tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29406330473680663352024-02-07T19:55:53.389+00:00Solly BlogRegular postings on tabloids, the media and other things that don't really matter...Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.comBlogger184125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-67615682837216086982012-10-03T19:29:00.002+01:002012-10-03T19:29:18.244+01:00Now then, now thenSome 20 years ago I was listening to the radio in the car as it played Young Girl by Gary Puckett and the Union Gap. When it finished, Tony Blackburn remarked along the lines of 'Jimmy Savile's favourite song, you know' and moved on to the next record.<br />
That's what it was like. Knowing comments, little winks, comments along the lines of 'he's a one isn't he.'<br />
Everyone knew. His colleagues, many of the public and certainly the press. Savile's relationship with journalists was good, partly because he made himself available.<br />
At The Sun in the late eighties, you could ring the porter's office at the Leeds hospital known as 'Jimmy's' and Savile would answer. You'd ring him asking for a quote about a pop star in the news or some other trivial matter and after introducing yourself and before asking a question he'd say 'I never touched her.'<br />
It was a big joke and a line he used every time, particularly when my colleague Phil Dampier - who, for some reason he called Claude - would ring him.<br />
Occasionally, a paper would send journalists and photographers out to follow him after a phone call to the desk telling us he'd been picking up young girls.<br />
He would deny it and when anyone tried to speak to an alleged victim, they would not talk to the press or clammed up. The feeling was they'd been 'got at.'<br />
The press tried, hard, to pin something on him. They couldn't. Most of the tales were about him picking up young women, but not necessarily underage girls. He was rumoured to spend hours wandering around Regent's Park in London chatting up nannies who used to push the babies of wealthy locals around in Silver Cross prams.<br />
But occasionally there were rumours of reform schools and children's homes. If anyone got too close there would be a lawyer's letter or, more commonly, a very positive story about his charity work would come out.<br />
The reputation of the tabloid press may be one of a cavalier attitude to the law but they did not expose Savile because they didn't have proof. And they didn't want to spend millions on libel cases. They also worried that readers would be so pro-Savile they would turn against the paper. Imagine the row over privacy if they had published a story and then lost a libel case.<br />
If the press got wind of it, there's a fair chance that everyone he worked with knew. Even in his own autobiography he told how the police came into a club when he was a young DJ asking him to look out for a runaway girl, aged around 15. He said he would bring her in if he found her but not until the next morning. And guess what, she came into the club that night, spent the night with him and he took her in the next morning. He admitted it in his autobiography but the police did nothing. Savile had that kind of influence.<br />
He wasn't the only one. Jonathan King was a well known peruser of the charms of young boys and even the sainted John Peel admitted that he spent some time in San Francisco in the sixties getting blow jobs off 13-year-old girls and had a short lived marriage to a 15-year-old. He claimed she had lied about her age.<br />
Perhaps it was something in the culture of radio DJs. If any were appalled by Savile's behaviour, they didn't say so publicly. You have to wonder if they said anything privately either. Savile, it is said, was such a moneyearning major figure at the Beeb that they may have worried it would be their word against his and he would prevail. Not one, it seemed, turned round to their boss and said 'I'm not working with that paedo.'<br />
Esther Rantzen has since said she had her suspicions. Did she at any time tell her BBC bosses that if they did not do something about it, she would refuse to sign the next multi-million pound contract to do That's Life? Doesn't seem like it. But she did go on to found Childline. Oh, the irony.<br />
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Those of us from Ilford know Savile as the man who invented the disco. During the mid-50s he was manager of the Ilford Palais, then a dancehall which went on to become one of the area's premier shitholes though it also featured in the video for The Kinks' Come Dancing.<br />
At the time, such places had live bands for people to dance to, with a DJ playing records in between as the band had a break.<br />
One night the band turned up and demanded a pay rise or they wouldn't play. Savile sacked them on the spot. As the crowds turned up he played records, continuously, on an early form of a twin turntable so there were no gaps.<br />
The public danced - to Bill Haley or Elvis or whoever. It was immensely popular and much cheaper than hiring a band. So Savile made it a regular feature. The idea took off and, hey presto, became the first disco. In the world.<br />
How's about that then....SollySollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-64957144276389253182012-09-10T22:13:00.002+01:002012-09-10T22:13:53.965+01:00No Khan DoMore than 2,000 people have complained about BBC's sitcom-by-numbers Citizen Khan. If I was Muslim I'd complain too. Because it's simply not funny. And that's what makes it offensive more than the badly-drawn characters in their cartoon Pakistani accents overacted for zero comic effect.<br />
I think I first heard a Brit-based foreigner complain about 'bloody immigrants' to get a laugh in Mind Your Language in the 1970s and it wasn't that funny then. But even though I've only seen one episode of Citizen Khan, guess what? The dad lamented all those bloody foreigners again. Oh how we laughed.<br />
But that's not offensive in itself. What's offensive is making a trendy, supposedly ethnically-friendly comedy that does not raise a laugh. Why? Because it does not have to be like that.<br />
Every religion, every minority, every ethnic group is perfectly capable of laughing at itself in a way that neither offends those it is laughing nor alienates those outsiders looking in.<br />
I bet we all know Catholics or have Irish friends who think Father Ted is hilarious, Indians who get Goodness Gracious Me, Scots who love Billy Connolly and so on. I even know a black man who thinks Lenny Henry's funny but he's the only person of any colour who does, as far as I can tell.<br />
You don't have to be Jewish to like Curb Your Enthusiasm, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks (who else can make Hitler funny) and it's not being anti-semitic if you laugh at Old Jews Telling Jokes. Though anyone who so much as smirks at Adam Sandler, the world's unfunniest Jew (present company excepted) should be shot.<br />
But the point is, Jewish humour is based on stereotypes, often exaggerated, that we all recognise. And as long as they are funny they are not offensive. <br />
Even when they're not funny, they are not necessarily offensive, if the character is rich and colourful and not a one-dimensional caricature. Shylock, Fagin, Dr Legg. Okay, maybe not the latter.<br />
The Sopranos had one Jewish character of note, a crim who lent money to Tony but his Jewishness and the fact he was a moneylender were both noted with dry sarcasm within the plot. The only Jew I can remember from The Wire was the crooked lawyer. But that's fine. He was a great character.<br />
What's offensive is not being able to mine the deep vein of humour that runs deep in any religion or ethnic group. Muslims did it with East is East. The main character is that was called Khan too. But it took the mickey out of a range of Islamic traditions - forced marriage, circumcision, banning pork - and made it funny. Muslims laughed. We all did.<br />
Unfortunately the BBC decided they wanted to fulfil their ethnic quota by commissioning a Muslim comedy and chose the first one that came through the door. It was rubbish but as a friend of mine, who used to work at the Beeb told me, the average commissioning editor at the corporation only knows seven people really well and none of them are likely to be Muslim to bounce an opinion off.<br />
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Talking of offensive, there's an advert on Tube platforms that says none of the swear, tears, cheers and amazing achievements of the Olympics would not have been possible without....Visa, Samsung, ATOS and a load of others.<br />
So sod all those who gave up four years of their lives to take part, all the fans who queued for hours to pay for tickets for a massive taxpayer-funded event. It was nothing to do with you, but the good folk who make Head & Shoulders or something.<br />
And while we're at it, does anyone seriously believe that British Airways really wanted no one to fly with them during the Olympics or was it just a calculated stunt to make them look nice and cuddly but ends up making them look like cynical, exploitative, corporate suits? Cunning stunts.<br />
Must fly...SollySollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-11402666838249620642012-09-05T18:43:00.001+01:002012-09-05T18:45:05.099+01:00Verbs You RightI was looking through a photo album of the kids the other day. One of those old ones. It had a section called 'negative pocket.' I opened it and it said 'these photos are shit.'<br />
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So where was I? Oh yeah, the Olympics. I must admit I was cynical but the Paralympics have really inspired me. I've cut my left leg off. <br />
The legacy of the events will live on. Most notably in the English language and not just the mangling it got from Trevor Nelson who, let's face it, compared to Fearne 'Amazing' Cotton sounds like Richard Dimbleby.<br />
It was good to see our athletes medalling, some only bronzed but others silvered and many golded. But it was not just about those who rostrumed, it was about those who evented in general.<br />
Never have so many verbs been added to the lexicon in such a short space of time. Or to put it another way, new words were verbed on a daily basis.<br />
Mind you, even Radio Four have got it wrong. I heard an announcer trying to read out a headline that Britain had got a one-two in the archery. This was obviously a phrase far too modern for our man at the Beeb. He said: "In archery Team GB scored a one. Two in the athletics a new world record...I'm sorry, I'll repeat that. Team GB scored a one. To athletics, a new world record...."<br />
Of course I've enjoyed it. It's sport after all. Which is more important than most things in life.<br />
Doesn't mean there haven't been downsides. The crowds at Stratford Station who fail to notice which way a spotty purple-clad teenager is pointing his great, foamy hand and decide to walk the other way.<br />
Canadians who stand on the wrong side of the elevator.<br />
Jon Snow reminding everyone which competitors live in wartorn countries and showing us why Claire Balding is brilliant at this and he isn't.<br />
Oscar Pistorius who, along with Kevin Pietersen has reminded the world what a bunch of shits white South Africans can be when they want to. With a couple of notable exceptions of course (my next door neighbour and a bloke called Bernard for instance).<br />
American athletes with mild hayfever who reckon it qualifies them for the same swimming events as double amputees.<br />
People posting the same bloody pictures of the Olympic Stadium or handball arena on Facebook as if it's the first time anyone's ever seen them.<br />
And Coldplay.<br />
And then there are the bits which would even cheer up Morrissey. Well maybe not. But I enjoyed:<br />
