Le Freak c’est Chic
27 March 2006
After our tear around town yesterday, today was a much more settled affair - it started off with an early breakfast which thankfully was non eventful although we did (once again) prove that our powers of attracting the more eccentric folk (that’s being polite, I prefer the term ‘Low Life’) to within 5 feet of us in a Public area are not restricted purely to the UK and we managed to pick a table next to a smartly dressed elderly lady who’s eating habits were akin to a 3 year old. She managed to chomp and gorge herself on various items from the Menu and despite not seeing what she had delivered to her table I can confidently say that if I were a contestant on ‘You Bet’ Matthew Kelly would’ve been impressed with my powers of deducing her fare purely from the contents of her table cloth.
After breakfast we took the Metro to Madrid’s uptown shopping area and watched Middle Spain’s elite pop into Prada, Gucci and Yves Saint Laurent while we made do with an Espresso in a local Coffee shop. While we sat there Len mentioned that she was suprised at the lack of genuine style that the people visiting the shops were displaying with their attire. Neither of us are what you’d desribe as being at the forefront of haute couture however the majority of the female inhabitants of Middle Spain seemed to be cobbling together a concoction of large tan boots (I’d describe them as ’shit kickers’) or winkle pickers with a 1″ heel with either an ill fitting skirt of contrasting colour(s) or a pair of jeans (if the boots are your preferred footwear then the jeans get tucked into them). These outfits were collectively topped off by a slim fitting jacket which accentuated the large arses of Madrid’s upperclasses. If Cowboy Chic is this years look then you’ll forgive me if I stick to Abercrombie and French Connection.
After winning our very own ‘Best dressed people in Madrid even though we’re wearing cut off jeans, t-shirt and trainers’ Competition we walked to a nearby Metro stop and took the train to the musically named ‘Opera’ station where we were met by two Mexican blokes playing ‘La Cucuracha’ for all they were worth - This attempt at South American irony was lost on me; I prefer it when they call Maradona ‘The greatest footballer of all time’ - Total Bollocks, even I could sprint past Terry Fenwick and Peter Reid.
You wouldn’t last 2 minutes in Gloucester’s Sunday League Pal
At Opera we played the ‘Lost Tourist’ card for all it was worth, scratching our heads and looking at the Lonely Planet Guide. Within seconds a local approached us and instead of congratulating us on our apparel he directed us to Madrid’s Royal Palace which was embarrasingly within eyesight.
After a long day it was time for some Lunch and after finding a Restaurant that we decided to christen ‘The Toto Schillachi’ (it was small, dirty and Italian) we went back to the Hotel for a drink and Siesta.
Al Dente
The evening was relatively uneventful, the usual stuff, find a bar, order a bottle of red, find a Restaurant, order a bottle of red and some food, back to the Hotel, Len chucks her G & T all over the place in a fit of passion/drunkeness (I couldn’t decide although it was probably the latter) and then off to bed.
Home tomorrow. So, in summation…
Madrid - nice City, bit grubby in places, wouldn’t go back (it’s one ticked off the list), great footy team, beautiful architecture, not the best looking T.J.’s. (from what we saw as we walked through the red light area!).
The Beautiful Game
26 March 2006
“The best I ever saw, apart from Brazil.” - Just Fontaine
Weeks of planning go into a www.steveqpr.co.uk break – an itinerary of events that must be adhered to exactly. After getting to our Hotel on Saturday evening and visiting a Restaurant that had a Spanish/German leaning (Sauerkraut and Tapas wasn’t really a winning combination) the plan for today was to get up, eat a hearty breakfast and walk down to the Museo Del Prado then after spending a few hours sampling the cultural delights of Madrid’s finest Art Gallery a trip to the Bernabeu Stadium to buy our tickets for Real Madrid –v- Deportivo La Coruna.
Unfortunately I’d set my alarm to go off at 8pm as opposed to 8am and we slowly awoke and languished in bed with the blackout curtain closed until Len decided to check the time. I thought she was playing that game where you try and get your partner to sprint to the shower in a blind panic to get washed ‘n dressed for the 10.30 breakfast curfew when she said it was ‘…Twenty past Ten Steve!’ - I’m afraid to say she wasn’t.
If there was an Olympic event that combined showering, changing, applying talc, Johnson’s and Chanel (courtesy of Len and Bristol Duty free) whilst making the bed (I can’t leave a Hotel Room without doing it – don’t ask me why!) I’d have snapped up the Gold Medal by a country mile and Len would’ve broken the World Record for casually getting ready without the swearing and sliding about on a wooden floor.
We made breakfast by the skin of our (Colgate covered) teeth much to the dismay of the waitress who had removed any trace of those patrons that had decided to frequent the restaurant at a decent hour. ‘Café con Leche?’ she questioned with the look of a waitress who was gonna gob in our drinks for upsetting her routine. ‘Si Gracias’ we puffed as we voraciously piled our plates high with watermelon, peaches, grapefruit, ham, salmon, croissants and Danish pastries.
