Protecting the Sirius Star

The first major news story my mind really picked up on, since getting back from two weeks on holiday, has been the hijacking of the Sirius Star.

I was vaguely aware of 'piracy' issues in that part of the world, but listening to the story on the radio I was staggered by the scale - both in terms of the size of the ship, and the distance from the shore at which the attack took place. Of course, in a world ruled by TV and blockbuster movies, there's a part of me that's convinced that an elite and secret Special Ops unit will go in and clear things up, but the chances are that's not really going to happen.

It got me thinking though. What can the shipping operators do? Then it hit me, memories on the fear struck into my adolescent heart when doing my paper round - all because of a little perspex sign on the gate. I'm going into business, anyone want to help me with the start-up capital? Makes cheques payable to Action Signs (Leics) Ltd......




I'm working on other designs, I expect the Jack Bauer line to be huge.

Half way there

Still on holiday, bit warm, really don't have the energy to update much for now... maybe when I get back to cold and rainy England


Saw a pair of Ospreys this morning though, that was very cool.

What he said

It's not often that I agreed with the Daily Mail (or, in this case, their Sunday publication). However I read this editorial piece today - I really can't add anything to it. Mr Collins has hit the nail on the head...

Ten years ago this week, a young woman named Angie Rowe picked up a microphone, took a deep breath and launched a passionate plea for her local football club. At that time, the club was on the brink of oblivion. Its debts were crushing, its assets were negligible, and it occupied 92nd and last place in what we once called the Football League.

And yet, on a cold, rain-lashed evening, 150 people gathered at a city centre hotel to see if the club might dare to dream of a viable future. Angie had called the meeting to form the 'Tigers Co-operative Trust Fund' with the aim of issuing shares, raising money and giving the fans an independent voice. She spoke with quiet eloquence.

'We don't want pitch invasions, poster campaigns, hate mail, anything like that,' she said. 'But there comes a point when you can't carry on saying: "I can't do anything about it." We can all do something if we try.' I well remember the impressive dignity of the occasion. I remember the applause for a large, shaven-headed gentleman when he announced: 'My family's already decided to chip in £2.50 a week for 10 months. My mother's agreed, my sister's agreed. And they don't even like football!' Above all, I remember the defiant intensity of their belief that Hull City Football Club would one day achieve something wonderful.

Hull experienced some hard and hazardous times in the years that followed that fateful night but their subsequent success has done those dreamers proud.

Which brings us to Phil Gartside.

Phil is the chairman of Bolton, a member of the FA board and another of football's dreamers. Phil's dream is to have not one but two Premier Leagues, each of 18 clubs, with no relegation from Premier League Two.

He says: 'It would be revolutionary. But I don't think this would be as revolutionary as when the Premier League was set up and we should open our minds to change.'

Shrugging off the notion of Phil Gartside as Che Guevara, and setting aside a long-held personal conviction that the formation of the Premier League was an unmitigated calamity for English football, let us focus on his support for the abolition of relegation.

This is Gartside's crude and artless way of telling us that he has spent far too many seasons worrying whether Bolton are going to go up or down and that he would like some peace of mind and security of pocket, thank you very much.

He'd quite like to give himself a bit of insurance with two plump and greedy leagues and, as for the rest of the losers, well, they know what they can do.

Richard Scudamore, the chief executive of the Premier League, was quick to squash Gartside's exercise in self-protection, pointing out that the threat of relegation sharpens the competitive edge. However, we recall Scudamore's fumbling flirtation with the so-called 39th game. We also recall his claim that the Premier League was 'a shining example of redistribution'.

When Scudamore speaks, it is best to have several buckets of salt close at hand.

In fact, the current Premier League's broadcasting contracts stand at some £2.7billion, which guarantees each team between £28million and £50million a season until 2010.

By contrast, the Football League's television deal will be worth £264m between 2009 and 2011. Or slightly more than £1.2m per Football League club per season, with most of the money going to Championship clubs.

Those of us who recall the relatively happy days, when the Football League was a sturdy co-operative with each club enjoying a reasonable share of the game's income, will treat Scudamore's 'shining example' with appropriate derision.

Which takes us back to the bold Gartside.

