Creepy or Crooked?

Not a crisis of selection for my Halloween costume for tomorrow night but the choice facing millions of Americans in the presidential elections in just over a week’s time. In possibly the most unpredictable election campaign ever staged it would be a brave pundit to call it either way. Usually in US politics it is the candidate with the deepest pockets that wins but the combination of history and erratic behaviour by both candidates means that even at this late stage anything could happen. Who knows, maybe the FBI will turn up at a Clinton Rally with a dossier full of dodgy emails or maybe Donald Trump will drop his pants on stage, it has been such a bizarre campaign that you wouldn’t rule out either scenario , however unlikely they may sound.

The American take on democracy has always struck me as being as overcomplicated and boring as the Superbowl and as over-hyped as England’s footballing prowess. Patience is not a virtue generally associated with the Americans so the reasons why it should take them over a year to decide on who they want as their Commander-in-Chief is beyond my comprehension.

To think that after all that time the choices come down to 2 of the most divisive characters ever to stand for the highest office is astounding. If there was an option for neither of the above then there would be a landslide victory for common sense.

Ordinarily I would welcome a little political in-correctness but in the case of Donald Trump his entire campaign seems to have been a test of just how far can he push the boundaries and still get away with it. No matter how much mud slinging has been focused on his peccadilloes he has managed to shrug off the criticism and walk away unscathed. Sexual indiscretions, unguarded tasteless comments and pointed barbs at ethnic minorities, in many ways he is the antithesis of how you would expect a presidential candidate to behave. Not only has he stated his belief that the election has been rigged but he has indicated that if he were elected he would instigate an investigation into Hillary Clinton dealings while she was Secretary of State.

Given his lack of political experience and unpredictable antics you would have thought that the Democrats could have fielded a chimpanzee and still walked into the White House ahead of the Republicans. Not only is a chimpanzee likely to have better behaviour than Donald Trump he or she could probably generate a few extra percentage points for cuteness.

Unfortunately, his rival democratic candidate, Hillary Clinton, also comes with more than her own share of unsavoury baggage. Her views, her use of a private email server whilst she was Secretary of State in the Obama Administration and questionable health have all cast doubt on her ability to run the country.

Even though their views on some of the key political issues affecting the country, such as immigration, trade, welfare, security and education, may differ this election has undoubtedly become a battle of personalities rather than policies.

Were it not for the fact that come January one of these unpleasant characters will become arguably the most powerful person on the planet I would have been quite happy to see them locked is a dark room together and thrown away the key.

Thankfully, I managed to sleep through the rallies and the televised debates, one of the great joys in there being a time differential between the States and the UK (though I would probably have managed to doze off even if I had been watching them live).

There is just something unsavoury about watching a group of adults going berserk and whooping every time one of the candidates opens their mouths. I am guessing when you sign up for one of these rallies then you get your obligatory placard, t-shirt and pom-pom and are only allowed to enter the auditorium once you have downed 4 litres of sugar enriched caffeine. It is sometimes hard to say whether more stage management goes into the candidates or the audiences performance.

If it were left to me to stage a rally, a task that I can assure you will never happen, I think I would go for a mix the evangelical and the inspirational (A bit like a Monty Python Reunion Concert). Forget the oratory, this is the age of the sound-bite. I would be tempted to go for the powerful preaching style of a James Brown or Al Green, though most politicians aren’t groovers (Obama excepted) most love the sound of their own voice. I’d keep things simple and draw my inspiration from respected social observers such as Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, John Lennon and Dolly Parton (as opposed to Abraham Lincoln or George Washington), using quotes that would be recognisable to the masses. Profound, simple words that embody a concept – an ideal that makes you think. ‘The answer my friend is blowing in the wind’, ‘Life is like a butterfly’ - Most lyrics ask questions, occasionally they throw up obscure solutions, precisely the objectives that any politician is looking to achieve. Whatever the political situation there is unlikely to be an easy, popular or right answer so why bother to try and create one. Use broad terms to create broad pictures and never under estimate the power of the cough.