The Brazilian judo girl on the Jubilee line wearing her bronze medal and letting everyone take her photo with them. And then bursting into tears when the carriage applauded her.<br />
The Spanish triathlete my daughter tried to chat up (in Spanish) who was charming, on the Central Line.<br />
The Tube driver who made all the announcements in French as well as English.<br />
And Danny Boyle's wonderful story of the history of the Labour Party which he successfully disguised as an opening ceremony.<br />
Oh and Claire Balding. Even though she has let her autobiography currently be serialised in the Daily Mail, a paper which once ran quite a nasty story about her sexuality soon after she was 'out' but whose publisher found the best deal it could.<br />
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Post-Leveson and are newsrooms losing their sense of humour? If there was one thing about working in a national (or local) paper newsroom it was the bawdy, naughty but hilarious humour that goes on, much as it probably used to in any workplace.<br />
The language was often blue, unPC and not for public consumption but they lightened the mood even on the darkest days and without the pisstaking, impressions and digs, life would have been a lot duller.<br />
Not any more it seems. A senior executive at the Mail on Sunday is being investigated for bullying. It's in Private Eye so I'm not betraying a confidence.<br />
Basically the news editor called his assistant a c**t. (Some of you are sensitive but this is the lingua franca of the newsroom. Whereas 'lingua franca' is not of course.)<br />
If someone was sacked every time they called me a c**t at The Sun the newsroom would have been empty within two weeks. And the editor would have been had up every five seconds. Though in the case of one particular executive, justification as a defence would probably have worked with any judge in the land.<br />
But at the Mail on Sunday it forms the basis of a 12-page complaint. Twelve bloody pages! There's more to it than that but I'm sworn to secrecy. Needless to say it's a pile of bollo.<br />
Leveson may end up doing a lot of good for our industry. Considering the money spent on his inquiry, you'd bloody hope so. But if he kills humour in the newsroom, then it's an even sadder day for Fleet Street that we could have imagined.<br />
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Robbers get shot by householders. Great story for the papers because everyone has a view. Which is either: 1.Good for them/an Englishman's home is his castle/hope they killed the bastards/give them a medal.<br />
Or: 2.Why are the only people who legally own shotguns nutters who live in the middle of nowhere.<br />
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Last week saw the 15th anniversary of Princess Di's death. I think there was something about it in the Daily Express but I could be wrong.<br />
So that's 15 years of sentimental idiots wrapping a bunch of petrol station flowers to lamp-posts and leaving teddy bears out for people they have never met.<br />
Everyone remembers what they were doing when they heard she'd died. I was listening to Radio Four wondering why on earth they'd invited Polly Toynbee on as a royal 'expert'.<br />
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When Tony Blair was in power it was said that the three most dreaded words in the English language were 'John's in charge' when the PM went on holiday.<br />
Though the Olympic Opening Ceremony announcement 'Sir Paul McCartney' instils almost as much dread. As does the byline 'by Mihir Bose' in the Standard. Or 'Kelvin wants you' spoken by his secretary. The point is, whatever the reshuffle, whatever the party and whether it's a room full of rich, white Old Etonians or one with the obligatory crook in a sari, working class buffoon pr former head girl forced to face Jeremy Paxman, no one seems to get it right. And some people don't believe The Thick of It is a documentary.<br />
Cheers for now....Solly<br />
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<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-50832310861246903682012-04-21T11:02:00.002+01:002012-04-21T11:02:30.587+01:00Bernie the doltYes we know it's raining. Yes we know there's a hosepipe ban (in the south). But no we don't need it repeating every single day by every single newspaper, Twitter account holder and television presenter, comedian and pundit. 'Some drought eh?' has become the most boring phrase in Britain.<br />
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Bahrain is a bit like our weather. Part Sunni, part Shi'ite.<br />
However, thanks to Bernie Ecclestone's relentless pursuit of adding a few million pounds to his multi billion pound bank account, we all know a bit more about the desert kingdom these days.<br />
If it wasn't for Bernie, the tabloids would not be covering the problems of Bahrain in the way it has. Special mention for the Daily Mirror for a feature this week that explained the situation concisely and informatively. That's what tabloids can do when they try. And if the readers are bored, they're still never more than a couple of pages away from a Simon Cowell story.<br />
You can say what you like about Cowell but when it comes to repulsive billionaires, he's no Bernie Ecclestone.<br />
Of course, Bernie isn't doing it to highlight the injustice and anti-democracy violence in some faraway land. He reckons there's a lot of fuss whipped up by the media who don't really know what's going on.<br />
He knows what's going on because the ruling family have shown him the nice quiet streets of the capital, Manama (now sing the Muppet song, doo doo doodoodoo).<br />
Meanwhile, in the villages beyond the scope of Bernie's prune-faced glare, around 1,000 demonstrators have 'disappeared.' Often helped by Saudi tanks probably sold to them by, er, us.<br />
You always know when you are dealing with a particularly nasty regime when you start to get statistics on the 'disappeared.' El Salvador, Pol Pot, Saddam, the Gulags, Ruanda - every great mass murdering dictatorship has been at it.<br />
In Manama (doo doodoo doo), all you get are convoys of young men from Saudi Arabia driving to the brothels and bars of a country that is run on strict Middle East interpretations of Islam. That is, alcohol and adultery are illegal. Unless you are a rich Sheikh from across the border prepared to pump lots of money into the country. Or part of the US military which still hang out in the region.<br />
So Formula One has educated us all about the state of play out there.<br />
We should thank its midget bosses and jockey-sized drivers, their Pussycat Doll hangers on, the big name alcohol and cigarette companies desperate for the exposure and the fact that machines racing round a circuit attracts around a thousand times as many reporters as an Arab Spring uprising.<br />
Quite why Bernie needs the money is not certain. He's already older than Mr Burns judging by the looks of him and he certainly doesn't spend it on haircuts.<br />
The drivers say that sport has nothing to do with politics. One can only assume they are too young to have heard of apartheid. Or too stupid.<br />
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I have deliberately not mentioned my day out at the FA Cup Semi Final up to now. However, what I would say, is that for a national sporting centrepiece, Wembley Stadium has the worst toilet facilities of any ground since Southampton knocked down the Dell.<br />
And that adds to the other downsides such as the lack of atmosphere, the £6.50 burgers and £4.50 pints of beer and hour long wait to get on to a tube train.<br />
Plus making the game a 6pm kick off to ensure that a good majority of the fans were drunk, abusive and more prone to violence (the family next to me walked out early after a rant too many from fans behind them.)<br />
The queues for the gents was round the block a full hour before kick off. I didn't dare venture there at half time in case I missed the second half. Actually, perhaps that wasn't a bad option in retrospect.<br />
Once inside the loos themselves it was chaos and there was no system of queuing (even at lower league clubs you get better organisation).<br />
It's not so bad for the ladies. Like any modern stadium, the organisers like to show how much they care about equality by building as many toilets for women than men. Then they go and host a lot of football matches where 80 per cent of the crowd are male and wonder why there are no queues at the ladies but chaos at the gents.<br />
So, FA. Move the game to a decent time and a decent ground and have done with it.<br />
That's all...Solly<br />
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<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-73253794123119187372012-03-18T14:39:00.001+00:002012-03-18T14:39:07.372+00:00Pray SilenceIf praying is what prevents a 23-year-old footballer from dying, then what's the point of doctors?<br />
It's not meant to sound flippant. I was there. It was horrible. I desperately hope he survives.<br />
I was at White Hart Lane yesterday, as I have been for most home games for the past 38 or so years and witnessed scenes that I have never seen before at a football match.<br />
Like pretty much everyone there, I never saw Fabrice Muama fall to the ground but it was quickly pointed out that a player was down and that no one was near him. I saw his leg jerk off the ground as a couple of players tended to him but this may well have been a reflex action as he was rolled on to his back.<br />
Confusion turned to grim realisation that this was not a case of fainting or some kind of fit. Seconds later teams of medics had scrambled to the far side of the pitch to deal with him. You could see a machine brought on which was used to try and jump start his heart and players with head in hands, some clearly in tears.<br />
A man came out of the crowd from the lower East Stand, He was ushered through by fans and stewards, possibly one of those situations where someone shouts "I'm a doctor" and he was applauded on to the pitch and back off again when the medical teams got there.<br />
I later heard a rumour he owns a heart screening business so I'm not sure if that necessarily makes him a medical expert though one would assume fans would not be so keen to get him on the pitch if he'd shouted 'let me through, I'm a medical equipment salesman.'<br />
It was genuinely distressing to be there. And shocking too. What was also striking was just how shocked everyone seemed to be. Fans in particular.<br />
There were some extreme reactions, particularly a young man two seats from me who, coincidentally is also called Solomons (it's not as uncommon at White Hart Lane as it would be, at, say, Spotland.)<br />
I've seen him over the years, coming to Spurs with his dad since he was a nipper. During the drama, he simply burst into tears. His dad consoled him, others looked away embarrassed, I simply patted him on the shoulder because I had no idea what else I should do. Besides, we might be related.<br />
Some dads with kids visibly upset were the first to leave, others stayed, perhaps out of ghoulish curiosity or because leaving seemed to be rude and unsupportive.<br />
No one supposed, for just a minute, that the game was going to go on but people wanted to hear the announcement officially I guess, and when it came, they applauded and then left, quietly and slowly - the exits were rammed anyway but there was no fuss, no arguing. People just made their way out, in turn, and in a very obvious state of bewilderment.<br />
Perhaps, thinking about it, it was bewilderment rather than shock. Watching a young man collapse and, perhaps, die on the pitch, and see the attempts to revive him, is out of context. You feel like you're invading something that should be private, not played out before a crowd of around 35,000 fans.<br />
