Show Us What Yer Made Of - But Don't Tread In It.

The bad news is that some local dog or other left us a little pile on our pathway today, - the good news is that a Jehova's Witness trod in it! Presumably on his way to deliver his sermon to our good selves. We didn't actually answer the door to him, but maybe we should have, as it proves to me there actually is a God after all.
Overheard conversation in the gym the other day. - "So, Mary, how's Trevor, is he not coming in today?".
"No, he's had to take the car into the garage.It broke down yesterday just outside Layton and he phoned me in a panic. He says "I've just broken down, - phoned the AA and they've refused to come out!". I said, "Well, they would do, we're in the RAC aren't we? - I mean how can you forget that?!" - I had to agree.

Although it's rained nearly every day since I've been here in Blackpool, I'm still loving it, especially the "Cumberland Bar Reunion" a couple of weekends ago. Oh how lovely to see Charlie No-Nuts, Tommy Sunfly, Big Babs, Dozey Dave from the day centre, Mad Mozzer the mad midget from Runcorn and all the rest of the loons.

Thou Talks Through Thine Arse

Went to the east coast this week and during this time I went to see "Midsummer Night's Dream" in Scarborough, - it was either that or The Chuckle Brothers. This was my first flirtation with a Shakespeare play, (though I have heard of him) and far from being bored to death, or distracted by the all modern Bear Pit like auditorium or flummoxed by the flowery language and costumes, - It just plain baffled the socks off of me!
The plot seemed a little complex and somewhat bizarre to say the least, and was a sort of, Doctor Who, Monty Python, with bits of the "Star Challenge" on the end of Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer's  Shooting Stars hybrid.
With all the "Thee's" "Tha's"  and "Don't bugger about's", it's obvious that Shakespeare was a Yorkshire man and it was only when it was spoken in a Yorkie accent that I could make head or tail of it. It was lucky then that the chap who played "Bottom" was indeed a Yorkshire man and his striking resemblance to a bloke called Frank who was a fellow Postman with me back in the early 90's was the sole reason that kept me riveted until well into the 2nd half.
It's a wonder then how a good proportion of the audience for whom English wasn't their first language managed to get their head round it (I distinctly heard Scandinavian, German, Japanese and at least one Geordie voice in there during the interval), but they all stayed to the end, laughed in all the right places and generally seemed to enjoy the experience.
Overall, I'm glad I went, if only to marvel at how the hell the actors manage to learn such vast chunks of script that doesn't actually make any sense at all, their skill at voice projection and annunciation and attention to detail - Puck was depicted as having a shocking case of Malaria for the whole play for some reason. Summing up then, I can honestly say it was an enlightening experience - but it'll be The Chuckle Brothers next time thank you.

Back Home For A Bit.

To be honest I was gasping to get back to England for me summer hols ever since the blast furnace weather showed up a couple of week back. It wasn't just that though, the Spanish celebrations at winning the World Cup had a strange effect on me. Don't get me wrong, I think they were the best team in it and were worthy winners and all that but all those fireworks, thunderflashes and honking of horns were great - for the first half dozen hours, but In the end I just stood at my open window propped up on my elbows rather like a German paratrooper caught up in V.E Day.
No such problems with the heat here in Blackpool then, was in the "Philharmonic Club" the other night and accosted by a bloke from Sheffield in an alarming long white cardigan with a hood on. Apart from doing Mavis Riley from Coronation Street impressions for no apparent reason he also felt obliged to tell me of his journey to Blackpool from the day previously. "Aye, - we allus come to Blackpool, me and Arnold, have done for 30 year, never have a problem getting ere. Then this year we had a Sat Nav fitted to't car and got lost! The voice just stopped talking like! Arnold went mad, I said it were nowt to do wi me! - said "All I know Arnold, is that we're 17 minutes away from where we should be, - that's it - What a bloody carry on!" And so it went on, and on........
Conversation with girlfriend yesterday: She says, "Is that a sty on your eye there? Me: "No, I don't think so, I can't feel anything, and anyway you only get them when you're a kid don't you?" She angrily replies "No, of course not, you get them when you get run over!" (Think she meant "run down") - She's half Spanish you know.

Thanks For The Memory Lads

So there we have it, it´s all over for another four years then eh! (should we qualify for Brazil 2014). More tears, more gut wrenching disappointment, more horror, more ineptitude and on this occasion – humiliation, - which is a new one.

Are the players overpaid? Yes, do they care as much as the fans? No. Are they happy to look themselves in the mirror today? Yes, probably. Do we need a manager who can actually communicate to his players in their own language? Yes (can you imagine an Englishman managing Italy? – though it might not be a bad call at the moment). Do we need a manager who is willing to change formation once it is apparent that we are getting murdered? Yes. The questions go on and on. And YES we need goal line technology, good God, we score few enough goals as it is without getting em chalked off because the linesman is looking the other way!