A successful rally should contain at least 3 coughs – suitably timed they can introduce an air of anticipation or excitement that will generate a talking point for days following the speech. It has to be a cough, not a sneeze - a sneeze is more difficult to control, timed wrongly it can come out as a snort or a squeak, but a cough is a powerful tool, but it should not last too long. In an interview situation a cough can allow someone else into the conversation – you want a monologue not a conversation. It can be used as a punctuation, it can be used to emphasise a specific point, it can be used to mask an issue or as a diversion, to convey an air of vulnerability or deep concern.

A really good cough can convey many different things and much pleasure and many column inches can be generated while the press debate whether the candidate was trying to suggest that he had just hinted at a key policy reform, demonstrated a reluctance to discuss a particular topic or simply choked on a fish bone.

This particular race for the White House has been fascinating for all the wrong reasons. I doubt that even a team of writers from one of the TV stations would have ever dreamed up the twists and turns over the course of this campaign.

One thing we have learned over the course of the campaign is that at no stage is the mental or physical health of the candidate brought into question during the nomination process, which is quite worrying when you consider that in most occupations these days the average worker is asked to provide evidence of their state of health prior to being offered employment.

It has been said before that you get the politicians you deserve, just look at some of those around you – May, Johnson, Merkel, Hollande, Berlusconi, Putin, Assad, Kim Jong Un, Xi Jinping - It makes you wonder just what some people are wishing for.

Tattoo Noos

Having spent considerably longer than I would have wished at various airports over recent months it has been hard to ignore the increasing number of tattoos being displayed by people of all shapes and sizes as they jet off or return from some exotic location. At the turn of the last century Lydia the Tattooed Lady was an attraction at a freak show, as someone who has never felt the urge to express my personality with ink it is now me that it is feeling like a freak.

Apparently it is now called ‘body art’ - Hang on a minute! The Mona Lisa may have sported a few dodgy moustaches in text books in her time but I don’t recall her having a tattoo on her hand or face. Michelangelo never felt the urge to adorn his statue of David with a tat. When you create a masterpiece why spoil it with graffiti? Well that is my excuse for not wishing to blemish my pristine torso. Aficionados may argue that the complexity of some of the designs is art though for most people the effect is more akin to street graffiti.

To me, needles signify pain and there is no way I am going to permit anyone to start poking holes in my body even if it is in the name of art.

Most tattoo parlours still remain tucked away in back streets together with the dodgy taxi companies, questionable fast food outlets and private clubs (so I am told). To obtain a license for tattooing or skin piercing you need to demonstrate that you are a ‘fit and proper’ person to run such an establishment. To my mind, that is not sufficient proof of competence as a tattooist or as an artist.

Growing up many of my uncles sported tattoos they collected during the war, usually it was an anchor or the name of a loved one. War veterans may not want to talk about their wartime experience but I have yet to find one who did not want to talk about their tattoo.

Later on I became aware that there was a trend for both men and women to have discreet tokens tattooed on various parts of the body. Butterflies, spiders, hearts, stars, devils and dolphins started to appear on shoulders, ankles or wrists.

What struck me at the time was the number of people who later came to regret having the tattoo and either wished or took steps to have it removed. If like me you have little confidence in the abilities of those applying the tattoo then chances are you will have even less faith in the abilities of those removing them.

In the 80s, my employer maintained a strict policy on customer facing staff that while tattoos were permitted they were not allowed to be on show, which effectively meant that you needed to wear a jacket or long sleeve shirt if you were talking to a customer.

‘Tatu’ means a marking in Tahitian and they have been used for various purposes ever since Neolithic times. Some times they were used as badges with a particular significance, some times as ornamentation. When I look at the extent to which some people have taken the current trend it would seem to me to be less of a fashion statement than a sign of prosperity. It is hard sometimes to determine when a professional footballer scores a goal and removes his shirt, is he celebrating the goal or demonstrating his wealth by showing off his latest artwork?

Warriors used to have tattoos signifying their bravery. One of my school inmates glorified in the self-proclaimed hard-man monicker ‘Bone Crusher’ (which us mere mortals took to mean some ugly encounter with a chicken’s wish bone). He was the sort of child that only a mother could love, which I guess is why he had the word ‘Mum’ tattooed on his bicep. Those less kind would claim that it was a demonstration of the boundaries of his limited vocabulary. I mean, how ‘hard’ do you have to be to have the word ‘Mum’ tattooed on your arm? Maybe ‘Rhino Shagger’ or ‘I eat puppies’ would convey a more menacing image. Even the words ‘Bone Crusher’ would have made more sense, though he was not particularly macho and I don’t remember his biceps being particularly well defined anyway.

