FAVOURITE TIME OF YEAR

One of the good things about living on this usually God-forsaken island happens round about this time of year. Spring. Now for those friends who are living in far away climes, where one month moulds seamlessly into another year round, with the occasional rise and fall in temperature, I apologise for this boastful diatribe, but it really is fantastic to be in the Northern hemisphere right now.

We have been blessed so far with plenty of sunshine and I realised it was time to get out into the garden to clear away the ravages of winter, and prepare for the summer and most importantly, the `Swengland' mid summer party, this year taking place on Midsummer weekend 25th June.

So Trish and I set about, cutting, pruning, planting and creating, not to mention removing two well established shrubs which took simply ages. In fact I was losing all resolution on Sunday with said roots of shrub and was beginning to admit defeat as it stubbornly refused to be dislodged from it's footings. However, at that moment the Conservative party candidate arrived on our doorstep hoping for my vote in the coming referendum or whatever. This horror gave me fresh resolve and I soon had the bugger out and the roots too!

So the work has progressed over the last couple of weeks and the greenhouse is full of flowers and vegetables requiring planting to the raised bed we have created using compost from our bin and molehills from the common opposite the pub. (thanks to Nick Iddon, who has an allotment, for this tip). Years ago I never thought I would be getting into doing this stuff but like life, you get back what you put in (that's the theory, for me it hasn't always been so) and it is a real pleasure to see the garden slowly come back to life, just like the plants within it. The fact it needed a considerable amount of CPR was inevitable.

So now the moment has come to enjoy the fruits of our labour and I'm off to the supermarket (bicycle of course) to buy a few bottles of wine and beer. You are welcome.

WHAT A WASTE OF TIME

Dear Ticket Office.

I suppose I will be one of many disappointed by not being able to purchase tickets for the Champions league quarter final. I am not writing to you about that. I understand that all who wanted could not be accommodated BUT the system used to purchase tickets is absolutely USELESS.

I logged on at 9.30 dead and was presented with the red line that indicates you are in a queue. I have no problem with that either. BUT when I join a queue I don't expect to go backwards. After all, if you joined a queue in a bank or some where similar, if someone came along when you got near the front and moved you to the back you would have grounds for complaint. That's what happened to me today. As the red line approached two thirds of the way to the end, suddenly it was whisked back to the start, and no, I didn't touch anything, it was on the computer by my side as I worked at my desk.

Is it possible for The Great THFC to come up with a better system for all its loyal fans? After fifty years I think I deserve better. As do we all.

Disappointing.

John Scales Bronze Member

Do you think I had a reply? Of course not.

JACK'S BACK

Jack then

It's November 26th 1968 and a 13 year old boy stands outside the Royal Albert Hall in London. It's a day he will never forget, it's a gig that will live in the memory. he has no ticket. They sold out rapidly even without the help of the internet. He's hoping he'll be able to buy one but none are on offer. As the concert start draws near he becomes disappointed, resigning himself to the fact that there is no chance to see his favourites that night.

However, someone was looking after him. Around the corner came another agitated figure. 'When does the concert start?' asks the stranger. 'I'm supposed to be meeting my friend and he hasn't shown up.' As if by magic a bell sounds inside the foyer. 'Well that's the bell that means the concert is due to start' the boy informs him, grasping at straws. 'You need to get in or you will miss it'. The stranger looks disappointed so the boy offers to buy his spare ticket. A deal is struck and 10/6 is handed over (I still have the stub) and the two of them make their way up to the upper circle to see the last ever performance by The First Supergroup- Cream. I wonder if the stranger ever wondered about the fact that there were two support bands that night (Yes and Taste) and in reality the concert didn't really start until an hour and a half later. If he did he didn't let on.

Jack now

So you can imagine what a thrill it was on Tuesday night to see one third of that dynamic trio-Jack Bruce in the rather more sedate surroundings of The Stables Theatre in Milton Keynes. The place was sold out as it had been 43 years ago and once again we were not disappointed. True, Jack now looks like the sort of elderly bloke you would give up your seat for on a bus or train, and his tiny body seemed to be lost in his clothes but his bass playing was as good as it was when Frank Zappa got him to play on 'Apostrophe'. Indeed for most of the night his bass bins burned and bounced with exactly the same tone as on the title track, worth a listen if you have never heard it. Of course Jack treated us to some classics, 'Theme From An Imaginary Western, Born Under A Bad Sign, Spoonful and We're Going Wrong being my favourites. it was pretty loud too (not as loud as Johnny Winter apparently) and by the end of the show Jack had rolled back the clock, wound it up and set it going hell for leather down nostalgia road.

