50% LESS FAT

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Wow I must of had a really exciting weekend if this is all I can find to talk about! Well it's true. But I was looking at my very good friend Rusatn lefin's Blog http://www.afreemanintown.blogspot.com/ and I noticed he had posted his own boring news of the day, that being his dinner. Now Rustan loves taking pictures of his dinners, and/or his afters for that matter. It's as if he is a condemned man and it's his last meal before being taken away and being forced to listen to ' Greatest Musicals Of Our Years-The Collection' (but that's another story) Today his dinner looked, as it always does, really delicious. And that's coming from a veggie. He has been out to a fine eatery in Goteborg and good for him, has enjoyed a typical Swedish Sunday lunch.

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So, I thought, what could I post on my Blog that is Swedish and I really like. Immediately I thought of the packet, (nearly empty) of Extra Crunchy Dill flavoured crisps, which for me ARE the taste of Sweden, lurking, hidden in my cupboard. Forget all that lovely mustard herring, the excellent salmon and smoked fish of various varieties, give me DILL flavoured crisps every time. And before you say you can't get them in England, so what's the point me telling you about them, you can.. But you need to visit IKEA. Next stop Dime Ice Cream.

EVERTON SUFFER THE CURSE OF SCALEY

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We were at The Lane again this afternoon. A very nervous Lane, for the visitors were Everton, who for the past two seasons had gone home with all three points and I had been an unfortunate witness to both games. This day's game had assumed extra significance due to the fact that Everton's recent good form and surge up the league meant they would arrive at The Lane confident of repeating their previous success. This was indeed a problem and unable to witness yet another depressing defeat, I resolved to do what I could to help my boys.
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That's why on Friday I was to be found in Joe Coral slapping some hard earned cash on Everton to finish in the top four. A victory against us today would close the gap on fourth considerably, a defeat would put them 11 points adrift. I even encouraged boss John Williams, no stranger to the bookies, to lump on at 20-1 which is what they were offering, without telling him my real motive which was to put a spanner of the works of Everton by my backing them. My record at the bookies is lousy. Everything I back turns to dead wood in an instant, every player I draft into my fantasy football team is either injured in the next game, sent off, yellow carded, misses a penalty or scores an own goal.
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So it was reasonable confidence that I took my seat at The Lane this afternoon. True to form two first half strikes by Pav and Modric sent the crowd into raptures as we survived a dodgy second half display to win 2-1. Magic. Villa next. They look good for a bet.
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The Scaley curse strikes again through Modric

BROOKSIE'S BASH

The Legend Himself

What a great night we had last night. We were invited to the retirement party of good friend and legendary Cheats guitarist Chris Brooks. He was retiring from work not from playing and a good job too, for he has lost none of his old skills. In fact, as I told him, he must have been studying the ‘Play In A Day’ series of books since he left us six years ago, for his dexterity on the guitar to have improved so much. His band, a four piece with a guest appearance by the best sax man around Paul Jolly, ripped up the atmospheric Italian wine bar in his home town of Luton until the early hours of the morning. There was even an appearance from the local constabulary during the night, the irony of which was certainly not lost on me!

Featuring a mixture of reggae and folk, rock and blues classics the band’s two set were warmly received by an appreciative audience who danced the night away with vigour and verve. Brooksie had told me to bring my bass along for a jam, and by the end of the evening I was wishing I had. Good luck in retirement Brooksie mate. Like me you have earned it and you will enjoy it too. Now, if you ever need to play ‘I Shot The Sheriff’ again, I’m your man!

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Music Is The Best

CLICK PLAY FOR VIDEO

Sorry it's a bit dark but the music is good!

A RIGHT RESULT

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But you can see the goal!

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The White Hart Lane saga seems to have reached a most satisfactory conclusion. I have waited until now to give you blog readers a good laugh because for much of the time it wasn't funny.
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It all started at the beginning of the season in September when we took up our mini season ticket package and arrived for our first game. Luckily the pillar that was obstructing our (expensive) view was a welcome one as ten men Manchester United fought back from 1-0 down in the first minute, to run out winners 3-1. AT the price we were paying I expected a clear view of whatever mayhem was being presented out there on the pitch and wrote to tell them so sending them the above picture. They replied saying that it was not obstructed as 'you can see the goal'. I informed them that if I wanted to see just the goal, I would have asked for seats right behind it!
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We were moved. When I looked at the stadium plan I was delighted. We had been moved nearer the halfway line and 13 rows back, perfect! With eager anticipation we took up our new places at the Wolves game. What a view and position! We were soon to realise why these seats were vacant. About 10 minutes before kick off the family from Hell arrived. Son from Hell sat in the seat next to Trish. Dad from Hell and his three mates sat behind us. Son from Hell had tourette's and a twitch. At any moment, and usually in a quiet passage of play, he would suddenly, as if an electric current has suddenly passed through him, (actually not a bad idea!) grab Trish's leg and shout out 'you f-------, c----' at whatever player or official was passing by. What made this worse was the fact that his 'friends' and family thought this to be funny and I soon was to realise where he got it from as they turned out to be the most foul mouthed and abusive morons I have ever had the displeasure to encounter.
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How I wished for a Star Trek phaser set on vaporise, and believe me I would have used it! They were an embarrassment and to think that the world's resources were being wasted on keeping them alive made me more angry.
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Anyway, this story has a happy ending. Yet again I complained to the club, threatening all sorts of exposure. Our second match in these new seats had revealed these sub-humans to be season ticket holders! We could not be expected to tolerate that for the rest of the season could we?
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The club responded. They moved us. Across the ground to block 13. We took up our new seats for The Villa game. I can actually say having sat there twice, these are the best seats I have ever had in any ground anywhere in the world. I just hope they have sorted out the other problem A solution would be for the club to have an 'ejector' fitted to each seat as in fighter jets. A quick fix and no parachute! Good old Tottenham, some faith in customer service in this country has been restored.
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View from our new seats.....'how are you today Harry!'

