If school is the best time of your life, why do I still have nightmares about it aged 63?

 Of all the myths and old cobblers we are told, the worst is that our schooldays are the best of our lives. If I am honest, I actually enjoyed the last couple of years at Orange Hill, but I enjoyed myself far more when I left. Until that, it had been awful. I still have nightmares about it. There are three that seem to recurr pretty regularly. The first is that I've had to go back to school and I don't know when any of the lessons are or which classroom they are in. I don't even know what subjects I am doing or why I am actually there. I also don't recognise any of my classmates. Perhaps it is my brain preparing me for dementia, when I have no idea who anyone is or whats going on ( I have no symptoms and have not been diagnosed and I think I know what is going on as much as anyone). The second dream is worse. I have left Orange Hill and returned to FCHS, which I pretty much hated all of the time. The reason is that I decided I wanted to a physics A level with John Shuttler, who was a brilliant teacher. I decided to stick it through, only to find out he's left. In this dream I do know people and they all treat me with hostility for leaving and then coming back. 

The third dream is the worst. I am in an exam and the teacher won't give me the exam paper. Everyone else has started but they refuse to engage with me. I suspect that this was instigated by a memory at FCHS, a teacher who didn't like me, deliberately gave me the wrong English literature mock O' Level paper. It was for the other group, who were doing the same books, but with a different teacher. I didn't realise until Miss Amy Walsh, a miserable retired nun, who hated me, read out the marks. She gave me zero. I was slung out. Her response to my protestations was "If you can't do the right paper you don't deserve to do an O level". For the record, had she marked it against the other groups paper, I would have passed, as I an remember thinking it was easy.The only good thing was it meant I no longer had to endure her droning, boring lessons. 

When I left FCHS, the concept that I would ever be successful as a writer seemed bizarre. Of course blogs were not invented. I can only wonder what she thought if she ever heard that I have had works published as an author and for The Guardian, as well as for various online publications. She was not the worst by a long chalk, apart from trying to sabotage my education. She was miserable and sarcastic and didn't like me, but hardly registered on my table of loathing. The worst was undoubtedly Mr Daniel Coughlan, head of the lower school. I could list many things, but the worst was when he punched me in the throat and then kicked me, when I fell to the ground unable to breath. When I finally managed to get myself together, he told me that if I told anyone, I'd be expelled and that would be the end of my education. I suspect that even he realised he'd gone to far. I was either 11 or 12 at the time. I learned a valuable lesson that day. I lost all trust and respect for teachers and I learned to keep as far away from them as possible. If you see me mention a teacher on this blog and say nice things about them (as I did about John Shuttler) it is because they earned the respect. 

Recently at my wife's 60th birthday, an old FCHS schoolmate was there. We were discussing our class for 1-5B -1973-78. A former school secretary informed me that we were the worst class in the history of the school. We brought shame and disgrace on the school, when we rioted during a religious retreat at a Church Centre. I it wasn't for the fact that 17 of our class participated, I am sure that the perpetrators would have been expelled, but when half the class owns up, it gives a difficult and unique problem for a school. The headmaster at the time, Nick Kelly was totally humiliated. I was not involved. I would have been, but I knew the priest running the retreat. He had used to run the Alter Servers at The Sacred Heart. His name was Fr Cowan and I had always got on well with him, so he invited me for tea and biscuits in his office, when the riot occurred. He was keen to know how the family were getting on. I think he'd been at teacher training college with my sister Catherine.  Kelly accused me of lying and being a coward when I didn't admit to participating in the riot. I was lucky because Fr Cowan was there and was my alibi. I think my Father would have half murdered me, had I participated.

I felt very sorry for our form tutor, Mrs Alison Shuttler, who clearly had the shame of being the form tutor for the schools most disgraceful class. She didn't deserve it. The school was banned from all future retreats. When I was chatting with my mate, I said that I think the only thing I really learned at FCHS was the art of logistics. We would regularly cause mayhem and attack other classes, as well as school buildings. We would meticulously plan such things and even leave false trails, so other classes got the blame. If we could successfully cause mayhem and not get caught, we all thought it a marvellous success. Perhaps the most perverse aspect of my time was that I probaly got the cane six times from Kelly, but in almost all cases, it was not for things I'd done. I did far worse and got away with it. 

Maybe he just knew and so used any excuse to cane me. Perhaps the only lesson I learned was that corporal punishment, in fact any punishment, is ineffective if you punish the wrong person. I used to bear grudges, so each time it happened, I was determined to get even. In truth, long before I was slung out, I came to the conclusion that Kelly was not up to the job intellectually. He used to chair 'religious debates' in our class. He would pick the child he thought was thickest to propose the anti church line and that brightest pupil to put the argument for the church's viewpoint. We were informed at each lesson, what the debate would be the following week. Kelly picked me to put the argument for birth control. My sister Val was a nurse at the time and helped me prepare, as well as getting me a load of leaflets from family planning clinics, that I left on everyone's desk.  I had an extremely sound argument, and my classmates had the source material. I think I had 5 minutes alloted to make the case for birth control. 

