Go Olympics

Typhoons, euphoric crowds chanting "Go Olympics, Go Beijing" and a giant carrying the torch.

It's really hotting up now. Just waiting for the drug cheats and scandals. Oh and not forgetting to mention the Free Tibetan Mob - including a nice bit of posh totty called Lucy. Wait 'til it starts in earnest


Posh Girl

So far we've had a bit of footy as the kids call it but not footy as we know it. This was the girly kind but it was good to see that the gold old USA lost to Norway 2-0 while other results were as follows:

Argentina 1-2 Canada
Germany 0-0 Brazil
Japan 2-2 New Zealand
China PR 2-1 Sweden
Korea DPR 1-0 Nigeria

And whilst we are on the subject of American losers US President George W Bush has expressed "deep concerns" over China's human rights record in a speech on the eve of the Beijing Olympics.

So that's sorted that out then



"Who's the bastard in the yellow?"

The Olympics begin here...

Kornelia Ender

It was 1976 and the Olympics were being held in Montreal. Five hours behind our time meant that you could settle in nicely for an evening watching the swimming and all these Eastern European women.

And from them all shone Kornelia Ender of the German Democratic Republic. She followed up her three silver medals from the Munich Olympics with four golds - all in world record times.

Needless to say she was later shown to be on performance enhancers and I think the photo tells you that but what the heck - I would!!!

Hairy not Hippy - 1971 and all that

Mott the Hoople

It was the period just as skinhead/suedehead was dying out and the lads were beginning to grow their hair out. It wasn’t hippy even if it was hairy and there was a lot of denim about. Jackets, jeans and shirts. All worn tight, with that whiff of greaser chic about it. It was around 1971.

By 1973 it had all gone a bit ridiculous as glam took hold but for a year or so it was the look that took over the terraces, pubs and clubs of Britain. With Rod and The Faces and Maggie May at the top of the charts it was a thrilling time.

For as well as The Faces, the Rolling Stones released Exile on Main Street and played Hyde Park. George Harrison was at number one for – what seemed like half the year – and T Rex took over teenagers’ minds. While bands such as Family, Free and Mott the Hoople pushed the testosterone level up a notch. That was testosterone with love beads and bangles by the way…

We won it one time, actually

After election to the Football League in 1978 it was four seasons before we had our first success with promotion to Division Three. It was however three seasons later that we picked up our first trophy when we lifted the inaugural Freight Rover Trophy on 1st June 1985. The team made it by beating Mansfield at the Field Mill on penalties as the young cocky Warren Aspinall put the final penalty away after Roy Tunks had saved three penalties to win the shoot out. Make no doubt about it the side back then was superb. Paul Jewell was often left on the bench.

In the build-up to the game the ever-reliant John Butler was injured with his place being taken by local lad Barry Knowles. In goal and with over 600 League appearances Tunks was stepping out at Wembley for the first time. Alongside him were experienced players such as Colin Methven and Alex Cribley with young scallies like David Lowe and Gary Bennett. At the age of 20 Paul Jewell had been to Wembley six times previously with Liverpool without getting a game. As Jewell said before the game "When I left Anfield I thought 'that's it. There goes what chance I had of playing at Wembley' but I couldn't be more wrong." Needless to say arch-scally Tony Kelly had more than sixty of the Kelly clan following him to Wembley. As Kelly said "Aunties and uncles I never knew I had have all asked for tickets and there's no question about it, when my family have a day out, they certainly go in force."

When the glorious day arrived the Kelly clan was joined by 15,000 Wiganers that made the journey south to the old stadium of Wembley and saw us beat a fine Brentford side 3-1. With the world's media focused on the game due to the dreadful scenes at Heysel three days earlier the final was billed as "a day out for the family" and the teams and fans certainly obliged (many had been two weeks earlier watching the rugby). Before the match there was an all-star charity kick-about. Naturally I was in the pub and didn't see it but I believe George Best and Rod Stewart played for the Showbiz XI against a London Broadcasting XI. Other players on the pitch included Bobby Charlton, Bobby Moore, Stan Bowles and Geoff Hurst.

Unsurprisingly the minute's silence for the victims at Heysel and the Bradford fire was interrupted by some visiting Chelsea fans and then the teams were introduced to ELTON JOHN. Well he is the Queen Mum of pop, I suppose.

Brentford went into the game as the favourites on the back of a thirteen-match unbeaten run but once Latics went ahead after twenty-seven minutes through Mike Newell they were never in it. The main battle on the pitch was in midfield between Graham Barrow and Brentford's hardman Terry Hurlock. Barrow was supreme and there with it went the match. With seven minutes to half time Barrow laid the ball off to Tony Kelly and his low shot skidded below the Brentford keeper Phillips body. Brentford were given a bit of hope when Robbie Cooke volleyed home for them on 52 minutes but within three minutes David Lowe produced a brilliant overhead kick to make it 3-1 and seal the match.

