Leeds United v My Blood Pressure

Back in the land before time, say, England in the early 70's, I moved to Leeds and immediately started supporting the local footy team, Leeds United. They weren't a popular team back then and nothing has changed today. Leeds United regularly tops the league of "Most Hated Team In British Football" and it's easy to see why.

Jealousy. Yes, that's it. Jealousy.

Well what else could it be ? I mean after a few years of on and off field problems that would've sunk most teams, we're currently in the 3rd tier of English football, regularly play teams where you need a GPS device to find their grounds (like Yeovil and Huddersfield) and so you'd think that we're hardly in the news enough these days to top ANY league table.

But obviously we do. We're still called Dirty Leeds just because people have called us that for decades and football fans rarely have enough brain power to make up new insults. Sounded good in 1978 so why change it now. And so it's "Dirty Leeds, Dirty Leeds" they chant.

But we're 5th in the Fair Play League (points given for yellow and red cards) and are one of only 3 teams who haven't had a player sent off this season. Dirty Leeds ? I hardly think so.

The irony is that the people who class us as dirty, probably haven't seen us play in decades but it's a chant that we're going to be stuck with forever. Even back in the days when the description had some validity, plenty of other teams were just as bad. It was just that Leeds played a superior style of football back then and so.....jealousy.

Anyway I followed my team through thick and thin times, fat and lean times and my body shape went the same way. There were plenty of good times and lots of bad times and I stuck with them through them all.

Then I retired (at 49 mind you) and as this coincided with those off field shenanigans I mentioned and with the young talented team being sold off for peanuts to lower the wage bill of a financially collapsing club, I had a hard decision to make. The cost of going to games would take a large chunk out of my much reduced income and I wanted to spend 6 months in America every year.

And so it was that I stopped going to games. Ever since then I've tried to at least listen to every match and with the progress made in streaming audio and video recently, I manage to listen to live commentary and even see a few games each season via the internet.

Following Leeds United over the years has never been good for my blood pressure and although we've been a winning machine this season, there have been too many last minute winning goals for my liking. Or my cardiologists liking.

Today was no different. Although we're having a brilliant season and top League One by 8 points with a game in hand, we were the total underdogs when we went to Old Trafford to play one of the top teams in Europe in the 3rd round of the FA Cup. No one, including plenty of realistic Leeds fans, gave us a chance. We just hoped we'd not be humiliated. After all our last game was against Stockport and the next one would be against Wycombe !! GPS time for both.

But as they always tell us, football is a funny old game. Yes they threw the kitchen sink at us at times. Yes we had goalmouth scares. Yes we had to endure 5 minutes of Fergie time. Yes my blood pressure and nerves took a battering. But........

We went to the "Theatre Of Dreams" and by winning 1-0, we gave Manchester United a nightmare and Fergie another reason to think about retiring. Even those friends of mine who normally prefer watching the Serbian version of Big Brother to watching a football game got swept up in it all and watched. Daphne even blogged about it.

Yes the good times could be just around the corner, if you take a couple of years to turn it. We're on the way back to where we belong. Can my blood pressure stand it ?

Watch out Premiership teams. Dirty Leeds (and their fans) are heading your way and it would be nice if you watched the current team and stopped calling them dirty. New team, new manager, new start ?

But although it may be a funny old game, some things in football will never change.

Credit Where It Is Due - I Thank You.

Only hours into a new year and I've got another award already !

Like most involved in the entertainment business (hey, this blog IS entertaining sometimes !), I tend to dismiss the awards and adulation that come my way. I do like getting this worship (thank you Bob) but being quintessentially British, I just don't make a big deal about it when it happens. Frequently happens.

Ok so this is my first award ! Happy now ?

The main reason for creating a post just to mention it, is that the award has come from Yorkshire Pudding, a Yorkshireman known to be tighter than a Scotsman wearing oven gloves during a whip round; someone who last got a round in when a £5 note could buy you a small detatched house......in Kensington.