After careful consideration we decided to ask a friendly receptionist if she could buy our Football tickets over the phone for us via Real Madrid’s box office service (thus freeing up our couple of lost hours to enable a visit to the Museo del Prado), unfortunately she couldn’t get through to the box office and as the online ticket agency’s charge an arm and a leg for these type of games (in excess of a 300% mark up it later transpired) we decided our best bet was to ignore my carefully planned itinerary and take the Metro to the Stadium and buy our tickets early.
Our first experience of the Madrid Metro was a pleasant affair we were met at the bottom of the steps of Gran Via Metro Station with a bloke larging it up on a pair of bongo’s, head down, sweating profusely arms pumping like pistons and although his performance probably deserved better we gave him nothing but a cursory glance and a wiggle of the hips. The traditional ‘Len and Steve spend ½ an hour obtaining a ticket’ then ensued as we attempted to find the cheapest way of utilising Madrid’s public transport system. It was finally agreed that we would buy a 6 Euro, 10 ticket pass as it should see us through our stay (we could’ve got away with 8!). Personally I thought that the Madrid Metro was a little grubby, certainly in comparison to other City’s underground systems that we’ve used – not as dirty as London I hasten to add which almost figuratively pisses all over the competition.
After a couple of stops and a change of line we arrived at Santiago Bernabeu Station and were met with the awe inspiring sight of the Estadio Santiago Bernabeu…
All of the horror stories you hear (and imagine) with regard to obtaining tickets on the day for these type of events proved to be unfounded and acquiring tickets was simple. Even as early as 12pm there were touts in operation but as I was under strict instructions not to buy off one (we’d had a bit of an ‘experience’ with a Barcelona tout a couple of years ago) a simple ‘No Gracia’ was all that was required to warn them off. A walk around the stadium to the Box Office and within a matter of minutes our tickets were purchased and we had a stroll around the ground to get our bearings.
We stopped for a quick cup of coffee and a maple donut and stumbled across the Real Madrid Club shop which was surprisingly hidden away in a small shopping mall at the rear of the Stadium. After that we decided on travelling back into the City to experience some of the gardens and fantastic architecture that Madrid has to offer.
We really just chilled out and relaxed, we both realised that the visit to the Museo del Prado wasn’t going to be a viable proposition on the trip now as it was closed on the Monday but it was really nice to be able to just wander around chatting about anything and everything. At 2pm the temperature was in the mid twenties although you could tell who were Madrid locals by the very fact that they were dressed in winter coats and scarves. If they had to experience an evening game at a blustery Loftus Road in November then they’d break Len’s 9 layer record by a fair distance.
Time flew by as we wandered through various Plaza’s and side roads letting the Buzz of Big City life mesmerize us. As the evening drew close we retired to the Hotel to put some ‘warm weather gear’ on – For warm weather gear read an old skool QPR top for me and light zip up jumper for Len although she did mention that she didn’t feel right visiting a football Stadium with less than 5 items of clothing on.
Back on the Metro and the Bongo man had been replaced by two blokes strumming away on Guitars and belting out what sounded like a Spanish version of Extreme’s ‘More Than Words’. The evening shift obviously take its’ toll as they didn’t really have the enthusiasm nor energy of Bongo Man although the fact that they had to share their profits which were at the time approximately 2 Euros and a San Miguel bottle top at the end of the evening might’ve gone some way to explaining their lack lustre performance.
Back at the Bernabeu and the atmosphere was beginning to build so we shied away and found a small bar and had a couple of drinks which were surprisingly cheap in view of the proximity of the bar to the Stadium. A couple of Madrid’s old boys stood beside us talking in gravely voices and a tray laden with Spanish fare was delivered so we decided to partake in a large crusty roll filled with spicy fresh meat, cheese and salad. I felt a bit like Bones from Star Trek ‘It’s football food Jim, but not as we know it’.
As kick off approached we walked into the ground and escalators glided up the outside of the Stadium and suddenly we were high up in our seats (Cerveza in hand) watching in excess of 200 million quids worth of football team warm up.
When it comes to culture watching Spanish football is an alien experience in comparison with its’ English counterpart; the atmosphere emanating from the crowd is certainly less raucous. The aggressive undertones that can be apparent in English stadia seem to be replaced with hand gestures, pursed lips, shrugs of the shoulders and the odd shout of frustration to a friend sitting close by. That said behind the Real goal was obviously where the ‘hardcore’ fans sat. A pocket of vociferous, overenthusiastic twenty something’s singing songs, hurling abuse and fighting amongst themselves as officials looked on. Some wore Klu Klux Klan type headwear and even if there is another reason behind the donning of this type of headdress it would appear a mindless thing to allow to happen in this day an age especially with racist allegations in Spanish football still a hot topic with footballs governing body FIFA.
When Los Gallacticos finally appeared the crowd erupted and Spanish Orchestral music filled the Stadium. The term ‘Real’ translates to ‘Royal’ and the sense of occasion as the team set foot on the pitch was one of regal stature.