In the course of his ramblings he demanded that British club owners be protected from the invasion of foreign investors: 'The Sheik of wherever and people like the Glazers.'

So, foreign players are more than welcome - and Bolton have welcomed them by the score. Yet foreign owners should be treated as a threat to upstanding Brits like Mike Ashley. Truly, Phil's logic is as questionable as his taste.

But let us return to the season, 10 years ago this week, when they held that significant meeting in Hull's city centre. Let us see what Phil's far-sighted plan might have produced at the close of 1998-99. Well, the top 36 clubs would have been fine, of course, including Bolton in 26th place. But among the names who would have been cast into the outer darkness, with no possibility of redemption, were Portsmouth, Fulham, Wigan, Stoke, Reading and Manchester City.

As for Hull City, who finished 89th, they would have had no place in Gartside's exclusive cartel. Yet this was the club for whom Angie Rowe declared: 'We can all do something if we try.'

And this is the club which is now rubbing shoulders with the elite of the English game. So let's tip our hats to the strivers and the fighters. Let's acclaim the people who believe we can all make a difference. Let's ignore the squeals of brazen self-interest from the likes of Phil Gartside.

And let's hear it for the dreamers.

Quite right, that man. Not something I envisioned myself saying about a journalist from the Mail.

Oh friend, where art thou?

Mick Bradbury, I have no idea why that name suddenly came to me yesterday but it did. Mick was my best friend during my primary school days, we lived pretty much in each other's pockets - whether we were playing football on the school grounds where I lived, kicking around on the close where he lived, or going down to the old Fosse cinema for the mid-week showcase (a Disney movie, following on from a humorous short and a documentary).

I remember all sorts of good times, and very few bad (although I'm sure there were some). Right up until the age of 11, when my family moved three miles up the road during my last junior year. A year after that we were both at the same high school, yet I honestly don't think that we ever spoke to each other again - not through a falling out, just because our paths rarely crossed - and that break of around 8 months was like a brick wall between us.

The wonder of technology, of course, is that you can now track people down through the likes of Facebook, Friends Reunited, and countless other sites. After his name came to mind yesterday I had a quick look, but no joy. Then again, I'm not sure whether I really wanted to find him or not? It's strange, I really hope that he's enjoying life and having a great time, I hope that his brother and parents are all well, but I'm not really sure what I'd say to him if his name popped up on my screen. It would be the digital equivalent of bumping into someone you've not seen for years - a brief "hello, how are you?" and then an uncomfortable silence... then again maybe that's just me, maybe most people find loads to talk about in those situations?

It got me thinking though, this extended society that the Internet (and other forms of connectivity) has delivered is surely as much a 'problem' as it is a solution? Sure I can go off in search of Mick, or of the guys I used to know from Fools & Heroes (Cam, Ed, Big Jim, and the crew). I could try and track down people I used to work with, or the folks who used to hang out at Alcatraz (nee Sector 5) - although scratch that, the latter might be difficult as I rarely knew anyone by more than their first name!!

I still have a solid core of friends picked up along the way, from all stages of my life (at least from 11 years onward), and I'm sure that in ten years I'll be able to look back on people from - for example - the cricket club, and think to myself "whatever happened to...?".

The technology, and 'social networking' (to use a noughties phrase), available today will be able to help me find out - in some cases at least - and to have that awkward conversation from the comfort of my own home. It's been responsible for plenty of losses to, though. There's the 'Dark Age of Camelot' crowd that I spent so many hours online with - Ricey, Ovi, Raven, and many many more - I'm in touch with a couple by email, but these are people I felt truly connected to and yet I haven't spoken to since I cancelled my account.

The same goes for the group of gamers I used to hook up with on my Xbox 360. I'm still in online contact with a few, Crippler (Rob), Sparky (Holly) and Defentropy (Arlo) are all on my Facebook and/or MySpace lists but conversations are minimal - yet, two years ago, I'd spend three or four hours every Saturday and Sunday morning talking to them through that cheap headset (those guys are all from across the Atlantic, so they would be hitting midnight sessions, and I'd be trying to shake the sleep from my brain).

So, if any of you mentioned above - or anyone else who I know (or knew) does happen to read this - rest assured that I'm interested in how life is with you. I wish all of you every happiness and success, and I'd love to hear from you - just be a bit pushy, because otherwise I'm likely to just stand here looking a bit sheepish.