After two minutes, Kelly called a halt, slung me out of the class and wrote a letter to my father stating that I was involved in 'spreading evil anti church propoganda'. Val rather kindly wrote a letter of reply on behalf of my Dad. She was good at forging his signature. Apparently, according to her letter, my Dad had beaten 'common sense' into me. Kelly seemed pleased at the result. I simply concluded that he was too thick to refute my arguments. I think he realised that I hel him in contempt after that, which probably contributed to my early exit.

At subsequent debates, Kelly would never take questions from me, would not engage. I made sure I passed RE O'level just to annoy him. He would often inform me that "you are not as clever as you think you are", which bemused me slightly because he gave no example of why I was actually wrong. Another of his favorites was to inform me "They are not laughing with you, they are laughing at you". The last time he used this, a mate of mine Pat Walsh interjected "No sir, we are laughing with him, it was funny". 

In June 1977, I saw The Ramones and discovered pun rock. I was 14. Almost immediately, I immersed myself in the music and the philosophy of punk rock. It made life bearable. Very few of my school mates got punk. For me it was a liberation. I realised, more or less straight away, that I wanted to be in a band and make my life about music. I started to bunk off lessons and go on expiditions into London. I would read the New Musical Express from cover to cover. I started doing all manner of part time jobs, as we wanted to buy musical equipment. I lost all interest in school. I realised the need to get exams, but did none of the things needed. 

It was only when I went to Orange Hill, that I got the balance right. The atmosphere was different, I had no baggage and the teachers talk to you, not at you. I ended up with nine O Levels and two A levels and when I left I felt it had been a great experience. There were about five bands at the school, the most successful being The Polecats. Boz Boorer and Phil Polecat were in my year. But it took me a very long time before I could even get a 221 to Finchley without feeling uneasy.

I've tried many times to write a song about my time at school. I love Baggy Trousers by Madness. Chas Smash was ex FCHS, a few years above me. We all believed it was about FCHS, but it isn't. Suggs and Chrissy Boy didn't go there. If by chance, the band ever becomes rich and famous, I might write a whole Ska Opera about the school. It would make a great film. I realised that my schooling, especially with my dyslexia, was so awful that few people would actually associate with my experiences. No one has had the cane in a UK state school since 1987, the year after Tom, our trumpet player was born, so the experience of waiting to be caned is a dying memory. To be honest, it was wasn't the worst thing. Being in an environment controlled by sadists and fools was. 

When I was eighteen and I'd left Orange Hill, I went and lived in Stockholm for six months. My Swedish friends did not believe that schools in the UK still used the cane (no AI to check back then). When the False Dots did our tour of Stockholm in 1982, we played a gig at Tumba Gymasium in Stockholm. We got a tour of the facilities and did a Q&A with the sixth formers, who were our age. I could not get my head around the fact that they were all treated as adults by the school.

This film was made the year before I arrived at FCHS. I found it fascinating and disturbing in equal measures. Enjoy....

The Sunday Reflection #93 - Waking up with a feeling of deep trepidation and doom

 What is going on? I woke up with a sense of deep trepidation. A feeling that everything is about to go terribly wrong and that there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop any of it. I was in a state of total panic. There was no rational reason, but I am a deeply superstitious person and I believe that we do get inclings of bad things in the pipeline. 

I got to thinking about my Dad. In our last proper conversation he told me about the night his bomber was shot down. In the morning, his reaar gunner and best mate Spud Murphy told him he'd had a terrible nightmare that they'd been shot down bombing the oilfields in Ploesti, Romania. He told Dad that he was in the turrets dying in flames with machine gun bullets in his chest. The crew were on their last mission and Dad wanted to get home. Spud begged Dad to skip the op if Ploesti was announced as the target. Dad told him that he couldn't, just because someone had a nightmare. When the target was announced, Spud turned white and was terrified. Dad told him that it would be fine and they'd all be going home tomorrow. 

As they approached the target, a bizarre thing happened. In the co-pilot, another pilot from his squadron, Jack Scheider, who had been shot down the previous week appeared. He said to Dad "Laurie, it's a killer the way these Wimpeys go down". Before he could react or process the information, a German night fighter attacked, shooting out an engine and the rear turret. Dad did the standard evasion manouvre, but the fighter attacked again. The crew bailed out. apart from Spud. Dad just got out in time. He told me that as he was bailing out, he said a prayer to the Virgin Mary, asking to be spared and to be given his three score and ten. When Dad was recounting this, he said he was now worried. He was 69, in his three score and tenth year. The deal was about to expire. Rather like Dad told Spud, I told him not to be silly. 