I can safely say the next 90 minutes of football was probably one of the most attractive games I’ve ever had the pleasure to watch. I could count on one hand the amount of times the ball was aimlessly kicked in the air. Every Real player seemed naturally able to pass the ball 5 or 10 yards and then effortlessly move into a space to receive the ball back almost immediately. It was a joy to watch the game played at its’ most simplest levels. Zinedine Zidane showed time after time that he is still one of the greatest performers that the game has ever produced, elusively finding space in an otherwise crowded pitch and retaining possession when others would crumple under the pressure of an opposition challenge. Someone once said of Michel Platini ‘Even his feet are intelligent.’ if that was the case then Zidane’s lower half could probably predict pye to the umpteenth decimal place.
The game ended in a 4-0 Real win but the result in no way does justice to the performance of the Real team on that evening - In short it was beautiful.
Special K
24 March 2006
Len and I have both got streamers - not the ticker tape style ones used in the parade during the opening credits of Hong Kong Phooey I hasten to add - I’m talking sore throat, runny nose and irritability threshold down to minus 4.
This can only mean one thing, we’re going to Madrid tomorrow and invariably when we take a trip one or both of us end up feeling rough prior to departure.
When we go abroad we always like to take in a Sporting event to compare the culture of the particular occasion to our experiences of others around the World. This weekend it’s Real Madrid –v- Deportivo La Coruna at the Estadio Santiago Bernabeu.
We’ve tried NBA (LA Lakers at the Boston Celtics), American Football (Houston Texans at the Tennessee Titans), Baseball (Chicago Cubs at the San Francisco Giants) and various countries for football (Paris and Barcelona to namedrop a couple) and no-one (and I mean no-one) curses or maligns individual players/fans more thoroughly, proficiently and incessantly than the English football supporter.
Last weekend at Loftus Road was a prime example. QPR were at home to Brighton (not the most glamorous fixture on the Rangers calendar admittedly) and Moonwalking Kev was over from the States with his brand new (well 5 months) gal Courtney.
Kev and Courtney flanked by two mentalists
It was Courtney’s first visit to England so, after a whistle stop sightseeing tour of the Pubs and Indian Restaurants of the Big City (Oh and a picture of that Large clock down by the River) Courtney settled down in ‘P Block’ to witness her very first ‘soccer’ match. Apparently she’d been advised by her parents that should her new boyfriend take her to a soccer match she’d be beaten up within a few minutes – Her Mom and Pop needn’t have worried, flanked by Special K and myself Courtney couldn’t have been in better hands as we expertly explained that this was ‘The Championship’ and any passion that might be prevalent at Loftus Road today would soon disappear as soon as the ball went above head height. Three seconds into the game and our predictions were confirmed although admittedly under the tutelidge of Gary Waddock, Rangers are quite noticeably a team in transition and the long ball tactic employed by Ian Holloway seems to be a thing of the past.
Don’t let the Sun blind you - It was 7 layer weather
There is however only so much you can do with the tools at your disposal and QPR look like a group of players trying to satisfy their managers will while still longing for the bygone days where they could slide a ball back to ‘Big Dan’ who would then launch it skyward.
Like the players (Ainsworth being the exception) we wearily trudged through the game attempting to make any high points (a throw in in the opposition half or a movement containing 4 or more passes) Everest like for Courtney’s sake as she pulled her new (‘Don’t ask me just buy it’) QPR Scarf around her while she shivered against the arctic temperatures …and then Kevin Gallen got sent off right in front of us and we all forgot the biting wind and suddenly warmed up.
Courtney’s grimace turned into a satisfied grin as the bloke behind us called on the assumed instigator of Gallen’s red card to ‘Faaaark Off you ginger haired c*nt’ and immediately our corner of Loftus Road was turned into an incensed throng baying for the blood of Brighton’s centre half Paul McShane. However I’m sure the angry crowd could have come up with something slightly more scathingly mocking than the much loved ‘Strawberry Blonde, You’re having a Laff’ if they really thought about it.
Strawberry Blondes? You’re having a Laugh
The continuous shrieks of the vociferous fan behind us reached dog calling decibel levels as Brighton equalised and he called for any QPR player close enough to ‘Murder the Faaarkker’ he then, like most of the crowd went on to mock McShane’s mullet although I have to admit that the fascination at Loftus Road for mane mocking ditty’s is more than slightly ironic – You only have to look around to see that most QPR fans think that Toni and Guy are the blokes that serve pizza at Domino’s on Shepherd’s Bush Green.
By this time Courtney’s eyes were wide open with fascination, absorbed in the anger of the mob mentality. The fervour had reached it’s pinnacle and I’m sure if she could have done she’d have turned her seat around and watch the enraged crowd fuming in preference to the football which was also gathering pace before us. I could see Mom and Pop looking down on her giving her the ‘We told you so’ deliberate nod of the head.
As the final whistle blew Courtney was ushered out of the ground bearing a Cheshire cat smile and a rabbit caught in the headlights expression – who needs an open top bus tour when you’ve got the Super Hoops?
I don’t know what the Spanish is for Ginger Haired Tosser however you can be safe in the knowledge that I’ll write a detailed account of my experiences of the Real game if it’s anything but Loftus Road like.
