Nobody Loves You When You’re Down & Out
First of all its confession time a few decades on from sitting on Father Clancey’s knee all those years ago. Our Father, I have to admit to stealing the Sunday Times magazines from the gym a few days ago; well, it was Tuesday and they were still in the cellophane wrapper suggesting that ditching the comic strip looks a bad move on Rupert’s part if he really wants the ST to hit the mass market. Sliding them surreptitiously in amongst my sweaty gear, post spinning class with the Desperate Housewives, I slipped out for an afternoon in the deckchair happy that, at last, I had got a freebie from Rupert’s empire. Ironically, the wrinkled old antipodean would bite me back a few days later but…
Amongst the pack is the Culture section, basically an upmarket Radio Times with glossy reviews of high-brow theatre productions, largely within the capital. What struck me though were the numerous listings of touring rock and pop acts – some old, some new – and their complete avoidance of Bradford as a destination of choice. For instance, the touring show of Go West, Hue and Cry and The Christians are happy to land in Basingstoke, Dartford and even Buxton but not Bradford. Slade and Sweet are doing a combined tour; once again a contender for the arse end of the Earth – Dartford – gets the gig.
I thought I lived in a big city which was a tourist attraction so I looked at the listings for our very own St George’s Hall – capacity between 1500 and 1800 depending on the mix of seating – and headlining in Bradford is Billy Ocean. Old Bill now has grey dreadlocks and looks like my Grandad…who is dead. What on earth are they doing at St George’s or have we no suitably sized venue to attract anybody worth seeing?
Of course, if you scan the big name acts, many of these are already booked for the newly named First Direct Leeds Arena – capacity circa 13,000 – including the headlining opening gig to be played by Bruce Springsteen next month. Surely though, if ever there were a case for a convincing future for the Bradford Odeon site, it is competing head on with the likes of Basingstoke (runner-up to Dartford in the arse end listings), Buxton et al to provide a mid range concert venue circa 3,000 seater capacity. A city like Bradford (population half a million plus…and rising) cannot afford not to attract the annual touring circuit. Despite the Council’s posturings, people will not come to Bradford just to have a curry and look at the new pond! Get your finger out Cllr Dimwit.
A Nation of Bookworms?
Flicking on through, I got to the books section which is a wonderful contrast of offerings. Lengthy, studious reviews of mighty tomes on the economy, history and two weighty lumps on psychiatry. However, get to the bestsellers list and occupying two of the top ten in the hardbacks are two “efforts” from “celebrities” from The Only Way is Essex. I have never seen this and, as I will probably never get close to this list as well, perhaps this is sour grapes on my part? So I Googled one of the “authors” safe in the knowledge that a Ms Gemma Collins had probably never written anything longer than her name.
My literary ambitions are in pieces when a fat bird from Essex can make it into the Top Ten with her doubtless ghost written debut, as the Kindle version of “A Critics’ Corner” languishes with worldwide sales to date of five. Still, it’s a commercial world…buy your copy for the beach now…and say a prayer that Big Gemma is not on the sunbed next to you.
Girls in Their Summer Clothes
Less than two weeks till The Boss performs in Coventry and you can be sure if its a hot night “Girls” has a fair chance of a rendition. What a song for summer nights evoking cruising the streets, gorgeous girls in flimsy summer dresses, carefree feelings only summer brings and a beautiful woman can stir. And then you arrive in Bradford! The first sight of sunshine and Rotund Rosey is pushing that pram down the street, Primark top straining at the weight gained over the winter feasting on Carling and chips, young Pepsi and Shirley fighting in the all-terrain twin-tub, as the sun turns her redder than a lobster.
Soon, Daz’s special Christmas gift – a tattoo on her shoulder which she can,t see so it will be okay when the name changes – is hidden in red blotches. Time to sit on the wall, strike a fag and curse that bloody sun. Oh how I now long for winter and the return of the puffer jacket!
Skint
At last a Channel Four documentary that takes the piss out of somewhere other than Bradford. Set in Scunthorpe, this is classic proof that all you need to make a documentary series these days is a camcorder, a steady supply of free lager and people who really do believe that Shameless is reality televison. Only this week the family in question appeared in the Daily Mail – where else – having bought a new giant television on the never-never complete with 3D specs and, presumably, sub-titles.
The episode I saw made you want to hide behind the sofa. There was a classic scene from modern day family life on the social as the mother and her latest flame sat outside contemplating her eldest son’s uncertain start to life. Without a hint of irony the mother of seven, after a careful draw on her fag, calmly offered the following.
“We ain’t bringing up no dosser here!” You have to see it to believe it; further conclusive proof that man may have reached the moon but the Flinstones are still alive and kicking in Scunny and you and I are picking up the tab..
Cheating Germans!
I love Aldi, honest I do. Cheap as chips, great quality and lots of posh people trying to sneak their 4x4s in and out without being spotted, after neatly slipping the shopping into their Waitrose bags, before fleeing back to the outskirts. However, Herr Aldi I have a complaint at your sneaky Germanic ways, worse than those holiday towels of yours. This week the Manager of the Shipley store, Herr Catch Ze Verkers Out, approached me to ask if he could put a tag in my trolley to see if Herr Doing Shit Job on Ze Checkpoint would notice; a truly sneaky, if efficient German efficiency test.