I sit immediately behind a TV camera (when games are being televised live) and the cameraman had turned the lens away from where the action was happening, under orders from the ESPN management. Later, I wondered if we should have all done the same. But, appallingly perhaps, you can't.<br />
The usual ground noise was gone. On the way out everyone was looking into their smartphones to get the latest newsflash - many were waiting to hear if he had died, I imagine. That's not morbid, but a kind of closure. After all, we had witnessed something dreadful but without a conclusion and that can be even more upsetting.<br />
Then the Twitter cavalcade started. Players Tweeted 'pray for Fabrice'. Managers came on to the radio to say 'he's in our prayers' and even before that, on the pitch, some players were notably praying.<br />
I wonder if they considered why their religious belief would help the player now when it hadn't stopped him having a heart attack in the first place. Does God let these things happen to see if we pray for them to get better? And if that's the case, why do people die suddenly without a chance to see if their faith can be resurrected.<br />
Or indeed, all those millions of others who die of heart attacks, cancer, war, famine and whatever other fate befalls them. Many of those are probably in someone's prayers every night.<br />
And if praying is all it takes to bring people back to life, then did we need the wonderful medics, doctors and St John's Ambulance lot who got to the player within two minutes of his collapse.<br />
After all it is they, and not God, who may, just, have given him a chance to live.<br />
Spurs right-back and a neighbour of mine, Kyle Walker, Tweeted 'even if you aren't religious, pray for Muamba.' Poor Kyle, he doesn't quite get this whole religion thing does he?<br />
You see, neighbourino, there's no point praying to a God you don't believe in - it doesn't make sense and if there is a God, he's probably saying 'Oh, NOW you want my help do you?'<br />
But I accept the sentiment. Although it would have been nice to see a few more players Tweet about how brilliant the medical staff from both clubs were in that situation.<br />
So why others put their faith in an ancient myth of which there is no proof, I'll put my faith in science, medicine and the hard work and dedication of people who have gone through years of training to deal with this kind of incident.<br />
I'll hope for his recovery as much as anyone else in the country but forgive me if I don't pray for it.<br />
Get well soon, young man. And if you do, don't thank God, thank doctors....Solly<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-75819948273179695812012-03-11T12:28:00.000+00:002012-03-11T12:28:14.269+00:00Cor Blimey TrousersWhy do football managers have their initials on their track suit tops? I've never been able to work it out. Surely everyone else knows who they are. Perhaps it's for the laundry staff so they can hand them back but then why doesn't everyone have their initials on their training kit?<br />
And the Fulham staff, for instance, have got to realise which king-sized zip up top belongs to Martin Jol without needing the letters MJ on it.<br />
Which leads to the obvious conclusion that it's either vanity or perhaps one manager started it all off many years ago and the others have simply followed.<br />
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The government wants to step up the old Thatcherite policy of buy-your-own council homes after a few years of Labour trying to discourage it.<br />
It was, of course, introduced in order to get more Tory votes in working class areas and succeeded, in particular in the kind of towns built to cope with the overflow from major cities - the British version of white flight. Here in the south it helped the Conservatives to win seats like Basildon and Harlow for instance.<br />
But with an estimated 74,000 council flats and houses a year going private, it does create an enormous shortfall of public housing. That, in turn, lets in enterprising private landlords who can secure a decent and guaranteed rental income from a local authority.<br />
It also leads to six bedroomed houses in Hampstead being rented out to a family of 11 Eastern European benefits claimants which in turn sparks the kind of Daily Mail protest that so worries the Tories.<br />
Now I'm not against working class people moving from council to private. I did it, when my parents went from an East End council house to their first home for instance. It was the first time any of us had lived in a house that wasn't owned either by a council or a brewery.<br />
But how about some kind of rule that for every council house bought by its tenants, the local authority has to provide another one of its own to replace it?<br />
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What's the point of the Halifax? Apart from its ability to make the worst adverts on television, is there really any need for this High Street chain of banks?<br />
The Halifax is owned by the pisspoor HBOS group which in turn was foisted onto the much better-run Lloyds TSB (and the name TSB might as well be ditched too, come to think of it.)<br />
This means the group that owns Lloyds Banks in the High Street also owns Halifax Banks in the High Street.<br />
So you have the ridiculous site of a Lloyds Bank just a few doors down from a Halifax with both offering pretty much the same products to the same kind of customers.<br />
It might be different if the Halifax was still a good old northern run building society which put its customers first.<br />
And that's what Lloyds thinks. It reckons the Halifax has a bit more of a working class image which attracts a different set of customers that Lloyds itself.<br />
This comes from the days when it was mutually run for the benefit of cloth cap northerners who wanted a safe haven for what little they could save in order to build up a nestegg.<br />
Old style building societies - when we had the Abbey and the Halifax and the Woolwich and all those others that are now banks - used to have something like 15 times as much money in savings as it had in loans. Which of course makes it far harder to suddenly go bust owing billions of pounds in failed Ponzi-style mortgage schemes.<br />
But it's not like that any more. The Halifax is nows a greedy, run of the mill bank famous for making crap adverts, overweight staff and tacky interiors.<br />
Having a Bank of Scotland chain makes a bit more sense, if only to satisfy the sweaties and have some kind of historic, national identity north of the border. Though the days when having the word 'Scotland' in a bank's title meant trustworthy and good with money went out the window around the time Fred Goodwin did to the country what he did to that pretty, female worker in his department.<br />
But Lloyds now has a whopping great chunk of our money helping it get through these difficult times (don't mention it lads). And a lot of that is now spent on a chain of banks, expensive promotions and the multimillion pound marketing and advertising budget that no longer has a purpose.<br />
So scrap the Halifax, switch the accounts to Lloyds (or one of it's many other trading names) and spend the money saved on paying off the debt to the taxpayer.<br />
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Talking of adverts, there is a long running commercial for the Ford Focus which you can't avoid. It shows some Germanic sort called Mattheus wasting his time driving around Europe visiting the sites of 'his favourite book' on two tanks of fuel.<br />
His favourite book happens to be The Da Vinci Code, which suggests Mattheus is one of those people who finds it hard to read without his mouth moving at the same time.<br />
Or perhaps he's only ever had three books and he's already coloured in the other two.<br />
Anyhoo, the point is that when the advert was first shown, the voiceover said, quite clearly 'his favourite book, The Da Vinci Code'. But within a couple of weeks they had edited this down to 'his favourite book' without ever saying what it was.<br />
Were Ford embarrassed by the fact it couldn't find a Focus owner who had ever read a decent novel? Or did Dan Brown feel he was not a Ford-type of guy and order the name of the book to be removed.<br />
So I rang Ford. And they said that the reason they edited the advert was because having too much information in it distracted the viewers from the overall product and message.<br />
Yes, that's right. Potential Ford Focus buyers are so distracted by hearing the words 'The Da Vinci Code' that they plum forget what car was being advertised.<br />
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On the programme Room 101 (a phrase from the book 1984 which has inspired me to buy a Ford Focus and try and visit all the places named in the novel) guests were asked to choose something that really annoys them they could banish forever. Predictably, celebrity chefs were picked. They were picked by the panel show fixture Micky Flanagan who has only got to appear on Deal or No Deal and Question Time and then we can have him on the our screens on a permanent 24-hour loop.<br />
And the reason he picked them? Because, in his words, every time you turn on the TV there's a celebrity chef. No. Every time you turn on the TV there's Micky 'I'm a geezer' Flanagan.<br />
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If Catholics are against having gay marriages in church because they can invent a biblical reason why it's God wouldn't approve, then should they not have a medical examination for every bride to make sure she's a virgin and a criminal records check on every prospective bride and groom to make sure they have never been convicted of any crime that is specifically mentioned in the bible?<br />
Of course, they could start with their own priests.<br />
Thus endeth the rant....cheers, Solly<br />
<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-73649019564059433302012-02-14T19:53:00.000+00:002012-02-14T19:53:54.988+00:00Dear reader, I married herNothing says I Love You on Valentine's Day quite as much as a Smiths/Morrissey song but I'm torn between Girlfriend in a Coma and You're The One For Me Fatty.<br />
I don't know what the fuss is about. As they say, if you lock your wife and your dog in a shed for an hour, guess which one is happier to see you when you open the door.<br />
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OK officer, it's a fair cop. Come and slip the cuffs on and load me into the back of the Black Maria, I'm guilty.<br />
You see, at the Ilford CID Christmas party of 1983 we ended up at the Red Lion and I'm pretty sure I put into the whipround that saw several of our local Regan and Carter lookalikes get served with a large Bell's or two.<br />
In return I was obviously hoping that at my twice weekly police calls for the Ilford Recorder I would be able to ask one or two detectives a question here or there and get more than the standard two word response.<br />
If only it had stayed there, maybe I would only be looking at community service. But I couldn't stop. Every Thursday I'd pick up a pile of newly published papers and drive round to the various fire stations on my beat and hand out free copies so they could read my latest Folk Focus column or look through the classifieds to buy a second hand Cortina from the Murder Mile showrooms of Seven Kings High Road.<br />
In return I'd get a cup of tea and a Lincoln biscuit, paid for no doubt by honest GLC ratepayers. There's a law against that you know. At least there is now that they've dusted off the 1906 Bribery Act.<br />
There's other TICs too. I occasionally bought a pint for local press officers from Redbridge Council, mainly the two old blokes who had been there when 'all this was fields' but more so when a newly graduated young lady joined them.<br />