The Top Ten
23 March 2006
They’re coming in thick and fast now and I’m very grateful for the submissions - Keep them coming. This one’s from Larry who couldn’t go another 5 minutes without posting something pretentious. Personally I own 3 out of the 10 albums mentioned below, can anyone do any better?
The Top Ten Non Pop Albums
10. Paddy McAloon – ‘I Trawl The Megahertz’…
Although he’s the ex singer/songwriter from Prefab Sprout this is not a ‘pop’ album as it’s mainly orchestral pieces loosely based on snippets he recorded from radio phone-ins as he recovered at home from a detached retina (and you thought it was only boxers and Sylvester Stallone who suffered from that didn’t you). ‘Your Daddy Loves You Very Much, he just doesn’t want to live with us anymore’ and ‘I’m 49 divorced’ are some of the more upbeat lyrics taken from the album that fills the Number 10 spot.
9. The Mahavishnu Orchestra – ‘The Inner Mounting Flame’…
Forget Lead Guitarist John McLaughlin’s hippy-shit pseudo Eastern religious warblings and enjoy a band who seem to treat most of the tracks as an opportunity to play jazz-rock as fast as possible. ‘A voyage of discovery to the inner self’ as John might say.
8. Miles Davis – ‘Kind Of Blue’…
If you like the idea of jazz as being cool, timeless and sophisticated but don’t know what to buy start with this. The title is often uttered by the spotty nonentities serving in JJB when describing the new Chelsea strip. A classic.
7. Gavin Bryars – ‘Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Yet’…
An old recording of a tramp singing a four line ditty is repeated on a tape loop as Bryars adds instruments and effects over the top – unlistenable? Somehow it works and the orchestrations wash over you and transport you to a nether world. Mood music with a cutting edge.
6. Le Mystere Des Voix Bulgares…
Traditional Bulgarian Folk Songs sung by a female choir. Sound awful doesn’t it but believe me this sounds like nothing you’ve heard before. Uncategorisable if there is such a word – unsuitable for ITV viewers.
5. Patsy Cline – ‘The Best of Patsy Cline’…
This woman sings like no other and makes Dolly Parton sound like a post circumcised 50 year old. The songs make Morrisey sound positively cheerful – My guess is that she was probably belting one of these tunes out as the plane went down.
4. Henryk Gorecki – ‘Symphony No. 3′…
The record company hyped this as ‘Possibly one of the most important pieces of music of the 20th Century’ – for once they weren’t wrong. An uncomfortable mix of sadness and joy – A Triumph of the Soul.
3. Keith Jarrett – ‘The Koln Concert’…
One man and his piano (thankfully no Phil Drabble) as Jarrett brilliantly improvises his way through the range of musical styles - within 20 seconds you know you’re listening to a genius.
2. Billie Holiday – ‘Lady In Satin’…
For some this album this album doesn’t work as they feel her voice was past it, but for the majority the vocal just ass to the tension and angst contained within these songs – strained taught emotions as Holiday bares her soul, suffering was never more enjoyable – schadenfreude as they say.
1. Frank Sinatra – ‘Songs For Swingin’ Lovers’…
Forget the ‘Bad guy Mafia connections’ aspect to this legend and enjoy these timeless classics he performed with arranger/producer Nelson Riddle and his orchestra – Full bodied, smooth, stylish and cool.
Prestbury Park
22 March 2006
The Cheltenham Race post - a bit late I’m afraid but I’ve managed live life instead of write about it over the past couple of weeks…
There’s something about having an International Sporting event on your doorstep that dissolves the nature of the occasion. Unless I have to travel in excess of 100 miles, battle like a Friday night Shopper for a Parking Space and give a young scrote a fiver to ‘Mind your car Mister’ I don’t feel like I’ve had a fruitful experience when it comes to Sports Entertainment.
For the majority of the year Prestbury Park Race Course sits anonymously in Cheltenham and is only frequented by residents that Middle Class Cheltonians would prefer to sweep under they’re axminster carpets. Car Booters and Market Regulars flock there every Sunday to snap up tea towels, cut price meat products and St Georges Cross Deck Chairs for their World Cup Street Party’s. In the Middle of March however the place is transformed as punters flock to the Town and it becomes the hub of National Hunt Racing for the best part of a week.
Cheltenham on Race Day - 14/03/2006
It’s one of the few times that I’m forced to use Public Transport – this year Gloucester to Cheltenham was two and a half quid and the Cheltenham Shuttle Bus (sit in a bus queueing in traffic as people on foot beat you to the course) was another couple. This Year at the front of the Glaws to Chelt queue stood a bloke wearing an Avirex Leather Jacket, a pair of Timberlands and some Levis, he was asking everyone who was boarding if they could spare any change although it obviously wasn’t for clothing as he trumped everyone in the surrounding area with his chosen attire. I considered telling him to pawn his togs and try investing in a small chalet in the Swiss Alps – It really did look like Damon Dash had just fallen on hard times.