I then said to Dad "That must've been the worst day of your life". He looked at me and welled up slightly. He said "Oh no, when your Mum was diagnosed with cancer and the Doctor told me she would be dead within three years and we had to make arrangements, that was worse". I was surprised. Dad explained "When you are a bomber pilot in a war, you are prepared and trained for such things. You become hardened as you see mates in other crews die, when you are shot down, you are too busy trying to survive to worry too much. When Mum was ill, I was totally unprepared and had no control. There was nothing I could do". I was shocked to silence. Dad then said "I was lucky though, I spoke to Fr Traynor (and elderly catholic priest and Dad's best friend). He told me that when there is no hope, you always have prayer. Pray for Gods mercy and the strength to do the right thing whatever". 

Dad then said "Never forget that, when all seems lost. Prayer will always get you through". At the time I was an atheist. I didn't want to insult Dad and tell him it was all mumbo jumbo. What struck me and made me re-examine my views on such things, was the extraordinary resilience and strength my Dad had. He never really seemed to be phased by anything. I always had the feeling that whatever happened, he'd find us a way through. Whatever I may think of his faith and sometimes strange religious ways, it worked for him in a way that was undeniable. What was odd was that he combined aspects of Roman Catholicism with superstitions of the local aboriginal population where he was born in the outback of Australia. He believed he could make weather. He would turn off the radio if "The Sun aint gonna shine anymore" came on. He believed that you could kill people just by wishing them dead, but if you did, your soul would be bound to them and you'd likely end up in hell. He believed that any deal made with God was unbreakable, but you had to be careful, as he found out with his 'three score and ten' deal. He didn't return to Australia after the war until 1976, as a gypsy had read his fortune before he left and told him that if he left, he'd never returned. My mother told me that on the flight to Australia in 1976, he told her that the plane would crash and it was her fault for not trusting the Gypsy curse. Mum dismissed it.

Which brings me back to this morning. I was lying there in an abject sense of panic. I thought of Dad and that conversation and took his advice. I said a prayer. The panic eased and I felt more able to face the day. Bad things may happen. Bad things always happen. We face them and we do what we can to get through them. One of the things my Dad cautioned me with was "Whatever happens, stay calm and composed and make rational decisions. You can't stop bad times, but you can get through them and good times will come again". 

I feel a lot better now. Have a wonderful Sunday. I hope nothing bad happens to you, me or anyone we love today. Here is a little piece of punk rock, written in my bedroom, with my then bandmate Pete Conway, as we drove my poor old Dad mad learning guitar. This was pretty much a diatribe against his views on everything, as I was a disaffected teenager. I have come to the conclusion that it was me who was probably WRONG!

The Saturday List #504 - We don't live in America! 20 differences between the British and our American cousins

The False Dots just released our brand new album, We don't live in America. We released it on Independence day (July 4th), celebrating the parting of the ways. It was also released in the middle of the World Cup in America. Donald Trump announced that it was the best world cup ever. Well it was if you like cheating, hugely expensive seats, hydration breaks, half time shows, games played in excuciating heat and delays due to thunderstorms. 

The title track lists 20 differences beyween us and our beloved cousins - The bit in Red italics is my notes to explain

1. We don’t have a president with big big cars - When you see the head of state on state business, he's in a horse drawn carriage. The US President has a nuclear bomb proof car and an entourage. Mind you, we tend to try and assassinate our head of states less frequently. 

2. We don’t have a flag which has any stars - People often forget that the Union Jack celebrates the Christian history of the UK, with the crosses of St George, St Andrew and St Patrick. I once wound up a US fundamentalist colleague who was sounding off, by pointing out the US flag contained fifty pentagrams, which are symbols of the occult, whilst the UK flag was clearly Christian. He got extremely upset, but he had been spouting rubbish in the pub for twenty minutes, so I wasn't too concerned. I also wound up a National Front supporter in the 1980's by congratulating him on his celebration of Ireland and St Patrick by waving the Union Jack. The poor sausage did not realise what the flag meant! 

3. We don’t fry villains in Electric chair! - Well this is pretty self explanatory. The UK realised in the 1960's that Capital punishment does not stop murderers. The US disagrees, but if you look at the relative murder rates, it is pretty hard to argue that they are right.

4. We’re not allowed guns and we don’t care - A big difference. The Americans believe that having a gun keeps them safe. The number of school shootings, the murder rate and the fact that people feel the need to have a gun, to me shows that we've got this one right.

