A rather strange thought occurred to me this morning, and I thought I'd explore it further. The thought "Being happy isn't easy". You may think that is a strange thing to say, but I was contemplating the times in my life when I've been truly happy. If we remove romantic dalliances from the equation (which ultimately require a lot of hard work), I was musing on the recent rehearsal I had with The False Dots. It was exteremely productive and I went home buzzing. We completed a new song, which I absolutely love. At the end of the rehearsal, our trumpet player Tom commented as I drove him to the pub "that was hard on my voice". Tom was singing the new song. I apologised. I tend to be a bit of a slave driver when working on arrangements. Tom said "Oh no, it's great to get things together". Some of my happiest moments have come as a result of being in a band and I really don't think people appreciate how much work goes into making music.
Similarly, in my former working career, I used to work in IT support on real time payments systems. Often I ended up with the difficult jobs and fixes, the ones other people had struggled with. I used to see it as a challenge. One particular problem, I actually had a dream about the fix, woke up, checked things and realised I'd dreamed the solution. It had seemed almost impossible to fix. Sadly my boss turned down the overtime request for my time a'kip. But I used to get a real buzz and feel happy when I completed a hard job.
With our studio business, it has been a massive achievement keeping it running for 47 years. There have been times when it seemed that all was lost, especially when lockdown hit. I've learned to keep calm and work twice as hard. There is a myth that the route to happiness is to have no responsibilities and nothing to do. It would kill me. I thrive on pressure and putting myself to the test and I feel happiest when I come through. And when I fail? I try and learn and get it right. When I used to play football, I'd always play in defence. I used to love playing against skillful forwards and working out their tricks and stopping them. When I got to 33, I played against a young whippersnapper, who was incredibly quick and had great feet. Nothing I could do would stop him. I was dejected. Six months later, we played the same team and it turned out he was now a professional playing for Charlton. I felt a bit better. But it also taught me that you have to accept your limits! Knowing yourself and doing your best, is in my opinion the key to success. But for me a big part is having someone who supports me as my partner is the magic ingredient. Neither of us is perfect, but we work well as a team. I'd recommend that
Forget Aliens, Atlantis, The Marie Celeste, The Bermuda Triangles. Whilst many consider these to be the big mysteries of our time, there are far greater conundrums. As we don't do politics in this slot, I won't discuss how anyone can take people like Nigel Farage seriously. No,these are things that matter and affect us in a massive way.
1. Why are Scotland always so rubbish at World Cups. Now you may say that is easy, because their players and managers are rubbish and at the moment it may be true, but in the 1960's and 1970's all of the top teams in the top division were stuffed full of brilliant Scots. Celtic were the first British team to win the European cup in 1967, with a team of lads raised locally. Some of the greatest managers of all time were Jocks. Stein, Ferguson and Shankly are absolute Icons. It makes no sense to me.
2. Why do the British invent so many things, only for everyone else to end up doing it better? Football, Cricket, the World Wide Web, The steam engine, programmable computers, to name a few.
3. Why have we elected people who let point 2 happen for the last couple of hundred years? It is beyond my comprehension.
4. Why do posh restaurants that serve food with chips never seem to have proper malt vinegar? Forgive me if I've missed something, but it is a very cheap substance. Anyone with half a brains knows that vinegar is the best condiment for chips. Chips taste just as much like chips in posh venues as they do in cheap ones. I am more than happy for people who don't like vinegar to not use it, but is it really beyond the wit of people who sometimes charge a tenner for chips to give you the right condiment? If any such chef is out there, I don't go back if this happens.
5. Why did the BBC stop making Top of The Pops? It was a brilliant showcase for British music, helped many artists break through, was incredibly cheap to produce and they show repeats of it all the time so they must realise it was an excellent product. Sure, it was going through a lull when it was canned, but this happened many times. SInce it disappeared it has become incredibly hard for new artists to properly get established.
6. Why does BBC Radio London music schedulers never support local artists. They seem obsessed playing Americans with whiny accents, whilst London's musicians don't get a look in. They also totally neglect genres. For instance, I am not a lover of metal music, but it never gets played, despite a whole scene existing. I am sure a metal show at 10pm on a Monday would get an amaing following. There are plenty of other genres equally overlooked. I picked one I don't like and don't listen to because that way no one can say "He's only whinging because they don't play his awful band".