Dash - ‘I hide my bling under my Cap’
We duly ignored him and then watched him get off the same bus in Cheltenham and stride confidently up the road – There it goes I thought ‘Gloucester’s prime export. As long as we don’t get a couple of Cheltenham Market Regulars for him in an exchange deal I’ll be happy.’
Beesy scours the ‘Looking for Him’ Adverts
On entering the Race Course we headed (like you do) straight for the bar the screech of Irish music thudding through us as we had a few beers and started gambling on the dog racing that was being held on the finish straight of the course – After numerous races and the ignominy of being told that although we had a winner the bet hadn’t been put on it time (‘I watched the dog coming in as I placed the money on’ – Smooth, although we did get our own back ‘It lost but we put the money on as the winner was crossed the line – any chance of a refund, it works both ways pal?’ – Beesy) we decided to get ‘trackside’ and brave the elements - Wind, Rain, Cold, People and the smell of Cooked carcass and onions wafting across the course although I’m still undecided if this was eminating from one of the numerous takeway vans populating the course or from one of the ‘Screens’ that were hastily erected far too many times for my liking this year.
Spot the Driver
I won’t go into the winners and losers suffice to sat that between us we were all ‘up’ on the day to the extent that Beesy could afford to get a haircut this weekend, a godsend in view of the fact that his similarity to a bedraggled Dane Bowers was getting far too much to take.
First Race Of the Day - Smooth’s only winner
A second later Bowers’ opened his gob and his winning slip was lost forever
Rhinestone Cowboy
17 March 2006
Glen Campbell gets the www.steveqpr.co.uk version of the Claire Rayner treatment…
‘I’ve been walkin’ these streets so long…’
Money to be made here Glen – Sponsorship deal with Nike, Adidas, Reebok or even Dunlop if you’re happy wearing Green Flash. I can see the advert now. A hobo singing in a New York Subway with an old guitar, case open in front of him containing a couple of coins and a bottle top. Bedraggled hair and dirty clothes giving the impression of a life spent struggling to keep afloat – camera pan’s down to reveal a fresh pair of Nike’s (rrp £119) with the slogan ‘Busk? Do it’ championing the longevity of the footwear despite years of Skid Row Abuse.
‘Singin’ the same old song…’
Busking’s out then – you need a bit of variety if you’re gonna make it as a singer songwriter on the tough urban street circuit pal.
‘I know every crack in these dirty sidewalks of Broadway…’
Come on Glen, get with the programme. Just trip over a dodgy slab or loose kerbstone and claim an unfathomable back or neck injury. I reckon you could make a few quid suing Broadway Council for negligence when it comes to the upkeep of their paths and highways if they’re in the state of disrepair that you’re alleging – use your winnings to move out of your cardboard box and into a country bunker like Bob had in the Blues Brothers.
‘Where hustle’s the name of the game…’
Tell that to Agnetha, Anni-Fred, Bjorn and Benni – they’ve been searching for an answer to that question since 1977.
‘And nice guys get washed away like the snow and the rain…’
These ‘nice guys’ that you’re referring to, What are they made out of? Paper Mache? Cardboard? Some sort of liquified entity? They must shit themselves when they hear that there’s a storm brewing. Do them a favour, get them off the streets and take them to Tony Hart’s studio in South London. He provides a refuge for blokes like this. They could happily live with Morph and that dog thing that’s really a bloody shoe brush. A word of warning however, I’d advise them to keep away from Chas, he’s a devious little twat. Oh, and that bird made out of tin foil looks a right nasty anorexic piece of work too - one false move and she’d turn the Hart Studio Sprinklers on and your mates would be floating off to ‘nice guy heaven’.
‘There’s been a load of compromisin’…’
By leaving out the letter ‘G’ to ensure that the lyrics in this song rhyme by the look if it.
‘On the road to my horizon…’
What particular ‘road’ goes to your Horizon Glenn? I’ve tried my Little Chef Road Map and can’t find anything on there, AA route planner brings up ‘end location not found’ – Maybe you’re talking about Horizon Lawnmower suppliers in Phoenix Arizona (thankyou ‘Google’)? After thorough investigation I put it to you that you couldn’t find another word to rhyme with your already compromised ‘compromisin’. Here’s a few suggestions…
There’s been a load of compromisin’…
So it’s time I got the pies in - a Janes Pantry favourite
Everybody was Kung Fu Fightin’ - Carl Douglas tribute
I’d rather be reading Enid Blyton - wouldn’t we all Glen, wouldn’t we all
‘But I’m gonna be where the lights are shinin’ on me…’
Try the Fast lane of the M25 on a Wintry Friday evening at 5ish.
Glen dodges Traffic on the M25 - (Artists Impression)
‘Like a Rhinestone Cowboy…’
You want to be a Cowboy made out of Rhinestone? You’ll fit right in at Tony Harts place kidder…
‘Riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo…’
…especially if you’ve got ideas for plot lines for a new series of ‘The Adventures of Morph’
‘Like a Rhinestone cowboy,
Getting cards and letters from people I don’t even know…’
Saddo Morph fans and poison pen one’s from Chas and Tin Foil Bitch probably. Oh, and maybe a couple of mis-directed ‘Gallery’ ones containing a picture of birds made out of dried pasta shapes from ‘Suzie aged 5′.