5. We call all our mates something rude - Having worked for several American companies and having an American brother in law and having travelled extensively in America, I notice that they do not have the British habit of calling people rude names when you like them. An American I knew once asked me how the British actually knew if they liked each other. I replied that when we don't like each other we are generally extremely polite and avoid each other. When this doesn't work, we smack each other in the gob. Because we don't have guns, this is usually the end of the matter. Often after Gobs have been smacked, we the achieve a state of mutual respect, although in my childrens generation this descent into casual violence is frowned upon. 

6. We love a cup of tea to wash down food - Americans simply do not get tea. They don't have decent tea. They don't heat the water properly. They don't put proper milk in it. If you ask for tea, they give you sub optimal options, that do not include PG Tips. No wonder they don't drink the stuff. 

7. We knock back beers with indecent hurry - Americans have a strange relationship with alcohol. Most of the Anglophile Yanks I know have a love of British Beer and the way we quaff it back. Like their tea, the major American brwers make undrinkable slop. There are great US microbreweries. In the US, car culture means that people don't get the bus or train, so they tend not to get bladdered with their mates and stagger home.

8. And have three more with a Ruby Murrey - For those who don't know, a Ruby Murray is cockney rhyming slang for a curry. I have had curries in America and some have been OK, but you would not find a restaurant like the Mill Hill Tandoori, with the local Rugby club knocking back beers and eating the hotest Vindaloo

9. Restaurant portions aren’t that big - When you go to US restaurants, the  portions are enormous. I am someone who likes their food, but when you get a plate with so much food that you couldn't possibly eat it, to me it is offputting and seems vulgar. You simply do not get UK restaurants that serve 16oz steaks as the regular portion. 

10. But then again we're not greedy pigs - The British are quite happy with moderately sized portions. We want the right amount of food on our plate, not so much that we need a 'doggy bag'. My wife moans if portions are too big!

11. Chips are something we eat with fish - If you ask for chips in America, you get crisps. They call chips 'French Fries'. Generally they are not proper chips either. They are the McDonalds style things,thin and covered in salt. A big bugbear of mine is that you cannot get malt vinegar in most US restaurants. Anyone who is sane knows that malt vinegar with salt is the only proper accompanyment for chips (unless you are in Brussels, when you have mayonaisse and mussels). 

12. Roast beef dinner is our national dish - When I wrote this I realised that I didn't know what the US national dish is. So I asked AI. This is the response "The United States has no official national dish, though the hamburger, hot dog, and apple pie are widely seen as the top unofficial symbols of American food." - Can you imagine anything sadder?

13. We drink warm beer, kick round footballs - An American colleague visiting London for the first time was excited to try British ale. I took him to The Fitzroy on Charlotte Street, a Sam Smiths pub and got him a pint of bitter. He almost gagged as it was warm and tasted like bitter. He decided to stick to cold lager. As to footballs, even Donald Trump acknowledged that American Football is a misnomer. Footballs should be kicked and to do that effectively, it requires a round football. 

14. We love the proms at the Albert Hall - I love the electric proms. It is put together by the BBC, an organisation the American right despise. The Albert Hall was commissioned by Queen Victoria as a Palace for the people to mourn her dead husband. Trump is giving America the Whitehouse Dancehall to entertain his mates. 

15. Liz was the boss, now we’ve got a King - My sympathies have always been republican. You cannot defend a hereditary monarchy. And then along comes Trump and you wish that Queen Elizabeth II was the perfect head of state. As for Charles, I am warming to him.

16. He wears a crown and genuine Bling -  Our monarchs do bling properly. I get the feel Trump is jealous. He'd like a big gold crown, the biglyiest crown ever!

17. We moan at the bus stop in the rain - The British do public transport. The Yanks don't. When Margaret Thatcher stated that any man over 35 on a bus was a failure, I realised she was out of touch. She clearly had never got the bus to the pub for a few sherbets with her mates. She'd clearly spent too much times with Americans. We also love a good moan about the weather. 

18. And dream of a holiday over in Spain - Less than half of the US population have a passport and I don't think I've ever met a single Yank in Benidorm. Having been to Florida and California, I concede that they have fine beaches. I discussed this with a Yank and he extolled the beaches and the surfing. I explained that most people who go to Benidorm or Ibaz don't go to the beach, they spend the time getting bling drunk, stoned and trying to have illicit sex with strangers. He was horrified. Of course, when I go to Spain, I go with the missus and soak up the culture! 

19. If you want a ciggie it’s an oily rag!  - More rhyming slang. When I wrote the song, I was initially drawing attention to the fact that the common slang for s cigarette in the UK is a Fag, which is a derogatory term for a gay person in America. I realised this might seem offensive, so I used the term oily rag. I have no idea what a Texan would do if you asked the if they had a spare oily rag. 

