There I was bouncing down the motorway the other day, playing at being a corporate finance man again, off to the Steel City to “talk turkey”. The sun was shining, the M1 flowed like a ballerina and even Chris Evans could not ruin my day.
It was good to be alive, hell it was good to be awake for a change and then on it came…that song.
Whisking me way back to 1982 – all of 19 years of age – and memories of bouncing around the pot-holed roads of Bradford in a battered old Mini with a stereo system that cost more than the car; the wailing of a clapped out engine and the screeching of the worn brake drums.
How could you ever get lyrics any better than this?
Well there’s a great amount of strain, About getting on that train, Every day and every night
The only thing that makes it good, Is seeing my favourite sight, Prance and flutter stride down that green escalator, yeah
When I’m getting off my train, And my love is on my brain, Every day and every night
Fantastic Day!
I was singing like a madman, drumming on the steering wheel, howling the chorus.
And then it was over in a flash and I remembered I was soon to be 52 and had just asked my mum for a thermostatic window opener for my greenhouse.
Life can be so cruel.
Hallelujah?
Maybe, just maybe, the English Cricket Board (ECB) now have someone at the helm who understands and actually cares about the grassroots game?
Yorkshireman Colin Graves made some illuminating comments in a recent interview with BBC Radio Leeds.
In a wide ranging interview, dominated by the national team’s woes, Graves reflected on a recent ECB survey which “…showed that the number of people playing cricket at grassroots level fell from 908,000 in 2013 to 844,000 in 2014 – a drop of 7%.”
“I’ve seen over recent years that the younger generation get to 15, 16 or 17 and then other things take over their lives quickly. There’s computers, iPads and the rest of it. Getting them to play a long game of cricket from 2pm until 8pm on a Saturday, we have got to look at all that.”
Perhaps he might want to spend some time with local league administrators, most still living in the days when you could go to the flicks, have fish and chips and chance your arm with Dolly on the trolley bus home all for two bob?
“We have got to do more of different competitions. Whether we play a 10-over competition on a Sunday, we’ve got to look at everything. I think that’s how we have to get people back involved.”
Graves is a hard nosed pragmatist and knows that the above will be far from easy but it is, after all this time, a sign that things may be about to change.
Pity Me
I read a piece about Prince Harry in the Daily Mail last week by some whining middle-aged woman arguing that Harry was now at a crossroads in his life.
With no job, no wife and appearing as if he had no plan, apparently we should worry for poor Harry, little lost soul that he now is.
I looked around The Scruffy the other night seeking those that might swap their lots for Harry; it would have been an unseemly scramble for the door.
New Council Offices To Be Built in Bradford
The Sheriff of Bradford has decreed that the natives can have panoramic views of his Kingdom for the next few weeks, somewhat forgetting that Bradford is built in a valley and the best view anyone might get is that of him dozing off in his padded cell.
England My England
My do we do failure well? There is something nobly English about mastering the fine art of just coming up short. Last Saturday, seeking an improbable 26 point victory over the French, our boys were magnificent.
Earlier in the day the Italians had retreated en masse making the Welsh look like world beaters and then Scotland had rolled over and let Ireland tickle their bellies.
It seemed a lost cause – especially as the French chose this game to actually compete – and we had a Welsh referee too.
In the face of it all, led by a captain who never takes a backward step, England thrilled the nation more in one afternoon than the football team have done since probably 1966 and the cricket team since anyone actually last saw them on television.
Surely though, the spirit and bravery of this great game was encapsulated in one moment. When giant England forward Courtney Lawes “accidentally” almost decapitated the French fly-half, televisions shook across the Channel.
Had it been a footballer he would still have been rolling around now, most likely looking for a missing ear-ring or two. Sport at its very best.
Veuve Clicquot Moment
Having escaped once again from his secure institution, stealing his wife’s best black tights in the process, our eccentric wicketkeeper treated us to an early contender for this season’s VC Award last Sunday at indoor nets.
Momentarily turning his back, a cry went out as Young Sam blasted the ball back towards the rear wall. Rob immediately adopted the “brace” position, arse up and head down, as the ball whistled over his prone body like stray enemy fire.
In a moment of pure Pratt pathos, it pinged off the back wall and, as he uncovered his head from his hands with danger seemingly averted and slowly looked up, he was hit flush on the bonce by the returning ball.
Wonderful.
The Beer Story
It has been a dreadful last decade for the pub industry but finally there appear to be several reasons to be cheerful. As ever, this has been down to a small bunch of committed and determined individuals, trying to protect their basic human right…to get pissed.
Locally we enjoy an excellent publication – Tyke Taverner – which has entertained me on many an occasion as I await Big Al’s arrival, delayed once more as the old cripple struggles to pull on his socks.
Shamelessly, I have lifted a piece from the most recent edition – thanks to Dave the Editor.
Last week George Osborne announced another penny off a pint in the Budget speech. Good news surely but very modest given the impact of the Beer Escalator during the period 2008-13.
According to the Tyke, in this period “beer tax increased by a staggering 42%“. As with any punitive tax, increased revenues raised fell way short at only 12% and 7,000 pubs closed resulting in 58,000 jobs lost.
Bizarrely, “Britons paid almost 40% of all EU beer duty but consumed 12% of the beer”.
These jobs are vitally important as they are generally part-time and crucial to both families and students alike. Almost a million jobs depend on the sector and nearly half of them are taken by 16-24 year olds.
There have been other factors too, most notably the grasping pub companies – Pubcos – who have destroyed thousands of locals. That this carnage should have occurred in an industry which produces some £13bn in tax revenues is puzzling.
Led by local Lib Dem MP, Greg Mulholland, a spirited bunch of MPs (rare I concede) won a major victory in the House of Commons late last year, defeating the Government and reigning in some of the worst excesses of the Pubcos; time will tell if progress has been made.
Pubs are the heart of local communities for many reasons. They bring diverse groups of people together – not necessarily to drink – and in these increasingly strange times, communities need each other more than ever.
Things We Won’t Say About Race That Are True…
…especially if we would lose our cushy jobs are a result.
Channel 4 afforded the ex-Chair of the Commission for Racial Equality – Trevor Phillips – an excruciating hour and a half to offer a hand-wringing apology to the vast majority of us failed by publicly funded, pompous arses just like him.
Trailered in large slices of both the broadsheets and the tabloids it attempted to justify why a whole industry has been created out of political correctness and community appeasement resulting in some of the most disturbing revelations about modern day society you could ever imagine.
Replacing fatuous idiots like this with a revival of simple common sense and decent values would save a fortune.
Family Guy?
This morning I received a wedding invitation from “Tracey & Gareth”; who the hell are they I thought? And then it dawned on me – slowly – that this was Cousin Gareth who I can’t remember ever meeting.
Still if it’s as good a bash as Cousin Shaun’s then maybe worth introducing myself.
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