In fact for anyone from the county capital of Leeds to get ANYTHING from the small market town of Sheffield has to be something worth immortalising in print and I'll be on the phone to The Guinness people after publishing this post.

My grudging congratulations must go to Daphne who won the overall award for Blogger of the Year 2009. Her blog is quite good I suppose, if you like that sort of thing. Seems some do. Must be a sympathy thing. Whatever.

My congratulations also go to all those other bloggers who won an award, a list that has a strange similarity to the blogroll on YP's site ! Probably just a coincidence. Class tells after all.

So it just remains for me, in time honoured style, to mention a few people who have made all this possible, to have taken me to the very top of my profession, to the peak of my creative and artistic abilities and to have made me the self depreciating and selfless person that I am today.

Thank you......me.

God bless you all, God bless America (Canada and some parts of Mexico) and goodnight.

Happy New Susan Year Boyle Dreamed A Britain Talent

I was tempted to put Happy Easter as this post title just to be awkward but then decided on a sensible title instead, as you can clearly see.

Well every blogger worth his pepper is coming out from months of self imposed exile to wish all and sundry a Happy New Year/Decade and telling us about going to wonderful parties with flowing alcohol and in the case of those from the UK, trying to be anywhere apart from in front of the telle while Jools Holland is on.

That man is to New Years Eve what the iceberg was to the Titanic : causes otherwise sane people to want to jump ship - usually to the home bar or into bed or both.

Here in sunny Buttonwood Bay, the jewel in the Retirement Communities Florida Inc crown, we may all be old farts but we sure know how to enjoy ourselves at this time of year. Serious drinking has been going on since early doors although I think that may just be from the pair NEXT door, judging by the strangulated singing coming from them for the last few hours. Country music pains me at any time even when sung by professionals but give a drunken pair a karaoke machine for Christmas and just watch property values tumble.

This evening we have games at the Community Centre on our agenda. This is where loads of people bring card games, and maybe board games, to the hall along with enough food items to feed the entire population of Burkina Faso. Look it up, it exists. As I've mentioned before, everyone here has a lifetime of cooking experience behind them - even though several should've had a refund by now. So every time there is a pot luck 'do', we end up with everyone breaking out their aprons and cook books and I end up with another few inches around my waist.

I think the timing of this event may be open ended. It starts around 7pm which in Buttonwood Bay terms, is almost time for bed most evenings ! I think us 'young folk' may be able to pace ourselves but I'd not want to put my mortgage on lasting till 2010 myself. I think when the clock strikes midnight, there may well be a few oxygen tanks, walking sticks, walkers and even a couple of colostomy bags surrounding any glass slippers on the community centre floor. Any elderly Cinderellas will have been tucked up in bed with their Prince Charmings for several hours by then and in fact, just about ready to get up for another day of gentle activity in the park.

When I were a lad, I always wanted 2 things around this time of year. Well I wanted loads of things but as God never struck down the people I asked him to, I just gave up asking. Anyway I always wanted to catch Santa Claus coming down our chimney (ever since the time the pigeon got stuck halfway up, or down, it and so we knew it was blocked) and give him a good kicking for never bringing me a new bike, black with chopper handlebars and go faster stripes and I also wanted to be allowed to stay up to see in the New Year.

I was 26 before I was allowed !

Back then we had the tradition of 'first footing' which was supposed to be a way of ensuring health, wealth and happiness during the coming year. Now you just need a subscription to Sky Sports.

The idea was that you tried to get the classic tall dark stranger to be the first to cross the threshold after midnight and he should be carrying a lump of coal (heat and comfort during the year), a coin (wealth) and some food item (this one is obvious ok). If he just happened to be passing with a portable bbq, a few t-bone steaks and a keg of beer, he'd be more than welcome.

When I was old enough (not 26 btw), I became the family 'first footer' as there weren't many eligible tall dark strangers on our street and few passed by even if they were lost. Now the description had to be stretched a bit as I'm not tall, dark or handsome. Just available. (and I still am...email me anytime....please). To ensure a good year ahead and when using a home grown footer, he (always a he as after all, why on earth would anyone want a woman coming into their home at midnight ? Maybe I'm starting to see why I'm single !) has to be outside the house before midnight so that he can be a proper visitor after midnight. A first visitor so to speak.