...and the result is now in...

September 21st 2008, the Walker Cricket Club, Southgate... Kibworth Cricket Club were crowned as Cockspur Cup champions for the second time in five years, having also been runners-up in 2007. There are plenty of places online where you'll be able to find out more about the game, and frankly they're all better placed to tell you about it than I am.

I readily admit that I've never been a massive cricket fan, and whilst the lads at KCC have gone some way to changing that, I'm still a rank amateur when it comes do deciphering the nuances of the sport. A fact made readily obvious by the number of times that I've stood on the ropes chewing my nails, only for Jude to tell me that the result of that day's excursion was never in doubt - and I still possess the ability to infuriate her further with my frankly appalling observations on strategies and incidents, but the important thing is that I love every minute of it.

When I was a kid my Dad loved cricket, particularly at Test Match level. Whilst I would spend summer days playing with my matchbox cars, or my Airfix toy soldiers - all the time scraping holes in the knees of my trousers - my Dad would spend his alternating between work and watching five days of seemingly endless tedium... to me, at least. He was fortunate that his job often allowed him to be at home on summer afternoons, but even though I could be there even more I just couldn't fathom the interest of the spectacle. To be honest, I'm still not sure that I can. I'm growing to love the shorter disciplines though, and meeting Jude was the catalyst behind this change.

Jude has been first team scorer for Kibworth for twenty years and, rather fittingly, Sunday's game marked the end of a 'career' that has seen her outlast just about every player at the club, and even have her own two-page article in the local paper. She's decided that it's time to 'hang up' her pens, and maybe spend some time sorting through the memories and 'memorabilia' that she's accrued in those two decades.

I'm glad that she waited though, because if she hadn't then I might not have made a whole host of new friends.

It quickly became apparent that Kibworth is very much a cricket club first, and a cricket team second. Through following them for the past couple of seasons it's been fairly easy to spot the differences between these two concepts. Several times it has been fairly evident to me that a number of opposition teams have been little more than a collection of eleven or twelve players who get together, play their games, and maybe have a following of a few family members. I'm not knocking that, but when you see the sort of social spirit that can surround a 'proper' club - the way it does at Kibworth - it's hard not to feel a little sorry for the teams that don't have that.

Kibworth run a number of competitive teams, along with a 'casual' Sunday outfit (who still play at a level that I could never hope to compete on), and some serious coaching of juniors. Whenever you arrive at the ground for a match there are always plenty of people there, and when we went to Lord's for the (rain abandoned) final - a couple of weeks back - five coaches of supporters took the day off work/school to travel down and get noisy in the stands.

Not only does this 'social' club add a great spirit to the team(s), but it also meant that I was quickly embraced as a member of the KCC 'family'. Okay so Jude had doubtless given me a reputation to live up to, and the affection in which she is held by everyone at the club meant that I had something of a head start, but it's still a strange feeling to realise that I've known these people for less than two years. Within six or seven months of my first trip to the club I was on holiday in Barbados as part of a forty-odd strong group, and following Sunday's win I'll hopefully be repeating that in five weeks' time.

I've had my embarrassing moments - like standing with Jude and talking to Simon and Emma Renshaw, telling them how much I enjoy watching "that big-hitting number eight" at bat, and still not realising that he and Simon were the same man - but at no point have I felt that I was being merely 'tolerated' because of Jude.

The club is full of great people, from the chairman and 'management' types, down through the senior players and their families, to some very talented youngsters. Long may that be the case, and long may their team's prosper.

If you find yourself in the Leicestershire area, between the months of May and September, on a quiet Saturday afternoon, then drop by the ground and see what's going on. I can promise you, you'll be made welcome and you'll make new friends.

'cking 'rious

Tonight I really feel as if I want to let fly, and I know that I need to let fly - but generally speaking it's probably better if I don't right now.

For those that know me well, there's something that's been "on the go" for nearly a year now - and whilst things should have been put to bed a long time ago, today saw yet another barrier thrown up by the other party involved.

All will no doubt become clear, hopefully in a final outpouring of anger-tainted joy, but until I know for sure I shall bite my tongue. I'm having to bite hard though, expect a lot of blood.

