still the second best band to come out of Liverpool – after Shack!

Sparks: Still going, still brilliant and all with an Adolf muzzie

Doctors of Madness: Another of the bridges between glam and punk. Sure they were derivative but we forgive them.

Slade: Get Down and Get With It – all albums recently re-released and not sure why we liked them – but we did. “God Bless Noddy Holder”

Roxy Music: Before his twat of a son. Before Eno saved U2 and exactly what it is all about

Elton John: When it was hispartnerBernieTaupin, baldness and a succession of great, great songs

The Darkness: Only joking!

Joe goes to Anfield

Oh how we roared as Titus rocketed Steeevvvvieeee Geeeee's weak clearance into the back of the net. Our first point against the so-called Big Four, a funereal Anfield and the beard going daft on the touchline as they struggled with one man up front.

Steeevvvvieeee Geeeee was hitting his aimless passes to nobody in particular, Harry Kewell is plain shite and that Mascherano is up there with Phil Thompson as the biggest whinging Liverpool player ever. Ourselves? Well inspite of the one lapse (for Torres' goal) the defence and midfield played superbly.

Arriving home to Sky Sports News describing our "defensive tactics frustrating Liverpool" was so wide of the mark it was laughable. Just remind me which team played with two men upfront and who in Luis Antonio Valencia had the outstanding attacking player on the field?

They are supposed to be "reclaiming the Kop" but on this show there is no hope. Now I know they like their minute silence's in Liverpool but stretching it to 90 minutes is pushing it. Our two-man kop made more noise belting out "You're just a fat Spanish waiter" - a Bolton song but hey - than they mustered all night.

Out on the pitch this was the sixth time that Steve Bruce has faced Liverpool as a manager in the Premier League and six times he has avoided defeat. He did it this time by simply keeping to a rigid 4-4-2 line-up and getting all his players working for each other. Are you watching Jewell - you clueless idiot!

After Titus' goal the final ten minutes were negotiated fairly comfortably. The whistle went and for the first time all night the Liverpool fans found their voices to boo the team off the pitch. We celebrated wildly, grabbed a lift and kept our heads down as we made our way across Stanley Park avoiding the scousers armed - not with their friend Stanley but with - torches!!!! Oh how times change.

Next up in the league - is away at Liverpool's Number One fan's new club. We should win easily but we know he will have them fired up. By then we may have a couple of new players in or even more surprisingly we may have not sold anybody, but don't hold your breath on the latter. Whatever it will be a reet humdinger. We are out of the bottom three and the aim is now to keep out of it!

Interesting times are ahead

For more go to www.chuckingabluey.co.uk