‘And offers comin’ over the phone….’
Offers for what exactly? Special Guest appearance on Bagpuss? Daily Mail asking you to put your name to a ‘Special Rhinestone Cowboy Figure ornament’? Mr. Bennet asking if you can keep Mr. Hart’s place tidy when he’s away on Holiday? You really haven’t thought this through have you Glen?
‘Well, I really don’t mind the rain…’
No sympathy with your ‘nice guys’ now you’re living the dream is there!?
‘And a smile can hide all the pain…’
Talk about teaching your Grandmother to suck eggs! Look at The Joker pal - if ever there was a bloke mentally scarred by his lot in life who confirms the aforementioned line then it’s him.
‘But you’re down when you’re ridin’ the train that’s takin’ the long way…’
Anti Clockwise on the Circle Line at Rush Hour – depressing. I’m feeling your pain here brother.
‘And I dream of the things I’ll do…’
Taken from www.dreammoods.com …
Rhinestones - To see rhinestones in your dream, signifies short-lived pleasures
Cowboy - To see or dream that you are a cowboy, symbolizes masculinity, ruggedness, and toughness. You are in control of your animalistic and instinctual side
Four seconds on the back of Buckaroo and you’re gonna be knackered by the looks of it Glen.
‘With a subway token and a dollar tucked inside my shoe…’
Nike Ads paying off already? Get a standing order sorted and you won’t have any bunion bucks or ingrowing monkeys.
‘There’ll be a load of compromisin’
On the road to my horizon
But I’m gonna be where the lights are shinin’ on me
Like a Rhinestone cowboy
Riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo
Rhinestone cowboy
Getting cards and letters from people I don’t even know
And offers comin’ over the phone
Like a Rhinestone cowboy
Riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo
Like a Rhinestone cowboy
Getting cards and letters from people I don’t even know’
Campbell ‘unahppy’ after reading this page
The Top Ten
15 March 2006
With the absence of any quality entries (from my good self I hasten to add!) recently and the prospect of bugger all today as I’m severely hungover after a cocktail of Champagne, Guinness and Glenfiddich at the Cheltenham Festival yesterday I’ve brought forward a Top Ten that I was saving for next month. ‘Very Poor’ i hear you cry - Frankly I couldn’t give a toss! This ‘uns all my own work although I’d be more than happy to receive some from avid reader(s). Entries to the usual address.
The Top 10 Question Of Sport Captains
10. Franki Dettori…
Brought up on a diet of the Sport of Kings and Serie A his lack of any real sporting knowledge became legendary to the point where he was spoon fed a diet of Horse Racing and Juventus questions. Only got renowned referee Pier Luigi Collina in the Mystery Guest round after being prompted by Sue Barker “Imagine him without the wig Franki and replace the conductors baton with a whistle”. He couldn’t understand the questions, he didn’t know who his team mates were and he had to sit on a cushion so that he could reach the button in the quick fire round.
9. Matt Dawson…
Middle class Matt – shamelessy appointed in an attempt to attract female viewers after England’s Rugby world Cup win. Dawson answered questions with a swift lick of the lips and greasy gaze into the camera. His unbottoned shirt and smoothly shaven cleavage revealed far more than we want to see at tea time on a Friday night. Missed England training ‘cos of ‘filming commitments of the show’ – Billy Beaumont wouldn’t have done that – Tosser.
8. Willie Carson…
Brought in to rival Hughes’ annoying success at providing squeaky charm combined with annoying anecdotes. Borrowed his dentures from Desert Orchid and wore them throughout his time as Captain. Never got a ‘What Happened Next?’ question correct although he spent 4 hours formulating an answer much to the annoyance of team colleague James Hunt in one episode who had ‘…a bird out back waiting for me to fire up the Maserati Willie’.
7. Henry Cooper…
Our ‘Enry provided cheeky London charm during the show’s early years. Talked about Mohammed Ali at every given opportunity and even famously worked him into an answer when he got Olympic medalist Mark Spitz on the Numbers Board. Unfortunately the crowd got bored of his one dimensional answers way before the BBC did and eventually he was farmed out to ITV and Fred Dineage making sporadic appearances on ‘HOW?’ where he explained how to deliver the perfect knockout punch.
6. Brendan Foster…
If the subject matter of the question didn’t have an Athletics or Northern culture slant then the Olympic medal winner was knackered. Asked if he could call his team ‘Brendan’s Harriers’ a request that was refused point black by David Coleman. This spelt the beginning of the end for Foster and his contract termination became final when he had an illegitimate child with QoS guest Mary Peters and called it Steve Cram.
5. Emlyn Hughes…
More excitable than a 6 year old on a diet of sherbert dip dabs, Hughes reinvented himself on our TV screens and thanks to QoS didn’t have to open a Pub after leaving professional football. Famously hugged Princess Anne after she corrected his grammar and made a mint by suing The Sun after they printed the headline ‘Anne rides Crazy Horse’ after the show when she was in fact referring to her 3 day event pony.