Smart money would say that ‘Mum’ would have objected to such a tattoo.

I can only imagine that there is an incredible amount of time needed to complete a large artwork and I suspect that it does not come cheap. From comments I have read most people choose to have tattoos that have a special significance or meaning in their life. Given that people’s circumstances and views change throughout their lives having something so permanent etched onto your body has the potential of coming back to bite you (possibly in the very place that the artwork is placed). Talking of which, I wince every time I see Cheryl Fernandez-Versini on TV. Not that I have anything against her or the floral tribute that covers her posterior, it is just that my granny used to have a pair of cushions with almost exactly the same design on. They too had a crack down the middle. Over the years they lost their shape and started to sag, which regrettably is what will happen to Cheryl’s backside in the fullness of time.

Who knows what prompts people to have a tattoo or why they select a particular design, for now the best I can think of is, as Cheryl would say, ‘Because I’m worth it’.

1066 and all that

This year is the 900^th anniversary of Harold getting one in the eye from those pesky Normans. The end of last month saw the 50^th anniversary of one of this countries better days when we put one over ‘the other Becks’ in beating Franz Beckenbauer’s German team to win the 1966 Soccer World Cup. 

 

By a strange quirk of fate memories of the Battle of Hastings are most commonly depicted in colour through the Bayeux tapestry while most of us who were around for the world cup will probably have watched the match on a grainy black and white television set. The colour footage that is trotted out at every opportunity to relive our former glories was captured on film. Colour broadcasts did not emerge in the UK until 1967 and even then initially it was only on BBC2.

I was 8 at the time of England’s greatest footballing success and remember the occasion well. The family had been planning their annual break for several months – on this occasion it was to be a fortnight at a bungalow in Dymchurch. It was only at the last moment that my father learned that there was no television on the site so, having meticulously packed and secured everything in place ‘Myrtle’ the family car was unceremoniously stripped to make way for the TV set. (more on Myrtle later). For those who never experienced the pleasure of watching the white dot disappear from the screen when the set was turned off I should perhaps explain that television sets in the mid-60s were typically around the size of a modern dish washer with a screen area the equivalent of the door on a small washing machine. Packed full of diodes and valves the sets were both bulky and heavy.

I should also explain that in addition to mum, dad and yours truly the other passengers were my 5 year old brother and 2 year old sister. Allowing for cumbersome buggy, baby necessities, food for at least 3 days and clothes for every permutation of British Summer to describe conditions inside my father’s trusty Wolseley 1500 saloon were extremely cramped.

For the first half of the 70 mile journey mum occupied the front passenger seat together with my sister and her ‘tardis’ handbag of baby stuff. I can’t recall exactly where we were when we were forced to stop as my brother took the opportunity to demonstrate his prowess with projectile vomit, pebble-dashing both inside and outside of the rear of the car and securing him a place in the front passenger seat for the remainder of the journey in the process. 

 

In hindsight you could argue that my parents’ should have anticipated the situation since my brother did have previous form for travel sickness. Undaunted by the delay we managed to make it to the site shortly after lunch. Cases were quickly despatched to the bedrooms and the next hour was spent finding a suitable position for the TV set, which if I recall correctly was balanced between 2 chairs. There were no extension leads in the 60s, or if there were we certainly did not have one, which restricted our options in placement of the bulky set. The remaining time prior to kick up was spent trying to find the optimum positioning of the aerial. Personally I was happy with the picture when my brother was standing on the chair by the bay window holding the twin pronged device above his head. Unfortunately, standing still for longer that 10 seconds has never been my brother’s strongest suits so we were forced to accept the next best option and dangle it from the curtain rail using a coat hanger and elastic strapping.