20 .When you see the Queen she don’t wear drag - In the UK, if you mentioned the word Queen, we'd think of Elizabeth. In America they think of things like Ru Paul's drag race. It is a linguistic difference that intrigues me, as Elizabeth dressed very modestly, except when doing official roles. When Liz used to bling up and open Parliament, no one could compete! I used to work with a US music producer, who was a cross dresser. Dennis was a wonderful chap. He told me that he got to see the Queen at a function once. He said he was really disappointed that she was dressed in completely normal attire. 

You can see The False Dots launch the album at The Dublin Castle on Sunday 23rd August from 2pm CLICK HERE FOR TICKETS

Rock and Roll Stories #71 - Dave the roadie, we salute you!

On the latest album by The False Dots, we have a track called Dave the Roadie, celebrating all of the people who came on this mad journey with us, but were not musicians. They drove, lugged gear, hung around. Some weren't even especially keen on our music, but just loved the crack of being part of a band.  The song is a mash up of about five people we knew, who played the role at some point. However there is one main character who inspired the song. I won't name him as he's still got a job and I don't want to embarrass him, as he's a changed man! Back in the day, he'd hanga around with us, he learned to drive at an early age and had access to a van. It is almost impossible to describe what being part of the False Dots was like in the very early years. There were always all manner of illicit substances being passed around. I was far more of a drinker than anyone else in the band and our entourage. We'll call our Roadie Dave so you know who I am talking about. Dave wasn't into boozing at all. He liked to smoke a joint. He was the only person I knew who could roll a joint whilst drviing. I don't mean with skunk weed either, a proper one, where you heated resin and mixed it with tobacco. We didn't encourage this, as we didn't really want to die. He had a large ghetto blaster cassette player,  which he called Desmond. He'd put it on the back seat. He'd change cassettes whilst driving, completely ignoring the road. In hindsight, it was a miracle no one was mown down.

I knew Dave initially from being an Alter Server at the Catholic Church. Unlike me, he was a very good footballer. I suspect that if he hadn't me me and got involved with the band, he'd have been a pretty good semi pro. He played for Graham Park FC when they won the Hendon & District Sunday league cup at Hendon Town FC. When we were about 16, I told him he needed to get into rock and roll. I dragged him down to see The Dickies at The Marquee. Up until that moment, he dressed as a Chelsea casual. He went an overnight transformation. I had some electric clippers and cropped his hair at both sides, in a haircut I christened the "Turkos Tharg". He bought a pair of white striped trousers and a Dickies T-Shirt with the sleeves cut off. Dave was about 6'2 and a handsome bugger. Gorgeous girls would throw themselves at him and he was seemingly uninterested. To my surprise, at a Vibrators gig, an absolutely stunning girl tried to chat him up. He was far more intersted in her friend, who was far less exotic. I questioned him, he said "She had something to say, the other one was dull". 

After rehearsals and gigs, we'd assemble back in Bunns Lane. Dave lived in the caretakers cottage at the yard, where our studios are. We'd drink tea into the early hours and consume illicit copious amounts of things that are not entirely legal. Then at 1 or 2 am, we'd have a five a side kickabout. This would last an hour. We'd then drink more tea etc. We'd play on the asphalt roadway. if you fell over it was a scuffed knee. Sometimes, the Police would turn up. They believed us all to be raving junkies, but when we played five a side, we played hard. They would observe and be confused. 

During the tea drinking sessions, we would indulge in all manner of strange games. There was the barrel of doom. It was a card game where the loser would have to immerse themselve in an oil drum full of rain water, When we tipped it out, we found a load of dead rats at the bottom of it. Perhaps the most bizarre game was the "Pia Zadora challenge". This started when I made a throwaway comment about having an erotic dream about actress Pia Zadora. In the dream, she said she would do rude things to me, if I could balance upside down on a rotating chair, placed on a table and rotate myself through 360 degrees, using my feet on the ceiling. She held the chair whilst I attempted it. 

When I recounted this, Dave stated "lets see if we can do it". I am clumsy and hopeless at such things. However Dave managed it. Sadly Pia was not around to give him the prize. At gigs, he'd often drive us there and return to collect us, missing the set. One time, he forgot about us, only remembering at 3am, picking us up from outside a long closed pub in the rain. He made it clear that he didn't need to apologise, as he was doing us the favour driving. 

As so often happens, he eventually got a girlfriend and became less interested in hanging around with us lot, engaging in shenanigans. When he got a proper flat with her, it was more or less the end of the golden age of False Dots insanity. Several things persisted. Our five a side team, Goatybeard United lasted into the 1990's. He learned the saxophone and joined a pretty decent band. I have tried to get him to play with us on a couple of occasions, but as he's not in London, it is not really practical.