In fact I not only bought her a white wine spritzer at The Angel, and then claim it on expenses, I bought her several more at The Warren Wood and, in a desperate quest to get the inside track on the Fairlop Waters Planning Sub-Committee decisions ahead of deadline, I even had sex with her. That was a bit harder to put on expenses I must admit.<br />
To her credit, she never gave me any inside information on council matters. And 26 years later we're married with two teenage children and a labrador. She still doesn't give me any decent stories but perhaps that's because we don't have sex as often either.<br />
Naturally I married her in order that, decades later, if plod called round at 6am she wouldn't have to testify against me. It's an extreme measure, I grant you, but it's always best to plan ahead.<br />
As a journalist and a tabloid one, and a former Sun man, I'm appalled at the arrests of several of my former colleagues including a couple of good mates this week.<br />
But I'm not going to beat my chest about it like Richard Littlejohn and Trevor Kavanagh did, so brilliantly in the Mail and Sun this week.<br />
And there's a simple reason for that. No one gives a shit if journalists get arrested. We can bleat on as much as we like about civil liberties and freedom of speech but that just makes readers turn round and say 'you were not so bothered when the police shot a Brazilian bloke on the Tube' or any other number of rights' abuses gleefully reported in the tabloids.<br />
Both Trevor and Richard's pieces were, I suspect, written more for the benefit of their comrades in the industry - what are known colloquially as tabloid scum - rather than the general populace.<br />
One look at the comments section under their stories quickly tells you that.<br />
There is a simple fact. Journalists have been buying drinks for coppers for hundreds of years. Many of those that did it on local papers now work for organisations like the BBC and The Guardian.<br />
Senior executives on newspapers have gone further. In return for considerable favours they have paid considerable amounts. I suppose in the eyes of the law, a few pints at the Red Lion for a detective constable is no different to a fully paid weekend in a spa for a chief constable.<br />
But there is a world of difference. And there's a world of difference in those executives invited to present themselves at their local nick and a van full of anti-terrorist officers taken off other duties to burst into the house of a 67-year-old Fleet Street legend who helped literally scores of us when we started our Fleet Street careers, going through his draws, looking under his floorboards and searching his attic.<br />
As I said, there are a lot of decent reporters on broadsheets and broadcast who have, at some time, bought a drink for a public servant, not to mention nicking a family photograph by pushing a coathanger through a letterbox.<br />
I could name names but then I'm not a dirty little grass like Will Lewis or Simon Greenberg, dobbing on former mates to save their own skins. Though I doubt it will save their reputations. Already hated by the public, they are now universally hated by journalists too. Nice going boys. Did they teach you that at Harvard?<br />
As they should say on Crimewatch, don't have nightmares - we're only tabloid scum. Evening all...SollySollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-78808260543512615642012-02-09T19:42:00.002+00:002012-02-09T19:42:44.597+00:00Keeping It WheelKarl Lagerfeld thinks Adele looks fat. I think he looks like Davros in sunglasses.<br />
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Do you think newspaper yes/no phone-in polls are a massive waste of time and money that tells us nothing of the public mood at the time?<br />
For yes, take 25p out of the saucer on the windowsill and chuck it in the bin. For no, do the same.<br />
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And talking of the Evening Standard (yes we were) is there anything more ridiculous than its regular fashion feature in which it photographs three people wearing, say, blue slippers, and says it is the latest London trend? Next week: They go to the paralympic basketball finals and report back that three-wheeled wheelchairs are the latest must-have accessory for the modern capital fashionista. Possibly under a headline like 'The Wheel Deal' or 'Keeping It Wheel'.<br />
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If you have missed the recent editions of the Leveson Enquiry, this is basically the impression it gives. All journalists are slimeballs but this is because all editors are Nazis who tell them to do wrong things. All celebrities are two-faced hypocrites apart from Hugh Grant who really is quite dim. Steve Coogan needs his hair cut and isn't very funny when he's not Alan Partridge. Lawyers are rubbish and have no idea what happens in newspapers. Heather Mills is completely barmy. Piers Morgan is completely smarmy. And when he gets up from having sat down for more than five minutes, Max Clifford leaves behind an oil slick that would even shame BP. And he looks like he wears Blofeld's cat on his head. And he's mates with Simon Cowell. And his 'clients' pay him around £200,000 a year for his services. Thank goodness there is now someone who everyone can hate even more than journalists and for that we should all be grateful.<br />
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Do any of us actually listen to what is said on adverts? If you did, you'd realise what a massive cock-up you are probably making in your choice of toothpaste. You see, Aquafresh has a unique molecular complex. That's right. It means the crap that you use only has some ridiculous unoriginal or possibly second-hand molecular complex and Lord alone knows what that's doing to your gnashers.<br />
And Pantene has its best ever formula. So for all these years you poor schmucks have been using some second rate Pantene formula. You should be ashamed of yourself.<br />
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For the sake of the national team, and without any partisan bias, I think Alan Pardew, Roy Hodgson or my local Tube driver would all make excellent managers of the England football team and that there is absolutely no one else, anywhere, who should be even considered for the job for at least another 10 years.<br />
And a lot of us who feel this way will be singing 'Pardew for England' when Spurs play Newcastle on Saturday.<br />
To parrot the best headline in any newspaper this month, 'Arryvederci - Solly<br />
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<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-79713408459421524562012-01-30T19:42:00.003+00:002012-01-31T09:17:11.533+00:00Pick 'n mix capitalismFour more former colleagues from The Sun have been arrested this week. I worked with all of them and have spoken to many others from our vintage. I think the general consensus is that a lot of Wapping refuseniks are sorry to see one of them, in particular, in this situation, but their reaction to the fate of the other three can best be described as a snigger.<br />
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David Cameron made a speech about a week ago defending capitalism. Which is fair enough. After all, capitalism rewards hard work and those who pull themselves up by their bootlaces to make money, achieve things beyond their expectations and to compete in a free market economy. All by sheer determination and talent rather than through who you know, an old school tie and inheriting rather than earning money.<br />
But which bit of capitalism do you want? No, really. Because it's quite clear we all like bits of it. The bits of it that mean we can make money mainly.<br />
The bits of it that say businesses should be privately owned and run with the purpose of making capital by buying and selling according to market forces and that those who make the money should be rewarded for it. And controlling labour but at a rate which is economically viable to all concerned.<br />
Like banks of course.<br />
The bits of capitalism that says private businesses make more money if the state doesn't interfere too much. Like banks.<br />
And when the last Labour government relaxed regulation, it meant they had the freedom to make lots of money. Instead, of course, they lost lots of money. But when you let a child go out into the world you allow them to make mistakes. They learn by them. Although you'd rather they didn't make mistakes that end up with you having to sell your house to cover them.<br />
Too much regulation, they argue, and we'll be off. We'll take our ball and go and play in Hong Kong or somewhere. Of course they never do but the threat is enough to keep regulation as loose at Fred Goodwin's zipper.<br />
Then there's the bit of capitalism that says that the state can own RBS but not manage it. Bankers manage banks, not politicians. So they can pay themselves what they want. Cameron believes this, even though he tried to put a seven figure cap on it. So the boss paid himself £953,000 instead. Except it wasn't that, was it? Experts reckon he pocketed around £5 million overall. But that's capitalism too.<br />
In fact, it's probably the purest form of capitalism you can get. A company owned by the state but allowed to operate as if it wasn't in the hope the state gets its money back and more.<br />
And bosses rewarded for their success in such a way it generates half a million quid for the exchequer, which could hire 100 nurses (though of course it won't).<br />
But suddenly we don't like that bit of capitalism. It smacks of inequality even though capitalism allows for inequality in that it wouldn't work if everyone got the same.<br />
And so when it comes down to it, we like our capitalism in easy to digest bite size chunks and not in great big whopping pay packets for a bloke who, when dressed in his riding gear, resembles a Michelin man with a penis on his head. That was such an unfortunate photo Stephen.<br />
For even if we could sympathise a little with a man who gave up a safe job earning millions for a dodgy one earning millions, the sight of him in his black velvet hunting jacket and white cravat, astride a horse and holding a whip while in a knob hat, is enough to want to us all to see him thrown to the dogs.<br />
I don't own the copyright to the photo so you'll have to click on the link to see it though I'm sure you already have.<br />
<a href="http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2012/01/30/article-2093630-0D5959CA000005DC-979_306x423.jpg">http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2012/01/30/article-2093630-0D5959CA000005DC-979_306x423.jpg</a><br />
Tally ho....Solly<br />
<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-40777979887074406862012-01-24T21:45:00.000+00:002012-01-24T21:47:53.736+00:00In sickness and in ShelfThe BBC have a lovely new film to promote its natural history programmes. Over snippets of cutesy animals, his royal highness, David Attenborough, reads the lyrics to What A Wonderful World.<br />
It's simply beautiful. Then comes THAT shot of two baby polar bears and David says 'I hear babies cry and watch them grow' and as a nation, we all shout 'yeah, in a bloody zoo!'<br />
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My wife, my business partner and several friends and acquaintances are among what is probably a majority who fail to understand the emotional bond between a fan and his (or her) football team.<br />
Let's say it's a man. Better still, let's say it's me though it may be you too.<br />
The relationship between a fan and their team is, quite simply a marriage. Or at least a good marriage.<br />
You are in it for life. You want to be in it for life. Although there are times when you think, why the hell do I do this. But you do it. Sometimes it's a bit routine. You wonder whether there is more to life and what might have happened if you had supported that other lot down the road or someone more glamourous or a bit younger. But then you think, nah, I'm actually the luckiest man in the world when all's said and done.<br />