Memories of Myrtle are fairly mixed, thankfully she had red leather seats, it sounds plush but they were not very comfortable, especially once your brother had puked on them! I remember there being a lot of chrome on the car and wood panelling on the dashboard; the radio was functional but the sound quality from the solitary speaker was usually drowned out by the noise of the engine. It seems to be a generational thing that so many cars look alike. My knowledge of cars is not good but there are certain shapes of cars that to the untrained eye could have been manufactured by any one of 30 different companies. In the 50s cars were influenced by curves while in the 70s angularity was the vogue. In the 60s the overwhelming trend seemed to be the ‘bubble’. The Austin A30, Rover P4, Morris Minor, Ford Popular, Humber Hawk, Sunbeam Rapier, Hillman Minx and Wolseley 1500 all had a pronounced ‘bubble’ to their cabin – hence ‘Myrtle, the turtle’ - a noble beast but not renowned for their speed, or elegance. (A bit like the driver actually).

Dog’s gonads and dog’s breakfast

In 1968 I had an epiphany, which I consider was pretty good going for a 10 year-old. In a moment of outstanding lucidity I recognised that I would live a lot longer and happier life if I made a conscious effort to avoid watching the first half of any England international football match. For a young lad who spent most of his waking hours chasing a ball of some persuasion around the garden, the playground, the park the sports field or any vacant patch of turf or tarmac I envisaged this to be a daunting challenge. However, history has proved the wisdom of my decision to be sound.

The 27^th June 2016 will forever be remembered for one of the worst displays by any international side in the history of the game. Not only did England capitulated to Iceland in their last 16 match of the European Championship but it was one of the rare occasions that I neglected to follow my own advice and watched the whole game. If England v Iceland had been the 17:00 kick-off then there would have been no problem, I would have bathed the goldfish till half-time, thus avoiding at least part of the embarrassing spectacle. Unfortunately Spain v Italy was the early match; it was a very enjoyable game full of skill, energy, inventiveness, incident and excitement. As a neutral I was not really fussed which side won. On paper Spain were the justifiable favourites, with the nucleus of their ‘golden generation’ intact. Neither side had performed well during the group stages and it was apparent that many for the stalwarts who had performed so well for Italy over the years had retired from the game. I don’t think even the most ardent Italian fan would have expected that their side would perform so well, yet alone go on to win the match.

Even the rain did not spoil the spectacle of a fiercely fault tussle that ebbed and flowed, with touches of brilliance right up until the last kick of the match. It really was the doggie’s doo-dahs.

Fed, watered, entertained and slumped in my armchair I then made the fatal error of deciding to remain for the England game (ok, the alternative would have been to do the washing up).

It was plain to see right from the kick off that the England team were not up for the occasion, unlike the Icelanders who chased down every ball and harried the opposition whenever they lost possession. In contrast the English team looked lethargic and inept with even the simplest of passes repeatedly going astray. Even with the early goal England seemed disinterested. The first thing you are taught in football at any level is that after scoring a goal, you do not switch off, especially during the next 5 minutes, when the opposition are likely to throw everything they have at you.

England didn’t seem to have a Plan A let alone a Plan B. Having made it to half time with just the solitary goal defecit, you would have expected the side to have been given a roasting and come out for the second half all guns blazing. It seems to me that Roy Hodgson used the break to draft his resignation speech. I can’t believe that the manager would come out with a statement only a day before saying that he would not beg for his contract to be renewed. That is the kind of comment you would expect from an arrogant manager and certainly Roy Hodgson is not an arrogant man, which makes you wonder why he said it.

You only have to contrast the 2 matches to see the differences – It is plain to see how the Spanish will attack with their intricate passing, what the Italians will try to do in defence then counter-attack and where Iceland will focus their attention on a solid defence, quick breaks and long throws into the box. Nobody knows where England’s priorities lie; We’re supposedly strong in attack, so we will play our most effective strikers out of position on the wing, why? We select players who have hardly kicked a ball all season through injury, why again? A player is dropped for a match because his confidence is shot to pieces and then play him in the next match in the hope that he may rediscover his form - that is why teams have a squad.

Forget the results, England may have come through the qualifying matches unbeaten but it was clear that even after 10 games there was no cohesive strategy in how the team was set out to play, nor was there any indication as to what format they were supposed to be playing nor who our best 11 players are.

It says a lot that Marcus Rashford was awarded England’s Player of the Match, yet he only came on for the last 6 minutes!

The water carrier for Iceland moved around the pitch quicker than some of the England players and he was about 3 times the size of Wayne Rooney. He probably covered more ground than most of the squad on the night as well.

I happened to be on a training course on the Monday and Tuesday along with a group of lads from other companies. We spent Monday’s lunchbreak discussing the games, as one does, and left in the afternoon suitably enthused about the prospects for the evening.