But the truth of it is that without Dave and his ilk, there would've been no rock and roll bands. He encouraged me to seek out far flung gigs as he enjoyed driving the van. Looking back there are many things I recall. Perhaps (for me) one of the funniest was after a gig at Tower Bridge. He'd borrowed a Mk 1 VW camper van off a mate called Emil. We took all the gear, the band and a few mates with us. On the way back, we acquired about five more mates to bring back. It seemed like every cubic inch of the van was taken, highly illegal. As we returned, we passed through Kilburn, I said "Dave, I need a pee, can you find somewhere quiet to stop". He turned off the Edgware Road and pulled into a leafy road. He stopped in a dark spot under a tree. I jumped out and started to pee into hedge. Then every door of the van opened, and all 17 people emerged and proceeded to pee in the front garden of the house we stopped outside of. A bloke in the bedroom heard the furore, put on the light and opened the curtains. He then opened the window and started shouting. To his amazement (I assume), we all disappeared into the van and drove off. 

At the time, the high spot of our set was a cover of Space Cowboy, by the Steve Miller Band. Dave and another mate, would guest as exotic dancers during the number. If ever I hear the song, I think of Dave.

He's a very respectable character now. At a friends funeral. we put up a selection of pictures from those mad times. Dave's son saw them and I heard him exclaim "Dad, you hypocrite!". He isn't though, sadly, like all of us, he just grew up! You can see the band at The Dublin Castle on Sunday 23rd August at The Dublin Castle CLICK HERE FOR CHEAP TICKETS

Have a listen. 

Kevin Keegan RIP

 Very very occasionally, it is not until someone passes away, that you realise the length of the shadow that their passing causes. When I heard of the passing of Kevin Keegan, it filled me with a profound sense of sadness and loss. As a player, Keegan to me was primarily an England icon. He ws a Liverpool player, I support Manchester City, so he was a rival, but as an England Centre Forward, he was a hero. He hit his peak at a time when England were dreadful. We had great players, amazing mavericks, but few got picked for England. But Keegan was something else. He was the face of Brut 33 aftershave! Many old school British men thought aftershaves were 'unmanly'. Brut hired British Boxing Champion Henry Cooper and Keegan to star in a TV advert. 

It worked, soon every time you jumped on a tube or the bus, you smelled the 'great smell of Brut'. It ws one of  the first, if not the first big TV advertising campaign to recognise the advertising pull of Sports people. It also meant that Keegan trascended the world of football. With his curly locks and cheeky chappy demeanour, he became a superstar. But he was also a great footballer, being a prolific scorer at Scunthorpe, Liverpool, Hamberger SV, Southampton and Newcastle. 

As a manager, he managed Newcastle, Fulham, England and Manchester City.  Keegan won the first divisiion (Championship) with City and secured their future as a Premiership club. As a City fan, I loved Keegan's approach, He didn't have money, but he had charisma and brought optimism. He is probably better remembered for his time at Newcastle, but wherever he went at club level, he improved the team. His England stint was not success and he realised that it wasn't for him. 

Keegan was one of the faces of the 1970's. He played football when it was still a working class sport, huge crowds, cheap entry and no frills. He made it seem glamorous. He was only 75 when he passed away, far too young. He will be missed. 

World Cup 2026 - My final thoughts ( excuse the pun)

 Congratulations to Spain. Clearly the best team in the competition by some way. I am especially pleased that Rodri picked up the player of the tournament, as he is a Manchester City legend. He is a decent, humble player who makes his mark on the pitch. As has been the case throughout the tournament, Argentina seemingly had a free pass to kick opponents. Spain were good enough to rise above it. The game was awful though. Argentina didn’t manage a shot on target. The ‘half time show’ was appalling, and clearly did players no favours. The spectacle of Donald Trump lurking on the stage as Spain celebrated was bizarre and embarrassing. At the end, several players brawled like petulant children. 

Oddly the third place final was the opposite. A celebration of football. Great players had the shackles of fear removed and served up a ten goal treat. At the end, a huddle of French & English players formed a huddle to pray together. It was how it should be. No Trump stealing the limelight. I don’t know if it would be possible to remove the shackles and fear in a proper final. I suspect that the game would have been very different if both teams made the final, but it was a joy to watch.

What is clear is that the football authorities and lawmakers have turned the sport into a game that seemingly rewards cheats, is only about making cash and provides a platform to dodgy politicians to bask in other people’s glory.

On Saturday I’ll be back at Brickfield Lane to watch Hadley FC in a non league friendly. I’m sure it will be a better game. For clarity my comments above are not directed at Spain who I think are a marvellous team and have a wonderful country, and leaders who seem to have a moral compass 

The Saturday List #503 - My top ten memories of the 1960’s

 I was born in 1962. I was eight when the decade ended. I was thinking about the era a lot this week with Englands exit from the World Cup. I was 3 & 3/4 at the time. I have vague memories of the day. Not the football, but of a house full of excited people. Nothing much had happened in my life until then. But it wasn’t a vivid memory. As I recall I wasn’t that interested. Dad had a black and white telly and all sorts of people came around as not everyone had tellies. My brothers and their friends were especially excited. So what do I recall vividly?