It's just like marriage. You do it once a fortnight and sometimes it feels like you're just going through the motions when you fail to get as excited as you once did, but then occasionally you do and you come out, pause for breath, light a cigarette and mutter 'fantastic.'<br />
Of course, it can be dispiriting. The kids let you down, they run off with someone else, they get arrested. Though most of the time you're just proud that they try their best for you and wish them luck when they leave home.<br />
Occasionally you turn up drunk or say something stupid in front of guests and they all feel embarrassed for you.<br />
It can be expensive but you don't think of the cost. It's only when you tot up how much it's cost over your lifetime that you realise - blimey, I could have bought a Bentley for that.<br />
But a Bentley doesn't lift you to the same heights or such depths of despair. And if you were going to pop your clogs, you'd much rather it was watching the ones you love than in the seat of a car.<br />
Of course some people get married more than once but that first one is a bit of mistake. You were a bit hasty and fell for the first team that caught your eye but eventually you end up with 'the one' and it was always meant to be.<br />
And there are different marriages of course. What I am describing applies to Spurs, I feel.<br />
If you support West Ham then it's like marrying a childhood sweetheart and hoping that one day you'll buy your own council house and Liverpool is an arranged marriage. Your parents insist on it and, it turns out, you end up being loyal and comparatively happy with a tendency to complain a lot.<br />
Arsenal fans thought they were marrying some posh bird with a bit of an exotic accent but despite enjoying plenty of trips to Europe and lots of sophisticated nights out, they've very little to show for the last few years.<br />
Chelsea fans married some East European catalogue bride for her dad's money and Manchester United fans are like those smug married couples who, every Christmas, send you a card detailing all the wonderful achievements of their children. Little Ryan had a bit of a falling out with his brother. Ginger ran away from home and we thought we'd lost him but he came back again.<br />
At least, most of the time it's like a marriage. However, for our lot, this season has been more like an affair. It's been a real blast, a lot of fun and quite invigorating. And now, even though it's all over, you can say 'well it's been worth it' and go back to normal, hoping for the occasional high, accepting there will be good days and bad days, but sticking with it until the bitter end. Oh yeah, and it looks like dad may be going to prison.<br />
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A while ago I mentioned Evening Standard pisspoor columnist Sarah Sands who tried to argue for the existence of God by claiming the sitcom Rev was funnier than anything about atheists and Leonardo di Vinci did some nice paintings. Today she's at it again. To paraphrase her column, she argues that because religion has such beautiful churches, religion is a 'good thing'.<br />
Reading this rubbish, it reminds you that the best city in the world has one of the shittiest local newspapers serving it. As with its mayor, London deserves better.<br />
Knock knock. Who's there. M.A.B. M.A.B. who? M.A.B. it's because I'm a Londoner.<br />
See ya....Solly<br />
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<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-10419677194780945382012-01-20T20:44:00.003+00:002012-01-20T20:44:42.807+00:00We're Gonna Drive 'Em Back Into The SeaIn an advert for Iceland, featuring another of the famous clan, Stacey Solomon, a voice announces the benefits of frozen food 'when people drop by unexpected.' I wouldn't have minded if it was Stacey who said that but it wasn't, it was the narrator. Ad agencies, like newspapers, used to check their copy again and again to make sure that it at least made grammatical sense. Maybe it's a sign of the times, but you can bet a tabloid sub would spot the need for an adverb in a short sentence.<br />
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My mate was head of corporate communications of Kodak in Europe around the turn of the century. He left in 2000 and here's why.<br />
In Rochester, New York, in 1999, as the world got ready to either celebrate or face an apocalypse caused by the millennium bug, Kodak's bigwigs got together for a conference to discuss the future.<br />
The suits on the stage flew round the world on private jets and ran a company employing close to 50,000 people with an HQ that even had its own power plant.<br />
They had returned from a major photo industry show in Germany where the biggest talking point was the advances made by new fangled digital technology.<br />
So the cameras involved weighed a ton, cost a fortune and were a fraction of a pixel in resolution but the IT boffins and assorted photographic nerds were getting excited. This, they decided, was the future. And they were right of course.<br />
Kodak had actually invented digital camera technology several years earlier but as their money came from selling film, they sat on it. The future was in yellow boxes, they thought.<br />
Only the dimwitted couldn't see how short sighted this was. Unfortunately, the dimwitted were running Kodak. Imagine, a camera where you can see the photo you've just taken and take it again if the subject blinked without having to pay for two pictures to be developed. Nope, they couldn't imagine that.<br />
They imagined cameras with reels of plastic where you only got to see the results if you took it into a darkroom and spent hours developing it.<br />
So in front of a room full of PR, marketing and other important types, they went through all their visions of the future without mentioning the word 'digital' once. This puzzled my mate so he asked, out loud, in front of the audience of PRs: "What about digital?"<br />
The senior executive consulted a colleague, turned back and replied: "We're going to drive them back into the sea."<br />
The following year my mate left. He now does very well thank you. Something to do with change management, whatever that means, but it allows him regular trips to Ibiza with women half his age so who's complaining?<br />
Kodak now looks like going the way of RCA, Pan Am, Betamax and the Room at the Top nightclub in Ilford, to mention a few. They could have adapted. They could have produced world beating digital cameras, gone into mobile phones with built in cameras, pocket sized video cameras, ebooks, who knows?<br />
Instead they blamed the changing world around them for leaving behind, tried to claim they were the victims of a 'perfect storm of consumer technology advances' or that they were just unlucky.<br />
My bet is that executive probably retired on a decent pension and is living the good life. Though he may well have gone on to captain an Italian cruise liner, who knows?<br />
Because it is that kind of lack of vision that may well see the remaining 19,000 Kodak workers finally go under. But no doubt the bosses will do all right.<br />
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Talking of cruise liners, I've ordered a Costa Concordia model from the local hobby shop. They've said they'll put it on one side for me. (Hat tip: Allan Hall who really should know better!)<br />
Ahoyahoy....Solly<br />
<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-39886018048886237542012-01-14T12:57:00.001+00:002012-01-14T13:06:32.516+00:00On the PeaceA new family moves into a house in a well established area. The neighbours are a bit cheesed off at the arrivistes, not least because they wanted to buy it themselves.<br />
The new family are, well, not quite 'the same as us' - they're foreigners and although they can show they have roots there, they have a different religion and different customs and some of their friends are a bit brash and loud.<br />
It's the rich friends that lent the new family the money to do up the house and get the garden in order, send the kids to private school and have a new car on the drive.<br />
This breeds more resentment with the neighbours. They have rich uncles who make their money in the oil industry but never share it round so their homes are a bit tatty.<br />
All in all, the new lot are not made to feel welcome. Occasionally it gets unpleasant. And sometimes there is an uneasy truce.<br />
Some years ago they tried counselling with a rather effete bloke called David. It worked for a while but camp David was a long time ago and things move on.<br />
The kids from the family at number 11 used to throw stones at them but they've moved on and they seem to get on ok now.<br />
And the police sorted out the grumpy old git at number 15. He died and the new lot are squabbling over who should get the house so they're preoccupied.<br />
The people at the house behind occasionally throw dog poo over the fence. The new family threw it back, it hit a baby and the police had a word.<br />
The new family aren't blameless. They've built a very big wall without permission to stop the local scallies breaking into the shed and they blocked off an access road which they weren't allowed to do.<br />
They did give a bit of their land at the back over to some of the neighbours in the hope that it would assuage them. They supply power and water to it too but then they built a garage on part of it so it's still a sore point.<br />
Now there's a new problem. Some secretive neighbours a few doors down used to shout their mouths off about how they're going to send the boys round. <br />
The head of the household is a funny little man with a bizarre dress sense so they nickname him Armani Dinner Jacket.<br />
ADJ has been banging on for a while about how the new neighbours should have their house burned down and how they and all their friends and relatives should be wiped off the face of the earth.<br />
He's even got it embroidered on a cushion on his sofa, that's how much he means it.<br />
The police have seen it but decided that it was all a bit 'sticks and stones' and they shouldn't take much notice of a few insults.<br />
But recently it became apparent that these secretive neighbours have been making a bomb to blow up the new family's house. They've already said how much they want them dead after all.<br />
This gives the new family a bit of a dilemma. The police won't do anything until something actually happens, nor will the rich relatives - although they have written a stiff letter to the local paper about it.<br />
They could wait until the bomb goes off and then throw a bomb back but by then they may already be dead so what good is that?<br />
Alternatively they could take pre-emptive action and superglue the locks or firebomb ADJ's home but then all his mates would join in, and the police and it could get a bit tasty.<br />
Besides, the new family's rich friends may decide not to help them out if that happens.<br />
There is another option. A bit drastic perhaps. But a couple of local heavies - Moss and Addy - have offered to help out. For a bung, they'll 'sort out' the nerdy cousins whose know how is building the bomb.<br />
And so that's what they do. ADJ's nerdy cousins get a seeing to.<br />
Of course, there's a bit of a to do. A few accusations and threats of revenge are made, mainly on Twitter. Even some celebs join in.<br />
However, it does mean the bomb doesn't get built and, instead of the problem escalating, the uneasy peace remains for a little while longer.<br />
It would be nice if there was an easier solution, wouldn't it?<br />