BRISTOL BLOWS HOT

Janelle Gets It On

It was many years ago that I went to my first ever gig, John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers at The Civic Hall St. Albans, if my memory serves me. I can’t remember why I went but I would say it was because England was in the grip of a blues boom, influenced by the great artists on the other side of The Atlantic.

Influence is a great thing in the arts and none less so that in music. Subliminally and sublimely, artists are influenced by the living and the dead. This kind of influence was in evidence at the scene of my latest gig experience-Janelle Monae at The O2 in Bristol.

I had seen Janelle, a pint sized Afro American diva, on Later hosted by the effervescent Jules Holland some months ago, and had been impressed by her voice and also her stage craft, elements of both borrowed unashamedly from The Godfather Of Soul himself. She and her soul R and B band gave a performance of such voice, dance and showmanship, that JB would himself would have been jiving in his grave that very night.

Caped and cowled band members aside, Janelle and her horns, singers, dancers and instrumentalists gave us a great show, featuring her three most powerfully delivered dance numbers, ‘Cold War’, ‘Tightrope’ and, ‘Faster’, which were themselves eclipsed by a superb rendition of ‘Smile’ delivered early in the performance with confidence and power.

Over the years I have been at the ’birth’ of a number of now famous acts, Led Zeppelin in a pub in Welwyn Garden City 1969, and Free in an even dingier pub in Wood Green London 1970 for example, and the reaction of the audience at the O2 Arena on Thursday suggested that one more may well be soon added to my list.

SHREK'S OVERHEAD THE BEST?

I was watching the game on Saturday when Shrek scored with his overhaead kick. I knew I had seen better and scored the internet for better. Finally, I found the best ever and here it is..................

/

WHY THE GAME IS SOMETIMES CRAP

A Great Team Performance

Well done to the Super Spurs last night. What a great performance. Of course I wasn't at the game but watched the game on my 'free to view, piss off Sky' channel. Well, I watched the first half anyway. A prior appointment meant I missed all of the second and was only aware of the ups and downs of the second half when Trish, watching in the other room, was either yelling blue murder at the suddenly vicious Italians, or celebrating Peter Crouch's winning goal.

Gattuso wants to be a big man

Watching just the first half was interesting. It was a marvellously uplifting affair. Spurs pushed the Italians back and isolated the front men. Not difficult really when one of them was the vastly overated Zlatan 'that can't be a real Swedish name' Ibrohimavic. How the hell that guy has been bought at great expense by various European clubs I have no idea. He is useless. Even though he is tall and can get too crosses earlier than defenders due to the length of his hooter, I have never seen him do the business against decent teams. He scored two against Arsenal last year of course. In fact, I would rather have Tottenham's assistant boss Joe Jordan up front, even now.

Turnip

Joe of course is 59, if he is alive at all. Everytime I see him he looks like the sort of bloke The Grim Reaper has already called up, but has refused to go. Either that or he is The Reaper himself. The Italian captain last night decided to head butt the Spurs coach. Unlike modern day players, Joe didn't go down in a heap as if shot, whilst at the same time keeping a look out for the ref through his fingers. No, Joe, due to his Scots roots, stood there wondering why a piece of cotton wool had brushed his forehead. Surely in Scotland's Home internationals and his time at Leeds and Manchester United, Joe had experienced tougher moments.

Gattuso picks on a 60 year old Scotsman

The fact that Joe didn't make a meal of it, returned me to the Good Old Days, when men were men and sheep were worried. I remember for example Francis Lee and Norman Hunter going at it blow for blow at Wembley. Neither one of them hit the dirt. Nowadays one, if not both would be waving an imaginary red card at the ref, whilst calling their agent on their mobile. This part of the modern game has only come about, together with diving and feigning injury, since the beginning of the Premier League and the influx of foreign players. You only have to watch International Teams in past World Cup or European tournaments to realise that in those competitions, foul play, gamesmanship and timewasting was always the norm. When our domestic football started again after the end of these, you realised how different our game was. Honest violence at least. So, I realised, last night's first and second halves were so like football pre and post Premier League. Honest endevour in the first, and foul, dishonest, violent football in the second.

Well done Super Spurs, you reminded me of those Good Old Days.

Long may it last.

ANOTHER ONE GONE

I just heard the news....Gary Moore has passed away in a hotel in Spain. Although he was not one of my favourites, the concert I went to a few years back with Martin and Steve showed that he was one hell of a player and The Shepherds Bush Empire was rammed to the rafters. What with The Captain a few weeks ago, who the hell will be next? It's worrying when they start to be real contemporaries. That's why I retired early!

Listen to 'Parisienne Walkways' Still Got The Blues' or my all time favourite 'Still In Love With You' to hear him at his best.