1. The hearing clinic. I had a condition called elective mutism as a child. I chose not to talk. I can’t really remember why, probably to annoy everyone. I also realised that in our house, if you said the wrong thing you got clobbered. Mum took me to a clinic in Hartley Avenue to see if I was deaf. They told me that they had a machine that could tell if I lied, they could tell. They played frequencies and I had to press a button. It turns out I had perfect hearing. When I was four, I was at the table and exclaimed ‘I wanna piece of cake’. I never looked back. I don’t recall that, but I recall the clinic. BTW Albert Einstein also displayed elective mutism as a child. He was also dyslexic.

2. Luke Albanese moving in. The next door neighbour was a librarian called Mrs Bent. She moved out and a young mum with a two year old moved in. I was 4 I was excited. I asked him his name. He replied ‘chair’ He’s still a mate, although we don’t meet up enough.

3. First day at St Vincent’s. My primary school. I recall walking into the class. Dale Malone, who lived up the road was my buddy. It was after Easter, Everyone else knew each other. The classroom seemed massive. Sister Rosalie was the teacher. I won’t repeat what Dale told me!

4. Man City vs Man Utd in 1968. My brother Frank, 16 years older and a Man Utd fan told me I should support Man Utd. He said Utd were playing City. He said if they won they’d win the league. They lost. I became a City fan

5. My brothers 21st Birthday party. A big doo. Lots of people around. We had an outside bog and a bathroom upstairs. Mum put signs directing ladies upstairs and men outside. To mums horror the blokes all went down the end and pee’d on tree.

6. Harrier Jump Jet landing at St Pancras Station. Dad took me down to see this. It was amazing. It was part of the 1969 transatlantic race.

7. Audition for Heinz Baked Beans commercial. It was 1968, I recall it well. I got the gig because none of the other key ds would eat cold beans. I greedily scoffed them down. The director asked if I liked cold beans. I replied ‘no I’m acting’ - job done!

8. My brother Frank’s wedding. He bought me a play toolset as a present for being an alter server. I used the saw to saw the leg off a chair in the church hall. I got into a lot of trouble.

9.The release of Penny Lane by The Beatles. Radio 1 announced they were playing it. My sister Val took me to her mate Linda Finlay’s to listen to it. They voted it a Miss.

10. New Year’s Eve 1969/70. My sister Caroline announced that it would be an exciting new decade and even better than the 60’s. She told me that she would have lived in three decades whilst I’d only have lived in two. It seemed unfair. 

Have a great weekend 

England - The morning after the night before

 So for the 15th time, since 1966, it aint coming home. 60 years of hurt continue. To be completely honest, only in 1970 and 1986 did I genuinely think we had teams that might have deserved to win, and after I saw Brazil beat England 1-0 in 1970, I had no qualms agreeing that Brazil deserved it. But I think if Gordon Banks had been well, we'd have been in the final. In 1986, I genuinely feel we were cheated. Sure, Maradona scored a wonder goal, but his first goal was the worst, most blatent bit of cheating ever. They won it. It has always stuck in my throat.

This time?  No complaints. England became so passive after they scored that they deserved nothing. Argentina are a horrible team, they should have had a dozen yellow cards in the first half, but when England scored, we saw a brilliant display from Argentina. If there is a tragedy with them, it is that they can play great football, but are so wrapped up in cheating that this is obscured. I believe Spain will win comfortably. I like Spain, so maybe I am biased. 

As for England? I'd sack Tuchel. He was employed to make the right calls in big games. He couldn't have got it more wrong, in Southgate we had a manager who did well against the lesser teams, we thought we had a man to beat the big boys. The FA should get Pep Guardiola in. Guardiola knows the players better than anyone, as he managed in the Premiership longer than anyone since Fergie and is a proven multiple winner. 

However, what the FA really needs to do is take a proper look at the structure of English football. Why are we incapable of producing decent managers. In the 1970's, we were spoilt for choice. Joe Mercer, Bob Paisley,  Don Revie, Ron Greenwood, Brian Clough, Bobby Robson, Terry Venables, Bertie Mee, Dave Sexton, were all successful and internationally respected. Now there are two in the Premiership. Eddie Howe and Sean Dyche. There is no clamour for them as England managers. We don't make top managers anymore. That is a failure of the FA and British football. I do not think that the England manager has to be English, but the fact that we don't even have any candidates is awful.