Shalom, Salam, SollySollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-48752089303977677242012-01-10T20:28:00.000+00:002012-01-10T20:30:35.037+00:00When I say ugly, I don't mean rough looking...Everyone's talking about a film called The Artist. I believe that wasn't its original title. It was formerly known as Prince.<br />
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Louise Mensch says the reason she's unlikely to get into the cabinet is because she's got young children. In the past she thought it may because she was too attractive.<br />
Following the same logic, I never became a centre forward for Spurs because my hair was too curly, I never married Ann-Margret because I was left handed and the reason I'm not Prime Minister is because I don't like peas. Well, it makes as much sense.<br />
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Last week John Humphrys asked David Cameron who he would have playing him in a film about his life. Legitimate question in the light of the Thatcher film. Today he asked Ed Miliband, indirectly perhaps, if he was too ugly to be Prime Minister. Those bloody left wing BBC types, eh?<br />
And would he have asked a woman the same question?<br />
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Good old Kelvin. My former boss illuminated the Leveson inquiry not just with a general attitude of 'so what' about ethics, getting it right and so on, but with a very funny impression of John Major.<br />
Just for the record. If you got it wrong under Kelvin he bollocked you. If you didn't try in the first place he bollocked you more.<br />
But about the Major incident when the then-PM rang Kelvin after pulling out of the Exchange Rate Mechanism. <br />
I remember this story well. I edited The Sun's City page that day while the drama unfolded in the Square Mile. It was both exciting and terrifying and knackering. I wasn't even the regular City editor, I was just covering. Bloody typical.<br />
Every five minutes the editor or the news editor or some bearded twat from features would come in and ask what was going on and I'd have to tap dance my way out of it, waffling about George Soros and betting against the pound and so on. Then they'd leave the room and I'd ring a mate in the City and ask him to explain to me what was going on so I could explain it to the boss.<br />
The worse aspect was the constant changing of interest rates. I remember them going up from 10 to 12 then 15 (though I think that was a promise never kept) and back down to 12.<br />
Trouble was, every time they changed, the paper wanted a table on what this meant for people's mortgages.<br />
So when they went from, say, eight to 10 per cent, I'd have to ring the Halifax and ask them to do me up a table of repayments on £30,000, £50,000, £80,000, £100,000 mortgages and what they'd gone from and to.<br />
There was no email in those days. All the tables had to be faxed to me and I had to type them on to the screen in between monitoring the collapse of the pound, the share prices and phone calls from various readers and reporters, including the political editor, Trevor Kavanagh who - out of everyone - was the most relaxed and gentlemanly of all I dealt with that day. He helped calm me down too, I recall. The guy's a mensch, and not in the Louise sense.<br />
Anyway, no sooner had I finished one mortgage table, the interest rate changed and I'd have to go through the whole process again. It was one of the most exhausting days of my working life. And I didn't even have Twitter, Google or, in fact, the internet at all, to help me out. Blimey.<br />
It was incredibly hectic but looking back, it was at a time when mass market tabloids would clear the desks for a decent political story. Some serious issues may have been simplified but they were dealt with. Even celebrity stories in those pre-Big Brother days would take second place to topics that really affected the kind of aspirational working class readership of a red top tabloid.<br />
At the end of this tumultous day, those of use who had been involved were gathered by the newsdesk when Kelvin came out of his office to say that John Major had rang. Doing the impression again, he told how Major had asked what the paper's view on the day was.<br />
My recollection differs slightly from Kelvin at the Leveson hearing in that he told us: "I told him 'John, I've got two buckets of shit on my desk and I'm going to pour both of them all over you."<br />
We laughed, a bit nervously, and asked Kelvin 'what did Major say?'<br />
Kelvin impersonated him again and said: "Oh, er, ho ho, very, er good Kelvin, I'll look out for that."<br />
It was around this period that I think I really got to see what The Sun was about. Having been slavishly Tory under Thatch, it was now doing a better job of being anti-Conservative than the Labour-supporting Mirror.<br />
It wasn't altruistic, it was commercial.<br />
And being The Sun, it was probably more effective.<br />
The logic was that while Sun readers were losing their jobs and having their homes repossessed, the paper they read could not simply gloss over it because they were, in general, a Tory paper.<br />
They had to support their readers more than they could support a useless government who continued to shoot itself in the foot.<br />
The Sun had supported Major in 1992 but Kinnock was in opposition so, for them, it was a no brainer. Of course, come the next election in 1997, The Sun had switched to Blair.<br />
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I wasn't entirely sure who or what Georgia Salpa is when I noticed her appearance in the Celebrity Big Brother house. I'm indebted to the Daily Mail online, who seem obsessed with this Richard Desmond show for explaining.<br />
Apparently she is a 'body confident Kim Kardashian doppelganger' they say.<br />
Now, if they could just tell me, again, who Kim Kardashian is, we'll all be a lot better informed.<br />
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Poor old Anthony Worrall Thompson. He was caught stealing onions and bread from Tesco. And that was just for starters. The wine and cheese was for dessert.<br />
Heard an interesting tale about AWT and New Covent Garden where he bought food for his restaurants, and came across some crates of bananas that he accidentally thought belonged to him.<br />
I'm sure it was an innocent mistake. Night all...Solly<br />
<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-74503594271859569392012-01-05T22:24:00.002+00:002012-01-05T22:38:16.394+00:00Madsen, dogs and EnglishmenOK, I owe the Daily Star an apology. I may have given the impression that the only people to go on Channel Five's Celebrity Big Brother would be reality TV show rejects and footballers' wives whose French implants had yet to explode and possibly Diane Abbott hoping to find a place where she could be sure no one would be watching her.<br />
It has been pointed out to me by Daily Star night news editor Pat Wooding via my Dr Finlay (Dr. Finlay's Casebook = Facebook, it's the latest in social media rhyming slang) that I cast some doubt, too, on Hollywood actor Michael Madsen appearing, as 'revealed' by the Star. Well, the Star was right and I was wrong.<br />
The Reservoir Dogs actor is actually on the programme. So hat's off to the Daily Star. So too is some bloke who had a number one 11 years ago. And a woman famous for not being married to Ryan Giggs but having his surname.<br />
I now look forward to guest appearances in the house by the likes of Jack Nicholson, former president Jimmy Carter, Dame Vera Lynn and Boutros Boutros Ghali.<br />
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This week's conviction of Dobson and Norris - or Knobson and Doris as I suspect their prison mates may end up calling them - has reminded us of that famous Daily Mail front page with the massive headline 'Murderers'.<br />
It is one of the most famous front pages of recent decades, I suspect. But while the headline is one of the best things to grace a front page, above it is a reminder of the dumber side of national newspapers....a massive banner across the top advertising the latest horoscopes by Jonathan Cainer.<br />
This week has seen the Daily Mirror signing Russell Grant as if he was some kind of messiah and most of the other papers trumpeting how they will tell the fortunes of their readers for the next 12 months.<br />
Back on my local paper, when our astrologer had contractual problems, it was left to us reporters to write the horoscope for a couple of weeks.<br />
We worked it out ourselves. I am a Sagittarius and I had a party planned for that weekend so the horoscope for Sagittarius read 'you will find yourself at the centre of a social whirl this weekend' or something similar.<br />
Another guy was playing football a few days later so sporting endeavour featured high on the agenda for Taureans and the girl going to see Elvis Costello made sure that all Virgos could see that they would be lifted by music within the next few days.<br />
Readers wrote in to say how accurate the new, anonymous astrologer was.<br />
It is the 21st Century, we have advancements in science that can convict two murderers because of a tiny speck of blood that has been embedded on a jacket for 19 years.<br />
We can send neutrinos racing round a Swiss Scalextric that could eventually tell us how the universe was created. We can overthrow dictatorships by sending messages via satellites in space through tiny little boxes we can fit in our pocket. We can do all these things and more thanks to the hard work, creativity, brains and dedication of fantastic people all over the world.<br />
And yet the newspapers are still keen to propagate the medieval myth that our lives are governed by a load of mumbo jumbo. And that we should believe some fat tosser in a look-at-me waistcoat or daft old witch with a bad haircut who says that because Venus is up Uranus then the colour red will be significant next April.<br />
Quite frankly the whole astrology scam has been going on too long and our newspapers shame themselves by pandering to it.<br />
There are some people for whom their daily horoscope acts as a kind of crutch to help them through their sad and lonely days. Much the same as God does for others I guess.<br />
Anyone who needs a crutch as badly as that is so lame that if they were a horse they'd be shot.<br />
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Good little programme on grammar schools on BBC4 which made the point that the system was let down by a lack of dynamic young teachers.<br />
I'll vouch for that. I can say it never did me any harm but I'd rather have come out remembering a lot of good teachers and one bad one, rather than one really good teacher and a bunch of misfits, incompetents, paedophiles and crusty old Mr Chips style bastards.<br />
But hey, I'm not bitter....class dismissed. Solly<br />
<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-46202576119251946632012-01-03T22:49:00.002+00:002012-01-04T19:14:33.941+00:00What a Filkin libertyDame Elizabeth Filkin's report on the ethical relationship between police officers and journalists recommends that we don't flirt with them or drink alcohol with them.<br />
I would personally recommend that journalists don't sleep with policewomen. You could end up with cressida dick.<br />
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However, this does restrict the training of local newspaper journalists in how to build, maintain and use contacts of course.<br />
As a local hack, the police are a good source of stories and the journo, in return, is a useful conduit for the police to appeal for witnesses, to launch crime prevention campaigns and, in general, to promote a better image of the force.<br />
I started off at the Ilford Recorder. It is one of many parts of the country where, quite frankly, the police could use as much help as they can get in improving their image.<br />
I was there a long, long time ago but can remember, with varying degrees of fondness and horror, various ways of bonding with the bill.<br />