I would like to think that it was the dedication with which we were concentrating on our training because there was a huge white elephant in the room the following day. A few of the lads were seriously into their football but not one of us wanted to say a single word about either game for the whole day. There were no newspapers, no recriminations, no analysis, no one even asked if anyone had seen the game – it was as if the past 16 hours had been wiped out of our collective consciousness.

Much like the Brexit decision of Britain’s EU Referendum last week, few were expecting the outcome, even fewer were prepared for the result, there is not a lot that any of us can do about it now and there aren’t many people who seem to know where we go from here.

Due Diligence, Deluded Ignorance or Damned Incompetence?

There was a wise old teacher who enjoyed his work even though his classroom was small and dark. OK – It was a long time ago, there was no Ofsted and this is my story! One hot Summer day he decided that he needed a change so he came up with a plan to take his class outdoors. He suggested to his students that he was prepared to conduct the lesson in the shade of the old oak tree on the edge of the school playing fields. He reasoned that the fresh air and change of scenery would help them to concentrate. As an added incentive he was prepared to buy them each an ice-cream but this offer could only take place if they all agreed to the plan. A casual inspection of the damp patches on many of my classmates shirts and their languid expressions I felt sure that the suggestion would receive a good reception. Even the class bully had given up flicking rubber bands at people’s ears as he too wilted in the heat.

To your average hormonally challenged teenager this proposal would be a no brainer but as I said this was a long time ago. Half the class immediately grabbed their books and headed for the door while others whooped in joy. Even those that had fallen asleep were stirred to investigate the commotion. We all ignored the one person who remained at his desk, stoney faced, with his arms folded. As the noise abated he announced to the world that ‘he did not like ice-cream’. In most schools with classes of around 25 you will usually find 1 or 2 pupils who will object to most things for no other reason than to draw attention to themselves. Invariably these pupils are soon tagged by their classmates and subjected to a mixture of scorn, contempt and indifference appropriate to their action. But this student was not one of the usual ‘troublemakers’ leaving the teacher with little option but to withdraw his offer and send a couple of us to retrieve the group that were already half way to the playing field. Despite the fact that there were quite a few of us who would have willingly eaten the spare ice-cream, we dutifully spent the rest of the afternoon cooped up in our stuffy classroom listening to the wonders of ancient Mesopotamia on account of one individual’s obstinacy.

For the past decade every month the MEPs tasked with running the European Community up sticks from their Brussels HQ to attend a 4 day session at their secondary base in Strasbourg. The cost of moving the 1000 MEPs plus equipment, translators, security teams, etc leaves the European taxpayers with a bill estimated to be around £130m per year. The cost of building the second parliamentary building in 1999 was £50m and there are 100 full time staff employed to maintain it for the 12 monthly visits. None of the MEPs see the need to decamp once a month and in a climate of economic austerity all are agreed that this is an unnecessary expense and would like to see it scrapped – except for the French, who have the power of veto on this subject. This is not surprising given the financial boost and prestige that it brings to the region whenever this circus comes to town.

Once again the wishes of the majority are scuppered by a lone objector.

Part of the success and/or failure of the EU is tied into its desire to appease everybody. Think how often a family sits in front of the TV unable to agree on what to watch that evening; compare that to a situation where representatives from 28 countries try to reach an agreement on a single course of action. In my head I see 2 conflicting images, ‘He that pays the piper calls the tune’ and ‘giving turkeys a chance to vote on the future of Christmas’. My head is full of conflicting images, but I am used to it and life goes on no matter my state of confusion.

This is not an article on the European Referendum, for which neither the Remain or Brexit campaigners have put forward a sufficiently good argument for their cause. I think most people will be aware of the key arguments on the debate by now but I’m not sure that anyone could explain the strategies that either camp would adopt were they to win the vote.

In the spirit of fairness I would point to another story that caught my attention this week which demonstrates the UK’s capabilities as a technological and economic power house. Only the British could build an international airport on an exposed hilltop. The new airport on the British dependency of St. Helena in the South Atlantic has taken 4 years to build at a cost of £285m to the taxpayer. Only upon testing the runway was it learned that the crosswinds have posed such a significant problem that it has been deemed unsafe and the opening that was due to take place in May has now been delayed indefinitely. Footage of a British Airways 737 attempting to land showed it lurching from side to side and the wings flapping like a drunken goose. My suspicion is that the preliminary testing was carried out at the same wind tunnel laboratory where the labrats demonstrated the inability of safety glass on high speed trains to survive the impact in collision with a frozen chicken.