As for last night. We had two of the best players in the tournament in Kane and Bellingham, yet played a system that was not designed to play to their strengths. We have Messi the free run of the park after England scored. What did Tuchel think would happen? Dan Byrne is not an England standard defender. If Messi is the problem, Dan Byrne is not the answer. We had players who can turn a game, such as Cole Palmer and Phil Foden sat at home. We took off Gordon, who was the only player holding on to the ball and running at players, inviting pressure on. I would have left Gordon or Bellingham up by the halfway line, so that Argentina couldn't compress us. We had no one to bring on as a pressing defensive midfield player to bring on when Rice ran out of steam. 

Modern International football seems to consist of around 70 minutes of the ball being passed along the back four, 10 minutes of people rolling around pretending to be hurt, 5 minutes of standing around waiting for set pieces and 5 minutes of real action if you are lucky. We have meaningless stats galore, trying to persuade us that it is wonderful. In truth, until Gordon scored, the match was boring beyond belief. England scoring turned it into a real humdinger. 

I've no complaints. If I was an Argentinan, I'd be absolutely delighted with the performance. Most of all with the gumption their team showed. England seemed to have all of the creativity coached out of them. I reckon I may live to see 4-5 more world cups. Will I ever see England lift the trophy (I did in 1966 but I was 3)? I don't know, but if I do, I hope it is built on creativity and taking chances, rather than playing six defenders to defend a 1-0 lead for half an hour. 

Anyway, that is the footie done for the summer, now its on to music! Here is The False Dots 2023 hit, with a brand new video!

Come on England! My thoughts on the Englands chances

 I swore I wouldn't do this, but as I suspected I've got a bit wrapped up in it all. Holding the tournament in thhe orange ogre has not made me happy. If just about anyone else had been President I would have gone, but not with him there. My sister lives in the USA so I'd love to have visited.

But I cannot watch a game and not get involved. When it is England I simply have to watch. I didn't know what to expect. However, I was pretty sure that England had the best manager, and two of the best players in the tournament, as well as a solid back up cast. Like many tournaments, it started as a slow burner, but now we are at the business end of the tournament. There should be no jeopardy in the group phase for teams like England. This was the case. A commanding performance against Croatia set us up. A stutter against Ghana was unexpected, but didn't really matter. Panama was solid if unconvincing. 

So England started their knockout phase campaign. DR Congo were excellent, took the lead but Harry Kane came though with a brace. A pattern emerged. A poor first quarter. A stern talk and reorganisation from Tuchel and a vast improvement. So it was on to Mexico. A very difficult game with real jeopardy. Mexico were at a home, in a stadium that was not exactly lucky for England. But Bellingham stepped up.  Norway were up next. Once more a poor start by England and Belllingham stepping up.

And England find themselves in the semi final. They are up against Argentina. A country that hates us. A country with possibly the greatest footballer ever in the team. They cruised through an easy qualifying group with little problem. However the knockout games have all proven controversial, with highly iffy refereeing and a clear bias towards Argentina. It seems likely that Cape Verde, Egypt and Switzerland will be cheering England, feeling rather cheated. There is a perception that FIFA want Messi to win the tournament. It will be good for business. It will be in the back of the England players minds that they will get no favours. 

I normally have a feeling how things will go, this time I find it incredibly hard to call. I think England will need a superb performance and three goals to win. I think Messi will get a goal and maybe make one. But I also think we have Bellingham and Kane and they can make all the difference. I'm going to go 3-2 to England. However I do think that they will not get the run of the ball and that come the end of the night I may be feeling even more sick and disgusted than I did when Maradona scored the "Hand of God" goal. I just have this sickening vision of Infantino, Messi and Trump all poncing about waving the world cup on Sunday and saying that a clearly rigged tournament was the best ever.  I just hope I'm wrong. An Egyptian friend told me that he doesn't normally like England, but he hopes we win 8-0 and Messi gets sent off. 

Here's a bit of fun The False Dots put together. Enjoy!

 

Anne Widdecombe - The awful truth

 My mother used to say "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything". She was wrong. But there are times when saying nothing, keeping a respectful silence and sending condolensces to friends and family and people who are personally affected is appropriate, and if you can't bring yourself to do that, maybe you are the problem and not the solution. I'm not going to speculate on how or why Anne Widdecombe met her death. I don't know and the last thing anyone wants is uninformed commenters speculating. But I do have this to say. I was brought up to believe that any form of violence against women is plain wrong,  a hundred times more so when they are a defenceless old lady. So I will be sending my thoughts and prayers to the friends of Anne Widdecombe as I cannot imagine how traumatic and horrible the situation is. 

The way we achieve political change in the UK is via the ballot box. If you don't get that then you really have nothing of interest to say to me.