The annual Recorder versus Met Police East Traffic Division Indoor Sports Olympics for instance (basically a darts match at the police social club) got everyone together. And very drunk. After which everyone drove home, knowing they wouldn't be stopped as all the traffic cops were drunk too. Perhaps it's a good idea these things don't take place any more. Besides, I'm sure that fat copper with a moustache and 'Crafty Cockney' tattoo was a ringer.<br />
And the local nick's Christmas Party, a more stuffy affair in which the editor, the Mayor and various others would discuss niceties over a glass of sherry.<br />
However this was rounded off with the traditional CID lock in at the Red Lion (everyone gave a fiver to landlord Mick Ryan on the way in) which would end around 5am so we could go home and get changed before police calls the next morning.<br />
The Recorder would do the odd human interest story about the police. The detective who draws caricatures of his colleagues and gets them exhibited, the hidden story behind the signed photo of Jayne Mansfield behind the duty desk (she once broke down in Ilford and the police helped her out, so it wasn't really a mystery but we could resurrect the story every three or four years) and the chief inspector's obsession with Arsenal. It made them more human. Apart from supporting Arsenal of course.<br />
They helped us too. I got an exclusive interview with Adam Woodyatt, aka Ian Beale in the newly launched EastEnders (this was 25 years ago remember) because his dad was the chief copper at Barkingside nick and set up the interview.<br />
Oh, and Adam Woodyatt was a charming young man. He biked round from Elstree to Valentine's Park on a new Yamaha but we couldn't go to the pub as he was underage and that would have been a much better story!<br />
I understand he's still in the soap though I don't watch it any more.<br />
In between we would carry stories about local crimes and help the police find witnesses of course. It was called making contacts and has acted for decades as a central plank in learning to be a journalist.<br />
Now of course, we can't do this any more thanks to the likes of Neil Wallis. Which is something else he's done to ruin journalism.<br />
Instead of being able to mix with real policemen and women so we can understand them and they can understand us, we'll have to deal with jobsworth press officers who give us (and via us, you) only half the information we need. I don't include you, Andy Roberts, of course.<br />
And as for young local journalists, they will have to rely on Wikipedia and Blackberry Messenger for their information and never get to talk to a real human being ever again.<br />
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An 81-year-old man had a heart attack at Spurs last night and died. I was at the game and it wasn't that exciting. But the conversations I've had with football fans follow the same pattern. As a way to die it's up there with being crushed by a falling piano or being shagged to death, or in a Las Vegas hotel room while snorting cocaine from the naked body of a showgirl. Or is that just me? I've always liked pianos.<br />
At least being 81 means he lived long enough to see Spurs win the league. I have a feeling that even if I live twice as long I won't be that lucky.<br />
So if it's going to be a coronary at the Lane then hopefully it will be at something better than a 1-0 scrappy home win against West Brom.<br />
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Things you never thought you'd say. This includes 'I'm warming to Joey Barton', 'Louise Mensch is a bright woman' and 'Well done Daily Mail.'<br />
Well, knock off the last one. After the conviction of David Norris and Gary Dobson there is, at last, a reason to be able to tell people you're a tabloid journalist rather than try and disguise it with 'oh, I'm a content provider for multimedia organisations.'<br />
Of course, the real hero is not Paul Dacre, the reformed police or even Mr and Mrs Lawrence.<br />
No, the real hero is science. It was the advances made by scientists that got the double jeopardy law changed. And without the science all the valiant efforts of the newspaper, the police and the parents themselves may well have been in vain.<br />
Naturally the Daily Mail will bask in the glory and they are entitled to. Even Roy Greenslade has praised them. We can but hope that having discovered the good they can do, they do it more often.<br />
Perhaps they should run a story that doing the right thing cures cancer.<br />
Evening all....Solly<br />
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<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-42687733142909937932011-12-29T14:44:00.002+00:002011-12-29T14:44:33.255+00:00When Harry Met Solly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Thirteen years after deciding that Harry was the perfect name for my son (naturally with a name like Harry Solomons I want him to be a divorce lawyer or a theatrical agent) I see the good taste has rubbed off and it is now the most popular boys' name in Britain for new born babies. And my second choice, Mohammed, is doing well too, I see.</div>
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What have the following got in common? Michael Madsen, Mohammed Al-Fayed, Ricky Hatton, Tinie Tempah, Amy Winehouse, Charlie Sheen and Steve Strange? All never or will never go into the Celebrity Big Brother house. Yet all have been rumoured to have been going in by the Daily Star.</div>
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I don't know what Leveson has planned for a revamped PCC but here's an idea. Fine the Daily Star £100,000 for every celebrity they say is going into the CBB house but doesn't. Then give the money out to freelances and agencies whose stories have not got into their paper because they've been forced out by CBB exclusives.</div>
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A new boutique hotel has opened in what used to be Bethnal Green Town Hall and I'm told it's very exclusive and trendy. So much so that it is advertising local culture to those visiting, including a tour of what we used to call graffiti but is now termed as London Street Art. I'm guessing it's not some bloke pointing out 'George Davis Is Innocent' in white paint to bemused Americans.</div>
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According to a friend of mine who stayed there, they also recommend a night of 'risque' entertainment at the Bethnal Green Working Man's Club. Bethnal Green clubs appear to have come a long way since the 1940s when my dad and his mates were chased out of one by two young twins called Ronnie and Reggie, for straying the wrong side of the Mile End Road from their Stepney patch.</div>
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But it got me thinking that there could be quite a racket in East End culture tours away from the usual Jack the Ripper walks or tours of Jewish London that I once did.</div>
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Why not show the tourists where Bob Hoskins made his last great film, The Long Good Friday, including the remains of the lido where a dead body ruined his day?</div>
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Or perhaps they could try one of my new East End Experience Trips?</div>
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*The Race Hate Experience (aka Hurrah For The Blackshirts) - feel the warm Cockney welcome that generations of Huguenots, Jews, Bangladeshis, Irish and Chinese have been through by getting local old people to spit at you as you walk past. Burning dog poo pushed through your door will cost more.</div>
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*The Flying Bottle (and other local pubs) - we'll provide you with some useful local phrases such as 'are you staring at my bird?' and 'did you call my pint a poof?' as you travel on a rollercoaster through broken pool cues, smashed bottles, finishing with being down in the tube station at midnight with a little money and a takeaway curry</div>
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*East London Nature Trail - pitbulls, sparrers that can't sing, one eyed cats and rats the size of Mini Metros.</div>
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*Foreign customs and habits - our tactful guides will talk you through the new local customs brought in by devout religions to the area such as female circumcision, child brides, East European prostitution trafficking and, of course, aggressive begging introduced by post-war Scottish protestants.</div>
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Happy New Year one and all....Solly</div>Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-86453220034930492382011-12-22T11:45:00.001+00:002011-12-24T14:44:42.472+00:00The Age of StupidI have come to the conclusion that we are living in the age of the stupid. I know, I know, what took me so long?<br />
Was it yet another politically incisive tweet by Lily Allen (my God that woman is thick as a brick)?<br />
Was it Ricky Gervais becoming the pin up for atheists days after the death of Christopher Hitchens?<br />
Perhaps it was the latest fuss over racist footballers in which there is a genuine discussion to have about the term 'coloured' but instead which gets hijacked by those who can't see what the fuss is about and those who can but relegate the arguments to 'everyone's a racist'.<br />
It is not that complicated. Sometimes there are words or phrases which are unacceptable to a bunch of people but because they are used by the majority, they seem ok.<br />
Black people, and I accept that not even all black people, find the word coloured unacceptable. It suggests there are white people and everyone else is coloured. Which is derogatory. It is also a reminder of apartheid and segregationalist America, both of which happened within my lifetime.<br />
The point is this. If people find it offensive, then we, as intelligent people, should simply stop using it when there are alternatives. We have a choice. We can choose not to be offensive or to be offensive. Why would we choose the latter option? 'Oh but I have always used it' is not good enough.<br />
I can remember when words like wog, coon, paki and yid were used a lot. Thankfully they are not any more. We can decide whether we want to use the excuse of 'tradition' to be offensive, or not. Simple.<br />
Alan Hansen used the word because he is from a generation who can remember when it was ok. He then realised he should not have so apologised. And that's the matter closed. Hansen is not racist. Suarez, I think, is. Let's face it. Whatever word he used to Evra - and it was probably something like 'negrito' - it was not done to be friendly. He wasn't saying, 'I say, that tackle was a bit late my black friend'. Dalglish is making himself looking stupid for getting his team to wear those t-shirts supporting Suarez. That's a team containing Glenn Johnson and 10 white blokes by the way. Try finding one other Premiership side that only has one black player in its starting line up. You probably have to go back as far as the Premiership winning Blackburn side to find a team made up of so many white players. Which was managed by? Er, remind me.<br />
No, what made me think that we are living in the age of the stupid was David Jason. Del Boy if you will. He came out and said, and I paraphrase, the current situation with Europe was akin to Germany wanting to run Europe like the Fourth Reich.<br />
It was stupid and ignorant.<br />
There are a lot of arguments for and against closer integration in Europe and a lot of intelligent ones at that.<br />
One of these is not that Germany is looking to invade the rest of Europe. This kind of kneejerk, xenophobic attitude does no one any favours. The plonker.<br />