4. Ally McCoist…
Cheeky grin and glint in his eye – get’s given points and come to bed eyes by Sue Barker in equal quantities and is her favourite bloke next to Sir Cliff and Rod Laver. Constantly jocular even during his messy divorce/alcohol/drug problems during which time he was the consummate professional even when Sue was mentioned as the other woman. Beats Dawson all ends up and could also do him in a Bar Brawl.
3. Ian Botham…
Provided grittiness and glamour when QoS was going through the wilderness years and probably would still be Captain if Sue Barker wasn’t wheeled in to replace his highlighted hair. Always wanted to win to the extent that there was a sense of unease in the Studio if things were getting tight as the finale of the show neared. Insisted on having Smirnoff Vodka in his water jug at all times and once viciously spat “That’s Desmond Hayne’s you C*nt” to David Vine when Malcolm Marshall was revealed as the Mystery Guest although this was edited out of the televised episode.
2. Gareth Edwards…
Perfected the ‘get out of the chair to have a look at the Picture Board’ move when McCoist and Dawson were still in nappies. The motion at the time was roundly criticised by BBC chiefs and during filming Edwards was gaffa taped into his chair to avoid any freestyling by the Welsh Wizard. A move which England tried on Johnathan Davis during Wales’ Triple Crown success in 1988.
1. Billy Beaumont…
Criticism was rife from QoS officianado’s when Billy’s name was mentioned as prospective Team Captain. No-one thought he’d make the grade. The quiet, unassuming, cauliflower eared, ex England Captain rumbled onto our screens and for years we gasped at his wisdom, sporting knowledge and patterned jumpers. When he correctly answered ‘Henry Rono’ to his away question households around the country gasped over their Fish Fingers. Ladies admired him and Dad’s wanted to be him. Nuff said.
9/5
11 March 2006
‘Here you come again
Just when I’m about to make it work without you.
You waltz right in the door,
Just like you done before,
And wrap my heart around your little finger’ - Dolly Parton, 1977
Yeah! Right on Sister - that’s how I feel when the weekend looms large. I live without The Accumulator all week but as soon as Friday appears my thoughts turn to which teams to rely on. The Sporting Life falls into my lap and I trawl through form guides, fixtures and football club websites in a vain attempt to pick a winning combination.
More Home wins his week giving relatively generous odds (I think) of 18/1 for the total accumulator. Seven Fixtures, Seven Home Wins and Seven chances for my chosen teams to bugger it up. A win this weekend would pretty much pay for the Cheltenham Festival next week so everything’s crossed. Here are the Runners and Riders…
Saturday…
Rangers -v- Kilmarnock
Ipswich -v- Millwall
Nottm Forest -v- Gillingham
St Mirren -v- QOS
Gretna -v- Morton
Stenhousemuir -v- Arbroath
Sunday…
Manchester United -v- Newcastle United
Now you know the fixtures to keep away from this weekend!
The Top Ten
10 March 2006
Yeah, yeah I know we’ve only just had one but this ‘uns far too good to keep under wraps ’til next month - Muchos Kudos to Chip for his exquisite narrative…
The Top Ten Wacky Racers (OK there’s 11 - ‘Whatever’)
11. The Ant Hill Mob…
These wannabe Chicago toughs suffered from a litany of drawbacks. They were midgets for a start. How can you seriously expect to compete when you need to stack yourselves up one on top of the other JUST to reach the steering wheel? ‘Chugg-a-boom’ or the ‘Bulletproof Bomb’ was pathetic. Pootling along whilst moaning about being shot at by D&M or sawn up by the Buzzwagon, this clanking old jalope was clearly not up to proper 60s Racing. Finally, they were all as thick as shit and as hard as piss, despite giving it the big ‘we are’ gangster front. Unforgivably the one that yelled ‘we’re gonna crash, we’re all gonna die’ each week was proved sadly inaccurate.
10. Peter Perfect…
The only one who actually HAD a Formula One car and he was still shit. Spent all his time trying to get into Pitstop’s knickers and failed miserably. The English accent spelt only one thing – loser.
9. The Red Max…
Worse at powered flight than the Creepy Coupe despite being a plane, worse than The Army Surplus Special at shooting despite having a machine gun, the Crimson Haybailer was hopeless. And German.
8. The Arkansas Chugabug…
Yeah cos driving with your feet works doesn’t it? The most patently ludicrous animal / human combo in the list were annoying for the following reasons – stupid voices (hick drawl, scaredy-cat ‘bear’), stupid personas (don’t give a shit I’ll smoke my pipe and see what happens / shitting my pants if I had any, biting my nails if I didn’t have claws) & trying to make us believe a coal-fired range would propel them a yard. Rubbish.
7. The Army Surplus Special…
Loveable Duo Sarge and Private Meekly were always gonna be at a disadvantage because they were in a Sherman Tank with a roller grafted on the front. With top speeds nudging 30 miles an hour it was frankly laughable that the event organisers even considered them for the Races. One thing they did quite literally, have in their armoury however, was a fucking big cannon. Surely they’d just blast the other competitors to Kingdom Come and walk away with the prizes? Er, no…actually.