It was a tremendous game and if you can pick up a video/DVD of the game then do so and appreciate the skill of that Wigan team of 1985.

TEAMS
Brentford, - Phillips: Salman, Murray, Millen, Wignall, Hurlock, Kamara (yes the moustachioed one from SKY), Cooke, Booker (Bullivant 60), Cassells, Roberts

Wigan, - Tunks: Cribley, Knowles, Kelly, Walsh, Methven, Lowe, Barrow, Bennett (Aspinall 65), Newell (Jewell 85), Langley

This article originally appeared in '92nd and we don't care' available to download FOC @ http://www.mudhutsmedia.co.uk/download.php?view.9

SWINE IS THREE - HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Swine July 2008 - Happy Birthday to ya...

Every month for the past three years, the motley crew of contributors with their unique brand of cynicism, humour, sarcasm, polemic and downright nastiness have brought about one of the best websites this side of Bootle.

With no sponsors, money or media interest whatsoever and a punishing monthly schedule dictated by the narcotic whims of the editors, Swine has continued to pump out its scallycentric blend of music, fashion, comment and recipes simply by pleasing itself - some of it may offend, some of it may baffle but in an internet age when every perverse whim is catered for, our audience of ageing but culturally atuned ne'erdowells and egg scuttlers continue to tell it like it is (or at least how they see it from their mentally scarred imaginations).

With the empire now expanded into tv (cobbled together youtube clips set to music) with the launch of Swine TV (www.swinetv.blogspot.com), the puddled porcine world of the Swine crew is evolving into theatre, opera, fine arts and self-delusion of every stamp.

With over 600 articles, 590 about Zappa, sex, drugs and Zappa cover bands, join us as we celebrate - here's to 3 years of consistent self opinionated claptrap that only our ma's probably read...hurrah!

Check it all out @ http://www.swinemagazine.co.uk/

GEORGIE FAME - LOCAL HEROES NUMBER 1

Georgie Fame was in fact a Leyther called Clive Powell who was born in that old mining/mill town on 26th June 1943. He came from a musical family with his father playing in an amateur dance band and Clive himself began piano lessons at the age of seven. It was the usual stuff until rock and roll hit our shores and he became more and more interested in the piano styles of Little Richard and Fats Domino and was soon to play in a local band called 'The Dominoes'.

Whilst on holiday in 1959 Clive's talents were spotted by the camp's resident band leader Rory Blackwell who offered him a job in London after the season had finished. Clive left his job in the mill and moved to London. Although the job didn't bring wealth and fortune he elected to remain in London to give it a go. By October with things looking grim Blackwell suggested that he auditioned for the role of pianist for the impresario Larry Parne's stable of singers. He walked the audition and as is Parnes' want he re-christened Powell "Georgie Fame" a name that has stuck to this day.

By the age of 16, Georgie had toured Britain extensively, playing alongside Marty Wilde, Billy Fury, Eddie Cochran, Gene Vincent, Tony Sheridan, Freddie Canon, Jerry Keller, Dickie Pride, Joe Brown and many more. During this time, Billy Fury selected four musicians, including Fame, for his personal backing group and the “Blue Flames” were born. By 1962 Fame had fallen out with Fury
and now working as "Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames" and found work at the Flamingo. A gig that was to last 3 years where according to Fame: they played “rhythm and blues all-nighters to black American GIs, West Indians, pimps, prostitutes and gangsters.”

They were soon to establish themselves as THE band in London and recorded their first album live at the club. The hit singles followed - he had a dozen UK hits including three number 1s, one of which was the 'Ballad of Bonnie & Clyde' a record that also sold well in the USA. Fame was held in such high esteem that he was the only UK act invited to perform with the first Motown Review when it hit London in the mid-1960s.

Between 1970 and 1973 Fame joined forces with the ex-Animals keyboard player and singer Alan Price and they had great success including the hit single 'Rosetta' and a television series that made them both household names in Britain. By 1974 Fame and reformed the Blue Flames and worked solidly on both the road and on vinyl.

Whilst Fame was renowned as an R&B performer he never lost his love of jazz music and in 1981 he co-produced and performed with jazz vocalist Annie Ross, on the album 'In Hoagland', which featured the music of the Hoagy Carmichael.

In 1989 Fame joined forces with grumpy old Van the man Morrison playing organ on Van's Avalon Sunse. He continued to play and record with him throughout the nineties co-producing and performing on the Verve albums, 'How Long Has This Been Going On', released in 1995 and 'Tell Me Something: The Songs of Mose Allison', released in 1996.