7. Why do good looking women choose to disfigure themselves with plastic surgery? Every time I've mentioned this on the blog, people have got up in arms, but it is true. I understand people who have a disfigurement etc or who have had an accident and want to not have to be stared at. I am not talking about that. I am talking about people who look absolutely fine. The worst example was when Lesley Ash had her trout pout surgery. It's a free country and if it makes people happy, that is there business, but I simply cannot understand it.
8. Why are airlines allowed to say a flight takes 45 minutes, when they require you to get there two hours before? I believe that security check in times etc should all be included in the time. They should quote the time it takes from the moment you walk in the airport, to the moment you walk out of the other airport as the flight time. That way, there would be an inentive for airports to be more efficienct. Consumers are being cheated. Of course airports love it as we have to sit around cramped airports, drinking coffee etc that is twice as expensive as normal. A bottle of water at Heathrow is over £3.
9. Why is the blatent corruption in the organisation of major sports never investigated by the police?
10.Why is it that when I look in the mirror and see myself, I often think "what a handsome soul" but when I see a photograph of myself I useually look like Albert Steptoe's ugly brother (a kick in the nuts for anyone who proposed plastic surgery).
This week, the head of FIFA announced plans to invite private investors to take a stake in FIFA. The continental football federations were promised huge cash bungs if they fell into line. I've not read the details of the proposal, but to be quite honest, I don't need to. The only reason that private investors ever invest in anything is to make a tidy profit, usually in the shortest time possible.
Football has always been a very two edged sword. On the one hand, there are the fans. If you love football and support a team, it is a stronger bond than most marriages. I am always vaguely suspicious of anyone who changes their allegiance after the age of 8. We pick our team and we stick with them. We spend a small fortune on a Sky subscription, and another small fortune on season tickets, if we support a Premiership team and go to games. We pay about ten times the price for replica tops, of a similar unbranded garment. If we have kids who love football, it is prohibitively expensive for families on low incomes. The clubs have three kits, which change every year, to feed the profits in. If you kid is a Man Utd fan, you'll be paying £60 for a home team top. It's the same for a City top. I suppose that at least City fans know that the cash is going into the team and not the pocket of the Glazers, but the products are priced to be as expensive as possible without being unaffordable to the main fan base. On the other side were the business interests around the clubs and the game. The only consideration they have for the fans, is to ensure they keep spending money.
Now when Infantino talks about bringing investment into the game, he is talking about bringing in people who want to squeeze every last penny out of the image rights of teams and the branding of the game. The game is global, so there is huge reach. I am sure that when he talks about 'cash for the development of the game', he's not talking about a magic pill that gives us all the ball skills of Messi. He is talking about finding new ways to squeeze more money out of the fans.
Infantino claims he has just organised the 'most successful World Cup ever'. In terms of pure cash, he is probably on the button. However it was not the best in terms of football on the pitch. It was not the best in terms of sportsmanship. It was not the best in terms of accessibility for fans. He clearly wanted an Argentinian victory, with Messi scoring the winner. During the knockout stages, Argentina seemingly had a free pass to kick the other team off the pitch. I believe this actually scuppered Argentina. Every time they had to chase the game and stop kicking the opposition, they were brilliant. They had arguably the greatest footballer of the modern era making his swansong, and somehow managed to alienate the whole planet. I am 100% sure that Infantino was dreaming of the commercial rights to the TV footage of Messi scoring a wonder goal to win the final.
As it was, it was Spain, a team without superstars who won. It was Rodri, a defensive midfielder who goes about his business in an unfussy way who was the player of the tournament. But Infantino used the time in the US well, to make the contacts in their sports world to sow the seeds for his scheme. The US sporting industry are the masters at squeezing value out of sport. The Man Utd model is perhaps the best example. Borrow the money to buy the worlds most glamorous club team. Squeeze the fans for every last sheckle, to pay the interest off and make sure there is a big dollop of cash on top to ensure your wallet is fat enough. In the Glazer model, success on the field only matters in terms of ensuring the cash keeps rolling in. You don't need the best players and managers, who may win things, just do enough to keep the fans believing and having hope.