At least the choice between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump is out of our control. Unedifying as each of them is we Brits can do little but sit back and await the outcome of the US elections in November.

June is usually such a genteel month; the sound of leather upon willow, the trooping of the colour, the smell of the barbecue as thoughts turn towards holidays. This year seems to be particularly busy for all sorts of reasons.

I must admit that the build up to the European Football Championship has been far more entertaining than the political posturing on either side of the pond. This is not simply because for once we have a strong representation by the home countries but it is rarely that I have felt that the English have had a squad with such potential – not being given to bouts of over-enthusiasm it could be ‘the Leicester effect’ or maybe I have OD’d on my hayfever medication.

This weekend sees the climax (or yet another climax) to the Queen’s 90^th birthday celebrations as well as the funeral of Mohamed Ali. Thankfully both stories have managed to force the political rhetoric off the front pages, if only for a few hours. Arguably they are 2 of the most recognised icons of the 20^th century and it is right that we should honour their contributions and achievements. As role models go you can only admire the dignity with which they have lived their lives.

In the background there is also the build up to Wimbledon as well as the Olympic Games in Rio starting in August. The England have already demonstrated their usual inconsistency, doubtless the footballers will follow suit and Andy Murray will put us all through the mental wringer as he frequently has.

With so much going on it would be easy to overlook a story that personally I find quite alarming and significant. One that I feel will run for some time to come – that is the fall out from British Home Stores.

The department store has been a staple of the British High Street since 1928 but has been in decline for many years. Sadly, the company could not live up to their slogan of ‘Modern living, made easy’ and in April they were placed into administration with debts of £1.3bn, which included a £571m pension fund liability and puts 11,000 jobs at risk. With no buyer in sight it will almost certainly mean that the remaining stores will disappear within weeks.

What has emerged since the announcement for liquidation has been the turmoil over the past couple of years that has brought down this company.

Like many department stores their fortunes had fluctuated over the decades but since the start of this century their path had been plotted by serial entrepreneur and City darling, Philip Green. Having bought the company for £200m in May 2000 the then owners sold it in March 2015 to Retail Acquisitions for a nominal value of £1, shortly after which it was announced that 51 of the 171 stores were at risk of closure.

It is only this week that a parliamentary committee has been able to ask some of the questions that seem to have escaped anyone’s attention during this period. Ultimately, responsibility for filling the pension blackhole will fall on the taxpayer, which perhaps explains the government’s belated interest.

What has emerged this week is that Dominic Chappell, the owner of Retail Acquisitions is a former racing driver and entrepreneur who has been declared bankrupt on 3 occasions and had very little experience of the retail sector.

BHS chief executive, Darren Topp, described Dominic Chappell to the parliamentary committee as a "premier league liar" and "Sunday pub-league retailer" who had his "fingers in the till". He went on to explain to MPs that when he objected to a £1.5 million transfer to a company owned by a friend and fellow board member of Dominic Chappell, Mr Chappell threatened to kill him if he made the information public.

Mr. Chappell was quick to point the finger at Philip Green for the failure of the company and Mr. Green is scheduled to give evidence to the committee on Wednesday.

Philip Green’s financial dealings could hardly be described as transparent given that his Arcadia group, the former parent owner of BHS, is owned by Taveta Investments, the company owned by his wife, Lady Tina Green.

Into the mix we can also add yet another billionaire pantomime villain, Mike Ashley, whose efforts to rescue the company amounted to nothing. Just days before, he had agreed to attend the same parliamentary committee to answer concerns about some of the working practices at his own firm, Sports Direct.

It has not been a good week for British business, especially when Brexit have been banging the drum for British industry.

Following the exploits of Robert Maxwell in the 1980s pension rules were changed to ring fence pension funds giving them more protection.

Asset stripping has always been a tawdry part of business life, I am not sure whether the BHS débâcle constitutes pantomime, farce or has the makings of a suspense movie. There should be serious questions about the role of the pensions regulator in this case as well as the need to review a business system that allows someone with a poor track record to take control of a company and devastate so many people’s lives.