In 1997, bassist Bill Wyman began forming his new band The Rhythm Kings and Georgie Fame became a founding member. Since that time, there have been five CDs and several tours, and The Rhythm Kings "reform" periodically to tour and record to the present day. During 1999, Fame presented several radio programs on BBC Radio, including his own six-week series featuring The Blue Flames plus special guests, including Madeline Bell, Bill Wyman, Zoot Money, Peter King, Steve Gray and Claire Martin.

In the year 2000, Georgie’s critically-acclaimed CD, 'Poet in New York', was voted Best Jazz Vocal Album by the Academie du Jazz in France. In 2001, the latest Three Line Whip CD (featuring Georgie’s sons, Tristan and James), 'Relationships', was released, which included some of Georgie Fame’s finest songwriting to date. In the same year, a compilation CD, 'Funny How Time Slips Away: The Pye Anthology', was released.

His career is now approaching its fiftieth year and it shows no signs of slowing down. A career that has seen him playing with hundreds of outstanding artistes: from Gene Vincent to Van Morrison via Eric Clapton and Bill Wyman. Not bad for a lad from Leigh!

Most information taken from the excellent Georgie Fame website:
http://georgiefame.absoluteelsewhere.net/

The Football Season is here.... Yes

Manager John Neafcy

Forget your Decos, Klasnichs, Ronaldos and all the other funny sounding names we watched in the monsoon that was Euro 2008 and get ready for the Wigan Monsson and the first game of the season.

The Venue: Robin Park
The Teams: Robin Park v Marine

and the first pre-season friendly for Wigan Robin Park as a North West Counties side.

The team formed as recently as 2005 walked away with the Manchester Premier League title (alright won it on last game of the season), grabbed the Gilgryst Cup a couple of days later (on penalties) and were duly elected to the Vodkat NWCFL.

With the Robin Park pitch under the groundsmanship (is that a word?) of Cliff Aspey the arena will be like the Wembley of the north for teams at this level and it should be an interesting and challenging season for all those involved with Robin Park FC. For those amongst us that want a change from the Premiership Prima Donnas then it will prove a welcome respite and - if they get the bar sorted out - a nice little Saturday afternoon's entertainment.

The game on Saturday will provide a huge task for the players as Marine are currently residing in the Unibond Premier League but once the season begins with Bootle FC on 9 August the team should be able to begin to gauge how they will do.

Not to mention the needs of this league like hot food, admission fees, programmes etc

With famous non-league names such as Darwen and Holker Old Boys in the NWCL 1st division along with derby games at Daisy Hill and Ashton Town and the arrival of new team AFC Liverpool it looks to be an exciting time and will offer a contrast with the corporate bollocks - sorry top class football - taking place 50 metres away

It should be fun...

Pre Season Friendlies announced so far

Saturday 12th July Marine Home 2.30pm K.O
Tuesday 22nd July Prescot Cables Home 8.00pm K.O
Saturday 26th July Radcliffe Borough Home 2.30pm K.O
Tuesday 29th July Euxton Villa Away 6.45pm K.O

REASONS TO BE PISSED OFF PART THREE

You know that bit on facebook where some middle-class kid puts: "Atticus is currently chilled out" well here in grotty old Wigan "Joe Hawkins is seriously pissed-off"

And here are 21 reasons why

1. No money
2. No woman
3. No cry
4. The continual raincloud that hangs over Wigan 364 days of the year
5. Wigan - get me out of this place!
6. This place of scrotes in shorts and black socks and
7. 15-year-olds pushing prams
8. Bad pies. even dependables such as Greenhalghs are off-form at the moment
9. Writer's block
10. Big Brother 9 - not watched it, mind... But it's bound to be shite
11. Jeremy Kyle
12. Rugby League fans - and how many fatties were in the crowd at the JJB on Friday?
13. 22,000 according to Sky!!! Keep the propaganda going folks
14. Football rumours - not arsed as we'll spend nowt so who cares?
15. People that spend all day on mesageboards talking about said rumours
16. Federer losing the tennis in a great match. Shame about Nike v Nike - oh for Fila v Sergio or Ellesse v Cerutti
17. The Williams sisters
18. Midsomer Murders - how bad was it last night? As bad as everything else on British TV at the moment
19. Ronaldo - will he go or stay? Does anybody really give a toss?
20. Credit Crunch hits WN5 - ASDA smart price milk chocolate digestives up 11p to 37p. Scandalous. It's Bourbons from now on
21. Mid-life crisis number 23

The only thing keeping my head abov water are The Grants The most beautiful sounding-band to come out of Fazackerley ever...

Mudhuts FM Volume 3 - One Foot in the Past

…..one eye on the future.