It was several years before I understood the laughter from inside my house when I was told to get outside at 9pm every New Years Eve. As I stood around for 3 hours with icicles forming from my extremities, I never knew that I only needed to be out for a minute or so before midnight and my family were just having a laugh. Well the laugh was on them as the coin I always handed over was an Italian lira I'd found on the floor of the local pizza restaurant. Ha !

Although as my family was always poor, maybe that wasn't such a clever response after all.

So with the approach of 2010 when anything is possible, may I wish each and every one of you a very happy, peaceful, healthy and prosperous New Year.

As for me, well I'm wheeling out the gas bbq and getting the steaks out of the freezer. The odds of anyone in here coming round with those after midnight are on a par with SuBo getting hitched to Simon Cowell. But you never know with her. It's been a funny old year.

Italy Day 6 - 1st September 2009

As my diary, watch and television shows keep telling me it's the end of December and yet my senses here in Florida tell me otherwise, I thought I'd return to our Italian trip last summer for another post.

To be honest, I'd quite gone off the idea of blogging and was going to pack it in, for a while anyway. I guess the 'muse' had left me and being lazy by nature, I didn't feel like going off looking for it. I have about 200 tv shows to catch up on plus about 60 downloaded movies. Add to that, hundreds of photos and many hours of video footage to edit and you can see how writing a regular blog could easily become a chore.

But, if nothing else, I do want to document our Italian trip if only to have a place where I can return to remind myself what the hell we did there as my memories are already fading fast !

So last time, we left our intrepid explorers (including me) shacked up in the overpriced but quite beautiful Hotel Salivolpi on the steep road leading northwards out of Castellina in Chianti.


We drove down into the village and took the SS429 westwards as we were heading to San Gimignano which we had read was a not-to-be missed walled medieval hill town. To get there, we had to pass through the small town with the hilarious name of Poggibonsi. Well it became hilarious to us anyway and we were slightly disappointed to find that when we got there, there was nothing funny about it, apart from its name.

On the way we did pass lots of iconic Tuscan countryside and we had to stop frequently to get out and take photos. Here are a set of four images of the same two views.....far off shots taken with the Nikon compact and then switching to close up shots taken with the Canon SLR and 200m lens.





As I couldn't decided which pair I liked best for this post, I've put them both in.

Westwards ho and we finally approached San Gimignano, the town of a thousand towers. Ok the town of 14 towers then but come on, that's still a lot of towers to have survived centuries of wars and passing AC Milan supporters, somewhat lost on the way to Naples.

Despite dominating the surrounding vine filled Tuscan landscape, San Gimignano was a huge, if not towering (groan) disappointment. Yes it was a lovely drive up from the plains towards this walled town, but once inside and parked up, we soon realised that the magical memories we'd carried forward from Sienna the previous day had set the 'oooh factor' bar too high for San Gimignano to match. Yes it was quaint and had a lovely piazza complete with ye olde fountain but those towers....well they were just so......dull.




So wooohoo for there being 14 of them but I'd have been happier with just one or two decent ones that would've lived long in my memory (ha !). But the town did have the usual awesome narrow streets with all sorts of tourist tat for us to pick up, look at and then put down ! And did I say the piazza was pretty ? Well it was, fountain an 'all.



Speaking of tourist tat, I wasn't sure what to make of these offerings but in the end, my Euros remained firmly in my pocket, bum bag/fanny pack and false heel of my shoe. (This was Italy - I was taking no chances).


Leaving San Gimignano we needed to return to Castellina In Chanti to pick up the main road northwards to Florence and this meant passing through (hehe) Poggibonsi once again. Having stopped giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls peering into the boys changing rooms, we decided to stop in the town and go to our first Italian supermarket as we wanted some snack type food items. Sadly it was a boring Co-Op but it did have some 'different' offers on display.