A privatisation of FIFA will be different though. It is not the team or their fans that are being fleeced, it is the whole game. Tournaments will go to the highest bidder. 'Innovations' like hydration breaks and half time shows, which generate hard cash from TV advertising will become the norm. Game times will change for TV schedules. I expect all manner of commercial deals, so if you want a ticket for the final, you fly first class with the 'partner airline' to get points to get a ticket. I am not saying that getting tickets for World Cup finals has ever been easy or cheap, but it will become impossible for fans who are not minted.
I believe that hydration breaks are just the thin end of the wedge. It will not have escaped the attention of the money men that the final was largely a rather dull, turgid affair, with a lot of fouls. Argentina had zero shots on target. The difficult truth for the likes of Infantino is that this is not the sort of game that lucrative US audiences are interested in. They prefer games like Englands 6-4 defeat of France. They like the images at the end, where English and French players pray together and laugh and smile. The scuffles at the end of the final, are not what parents want their kids to see and for many it was a terrible end.
For a football fan like me, I do not want to see my players hugging opposition players at the final whistle. I want to see that they care. Of course Argentina went way over the top and entered the realm of bad losers, but I never want football to be a pantomime where no one cares. However when things get commercialised, they get sanitised. I suspect that for the likes of Infantino, the perfect game would be where Argentina had won 7-3, Messi had scored a hattrick and both teams had hugged and smiled at each other during the hydration breaks and at the end. All of the fans would have flown from around the world, first class, at a premium on FIFA packages, all would have bought the official "I was at the FIFA world cup final merch", all would have drunk the beer of the official FIFA world cup partner, everyone who posted clips on Twitter, of match incidents would pay FIFA for a license and at the end The King would give the FIFA board peerages and Donald Trump would give them all a pardon for any naughtiness that may have ensued and the Pope would make them all Saints.
I believe all of this undermines the game at grassroots. When I was a kid, in the summer, a gang of kids would go to the park, put down jumpers and play for the love of it. I don't see that anymore. Now kids log onto their mobile phones and watch memes of Ronaldo and Messi doing tricks ( and someone, somewhere makes a bob or two). We never had to worry about who's side the fat kid was on, because there weren't any. When a sport, which is supposed to promote health, has sponsors that sell sugar filled drinks, is it any surprise, it has lost its soul.
It will surprise no regular readers to learn all of this has inspired me to put pen to paper and write a song.
Fake Insidious Fraudulent Amoral
Nordic Row Chant – “No” x 4
Is anyone feeling thirsty, is anyone getting hot (x 4)
F is for Fraudulent
I is Insidious
F is for Fake
A is Amoral
Oh Oh Oh Oh No
Verse 1
We used to have such a beautiful game, played by Brazil, The Netherlands and Spain
One of the things that annoys me most about the press in the UK (and probably everywhere) is the way they portray every action and statement of those they support as the work of a genius and evey action of their opponents as the work of an idiot. Following the last election and the selection of Kemi Badenoch as leader of the opposition, we had the strange spectacle of two completely useless leaders going about their business in a very useless manner. Papers like The Express, The Sun and The Mail were keen to big up Badenoch, despite the fact that it was clear she is useless. Likewise, the Guardian and the Mail pretended that Starmer was brilliant, despite the fact that it was patently obvious that he was useless.
The public are not stupid. How did they react? They couldb't hve been clearer in their actions. Reform and Nigel Farage zoomed up the polls, as did Zack Polanski. I genuinely believe tahat this had little to do with people actually wanting either as PM and more to do with a general mid term message to Labour and the Tories to sort themselves out. Labour have. I know Burnham is in a honeymoon period, but it is 100% clear that he is a far better person to run the country than Starmer was. He believes in something and is prepared to work across party lines for the good of the UK. I am listening to him speak on the radio as I write this. Unlike Starmer, I have no wish to turn off the radio at the mere sound of his voice.