What a wanky cliché that is ( & half inched blatantly from the Andy Lewis sleeve notes ) but you get the jist. Starting off with some tremendous modern reworkings of the Northern sound which show all this Duffy nonsense up for the sham it really is, we then take in some funky ass retro shit before this week’s bunch of 5’s – a tribute to one of the most innovative & best UK record labels ever – those sadly lamented Mancunians Grand Central Records. After that, we’re straight into some superb modern soul ( including the genius that is Joey Negro ) before cooling things off with an unusual bit of Weller, a slab of prime time Quincy & ending up right back to where we started with a bone fide Northern floor filler.

Download Mudhuts FM Volume 3 Here

http://www.mudhutsmedia.co.uk/download.php?view.34

Melody's the tune of this song

And they call it puppy love

The movie came out around 1970 and it was called Melody aka SWALK. The SWALK bit was Sealed With a Loving Kiss and I was smitten. In love with the young actress that was around my age 11 or 12 or whatever.
Her name was Tracy Hyde and she was Melody Perkins – the Melody in the title. She was the schoolgirl love interest of Mark Lester who had been Oliver in the hit musical film and this film was basically a vehicle for him and the other Oliver star Jack Wild who also starred in Melody.
But it was Tracy Hide that I loved. This cute –nay beautiful – brunette with great pert breasts. Breasts – bloody hell. She was simply stunning and for months I dreamt of Melody Perkins. There was something definitely stirring down there and when I hit senior school it was doing more that stirring but by then I’d forgotten all about Melody. But for that summer – and I’m sure it was summer – she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

Where is she now? I don’t know. I could “google” her, for sure, and the image I have found – that accompanies this piece suggests the film is now available on video - but for now I’ll just remember that ‘first love’.

Oh and almost 40 years later I still love cute brunettes with great tits!

Clare Grogan, Tommy Cooper & Peter Sellers

The streets of London may not be paved with gold but the floor of my bedsit most definitely is. I put eight empties in the bin, swap the pint of milk for a can from the fridge and bite into the pie.

It steams and scolds the roof of my mouth. The dryness is nice.

Really nice. The beer is so cold it hurts and then I am at ease. My hands stop shaking. I relax. Even think of Ranvir. And then think of Jenny and then Claudette. I am at one with, if not the world, then myself.

I must have dozed off as it is now gone twelve. Joe knocks the door. The phone is for me. It's Gal and we are now going around Islington this evening. Seeing Az after the Arsenal. Few beers, chew the fat, talk about football and training shoes. Girls and grog.

Politics and pettiness. Clare Grogan and The Raincoats. Post-punk princesses. Radical haircuts and Margaret Hilda Fucking Thatcher.

Margaret Hilda Fucking Thatcher. We hate that woman. She is the devil incarnate, the Highgate Vampire arisen, the evil woman!

I shower, slip on a Lacoste polo, a pair of jumbo cords, my Borg Elite and a leather and lock the door. Joe is still vacuuming the stairs. He is so fucking cheerful - the old queen. I walk to the bus stop and jump the 134 into town.

Past the woods and by The Woodman pub. I saw Tommy Cooper in there during the week. He was wasted. Absolutely fucking wasted.

Couldn't stand up. Couldn't speak. His missus was just the same.

Irishmen saying "Just Like That" and laughing. I kept my head in my Guinness and Guardian.

Down Archway Road under Suicide Bridge. I think about suicide. I think about suicide a lot. Then again I think about football and fucking a lot. But I always think about suicide when I go under the bridge. Peter Sellers once saved somebody's life on Suicide Bridge. And when I've stopped thinking about Peter Sellers and Tommy Cooper we are at the Archway Tavern and I'm thinking about Ray Davies and all the other Muswell Hillbillies. Me, and all the other Muswell Hillbillies deep in thought on the 134 bus.

I get off at Camden and look at Japanese tourists in the market. Tat and tourists. Student girls and art school arrivistes. Punk rockers and geezers. I walk to and through Regent's Park. It's fucking beautiful. My head is clear. Black boys in gold belchers and Gabicci check my shoes. I swagger that northern swagger that these cockney boys don't understand. I reckon I'll be on my toes in a minute but thankfully they are more interested in putting their hands up their girls' sweaters.

The Mudhutter 16 online now

"We want all you skinheads to get up on your feet
Put your braces together and your boots on your feet
And give me some of that old moonstomping"

And welcome to the 44-page July issue of The Mudhutter
Inside we have an exclusive interview with Paul McDonald - the author of the hilarious Northern Soul book Do I Love you?, we revisit The Doors, chew the fat with Fern Britton and are blown away by Ben Johnson's Liverpool Cityscape. There's political comment, a set of Orrible Ives, dewy-eyed and not so dewy-eyed reminiscences, great websites, arty jazz mags er sorry coffee table books, sport, girls and of course the obligatory mention of rubber-soled footwear.

