A few times over the last few weeks you may have opened a post from me without any content; this is all my very own incompetence, pushing the wrong button – publish not preview – by mistake.
There is an old saying to explain apparent failures of technology which goes “It is not the tit but the tit that presses the tit!”
I am that tit!
The Friday Night Stool
My first Friday in months without the discipline of a game of cricket the following day and Captain Pete’s 10pm curfew to observe; so where to go, what to do? Clubbing in Leeds, maybe a rave, perhaps a swingers party?
And so it was that I assumed the position on my stool at the Bear once again for the long winter months ahead, as if I had never been away.
The place was buzzing already even though the Six o’clock news had just started. Were the locals discussing the Scottish Independence vote or just getting pissed because it was Friday; I sensed the obvious.
A few players from local club – Hepworth Idle CC – were busy with their inimitable preparations for their final match and the Carling was flowing with promises of one last glorious fifty should the rain and hangover hold off.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder and I knew that I had neglected the local goddess of the pumps – barmaid Our Jackie; it was time to get reacquainted.
One look at her and I was immediately humming “…reunited and it feels so good…” even before a beer touched my quivering lips.
Her bingo wings may have spread like an golden eagle and the neckline plunged like the Grand Canyon to keep the punters flowing like the beer. But the woman still has forearms designed to pleasure a man; she can bring you a strong creamy head in a flash pulling the best pint around by far.
With a trademark 20 fags an hour laugh and a knowing wink of the eye, she landed my pint on the bar-top smoother than a BA pilot; life was good again in the comforting bosom of Our Jackie.
The Bear is an eclectic place as young and old mingle seamlessly. Strangely though, there was no sign of Big Al – which generally means the pub has run out of beer or there is a terrorist threat pending on the Bear – but I had no compulsion to send out an SOS.
The big man may have been doing some big loving and that was not a thought I wanted to hold grabbing my beer for comfort.
One thing had not changed over the summer; there are still around thirty pubs a week shutting nationally most unable to pay astronomical rents set by their hedge fund owners, less concerned by creamy pints more so creaming off what they can.
I have a conspiracy theory here; how ironic that one section of big business has made such a mess of a simple trade such as selling beer only for another – the supermarkets – to descend on the carcass like vultures, converting pubs to glorified off licences.
Governments – the whore to big business – don’t like meeting places like pubs as people gather generally to agree on the well-held notion that most politicians are grasping incompetent morons.
Better to close these hell holes of insurgency down and placate the great unwashed with a 24 pack of Carling for £3.99 from Tesco – try declare a fat profit out of that!
Forced behind closed doors with nobody to talk to but the X-Factor judges, Big Brother Dave sedates his populace in an instant.
Itchy Tush Time Again
In Pensioners’ Pilates the other morning talk turned to Christmas although a few of them might not want to look that far ahead with any great confidence the way they were groaning and farting away in class.
This skips over the great month of Movember where us boys up and down the country make arses of ourselves in the name of charity; as far as I am concerned an itchy top lip beats the hell out of diving out of a plane or climbing some mountain.
I have had girlfriends whose top lips have sprouted faster and denser than mine; we may also be charity overloaded. However, you never know when the odd quid you pop in a tin may help you?
So take the piss all you like I will be growing again and hopefully with more success than the summer’s tomatoes.
You Kolpak!
The English Cricket Board – ECB – has charged Yorkshire cricket captain Andrew Gale with racism, a move that is riddled with corrosive political correctness and hypocrisy.
Firstly, the definition of “Kolpak” – not a race of people by the way – as per the BBC Sport website.
The ‘Kolpak’ ruling – handed down in 2003 – declared that citizens of certain countries which have agreements with the European Union have the same right to freedom of work and movement within the EU as EU citizens. Therefore, a ‘Kolpak’ cricketer, like an EU passport-holder, can play in England and not be classed as an ‘overseas’ player – even if he is not qualified to play for England internationally.
Or – in short – mercenaries.
Now rewind to a summer where highly paid, centrally contracted England player James Anderson was in the dock for verbal abuse of an Indian player.
There was talk that Anderson would miss several test matches. With England one down already could they also lose their leading bowler?
So what happened…’er nothing! Now let’s just await the fate of Gale, less crucial to the England cause. You can only imagine the ECB mandarins on deciding to charge Gale in the first place.
“He called him a what? A Kolpak? Bugger me! What’s one of those?”
“No idea…cheap overseas I think…besides those Yorkies need a lesson or two!”
“I agree…can’t have them winning the title up there…they will be wanting test matches up there next!”
“Hear hear…if they think I am travelling further than a tube stop to watch England…besides can’t get a decent G&T up there…all bloody foaming beer and fancy dress!”