Really guys, just lighten up, for once in your lives...!

Today is a sad day, for anyone who grew up in the seventies and eighties at least. Today, after thirty years, Grange Hill has come to an end.

Now I've not watched he show for the last twenty-odd years, but like so many others of my generation I have great memories of watching the early incarnation. The likes of Tucker Jenkins, 'Gripper' Stebson, and many many more were a staple of my childhood days... and who can forget that great opening sequence?



...of course hindsight is a wonderful thing, and there's a chance that the show was nothing like as good as I remember it being (certainly watching old episodes of 'The A Team' can be slightly painful now). I also have little doubt that I would have found nothing of value in the last fifteen years or so of its history, but that's missing the point - it's a show about schoolkids, for schoolkids, and for me it was one of the best things on the goggle-box back then.

Today the BBC, over at their 'Have Your Say' site, asked the question 'What are your memories of Grange Hill?'. Here's how they put it...

The last episode of Grange Hill will be shown on BBC One on Monday. What are your memories of the series?

The school drama was first broadcast in 1978 and over the years has tackled controversial issues such as drugs and teenage pregnancy.

However, TV bosses decided to cancel the series as they said that it not longer reflected the lives of modern children.

Over the years, Grange Hill has been a nurturing ground for young talent including Todd Carty who is expected to repeat his role of Tucker Jenkins in the final episode.

What is the legacy of Grange Hill? Was it an accurate reflection of school life? Do you have a favourite story or character? Did you work on the series or meet any of the actors?

...now the HYS site is famous for being populated by some of the most moronic examples of 'citizenry' that you could hope to meet, just take a look at the fantastic spEak You're bRanes if you want to get a feel for how bad it gets. A word of caution though, the guys there pull NO punches, and the language can be colourful in the extreme - this is not a site for the faint of heart.

So, where was I? Ah yes, 'Have Your Say'. I won't pretend that I don't have an occasional overlap with the opinions of some on that site - but where I do it's very slight indeed. Calling us one and the same would be like suggesting that my friend (who shall remain anonymous), who has a thing for tall blondes, shares the opinions and goals of those Nazi extremists who set out to populate Europe with an Aryan master-race.

Surely, however, the subject of Grange Hill couldn't bring out the worst in the HYS tribe? They would all be filled with warm memories, as I was, of burger chips and beans and watching one of Darth Vader's ruthless admirals dispense justice to the scamps of the school?

Not a bit of it, within a matter of a couple of hours here's what was appearing by way of response to the BBC's question:

"Quite funny if it was to reflect school life today in that part of London Gripper would become a gay Asian that stabbed people for drug money"

"Of course Grange Hill no longer reflects the lives of english children today, probably because just about every school in the country is awash with immigrants who can barely speak a word of english"

"Grange Hill: that was the trigger for the breakdown of British society as we used to know it."

The mind boggles, it really does. Do some people have a life that is that empty? I can hardly talk, I spent most of this weekend (at least Sunday) frittering my time away playing Football Manager - although, to be fair, I was sticking close to Jude to make sure she wasn't struggling too much with her dose of the lurgy - but even I don't reach the point of sheer boredom and bloody mindedness where my only response to a question about a childhood staple is to hijack the issue with yet another rant about immigrants, multiculturalism, and the impending decline if western civilisation!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Tommy Womack

Last year I was fortunate enough to be introduced to a man by the name of Tommy Womack. I was on a trip to Nashville TN, with my friend Paul from Mohawk Visuals, to see Jason & the Scorchers play a benefit show for their original drummer - Perry Baggs. (For those who visit MySpace, I blogged about the trip last June)

Paul had met Tommy previously, and had arranged for him to act as a 'guide' for part of our trip - in return for which we shot some photos for possible promo use in the future. One that he really wanted was a shot of him 'busking' in front of a piece of local graffiti - unfortunately the graffiti gets painted over on a regular basis, but thanks to the power of the net I managed to find a picture of it, and thanks to the power of Photoshop I created the shot that Tommy had wanted.




Tommy is a great guy, and so much more than the 'singer songwriter' that you'll see him billed as in some quarters.