Enjoy it all, let your mates know and we'll be back in a month's time

Download below

http://www.mudhutsmedia.co.uk/download.php?view.33

Fleet Foxes - Cunningly magnificent

NME is telling me that Glasvegas are "the best new band in Britain". That may or not be the case but one thing is for sure and that is that British music is on it's arse!

Unfortunately it cannot light a match to the stuff coming out of America at the moment and the first item of evidence for the prosecution is the stunningly beautiful eponymous album from Fleet Foxes.

The five piece from Seattle don't reference that city's grunge scene more the incredible melodies of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young versus Fairport Comvention.

Melody is the key. Well that plus great lyrics, perfect instrumentation and gorgeus vocal harmonies. In all honesty it is just a perfect pop record in the old sense of the phrase. Just magic and it will be on the headphones for the next month until The Hold Steady's next release.

Proving without doubt that it is beards, booze and scruffy clothes that wins the day over the tedious white pumps, skinny jeans and crappy pop that the appalling NME keeps telling all the kids in their tedious white pumps and skinny jeans... Oh you get the picture.

Fleet Foxes - just beautiful

HAPPY 30th BIRTHDAY – There’s a darkness on the edge of the town

Between the Springsteen albums Born to Run and Darkness on the Edge of Town there was punk rock, which was very handy. Bruce’s dispute with his record company led to a three-year hiatus that meant us punks didn’t need to fret about adoring an American rock star. Not that he was mega by then – that was to come later – but he wasn’t punk was he?

Well in fact he probably was but… He was back with an album that not only matched the previously album but pushed his music further along as he got right into the heart of blue-collar America. Darkness on the Edge of Town is as it says on the tin. A dark album that explores the Badlands of factory lives and loves of normal Americans just as Reaganomics begin to kick in.

The album that was released on June 1 1978 is indeed dark but it is also absolutely heart achingly beautiful. It gets so deep into the soul that the joyous tune of Candy’s Room is a welcome relief after the harsh, powerful opening three tracks but that is only temporary as Racing in the Street – a song that only Springsteen could pen – is anything but fast and dangerous. It is a mournful lament that almost has you believing that he has almost give up on the open road that was so much part of the allure of Born to Run. You fear for this troubadour of the streets. This guitar hero that lets Roy Bittan’s piano close the song and side.

Of course ‘sides’ are relevant to vinyl and although the album has been issued as a CD and there may even be a 30th anniversary issue due – I don’t know – but it needs to be played on vinyl. For as you flip the record over – just when you thought Bruce was doubting his vision the opening track has him telling you in no doubt that he believes in the Promised Land.

And with that song the glorious second of side of this record takes to life. Factory is the greatest song about the drudgery of work that has ever been written. Again beautiful is not too strong a word to describe the lyrics: “End of the day factory whistle cries, men walk through those gates with death in their eyes.” But of course it is not just about work; it is about his father and his family and the things that really matter.

Back on the Streets of Fire and with him going out to Prove it all Night this cinematic album is brought to a close with the epic title track.
It is a truly stunning album. Musically it is pretty near perfect and you can hear the three years of dispute and frustration being captured in the studio with all the rage it deserved. The E Street band and Springsteen are on top of their game and while they are still furrowing the same territory – still on the streets, still political - with varying degrees of success – thirty years ago, this June, this album was essential. And you know what it still is!

This article originally appeared in The Mudhutter 15 for more details see:

www.mudhutsmedia.co.uk
www.themudhutter.blogspot.com

The Lovely Eggs

From Lancaster are just great.

Thin line between genius and crap but hey, lighten up and fall in love with I like birds but I like other animals too

All-sported-out

From the cricket to the Moto GP, through the French Open tennis,
Aussie rugby league, two games of football whilst switching channels
to watch Lewis Hamilton fuck it up in Canada. Meanwhile outside the
sun shines…

There’s three weeks of this. Three weeks watching football – minus the
home nations. Three weeks of trying to spot the person without a
replica shirt in the crowd while wishing the camera would scan on to
some Eastern European beauty. It’s summer so it’s summer in front of
the box.

Add into this the television coverage of the rock festivals, more cricket,
more tennis and you really don’t have to leave the house. Well the
sun’s no good for you – if it shines and why walk in the rain?

But for now it’s the European championships and football – our
beloved football. England didn’t qualify which of course was the best
news of all. That comment is not born out of a lack of patriotism but
more a total grasp on reality. McLaren – the ex-England manager –
had to go and failure to qualify meant he was away – with the fairies
and the football-unemployed.

Over to Fabio to sort it out or fuck it up. However now is not the time
to ponder such matters. Now is the time to watch other countries
hooligans throwing plastic chairs and time to look at players your team
may buy. Time to be a bloody cyber-know-it-all. Also it’s the moment
to wonder whether Hansen, Sharer and O’Neill ring each other up to
ask: "What you wearing today?" – as they sit in almost identical
striped shirts.