I´ve always taken my football very very seriously, - I don´t know why, I just feel ridiculously passionate about it and take every defeat personally. Yesterday was like coming home and finding somebody that you don´t like at work tucked up in bed with your wife. I once heard Rod Stewart say that once you get married and have kids you realize that the football results aren´t the most important thing in the world, - well, I never bothered with all that so it looks like I´m stuck with it.

When Frank Lampard´s “goal” was disallowed yesterday I admit to getting a tad disgruntled, there was the odd tantrum, a bit of “industrial language” and a bit of finger pointing at the big screen, I was a broken man, and when I eventually slumped down again into my seat, I was the owner of a broken heart – and watch strap.

Come on England cricket team!!!

Another Literary Masterpiece Overlooked

Best story of the last couple of weeks here in Benidorm was relayed to me by girlfriend´s mum Dorette recently. She has worked at the airport in Alicante for years and part of her duties is to inform irate British holidaymakers that their luggage is in fact overweight, and if they´re not prepared to cough up the excess charge they have to unload enough unwanted items so as to satisfy the check-in-gate scales. So, as is usual there is a pile of dirty laundry, half empty shower gels and semi squirted, shaving foams toothpaste tubes and shampoos. As she is poking about in this stinking pile of unwanted household castoffs with pointed finger and turned up nose, she comes across – per chance under a lonesome sweaty sock - one of my books!! – “Chasing the cheese – a year in the life of a Benidorm class B celebrity” to be exact. Hey-ho.


As I write this am listening to one of the local English language radio stations, it´s a Sunday morning religious sort of thing and one of the presenters has just said, “Now, this is a difficult subject, - but some people don´t know what to do over here when you die”. – Would have thought opting for lying down and turning blue is the favourite, no matter what country you´re in?

"God Give Me Strength".

Well done to “Telefonica” once more, who have once again brought me to boiling point for the umpteenth time since I moved here. Not content with arsing me around for days on end when I first got the phone line connected (so´s I could have broadband). They have now inexplicably been round and changed my phone number, - I haven´t got the slightest inkling why they did this, everything was working fine as it was. But now of course, my internet connection has gone south and when I got in touch with the local paper who provide my connection package they sounded as baffled as me. After some thought they said that I could either try and phone them and try and get my old number back, or to keep the new number and start all over again – 5 to 10 days waiting time. I plumped for the latter, as the first option would include having one of those useless, incompetent, bumbling toe rags round here again, and frankly, if I catch sight of one of their vans outside my gaff again I´ll simply pull the curtains, hide under the sink and per chance lob a grenade out of the window.

On a lighter note I recently read Paul Daniels autobiography, which was a surprise, not least because it isn´t called “You´ll like this – but not a lot”. He´s got some good working men´s club stories in there, of which this is one –
“It was also time to change my name, Ted Daniels as it was often mis pronounced by concert secretaries as Ted-d-d Daniels (with a stutter) or it became one word – Tedaniels. A very good act called “Les Pollux” I once heard being pronounced as “Lez Bollocks” (as if it were a man´s name). When the concert secretary had his attention attracted by the band, they tried to tell him that it was in fact the French pronunciation “Lay”, and that there was two of them. - He turned back to the microphone, apologised and then announced them as “The two bollocks”.

"Has Anybody Seen My Quiche?"

The quiet week leading up to Easter and resultant sparse work commitments meant me going back to Blackpool and being acquainted with my girlfriend´s new dog – he´s the biggest pup I´ve ever laid eyes on - a sort of Pit Pony/hearth rug cross called Rigsby. He´s quite an endearing chap actually and fairly agile for his size has he proved when managing to scoop out the leftover half of my cheese and onion flan off the top of the oven when I wasn´t looking.


Also in Blackpool were Nigel and Yvonne from the Cumberland Bar and we met up for a livener in the British Legion on Friday afternoon, this short liaison was stretched to a walk down the road to the “Catholic Club” on Queens Street where a delightfully grumpy Glaswegian bloke kept us entertained as he battled the drunken locals who were coerced by him into a game of “Hoy” which is a sort of playing card bingo with no rules (or so it seemed to us). Whilst on our travels we bumped into a couple of our members from the Cumberland Ex-Servicemen´s Club –“ Jimmy kneecaps” and “Jukebox” Johnny. – Much laughter and jollity ensued and we just sort of lost track of time.

Unfortunately for me the day after was set aside for a house removal of Nikki´s gear from a flat in the town centre to a house on an estate in Bispham and, as I´d woken up feeling awful and gradually deteriorated from there, I was eventually reduced to a shambling (and retching) wreck and she was lucky that the new sofa bed arrived in the same colour that it was when it set off.

The wonderful array if characters in England´s premier tourist spot constantly amuse me, and apart from the eccentric oddballs found in the clubs, I bumped into a chap ambling down the street with a ferret on his shoulder. And do you know what, - I´m not certain that he knew it was there.

Back in Benidorm now where tomorrow night I look forward to trying to entertain the backs of necks of the massed ranks in “Sinatras” as they crane their heads towards the Manchester United Bayern Munich champions league quarter final being played out on the widescreen television to stage left. I can´t wait.