He started out in a college rock band by the name of Government Cheese - about whom he wrote a great book, The Cheese Chronicles. I thoroughly recommend this as a read for anyone with designs on a career in music, and especially for anyone currently performing in a 'small' band - if only because you'll undoubtedly recognise so much of it. Having been presented with a copy when we left Nashville, I proceeded to read it and discover that among other claims to fame, Tommy and his band were occasional stage-mates of a young group from Athens GA by the name of REM, and were also supported by a bizarre trio of Python-esque characters who would later make themselves known to the world as Primus.

I won't attempt to re-tell Tommy's life story, but this gives you a flavour of where he came from. These days he's a musician, a great songwriter, an author, a blogger, and a voice of slightly madcap reason among the throngs. What's more he's a Scorchers fan, which is always good enough for me.

As well as his solo material, which I've seen him perform both electrically and acoustically, he also produced a stunning blues-rock live recording along with his friend Will Kimbrough, under the name Daddy (sadly this doesn't appear to be on the UK Amazon site, but take a look anyway - it's worth it!). Will and Tommy are currently working on another Daddy record, which promises to be something special, but in the meantime Tommy is due in the UK next week for a short series of dates playing with a local band by the name of Dawson & The Dissenters.

So if you have any interest at all in real music; rock, acoustic, blues, check out his site, or some of his stuff on YouTube, or whatever other sources you might find to get a feel for what he's all about.

Then do yourself a favour and get to one of these dates. They'll be low key, and Tommy might appear so nervous at times that you think he might just freeze up, but you'll be in for a real treat - that I promise.

Three Days, No Result...

I'm finally back in Leicestershire, and able to connect to the net again, so it's time to bring you up to speed on the last couple of days.

I thought, in this wonderful modern era, that I would be able to take my laptop and update things on the fly. I've seen the movies, go anywhere in any large city, switch on, and you're away...... or not, at least not unless you want to fork out £3 per 15 minutes to the owners of the £300/night hotel for the privilege anyway!! So much for the wi-fi super highway, I guess I'll have to go wireless broadband, or consider that rather nifty iphone 3G. That's actually a decent shout, I'm on Orange at the moment, and it seems that I have several regular haunts (including home) where the signal is poor at best.

Jude, on the other hand, is with O2 and has no such issues, and which mobile carrier is the exclusive iphone provider at present? Three guesses, and the first two don't count. I've always said that all I want is a phone that lets me make calls and text messages, but it is a rather nice piece of kit, it would cost me about the same as my current bill, and it will let me get to all those cool sites deemed 'inappropriate' on the work networks (like anything with "game" or "movie" in their description. Sounds like fate to me...


Anyway, enough of the ranting and rambling, what about the trip?

For those out of the loop, on Monday I boarded a coach with the players and officials from Kibworth Cricket Club. Jude is their long-time First XI scorer, although this is her last season in that role. On Tuesday Kibworth were to play in the finals of the 'Cockspur Cup' - a national knock-out tournament which features two teams who have battled through one of sixteen regional knockout competitions, then the last sixteen of the national pool, to reach Lord's. This year was KCC's third final in five years - having won it in 2004 (before my time), and finishing as runners-up in 2007.

As a club Kibworth, who I will no doubt speak more of on another occasion, are a fantastic bunch and in the two years that I have known Jude they have taken me on board as one of their own - not bad for a long-time 'metal head' with little or no interest in the sport. Actually that's not entirely fair, I have no interest in Test Cricket, but the one day game has always been entertaining - once you know the players involved though, and can count them among your friends, it takes on a whole different level of interest.

The opportunity to see them at Lord's for a second occasion ought to have been the icing on the cake of my second season as a fan - but whilst the occasion was great, including the 'Eve of Final' dinner and the actual match - the rains that brought the game to a premature end, meaning that a replay is in order, did put something of a dampener on matters (pun intended).

Of course I'm looking forward to the rematch on September 21st (provisional date), but the fact that we had the opposition pretty much on the back foot means that many will, I'm sure, see it as an opportunity lost. That said, Kibworth are a determined bunch, and a look forward to reporting on a happier result in a couple of weeks.