6. The Gruesome Twosome…
The Creepy Coupe was an iconic design and deserved a better drive than it got from these 2 numptys. Big Gruesome spoke like Boris Karloff and Little Gruesome like Peter Lorre. Switching to ‘Dragon Power’ was an overused yet ultimately futile ploy as the supernatural beast got ‘em in the air for ooooo… about 4 seconds before they crashed back to earth. Candlelamp headlights and ghost encasing Belfry were unnecessary frippery.
5. Penelope Pitstop…
The token totty’s record was second to none as she took typical feminine advantage of the idiotic ploys of her Racing menfolk. Often aided to his own detriment by Peter Perfect, the Pink Pussycat sneaked into more podium finishes than anyone else. The Ant Hill Mob also had a collective soft spot and were happy to lose as long as they thought she might let em team up on her. Never happened.
4. Rufus Ruffcut and Sawtooth…
Made the most of a wooden car long after Morris had given up on that idea for the ‘Minor’. Were equally unhampered by circular saws for wheels. A sort of ‘D&M lite’ as they were actually quite scary but lacked the intrinsic sadism of the main man and er….dog. Squeezed as tightly as he was into the Buzzwagon’s cabin, Rufus must have hated the reek of stale beaver by the time the finish line came within sight. Sawtooth’s helmet and goggle combo won the Oscar for ‘Best Rodent Protective Ensemble in a Short Animation’. Yes it did.
3. Professor Pat Pending…
Surely the coolest named Racer with the coolest car but he let himself down with the faux English accent and Sir Clive Sinclair haircut. Let’s face it; he should have won every week as he had the ability to turn the Ring-a-Ding Convert-a-Car into anything he bloody well liked. Unfortunately, he tried to take the moral as well as physical high ground too often as he tut-tutted over D & M’s scheming and missed out time and again. Ultimately a wasted talent and undoubtedly an animated metaphor for the British scientific brain drain of the 60s.
2. The Slag Brothers…
Fair play to the little hirsute fellas, they had nothing to go on apart from grunting and pedal power and they STILL managed their fair share of triumphs. Rock was the brains (he steered) and Gravel was the brawn (he ‘oonga-boongered’).They tended to fight amongst themselves rather than the opposition which made their achievements even more admirable. William Hanna even used them as a template for Captain Caveman – just think what they could have done with his multitasking club.
1. Dastardly and Muttley…
With precisely zero podium finishes you may be asking what the hell these two are doing as high as this? Quite simple really – they were shafted. They had the best car for a start - the Mean Machine was clearly at the cutting edge of late 60’s auto technology. Time and again they would ingeniously use fair means and yes, occasionally foul to manipulate winning scenarios only to have them cruelly denied by a moralistic utopia-wishing Hanna and Barbera, just so the kids wouldn’t play dirty at home. No one as intelligent as DD would lose as much without the influence of this supposedly benign animation God. We knew it, they knew it and above all Muttley knew it – but he chose just to take the piss. A disgrace.
Something for the Weekend
08 March 2006
I went to the Barbers this Morning. Every now and again I forego the 5 quid muck ‘n nettles cut of Cliff’s Barber Shop and treat myself to a £7.50 snip at ‘Terry’s Clip Joint’ on Kingsholm Road.
What do you get for the extra two quid fifty I hear you ask?
Well, a great part of it is purely location, a mere carefully executed spin pass from Kingsholm is sufficient to justify at least a quid of the surcharge.
50p is the quality of Talc – Terry uses Johnsons Baby Powder on the back of the neck once the job is complete, Cliff uses a cheap generic brand (usually ASDA’s) although if any hairdresser that are reading this could inform me of the reason that it’s used I’d be more than grateful.
Another 30p would be his use of the electric ‘close shaver’ to tidy up the neckline. Cliff’s use of a cut throat razor is charming in its’ retroness, however, although I’ve never had a Van Gogh moment with him the sight of a one eyed man coming for you with a sharpened blade does make you extra vigilant when you’re told to keep your head still.
The last 70p would be Terry’s use of literature in his ever changing library. Soft porn, local sport and the GRFC Fanzine populate his bookshelves - ‘Something for everyone’ I hear you cry. Cliff on the other hand goes down the more conseravative Daily Mail and Daily Express route with a periodical doffed cap to a back issue of FHM.
Last night we went to look at the progress of our Puppy so, if you’ll permit me I’m gonna publish a couple of photo’s of her…
Hardly enamoured with our visit
Sister and Brother
Mum - ‘I’ve done my duty. Now take me out for a bloody walk!’
We’ve decided on ‘Rosie’ in an attempt at a pretentious tribute to the Laurie Lee classic. She was born a stones throw from the Woolpack Inn, a place where the legendary poet and author could be seen drinking ‘til his final days. She’s 8 weeks on Thursday 30th March so we’ve arranged to collect her the very next day. I predict that our house will just about survive over the weekend but will turn into a Kennel by the week after!
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