“We’ll have to ban him…a season should do it!”
“Hear hear…teach the bloody Yorkies!”
In both instances, money that should be injected into the game itself is being wasted on barristers and expensive legal proceedings that a beer and a handshake would resolve in a flash.
As commentator and ex-umpire David Lloyd argued the other day this is for the umpires to sort out on the field not toothless, administrators moribund by political correctness.
As ever the ECB are again in cuckoo land;then again most sporting governing bodies are.
Modern Britain
In 2001 Bradford hung it’s head in shame post the sickening riots that scarred not just the fabric of the city but it’s fragile self-belief and confidence.
National and local politicians assured us that communities on all sides would be listened to and that this would be a new beginning. Fast forward 13 years and tensions still abound in the city, like it or not.
Most right minded people know that our Asian communities are decent, hard-working and humble people, far removed from the monsters that perpetrated the Rotherham atrocities for example; criminals and paedophiles straddle all races.
However, there is still an element – mainly the younger end – who believe themselves to be above the law as most of us who live here know, even though the authorities are in constant denial.
Young lads barely out of school drive cars most CEOs of public companies aspire too suggesting something may not be quite right.
Untouchable? Well, consider this from a friend whose 67 year-old brother suffered something nobody should have to in a civilised society only a few days ago.
My brother had a horrific experience last week. Driving on Bradford ring road in heavy traffic seven Asians were blocking a lane with their push-bikes so all the cars had to crawl around them.
He dared to look at one of them and seconds later, they surrounded the car, kicking, beating on the glass and trying to get in at him. One positioned himself in front of the car so he couldn’t move.
Traffic continued to crawl so he could not get away and NO ONE HELPED, no one rang the police. It was 5.45pm, daylight commuter traffic and he felt that if they had got into the car they would have killed him.
Yes – they were Asians. I don’t care how un-PC it may be but it’s a fact. He only got away because the windows held out and after ten minutes the traffic started to move quicker so he was able to floor it to the roundabout and make his getaway.
He was too shaken to call at the police station and went home to calm down first.
The police advice: “avoid that stretch of road, it’s too dangerous, that’s what I tell my wife.”
Hard to read? Unpalatable? The reality here is that if you allow any section of any community the belief that they can act without impunity then that is what they will do.
Whether it be local thugs on quad bikes that blighted much of the summer where I live or gangs of kids believing themselves to be untouchable, the law needs to come down hard.
There cannot be “no-go” areas in any modern society; this is a major populous city not the back streets of Baghdad.
Shame on the officer who responded in this fashion as most cops are much better but this is what you end up with politically correct appeasement for policy.
And thirteen years on what do you end up with. Career politicians and blatant opportunists clinging to the gravy train with no more interest in Bradford than Baghdad.
Devolution For Bradford?
All this talk of devolving powers to the regions is utter rubbish; we have enough incompetent politicians and civil servants on bloated salaries and pensions as it is.
But what kind of desirable city have the bunch at City Hall delivered here? Browsing through the entertainment pages at the weekend I noted not one act of note – comical or musical – heading to Bradford.
A city of over half a million people with no entertainment offering barring the local council?
The comedian Michael McIntyre takes in every major city and several smaller than Bradford. Texas are not venturing to the wild frontier of Cllr Green’s Utopia and whilst The Stranglers can fit in Southend, Echo & The Bunnymen play Holmfirth and Tony Hadley croons in Ipswich, absolutely zip in Bradford.
Eyes are on the council in the next few months as the last remaining bid to save the Odeon as a mid-sized venue is considered. Without an offering of this size we will remain in the shadows of Leeds, Sheffield, Manchester and the rest.
Across town and headlining the woefully inadequate St George’s Hall are a bunch of tribute acts turning this venue into a glorified working men’s club. The next few weeks will be interesting to say the least.
And Back in Sleazy Sepp’s Kingdom
The long awaited FIFA commissioned report into alleged corruption over the bids for the 2018 and 2022 World Cups – given to those cosy little havens Russia and Qatar – has been completed.
Unbelievably, it will not be published despite costing millions and taking two years; make of that what you wish.
Meanwhile, closer to home, Greg Dyke, Football Association Chairman and vocal critic of FIFA has been exposed receiving a gift from the Brazilian FA of a sixteen thousand pound watch and not disclosing this. Bet it wasn’t a Timex!
Naive? Once again you make up your own mind.
Paul Farndale says
Note that pubco have forced the landlord of the Shipley Pride to vacate. However he’s setting up in Bradford Centre near to the Odeon. One of a few new ventures appearing over the next 12 months.
Steve says
That’s assuming the Council do not botch the rebuilding of the Odeon…re-hashing a piece next week re the Odeon…hope you like it.