The BBC does it well, though. Even if Motson may be err… slightly the
worse for wear he isn’t the ubertwat that Tyldesley will always be.

So I shall sit back, check out the different teams’ kits and chicks.
Dodgy haircuts and even dodgier backpasses. Nationalism and
patriotism. Corruption and colloquialisms. Just the normal stuff: all-
sported-out.

And then there are the rugby union tests in the southern hemisphere.
The second-strings playing in the Churchill Cup in the gloriously
beautiful Ottawa in Canada, more Eastern European beauties – this
time in SW19. Throw in your team’s new kit and new fixture list.
Friendly matches in foreign and local shores and of course debate in
pub beer gardens (minus the St George flags) up and down the
country. It just doesn’t end and even though I might be all-sported-
out I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Oh and as for predictions in the Euros: I’m really not bothered… as
long as it isn’t that diving, cheating, crying, whinging Ronaldo!

First Five Euro 2008 things

Gordon Strachan's Leather
Bastian Schweinsteiger - could a name be any more GERMAN
Really old mad-looking managers
Danny Baker back on Radio 5 Live's 606
Andy Townsend - getting fatter with every Apple Strudel

Saturday's Kids

Seven fifteen. Saturday morning and Saturday's kids that live in council houses, v-neck jumpers and faded trousers.

I'm drinking a coffee clearing the hangover. The hangover of all hangovers. Standing on the concourse, Euston station waiting for the seven thirty train. All dressed-up and football to go to.

Pockets of match-going lads buying papers, having a fag, buying a paper, chewing fat and chewing the fat.

Travellers journeying north, students studiously studying timetables, railway workers discussing the politics of Margaret Hilda Fucking Thatcher as she tightens the screw on their wage demands. A living wage for the living hell that London can be. And this morning it is grey in hell. Grey and damp - a kagoul to keep the cold away.

A kagoul that says I'm "Norvern". I'm on my own with my kagoul and coffee and paper and hangover. Alone with my thoughts.
Waiting to go 400 miles in a day for ninety minutes football. But we're going well. Going for three points. Going for promotion. Pull the ticket and young persons from my pocket and make my way to the platform.

Then out of nowhere a roar goes up.

"ICF, ICF"

Then out of nowhere two gangs clash. Clash city rockers. Cockneys at each other and I'm in the middle of the melee. I hear "United bastards" and realise it's Cockney Reds versus Cockney Rejects. And all I can think of is keeping hold of my coffee as it cost more than a pint did last night. But I'm in it. In the middle of it and I feel the cold harsh blow to my ear. Hit me anywhere but not on the ear and not from behind. "You bassssterrrd" - tells them I'm "Norvern" but by now it's over. Old Bill has scattered the mobs as quickly as the mobs scattered the students and the travellers. The railway workers just stand and grin. They've seen it before. They'll see it again. They've Margaret Hilda Fucking Thatcher and Superman on their minds. Not petty, violent squabbles.

Seven twenty in the morning and the Saturday's kids - the real creatures that time has forgot - have had their first kicks of the day.
I get the train and read the paper, fall in and out of sleep. The throb of my ear rivals the throb of my hangover and my hearts still jumping. I dream and daydream of three points and the faceless bastard that hit me from behind. Madness. All this madness for football. Hangovers and headaches.

The only cure is the "only cure" and that is a can from the buffet. A can of ice-cold lager at 8.03am. It is truly beautiful. As beautiful as Loretta, Lorraine and Louise. And Val and Jenny and Claudette and Lena and all the other fucking beautiful women that pass by my intoxicated way.

The cold liquid hits the spot sharply. A rush to the head and to the heart. Same rush as the poppers last night. Same rush as the kiss on the lips from Jenny yesterday morning. Same rush as the violence that engulfed me less than an hour ago. Same rush as the football will undoubtedly deliver this afternoon. Us Saturday's kids. From Woking to Wigan. V-neck Pringle jumpers and faded Lois trousers.

As featured in the latest edition of The Mudhutter http://www.mudhutsmedia.co.uk/download.php?view.27

Erica and me 2nd January 1982

Tariq has re-named the pot plant in the office Erica.

I'm confused; nobody at work knows about her. Yet before I ponder the situation I realise it is all to do with a certain Erica Roe. The girl that streaked at Twickenham at the weekend. England versus Australia, a dull game and a buxom posh girl displayed her assets and warmed the cockles and cocks of middle England.

It amuses everybody. Lifts the gloom of the nation. It's Barbara Windsor in 'Carry on Camping', Miss Brahms in 'Are you being Served?'. Samantha Fox and Linda Lusardi.