I was fascinated by that last one as it was my first experience of mini octopussssses although it was sad that they were vacumed packed and frozen solid as I'd have enjoyed seeing them in a tank, like lobsters. Maybe a tank WITH lobsters ! What fun.

Anyway they were nasty looking critters and the label description of 'octopus vulgaris' was pretty accurate.


We ate at a small food area just beyond the tills and then headed off on a different route back to Castelina In Chanti. This route took us past some more stunning Tuscany countryside and by now we were all in love with the place.



Rejoining the main SR222, we headed a few miles north towards Florence and decided we needed an early night so when we came upon the 3 star Residenzia Del Sogno and the owner offered us an appartment, we took it. We unpacked and then went about 50 yds along the hotel path to a restaurant for a not very enjoyable but still quite expensive meal. I really donno how Italians can afford to eat out regularly !

Back at the hotel we discussed plans for the next day, when we were supposed to be visiting Florence. We'd walked a lot over the past 6 days and were really tired as, although we may not have travelled far distance wise, most of the walking had been up and down the very steep cobbled streets of these old towns. We fancied a break.

Actually we fancied the sea. So we had a talk and both Stephen and Daphne sat on me till it was all agreed...we'd not visit Florence but instead we'd head for the coast, to Viageggio in fact. To get over the disappointment of missing out on Florence, we decided to visit Pisa as it was on the way to Viareggio anyway.

And so we went to sleep that night, hoping that one wobbly leaning tower would be much more interesting than the 14 upright ones we'd seen earlier.

Oh and it SO was !

A Red Card For Christmas Cards

My blog background photo seems to have gone awol recently but I'll deal with it later. Still in the Christmas mood here in sunny Buttonwood Bay and I don't feel like playing computer detective right now.

So....Christmas. Over for another year and like most years, I'm thinking about it all with my usual sharp and penetrating insight. Right now that's being aided by generous shots of Amaretto creamer in my two mugs of coffee and I have to say that the liquid version of the creamer is MUCH more potent than the powder version. I'm slowly working my way up to just pouring in the real thing and THEN you'll get some insight !

Christmas cards are my topic today. Should that be 'is my topic' ? Told you the Amaretto was potent.

I'm never quite sure about sending cards and for once it's not a matter of cost. Mostly. I think it all started for me when boxed sets came out and often the cards in boxes look like they were printed on paper recycled from paper already recycled from old toilet roll tubes. Often there is no message at all inside as if the producers couldn't even be bothered with 4 lines that rhyme in any way at all.

Then companies like Hallmark stepped in and now we have cards FOR everyone FROM everyone. On my visit to one of their stores in the Sebring Mall, I came across some gems in with cards for every possible member of a family from the acceptable mum, dad, son and daughter to the slightly less acceptable lover, mistress, bit on the side when the wife is off shopping at ASDA.

There were cards you could send to a priest. The bible reference inside was Luke 11:28 so I think someone was having a wee laugh.

Not to be left out, there were cards for pastors too and even nuns got their own cards. If I was wanting to send a card to Uncle Bill, my seldom mentioned Franciscan relative (my dad's brother so to speak) , I'd have been out of luck. I should start a campaign calling for equal Christmas card rights (rites ?) for monks.

"A Monk Isn't Just For Christmas" That's catchy.

Just in case you're not sure of the role that your religious friend plays, there were cards for a generic religious participant. Maybe these go to the nice people who hold open the church door or who pass along a bag full of money during Mass when I can take out a bit of spending money for the week ahead. What ? No ? You put money IN ?

My bad.

Going further down the unlikely recipients for a Christmas card list, we come to hair stylists. Yes there are now cards for the person who cuts your hair ! Why did I never think of sending mine one ? Well because I'd have to open it myself as I cut my own hair...sorry...hairs. Still plural but only just.

Then there are the ones created specifically for one section of humanity to send to another section..........like babies to their babysitters. I kid you not. Kid....baby...gettit ? Oh never mind.