THE LAST TIME

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There is an old saying that everyone knows and that is ‘all good things come to an end’ whether it is death that separates us from loved ones or the passing of time and changed circumstances that does it, that it will happen is a certainty. For my band The Cheats, this happened last night at the inauspicious Buntingford Sports and Social Club when singer and guitar player Steve Ratcliffe made his curtain call.

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Steve has been with us in The Cheats for four years but incredibly had decided to swap playing live for his pipe and slippers, content to slip into advanced middle age in the bosom of his expanding family. Recently grandaded Ratcliffe thus took off his guitar for the last time at midnight last night. We wish him well in his dotage and will be auditioning his replacement this week and next. The King is dead…..long live The King.

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Steve's final curtain call

RICHARD'S NIGHT OUT

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A strange couple of days have just passed. On Thursday Trish and I ended up in a gay bar in London and it happened again last night, this time in Luton! The story behind this latest alternative night out has a lot to do with our friend Richard, Arsenal ticket purveyor and his charming wife Annette. I must state here for the record that Richard is Welsh and like my other Welsh friend in Scotland, likes nothing better than a few pints or more.

So when we eventually turned up at The Black Horse in Luton to meet them for a chat and a drink it was enevitable that when last orders were called, Richard was anxious to continue drinking elsewhere in town. It turned out that the nearest bar open late was The California Inn just round the corner. 'It's a gay bar' Richard told us and although I am old enough to remember 'Gay Way' reading books at school I was under no illusions about where we were headed.

The pub in question used to be known by another name, and was a deadly place where the most exciting thing that happened was when the number of drinkers inside the creaking watering hole exceeded single figures. Someone then had the bright idea of turning it into yet another gay Luton bar. And what a good idea it was too. Instead of the dreary, drab, dark interior of yore it has been transformed into a lively and very friendly pub/club/bar. We were soon accosted by a six foot transvestite who I think was selling raffle tickets, I didn't ask what the prize was. The music was loud and crap, but the drinks were cheap, six good glasses of wine for £8, which was the price of a bottle, although as usual the beers were the usual crappy lagers.

We stayed there for about two hours before wandering back to Trish's where I just about had enough energy to watch Amy Williams win gold in the womens' skeleton. Now that's what I call class!

GOLDEN GIRL

LONDON CRAWLING

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Greenwich University

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London was the destination today, Greenwich to be exact, to visit Charlotte at her university. I have been once before and although Greenwich is a reasonably acceptable part of London, one just has to suffer the getting there, which in our case today, was by rail. Suffice to say the journey with First Crapital Connect did not go without a hitch. We reached St. Pancras International without a problem but after that the troubles started and how typical when you are on a tight schedule-we had to be back home by 8 pm and we did not leave until 12.30.

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Stranded just outside Farringdon due to an electrical failure I had plenty of time to marvel at the precision of the Victorian brickmanship in the wall we had ground to a halt by. What a pity the same craftmen had not been in charge of installing the electrical system on the train! Eventually we were able to limp into Farringdon where we were asked to find an alternative means of transport to Charlton.

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The rest of the day went pretty well really. We had a guided tour of Greenwich campus following a reasonable dinner at a local Spanish restaurant where the menu was so limited that I nearly did a really gross thing and ordered fish and chips. I an honestly say that when in Rome I always do as the Romans do, so when in an Indian restaurant for example, you don't order a kebab. It always makes me wonder about the mentality of people who do that kind of thing, so I never do, but nearly, nearly very nearly I did today.
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Our visit to London ended in the pub where Charlotte works. We had a fine welcome there meeting her workmates and looking at all the photos on the wall of the recent drunken revelry in which Charlotte seemed to feature regularly!

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