Now Herr Checkpoint had been working the aisles only a few minutes earlier and, as with all the Aldi staff, proven very helpful and courteous. So I was not keen to dob him in for fear of landing him in ze cooler. Approaching the checkpoint I noticed Herr Manager hovering so I started winking furiously at Herr Checkpoint trying to alert him as if there was a grenade in my trolley.
Fortunately he noticed although Herr Manager seemed cheated and was less than forthcoming when I asked him if I had won a prize for taking part. It all seemed a bit intense to be fair on a lad just trying to do his job. Lighten up Herr Aldi!
Australian Dirty Tricks
As all of us that endure Sky TV know, from time to time they keep coming back to you with more offers than a white socked, shiny suited, double glazing salesman; buy today, special offer, buy one get one free, velly, velly good plice!!! So it was that I approached an offer that looked pretty good at face value; a return to their Entertainment pack and in HD too, all seemingly for £2.50 a month. I had HD for a year but, honestly, I failed to get off on the clarity of little fish swimming brightly in the ocean and, no, I did not seek out any porn channels in HD! Honest Mum…just if you are reading!
In my effort to poke a dig at the Dirty Digger, as Private Eye lovingly refer to Murdoch, I had stopped my Entertainments package which included Disney and Discovery; I accept he is hardly bleeding at that. As usual though the offer is total bollocks and not £2.50 but £7.50 (almost three pints at happy hour in the Scruffy) and so he can stuff it. Its not the money just the underhand way they try to get you to sign up without simply telling it as it really is before some illiterate Chat Advisor comes up on screen asking you if you have had a nice day! No I have not now piss off!
Clearly this is bad news for little Harry, my Godson, who now has nothing to watch when he comes to my house. Gone are the days when he sat boggled eyed in front of some impossibly pert teenager on the Disney Channel; not that I watched any of this of course. Maybe though his mum and dad will cough up that £7.50, after all, we poor “carers” are the forgotten ones in society are we not?
My Culture Lives No More
It was Tuesday night again, practice at the Villas ahead of the challenges of the weekend, a smattering of players and the usual frantic texts and phone conversations trying to rustle up the required 22 bodies again. This week it’s the 1st X1 who are short and so we cajoled, nudged and finally persuaded young Joe, aged 16, to turn out for us. I’ve coached Joe since he was about 8 and as he grew up, each Christmas I would get a small present as thanks for all we had done to make cricket one of his passions. I have to say, with all the frustrations you suffer as a coach, this was a rare bright light and it helped me keep coming back for more of the same unforgiving stuff. Kids like Joe are a rarity indeed, ever more these days.
However, nowadays Joe still loves his cricket but he has other passions too, hopefully that will become vocational at some future point; maybe he will become hugely successful one day, maybe he will meet Gemma Collins? Am I disappointed he is not as keen as I was at the same age to play in the 1st X1 this weekend? In truth of course I am but, on reflection and on speaking with him, I see an articulate and well rounded young lad that is just a product of a different society. We lived for our sport generations ago and yet we struggle to understand today’s kids who simply do not; yet how could they when they have never been imbued with that passion as we were from such an early age?
Like it or not, today’s kids are worlds apart from “when I were a lad” and I have no answers to switch back the time machine. Do I think kids have been sold down a flabby, non-competitive, socially retarded river by decades of woeful education and political correctness? Oh yes! Equally though I see a young lad who we can still provide a game of cricket for, who will enjoy it, do his best and give a bit back as well because he sees what we have done for him so far. And if he does make it big with his real passion of music I have requested a corporate box. The times they are a changing…and its crap.
American Corporate Skullduggery
And finally, a major expose! Stood at the checkout in Morrisons the other day I was waiting for the two checkout ladies to finish their chat and get down to actually serving me; clearly the thickening plot lines of Corrie needed intense discussion. This is actually a cunning ploy that Herr Aldi could take a look at for, as you stand there watching the shaking of heads, wagging of fingers followed by “Ah know love…”, you are drawn to the choccie bars winking away at you, under your nose. In Aldi you just don’t have time presumably because talking at the checkout is a firing squad offence?
Inevitably, I succumbed to that little tease the Boost bar but something is not quite right. Cadburys, having sold out to the giant US Kraft, have got a bit crafty with the Boost bar; quite simply they have put it on a diet! No way is that the same monster boy I used to chomp in between sales calls a few years ago, a chocolate avalanche splattering my suit trousers. Now, a serious allegation like these could get the fat cats excitable and searching me out so I pondered some serious research…but…hell, the sun was shining. Trust me, Boost ain’t boosting anybody these days.
And now for the sunshine…
Phil Baxendale says
Harry I’m sure will not miss the Disney channel too much as he has already Sky + all the pert teenagers at home.
A suggestion to reduce your subscriptions would be to cancel “The Playboy channel, Babestation Xtra, The Fantasy Channel and of course XXXGay channel.
Thank you from a grateful couple i.e. Harry’s Mum and Dad!
Gas man says
The fat bird pictured was’nt she the one you disapeared with on xmas eve 1999,i’m not sure,she looks to have lost a bit of weight since then.