You can now send a card to a co-worker. Now is it just me or don't you think if you were friendly enough to send a card to a co-worker, you'd just send a 'normal' one. The best one of these 'job' type ones was a card specifically for an administrative assistant ! What about the administrator ? Nothing for them. Move along to the next window please.

Leaving humanity aside, there were cards for dogs to send to cats and vice versa. But as animals aren't allowed into stores, I fear those will never sell.

I could go on but you get the point....or maybe the pointlessness of Christmas cards. I mean how often do we even read the prose/poetry inside these things ? We look to see who they're from and then panic if we haven't already sent them one. We rush to 'the recycled box' and if there is time and the post office workers aren't on strike, we post one back asap and hope not to get anymore like that.

I'm sure there must be 'late' cards like you get for birthdays.

"I'm sorry that I missed Christmas but here's a card to show you I was thinking about you in the first week in January." That sort of thing.

There is no doubt that getting a nice thoughtful card from someone you've not heard from for years can be uplifting and bring distanced friends and relatives together again. It's when you sit down with a megabox of discounted cards (70% off on Boxing Day last year) and a printout of every contact you've ever made in your life next to it, that I begin to wonder what it's all about.

"Never got one from that sister of yours so we're not sending her one this year. And Uncle Norm ? He ran off with the Philippino au pair and Auntie Marge is still in pieces...so let not do either this year, eh ?"

Is it all a commercial rip off by the card companies ? Sure. Do we really need a card from anyone wishing us a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays ? That's my question today. And while I chew it over, I'm off into town to get my "Thank you For Sending Me A Christmas Card" card. For my gas meter reader, y'know.

If I get a card from my undertaker next year, then I'll know the Christmas card business has reached rock bottom - or at least 6ft down towards it !

And A Very Happy Christmas To Susan Boyle !

Ok I just had to have one last shameless attempt to get more readers and we all know Susan is a winner when it comes to this sort of thing !

Like her, this post will be short and sweet.

Happy Christmas to all my readers and bloggers that I follow and even ones that I don't follow and to those who know me but don't read my blog (?) and to everyone that I don't know but wish I did.

There, that just about covers everyone. But just in case, Happy Christmas to everyone else.

Oh and Susan Boyle.

News Flash : Fuel Shortage In Michigan.

Well we're safely back in sunny Florida after our week "ooop north" in freezing Michigan and once again it's hard to believe it's Christmas Eve. Even England has snow for goodness sake, and a lot of it. My mind is throwing up all sorts of images of a Dickensian Christmas but with none of the nasty bits, like being cold and hungry and being in black and white.

In my mind all is cozy and warm with happy excited kids looking outside through classic snowflake covered windows, while mums and dads sit in front of a roaring log fire with a richly decorated Christmas tree in the corner standing guard over a huge mound of brightly wrapped presents.

Yes, yes I know I've been taken in by Hollywood again and that the reality of Christmas for many people is as far removed from that scene as I am right now but they're MY images in MY mind so let me have them for a while. Then I'll look outside at the sunshine and palm trees and remember that it was my decision to be here and that apart from these few days, I'm very happy that I made it.

Before I close off the chapter of my life that was last week, there is one story to tell. The story of how we made our return flight from Flint airport thanks to Deb being a very resourceful woman, the 911 service around Flint being full of Christmas cheer, the Michigan state police doing their bit for international fellowship and the lady in a Speedway gas station for being a lady in a Speedway gas station.

Of course as with any good story, there has to be a villain and the villain in this case is a Chevrolet Aveo, the biggest load of metalic crap since AC/DC.

We rented this four wheeled disaster with a full tank of gas and for once, we took the deal where you bring it back empty as prices were unusually high around Flint. Now we weren't anal enough to deliberately drive around so that we returned the car with only fumes in the tank but as we approached our Flint hotel on Tuesday afternoon, the fuel gauge was reading very close to the empty line. I got out the owners manual and read about the low fuel light and was comforted to find that once it came on, we'd have 1.7 gallons of fuel left, and even with an American car that should've given us 20-30 miles of driving.