On a personal note the trip did result in another little landmark on my (thus far) brief photographic adventure. Steve, the club chairman, asked if I'd get some shots of the players as the guys at Lord's were offering to show them on the large video screens around the ground. Being the type of person that I am I couldn't leave it at just a snapshot though - and I'm glad I didn't, because frankly the photos of the opposition were nothing to write home about. Instead I spent a couple of hours on Saturday, having grabbed shots of the players, working on a Photoshop frame/border arrangement to try and recreate the feel of the old Panini football sticker collections of my youth (I completed the full albums for the '76, '77, and '78 sets)

Here's an example of what I ended up with, this is actually a joke one, for one of the guys who I hadn't managed to get a hot of, but it gives you the idea. I'm going to try and get the real ones uploaded to the club website, and there's even talk of trying to arrange a time to get the players from the clubs other squads - Jude and I are pondering the idea of creating a 'Top Trumps' set for the end of season, only time will tell.




...so, although we didn't get an outcome on the match, I can now add "my photos and graphics have been shown on the video screens at Lord's" to my small but growing collection of 'boasts' - not something that many can say, I'm sure.

After the game things were a little subdued. We'd booked into a local restaurant for our post-match celebrations - and I use that phrase advisedly, not because victory was assured, but because I was there after 'we' lost last year, and we still had one hell of a party. Here's to another, sometime around September 22nd, preferably on the back of a win - but we'll have to wait and see.

One, Two. One, Two... is this thing on?

I decided to start my blog a week or so ago, but then the question hit me.

How do you actually start one?

I mean I'm 38, at least for another couple of weeks or so, and there's an awful lot of history behind me to try and sum up... so I'm not going to bother. Some of it will come out in future postings, of that I'm sure, but for now we'll wait and see what appears when.

So why am I here?

I think I realised, some time ago now, that MySpace is dead - at least it is for me. As long as it's free I'll leave my profile up there, but I really feel no desire to visit the place any more. What started out seeming like a good idea, quickly descended into a mess of random comments, and invitations from self-promoting entities with whom I feel no connection. For God's sake, authors (or maybe their publishers) are setting profiles up for their books! "The Bible wants to be your friend on MySpace" - trust me, it's only a matter of time!

As for the bulletin board, well once I got past about ten friends that became as good as useless, and though Jude (my other and better half) enjoyed doing them, I quickly got bored of those questionnaires with things like "When was the last time you had an Ice-cream?"

My main reason for joining was to keep in touch with a couple of existing friends who had pages. They've got my email address though, and my phone number, and if I need to I'll still drop by now and then.

Then there was the blogging, which I did get around to now and then. That was my main interest, but with all of the distractions that quickly followed, it became easy to 'forget' that part of it.

There were some positives to come out of it, of course. Not least of which was meeting Jude, although it turned out that we had a common friend - who recognised me when Jude showed her my profile. So it was a start point, but little more.

No, it's safe to say that I have little cause to visit that particular site any more. Just consider my page 'inactive'.

As for this place, well I'm hoping to motivate myself into posting fairly regularly - and maybe even pick up some passing traffic (i.e. readers) now and then, who knows. Essentially, though, it'll be a glorified diary.

I was never much for diary writing as a kid, I think mine used to stretch to things like:

Wednesday 14th May
'Went to the pictures with Mick Bradbury and his Mum, saw Bedknobs & Broomsticks"

Hardly Pepys. Not that I'm expecting I will be now, but I do enjoy writing somewhat more (we may come to that in a future blog).

In addition I'll use it for venting my spleen (who doesn't?!), sharing details of some cool people/places with anyone who does show up, and - mainly, I suspect - muttering to myself.

Think of this as a virtual vagrant - a computerised unwashed tramp, talking to itself in the corner, and occasionally sharing its thoughts with the world. Only there won't be too much of the "Shee theesh handsh? Theysh deadly weaponsh mate!"

Finally, as I used to do in the one 'journal' that I briefly kept in my adult life, I might share little things that I've read (or heard) that have entertained me. Here's my first offering, from a book that I've just started reading...

"[my great-grandmother] gave up her religion to marry a Methodist miner. He fathered five children and then, with an inconsideration towards womenfolk for which northern husbands are noted, promptly and irrevocably died."

- 'Achtung Schweinehund!" by Harry Pearson