A recent Poll put Labour above Reform for the first time in over a year
I doubt anyone who watches politics keenly is too surprised. But for the Tories, mid term after two years of a rubbish leader, they are languishing in third place. Nigel Farage has managed to shoot himself in both feet with his election stunt. He has got himself into a battle with Count Binface in a completely unneccesary by election, which he can only lose. Binface has been able to turn the spotlight on him and ridicule him in a way no ordinary politician ever could. Farage has been totally blindsided. Whatever happens, he has been made to look ridiculous and his party has taken a massive hit. Binface has run a briliant social media campaign, that has gone viral, making sure everyone knows of his dodgy dealings. But under Badenoch, the Tories have got almost no benefit in the polls.
One of Burnhams first initiatives has been to reach out to her on reform of social care. She had an amazing opportunity to look like a sensible, grown up politician. Her response? We will only get involve if there is a guarantee of no tax rises. The public know that social care is in a mess and people are not stupid, there will be a cost. By trying to dictate from a position of weakness, she has undermined her credibility. If she had said "We have to do this and we will make sure that the government reforms deliver value for money for taxpayers" she would have looked serious and statesmanlike. By all means walk away of the conversation is going nowhere, but a leader of the opposition should not put conditions on such talks, until they hear what has to be said.
I wonder what Badenoch would say if we need to put taxes and borrowing up urgently for the defence of the realm? As far as I am concerned, defending vulnerable adults is as important. We should never fund things like social care by borrowing. I am all for efficiency in government and money being spent wisely. I run a business and every time I visit an A&E department or an NHS hospital, I see inefficiency everywhere. There is huge scope for bette rmanagement and money saving, but this has to come from better management. Those who knock the NHS forget that we get our health care cheaper than countries that have private systems. No one is bankrupted. But it isn't perfect. If I was Badenoch, I'd be looking at identifying waste for savings. It seems that every time I go to any hospital department, I have to hang around, sometimes be checked in at three departments and there are bundles of paper everywhere. All of this could be automated. When we get trains, we buy tickets online and tap in. The technology is there. But the Tories have an analogue leader, who doesnt grasp the fact that the world is changing. AI offers savings in all manner of areas of government, but she has nothing to say about it. In fact, she has nothing to say of interest about anything.
In short, she is useless and if the Tories want their own Burnham bounce, they need someone who gets it.
At the start of 2016, David Bowie died and Great Britain went bonkers. I've almost lost count of how many Prime Ministers we've had. They've all been either weak, useless, dodgy or bonkers or a combination of these 'qualities'. It is odd that whilst we've had seven Prime Ministers, we've only had three leaders of the opposition ( I don't count Rishi as he was a caretaker). They say being leader of the opposition is the hardest job in politics, but clearly it can't be.
Into the melee has stepped Andy Burnham. It is clear that he is a very different beast to Sir Keir Starmer. It actually appears that Burnham believes in something. A friend, who is a Merchant Banker has advised me to sell all my shares, as Burnham is going to crash the market with his socialist schemes. Oddly I had a look yesterday, I don't have many but they are at a record high. It makes me wonder. Are players on the stock market artificially inflating share prices so they can crash it to stitch up Burnham when he announces a few mildly centre left policies.
From what I've seen so far, I rather like what I've seen. Burnham is engaging Badenoch and Ed Davey to try and get a permanent fix for adult social care. Badenoch has rather stupidly said she'll work with him so long as tax rises are off the table. This is the ecconomics of the mad house. The system is broken and it will cost cash. You cannot fix such things with scotch mist. It will be expensive. But it needs doing and a grown up adult politician should recognise this.
Burnham is also talking about reform of education, to move the focus from University courses to actually teaching skills the economy needs. I fully support this. I think the focus on exam grades is crazy. People use Ofsted tables to decide where to send their kids. Everyone is obsessed with exams, and not with making rounded human beings.
Is Burnham the man to put the wheels back on? Only time will tell, but for all those hoping Burnham fails, if he does it damages the UK. You may think the UK is beyind repair, but it looks to me that Burham doesn't, so maybe if you are really a patriot you should believe in our country and hope for all our sakes Burnham fixes adult social care and education. I do.
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....
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 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
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
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.