Why the plant should be called Erica I've no idea but Tariq seems pleased. Nice guy, my boss. Turkish-Cypriot, loving family man even though he's as confused as fuck about his sexuality.

It's a complicated life as Raymond Douglas Davies says. Even more so now that Tariq's brother has become his sister after his operation.

I look at Erica - the pot plant - in a different light before averting my gaze to Lena from accounts. Better tits than Erica has Lena. Clever girl and all. Clever with a nice pair of tits. What more could a girl ask for? In fact what more could a boy ask for?

In fact maybe that's why Tariq's brother wanted to be his sister...

Strange days indeed.

PUNK: FOOTBALL BY ANDREW VAUGHAN AN EXTRACT

On the Thursday I reach the grand old age of 19 or if you believe my birth certificate 21. I along with many others doctored my certificate - and even if I say so myself I made a very neat job of it - a few years back to enable myself to gain entrance to the Wigan Casino and the notoriously meticulous Hilda Woods. A woman who could spot a young bum-fluffed 16year old 200 yards down the queue. Amazingly she accepted my falsified birth certificate as legitimate and at the age of "18" I was a member of Wigan Casino and would go there every so often.

Initially, I was never a huge Northern Soul fan; from the moment I passed my 11-plus examination it was decided for me that I would enter the worlds of Rugby Union, Heavy and Progressive Rock. I was to embrace rugby but would fight back against the world of Led Zeppelin, Genesis and Tangerine Dream by losing myself in the world of Glam Rock. David Bowie, Cockney Rebel, Sparks, Mott The Hoople and Roxy Music were my idols. When the third year was headbanging to "Paranoid" and "Smoke on The Water" I was dreaming of characters such as Judy Teen and Ziggy Stardust while doing the Honaloochie Boogie with another ten or so like-minded citizens. Hair was sculpted into a "Ziggy" haircut with various degrees of success and even the odd bit of eye shadow appeared before the school disco. From David Bowie I discovered the world of Lou Reed, Iggy Pop et al.

Yet somewhere into the conscious came this great stomping, driving music. A music that shook the walls, that smelt of talcum powder and glamorous drugs, sweat and adrenaline, rhythm and soul. And some more. It was still on the periphery of our musical lives but slowly and surely all the Casino classics became embodied in our genes.

And on the day of my 19 th birthday it is reported that a Granada TV crew has filmed a Casino All-nighter for the 'This England' programme. The hoi polloi of Wigan are up in arms due to the programme - as well as showing shots of inside the Casino - have also focused on images of what remains of derelict property around Wigan. A report in the Observer has these people up in arms about this and point out that Casino regulars were pleased that they didn't focus on the drugs. Which is all well and good but the Observer itself ends its report by mentioning that a Welsh girl was fined £100 on charges relating to possessing amphetamines outside the Casino on 23/9/77. What's the difference? Granada doing a piece about Wigan and showing slums and the Observer always linking drugs with the Casino.

Since Punk Rock exploded all other music has took not the back seat more the boot. It has blown everything away. Whilst Kraftwerk and Deaf School are hanging on in there the rest can go and do one! With this in mind a gang of us spend the Friday celebrating my birthday at Bluto's rather than the Casino or anywhere else. The music policy in Bluto's is in no way punk. It was a punk-friendly club in the fact that it would actually let us in! Both the bar downstairs and the two floors that represented the club upstairs. So after the usual "freebies" in the Delph, the "quick short" in the Station and the train journey to town, the games of pool in the Vic and the "stand-off" with the hairies in the John Bull we hit Bluto's. Just in time to hear the bell go for last orders. What? Well it turns out that they have had their late-license revoked as they haven't been selling enough food to justify the late bars. I'm not sure how they can say that as I know for sure we once had burger and chips in there. And I had seen others munching chicken and chips in the basket. Admittedly this was on the odd occasion and was probably a guilty afterthought from somebody on their way to the allnighter realising that their only chance for food after this was one of the Casino's notoriously rancid pies. There may have been many drugs casualties at the Casino but I'd hazard a guess that more hours were lost and lives ruined by the affects of copious amounts of Coca Cola and pies.

Of course this was the period before Gastro Pubs and Wetherspoons' "Curry Nights". Food in pubs consisted of the odd crusty cheese roll and a visit from the prawn and cockle man from Kershaws. It is surprising how popular bags of cockles and prawns in vinegar were back then. It certainly added to the taste of a pint of mild. It was also reassuring to know that at least one person in the pub would always shout "Have you any crabs on you cock?" In one of our locals, The Queen's Arms in Tontine, the local delicacy was a pastie. Despite the fact that everybody called them Agnes' Nasties (after the landlady) they filled a hole after playing football. Back in the day Egg and Chips in The Clarence was as haute cuisine as it got in Wigan. And in my book there's nothing wrong with that.