They think it’s all over

As the football season approaches the business end for many clubs it is perhaps a good time to reflect on what has been an extraordinary season.

The TV money on offer to the top clubs next season should have proved sufficient incentive to all to remain in the Premier League. That said, I can’t recall a season when so many teams have underperformed. Chelsea had a dreadful start to the season and never recovered. On paper both Liverpool clubs should have been challenging for Champions League positions yet indifferent performances in key matches has cost them dear. Neither Arsenal nor Manchester City have achieved the consistency that would have secured them the league title. That distinction went to the exceptional Leicester City, who started the season as 5000/1 outsiders to win the title.

The turn around since last season, where only a late run of good results saved them from relegation from the top flight has been probably the greatest sporting comeback I have seen in any sport during my lifetime. I really hope they can keep the side together for next season since the blend they have in the squad and the style of football they play would seem well suited to the Champions League.

Manchester United have been consistently poor throughout the season, having seemed to forget where the opposition’s penalty box is, let alone their goal. In a season that has seen so much that is good about the game it is sad to say that with 2 games to go till the end of the season United are still in with a chance of securing the 4^th Champion’s League spot. In most clubs disgruntled supporters leave the ground early, in United’s case this season the supporters have fallen asleep through boredom before they have the chance to walk out. One statistic that I heard this week was that they were ranked 2^nd in the league in terms of possession of the ball yet 15^th in number of shots on target.

On the plus side Tottenham have demonstrated the merits of a great youth team set up that saw them blood several youngsters in their challenge for the title, with many of them home grown players, you would think that they now have a firm base on which to build next season.

Over recent seasons the big money clubs have been able to go out and buy established, big name signings that have brought them success; with the increasing influence of soccer in China, America and the Middle East the competition for top names will be even stiffer so perhaps the emphasis will switch to building a cohesive squad rather than relying on one or two big name ‘match winners’.

Leicester having sealed the title with 3 games to spare meant that the focus now shifts to the more pressing issues of the relegation battle and whether Gary Lineker will fulfil his pledge to present Match of the Day in his underpants should Leicester win the league.

It is perhaps symptomatic of this strange season that the talking point of the week should be whether the Leicester grocer is a boxer or tidy-widey man. Personally, there are more pressing concerns on my agenda than Mr. Lineker’s choice of intimate apparel – Generally I don’t trust presenters who smile too much on TV but my guess is that he is not a thong man.

As to the thorny issue of relegation – Aston Villa have been woeful all season with the off-field antics of their players generating more headlines than their poor performances on the pitch.

My favourite story of the week was a picture of a Villa fan’s car with a broken driver’s window and the caption. ‘Left 2 tickets to the game on the dashboard, found the car broken into overnight and someone has added 2 more tickets!’

The only good thing to come from Villa being relegated is that it gives David Cameron one less thing to crow about.

The remaining 2 relegation places would seem to be between Norwich City, Newcastle and Sunderland. All have been poor throughout the season, especially Newcastle who spent a lot of money on transfers for players who, in most people’s eyes, did not warrant the huge fees and have certainly not done anything to repay the club. Norwich, the eternal yo-yo team, has always had a core of good quality Championship players but no one capable of scoring goals. Their 2 top goalscorers this season have scored 10 goals between them, which is never going to be enough at the highest level. If they are relegated this season, as I think they will be, then it will be the 4^th time they will have been relegated from the Premiership.

Sunderland must be in the driving seat to stay up – they have a game in hand over Newcastle plus they have Sam Allardyce at the helm, who has never managed a side that has been relegated and they have a proven goalscorer in Jermain Defoe.

It will be interesting to see what personnel changes will transpire over the next few months both on the pitch and in management. We already know that there will be changes at Manchester City and Chelsea. There are also question marks concerning Everton, Newcastle and Manchester United. It is plain to see that the big clubs will be getting their cheque books out over the Summer, the European Championship will provide a wonderful shop window for those wanting to play at the highest level, though as we have seen over recent seasons some players who have performed well in Europe and on the world stage have struggled to fit in playing for clubs in England.

The Premier league was at risk of becoming jaded by the strength of the bigger clubs, this season has been like a breath of fresh air.