As we pulled into the hotel car park, we were 6 miles from the airport and the low fuel light still hadn't come on. We had our evening meal at a restaurant next to the hotel so never even used the car again that evening.

So yesterday morning we worked backwards from our flight time of 5:18am and left the hotel just before 4am for the short drive. Flint is a small regional airport with only a few counters and gates so we know we had plenty of time leaving at 3:50am. HA !!!

A mile or so from the hotel on I-75 the engine coughed. What ? We put it down to it being very cold. We drove on and suddenly the low fuel light came on which actually cheered us up as we were beginning to think this model didn't have one as the fuel dial was past the word "EMPTY' by this time. Seconds later we passed the mile marker for the airport exit ramp and the engine coughed again and there was no power at all.

WE WERE OUT OF GAS !!!!!!!!

Deb, who was driving, got us across to the side of the interstate and from the glow of the hazard lights, we could clearly see the exit sign showing it was 3/4 mile ahead. So close and yet.....

Once we'd recovered from a mild case of meltdown in the form of cursing Chevrolet and all it's products, Deb got out her cell phone and made a call. From the passenger side I just heard her saying it wasn't really an emergency but we were out of gas on the interstate and only an hour before our flight. She was blubbering like a well practised soap star and I felt really bad for her and hoped that the recovery company would sort us out.

When she came off the phone and her voice immediately returned to normal, I discovered she'd not rung the recovery company as she's not in one and in fact had dialled 911 and thanks to our location AND her perceived distraught condition, a patrol car was on it's way.

We weren't out of the woods of course as we still didn't know what would happen. Do cops carry cans of gas here ? Would the officer request a tow truck for us ? What were the chances of making our flight ? Things were not looking good.

Within 5 minutes we were blinded by a state trooper's car lights behind us and an officer who looked like he'd just finished high school appeared at my window. Having watched enough cop shows to know they're not keen on sudden movements when they approach vehicles, I made a grand show of opening the window.

He listened to our tale of woe, said they don't carry cans of gas and so wasn't sure how he could help. He returned to his patrol car for advice. He came back and said he would drive one of us to the nearby gas station in the hopes they sold empty cans.

And so it was that after 57 years of keeping my nose clean (and never being caught), I finally got to ride in the back of a police car. I don't recommend it for long journeys. The seat was basically a hard plastic bench and I now know why officers help 'passengers' in by putting their hands on their heads to guide them in. You cannot get in without going ass first and ducking down. Once in you get to know what a battery hen feels like. With my knees touching my nose, I tried to chat with this 12 yr old cop who was asking all about my accent and if I'd had a good time in Michigan !!

Minutes later we reached the gas station and joy unbounded, it sold gas cans. I decided on a one gallon red model with black fittings. I didn't spend long making my choice and even less time filling it. Then it was off like a rocket again back to our car. We didn't go through any red lights that I could see but by God that car could accelerate. Cop Jr. actually fuelled the car, asked my name and shook my hand as we parted and I'd say all this, from the spluttering of the engine to us setting off again, had taken only 25 minutes. Amazing.

At the airport, Deb sorted out returning the car while I sorted out getting our one case checked at the Delta desk. We met on the way to the gate (Gate 1 of course) and only had a few minutes to wait until we started boarding the flight to Atlanta. Phew !!

As a finale to this story, Deb later called Alamo to complain about the car's low fuel light being as much use as a chocolate fire guard and they offered to refund us the cost of a full tank of fuel, about $30. The can had cost me $5.99 and the gallon of gas cost $2.54 and so even though the cost in terms of soaring blood pressure and stress could not be quantified, we happily accepted this offer !

So a huge thanks goes out to the Flint state police dept and if I had his name, I'd be mentioning the officer too. I feel bad now that I never noticed it on his uniform or asked for it.

And the moral(s) of all this..........always take the deal that returns a rental car with a full tank, never trust that a low fuel light means you have any fuel left at all, always travel with a menopausal (or pregnant) woman in the car and if you see a Flint state trooper stopping a vehicle on the highway, give him a wave using all your fingers and not just one of them !

You never know when you might need his help.