All this didn't help the fact that there was no late bar at Bluto's and we filed out with the rest of the gobsmacked punters. This is the best bar in Wigan. It's got a great jukebox, Thwaites Bitter, a Space Invaders machine and loads of gorgeous girls with Purdey Haircuts. The DJ even played The Ramones and Talking Heads for us. What more could a young man (a day over 19 years of age) want? Well at least another two hours drinking would be nice. The three beautiful girls we are with - Susan, Angie and Stephanie - tell us they can get into Pemps and we are willing to join them. The walk from Bluto's to Pemps is a treacherous 100 yards at the best of time but at "chucking out" time it is akin to walking down the Falls Road in Belfast. Dressed as I am in drainpipe jeans, brothel creepers, an old suit jacket festooned with badges and a jauntily positioned Trilby Hat it is suicidal. Oh and Paul's plastic sandals aren't helping matters. The reason for the downright fear is that as you come out of Bluto's and turn left you are faced with the Crofters' Arms. This is the pub in which Wigan Athletic was formed in the aftermath of the collapse of Wigan Borough football club and since that date has been home to every hooligan, vagabond, thief and complete fruitcake that has lived in Wigan. We were in one Christmas when full bottles of brown ale were being hauled across the bar between two gangs of lads. With claret everywhere one fella at the bar simply caught a flying bottle, took the top off with his teeth and poured it into his pint making in his words "a cracking brown and bitter". It was not a place for the faint-hearted. If you got passed the Crofters you then had to get passed the notorious Bricklayers' Arms. This was where those that were banned from the Crofters' drank! On this occasion we made it in one piece. As the girls promised they got into Pemps. Needless to say we didn't and had to settle for a flipped burger, tomato sauce and half an hour wait for a taxi. Happy Birthday!

'PUNK: FOOTBALL' IS PUBLISHED BY MUDHUTS MEDIA www.mudhutsmedia.co.uk

MATCH DAY ACCESSORIES THROUGH THE YEARS

Going to the match isn't just about er ... going to the match. There's much more involved. In the 1 st of a series looking at the art of football-watching and as every girl knows accessories make the outfit here follows a quick potted history of the match day accessories:

Umbrellas

70's full length with point sharpened
80's automatic
90's and 00's nowt get a taxi

Gloves

70's Driving - especially black and white checked "grand Prix Gloves 80's Sheepskin Mitts and Ski Gloves
90's Thinsulate
00's Leather

Hats
70's Bobble, Tam O'Shanter, Skull Cap
80's Deerstalker Ski Hat, Half and Half, Beanie,
90's Baseball Cap, Beanie (again), Cossack Hat
00's Baseball Cap (still - give it a break), woolie hat

Trouser Width

70's Parallel, wide, flared, narrow - Boss Brand Wrangler
80's Narrow, pegged, semi-flared, flared, narrow - Boss Brand - Ball Jeans
90's Baggy, narrow, boot cut - Boss Brand - Armani
00's Semi-flared, boot cut - Boss Brand - M&S Blue Harbour

Coats

70's Parka's, crombies, macs, denim jackets
80's Parka's, Tracky tops, Suedies, Golfing Jackets
90's Anoraks, Berghaus, Sprayway and more anoraks
00's Waxed, Duffels and even more anoraks

Shoes

70's Docs. brogues, platforms, Adidas
80's Tennis Shoes, Kickers, Suede boots, Adidas
90's Kickers (again), Wallabees, Timberland, Hiking boots, Rockport, Adidas
00's Timberland (still), Clarks ... oh and even more Adidas

Haircuts

70's Skinhead, Suedehead, Feather Cut, Wedge
80's Mushroom, Back perm, that Happy Mondays crop
90's Pony Tail, skinhead
00's Skinhead oh and baldness!

Little Extras

70's Watneys Pale Ale, Black Bombers, and Dexy's
80's "Designer Beers", Poppers, Speed,
90's Lager, Doves and K
00's Lager and bags and bags of beak

A little Reading Matter

70's Football League Review, Football Pink
80's The Face, The End and Politically Correct Fanzines
90's Boy's Own, Football Italia, Loaded
00's Politically Incorrect Fanzines, Swine Magazine, and Mudhutsmedia

Music (and a very broad church here)
70's Reggae, Glam, Northern, Heavy, Prog and Punk
80's Jazz Funk, Funk, Electronic, Post Punk, New Romantic, House 90's House, Rave, Dance, Acid House and Acid Jazz, Madchester, The Smiths and the mighty Verve
00's Indie and basically a mix of all the above

THIS ARTICLE WAS TAKEN FROM GOAL.NET

THE NEXT ISSUE WILL BE OUT IN AUGUST 2008