Roll on next season – Dilly Ding, Dilly Dong.

Lost landmarks – a Brewer’s droop

It seems that every couple of months the press take it upon themselves to mount a campaign to publicise the delights of real ale. Not that many journalists have ever needed an excuse to research the odd tipple or two.

Many articles have been written covering the resurgence of the micro brewery industry while an equal number chart the demise of the local pub, 4 of which are closing every day and have been doing so do for several years.

It was almost an unwritten rule amongst my friends in the 70s that at least one evening per week be dedicated to seeking out a real ale pub we have not previously visited. Living in South London, as most of us did, and with judicial concern given to a driving roster, this gave us plenty of scope to explore the delights of the Kent, Surrey and Sussex countryside as well as some of the quieter London hamlets. I sometimes find myself wondering how many of these watering holes still exist.

Upon reflection it is amazing just how important the British pub has been, not simply as a means of entertainment and relaxation but as a landmark. Whenever I have needed to ask anyone directions invariably a pub would appear as a reference point somewhere in the response. If my grandmother was asked how to get from Keston to Lewisham she would direct you according to the pubs you would pass, yet she never crossed the portals of any of them in her life.

When living in London driving around town was a requirement made slightly less daunting thanks to the local radio traffic reports from the ‘flying eye’. How many of the locations that cropped up frequently on their reports referenced a public house. Anyone who used the A20 or A2 on a regular basis would cringe at the mention of ‘The Dutch House’, ‘The Dover Patrol’, ‘The Sun in the Sands roundabout’, ‘The Yorkshire Grey’ or ‘The Black Prince roundabout’. Most of these hostelries have long since gone though many of these key locations are still referred to by their original names.

Travelling by bus I recall many of the conductors shouting the names of the pub stops with added gusto. Look at any bus route and see how many of the stops are outside local pubs. ‘The Crooked Billet’, ‘The Swan and Mitre’, ‘The Greyhound’, ‘The Garden Gate’, ‘The Green Man’, ‘The Downham Tavern’ - as a schoolkid I used to believe it was because these were where the ‘clippies’ used to jump off for a quick pick-me-up. Driving through Bellingham must have been hell for them because, as I learned later in life, there are no pubs in the area – not sure whether it was due to an oversite by the town planners or some ancient bylaw prohibiting the sale of alcohol in the neighbourhood. Thirsty workers at the Catford Bus Garage or the Robertson’s Jam Factory (later the Franklin Mint) needed to travel to Catford or Downham for their pint of grog.

I recently asked someone for directions to a street I had never heard of. The helpful response I was given was that it was first left past a certain pub, which was useful since I knew where the pub was even though it was turned into a DIY store nearly 15 years ago. There must be some logical explanation why I wasn’t instructed to take the first left past the DIY store. Clearly the image of the old pub was embedded in the psyche of the helpful individual but he did not know that I was familiar with the area so could understand his instructions. Had I been from out of town I could have been miles away and none the wiser for his help.

The thought has crossed my mind that if pubs continue to close at the rate that they have been what will we use as reference points in the future? Shops come and go with increasing frequency and you can’t really use the likes of McDonalds or Costa Coffee as landmarks because they all look the same and chances are that there are at least 2 of them within spitting distance of each other.

Post offices, churches and banks are disappearing almost as quickly as pubs so these possibilities are equally unsuitable as landmarks. Parks are being sold off for development and war memorials are being relocated.

The increasing use of SatNav may have reduced the need for people to seek directions from strangers but GPS coordinates are not landmarks and we don’t all walk around with SatNav or wifi enabled phones.

There were no postcodes when I was growing up, nowadays it seems you can’t go anywhere unless you know the postcode of your destination. If I needed to get from one place to another I would plan my route based on the towns I would be travelling through. Increasingly I find that the younger generation think in terms of taking the A123, the A45, the M67 just to get to the same destination, something I find not only baffling but rather sad. As Patrick McGoohan (Number Six) would say “I am not a number, I am a free man”.

Pubs are not simply landmarks but a part of our cultural heritage, they are locations that the local community can relate to even if they choose not to frequent them. They are part of our history, iconic places that give an area its unique identity and character. With so many of these landmarks disappearing we are not only losing part of our history we too are increasingly likely to be lost in years to come.