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I'm not doing a review of the year. If you want a review of the year buy a newspaper, switch on the TV or click on a million different websites.<br />
If you did read a newspaper, any newspaper, during 2011 you have been well informed with thousands upon thousands of articles about everything from Imogen Thomas to the Arab Spring.<br />
Obviously, now that the News of the World has been closed down based on five per cent of a Guardian story being wrong, then you will be less well informed about a variety of subjects that didn't interest the likes of Steve Coogan and Hugh Grant but were enough to satisfy several million or so Britons every week.<br />
But, hey, on the plus side, you have a much higher proportion of 'serious' newspapers to choose from so you can read a lot more about how much bread costs in Tuscany or how Michael McIntyre will spend Christmas.<br />
No, of course not. There's loads of serious stuff in the broadsheets that are covered a lot more flippantly in the tabloids if at all.<br />
Thanks to painstaking research by the excellent journalist blogger Jon Slattery, he found there were 2,346 articles on Osama Bin Laden in the national papers in 2011. I think it's fair to say this was spread across the titles.<br />
But there were 2,381 articles on Andy Coulson. I think it's fair to say most of these were in one particular paper. So that's more wordage on Coulson than the man who, this year, was shot dead by US forces.<br />
Of course one is a ruthless tyrant ordering crack squads of evil men and women to go out and destroy opponents of their crazed philosphy. And the other is Osama Bin Laden.<br />
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I really tried my best to be hard and cynical and nasty about Christmas, moaning about the songs on the radio, the over commercialisation, the rubbish TV, the John Lewis ad and all the rest.</div>
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And then a mate of mine showed me a website from the RNIB which listed letters to Santa from blind children and, well, it's no good. I'm going to have to realise how lucky I am after all.</div>
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It's here: <a href="http://blog.moneysavingexpert.com/2011/12/20/read-letters-from-blind-children-to-santa/">http://blog.moneysavingexpert.com/2011/12/20/read-letters-from-blind-children-to-santa/</a></div>
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It's Christmas.</div>
Have a good one....SollySollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-37635119684519565092011-12-18T22:14:00.000+00:002011-12-18T22:14:02.807+00:00Listing BadlyWell that was a surprise. Just watched Lady Gaga and Tony Bennett sing a duet of The Lady Is A Tramp and it was brilliant.<br />
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Perhaps the definition of devotion is standing in the snow watching your son's football team go from 3-1 up to 4-3 down by the final whistle while you freeze your nuts off.<br />
Or perhaps it's to then go to Spurs and watch a dull 1-0 win in the cold while freezing your nuts off.<br />
Still, it was lifted by the bloke behind mentioning that the Sunderland striker Stephane Sessegnon reminded him of Kenny Lynch. That led to half of those around us nodding sagely and the other half (who are aged 40 and under) simply going 'who?'<br />
That's the trouble with young people. They haven't heard of Kenny Lynch. Probably have no idea who Harry Fowler is either, I dare say. Or Peter Wyngarde. Tsk.<br />
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Not one but two Christmas parties this week. And I haven't got the stamina anymore. But seeing old friends in the surrounding of a pub does entail a wonderful evening of anecdotes.<br />
My mate, who shall remain nameless, has a ghostly wan not helped by constantly finding himself unexpectedly drunk and prey to the occasional dodgy 'e' (whatever that is).<br />
Because of this, and a similar surname (there's a clue I suppose) he has recently been mistaken by the barman of a posh London hotel for the father of Twilight star Robert Pattinson after once signing for his room number.<br />
He has decided not to put the man right. Mainly because if he goes to this bar in this very famous trendy hotel he gets free cocktails. Each one costs around £20 normally.<br />
At the end of the night, the barman mentions that he is going to get the nightbus home because he cannot afford a cab.<br />
So my mate gives him £25 on the basis that he's had £100 worth of booze for that price.<br />
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I'm 50 next year and have accepted the fact that I won't complete any of those '50 things to do before you're 50' lists. Frankly I'm not bothered.<br />
If I have to consult a list to find things to do, then something's wrong. So it doesn't really matter than I'm unlikely to go bungee jumping or spend a night in jail over the next 12 months.<br />
And there's other things I have yet to do and can't see myself doing either.<br />
I have never seen Downton Abbey, played Angry Birds, been to a rugby match or visited a lap dancing club.<br />
I have never tried skiing, eaten lobster, been to Belfast, had a tattoo or seen Blade Runner.<br />
I've nothing against any of most of these - though there are principled reasons behind the lap dancing and lobsters. And I may yet try one or two of the other things purely out of curiosity.<br />
The point is, if any of us really wanted to do any of those things we probably could. But only if we want to, rather than to merely tick boxes.<br />
Besides, some the things that seem to appear on all these lists are not worth the wait, if you ask me.<br />
Take swimming with dolphins. Tried it and, quite honestly, all it did was remind me that these wonderful animals are better off in the wild than brought up in captivity and then made to perform for humans.<br />
One of the dolphins we were supposed to be swimming with decided to throw a moody and wouldn't come out and join in. That's when I realised that perhaps they didn't enjoy it quite as much as the handlers had claimed.<br />
Next day we went out on a boat and saw a couple, in the wild, jumping out the water and it was much more thrilling, and cheaper, than the day before. Plus we never felt that we were getting in their way, impeding on their patch or altering their normal way of life.<br />
That's not to say some of the items on these regular lists are not worth trying. Parascending was exhilarating, but water skiing was a letdown. Though that was my fault for trying to ski on the bottom of the seabed rather than on the water I think.<br />
The Great Wall of China and The Grand Canyon were truly breathtaking and, for my money, worth seeing in the flesh. The Sistine Chapel though, was too crowded and lacked atmosphere. And seeing the Mona Lisa in the Louvre is possibly less exciting that seeing it in a magazine on the sofa.<br />
Of course it's all personal. I could make up my own list about things to do before you're 50 based on my own experiences. It would include seeing Jurgen Klinsmann score his first goal at White Hart Lane and having sex in a Ford Cortina outside a pub on the Kennington Road but I don't expect these to appeal to everyone.<br />
So go and do what you want, and work out that if you were going to die tomorrow, compile a list of 50 brilliant things you've experienced and then tick them all and consider it job done.<br />
Happy Chanukah....Solly<br />
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<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-91278648792915892842011-12-11T21:54:00.001+00:002011-12-12T11:21:50.382+00:00Tamara never comes...without a publicistI see Tamara Ecclestone is complaining that her privacy has been invaded. Something to do with blackmail.<br />
She's the heiress who calls a press conference every time she buys a pair of shoes and has a reality TV crew following her 24/7.<br />
Blackmail's a nasty business. What I don't understand is this. How much privacy does she have left to invade?<br />
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You'd think I'd blow off about The Guardian telling lies which led to the News of the World closing down. Quite honestly, I can't be bothered. They will wheel out Charlie Brooker and His Holiness Pope Greenslime III to explain how they might have got it wrong over Millie Dowler's voicemail but that all tabloid journalists are scum anyway and the paper should close down for interviewing Steve Coogan and not giving him copy approval.<br />
Brooker will make a joke out of it and Greenslade will simply say 'I told you so.'<br />
That's if they do anything at all. They buried the story about them getting it wrong - it wasn't even the lead item in their media page. You can still see their original story, where they got it wrong, which led to the NotW closing. It remains intact with, somewhat unintentionally hilariously, an 'editor's note' beneath it that, in a very roundabout way, explains what a bunch of lying tosspots they've been.<br />
Still, some of them probably have books to sell so perhaps we shouldn't be too harsh!<br />
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Channel 4 is pushing a series This Is England 88 which is a gritty drama about that period, involving lots of northern folk suffering a lot. And it is brightly accompanied by a snatch of What Difference Does It Make? by The Smiths. Except that song was released in 1984.<br />
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I haven't watched any of the X Factor but can't avoid it of course. I tuned in for the last five minutes of the very last show.<br />
At the risk of sounding like a High Court judge, I don't get it. You spend six months watching hundreds of acts, you narrow them down to a few who, I take it, are supposed to be the most talented, and spend lots of money texting or phoning a vote in to that effect.<br />
So why, at the end of this long and laborious process, did they pick four orange slappers with bad dress sense, bad skin and who can't even sing anyway?<br />
I can't quite work out who comes out of this worse. All those other acts who, by definition are worse that this lot? All the people who wasted money on voting for them? The judges who have picked, as stars, a group without either an image or talent? Or all of us for letting them get away with it.<br />
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Today was my birthday. I had to get up at the crack of sparrow's and drive to Rainham (it's out in the marshes somewhere) and watch an under-13s football match - it involved my son, I'm not trawling round Essex to find young boys playing sport.<br />
Then I went to a carol concert involving my daughter and fell in love with some classical music celebrating a God I don't believe in. Joseph Lieber Joseph Mein for instance.<br />
Meanwhile I've done my back in and Spurs lost (so making a wish when I blew out the candles didn't work).<br />
It's the most interesting birthday I've had for ages. Cheers...Solly<br />
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<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-17173457612878543512011-12-07T20:38:00.001+00:002011-12-07T21:05:40.430+00:00Egged OnThere's been too much doom and gloom lately, much of it personal as well as in general. So let's lighten the mood.<br />
Have I ever told you about the day I threw eggs at a bloke from the Daily Mail while I was still at school?<br />
And I didn't even realise it until a dozen or so years later when I had a drink with him and it all came out.<br />
It all goes back to the heady days of 1978 when Ilford was plunged into a sudden by-election after our Labour MP died, the hardworking Millie Miller.<br />
Now, she had a tiny majority of around 700 and the Labour Party, in its wisdom, put up some young leftie councillor called Tessa Jowell to fight the seat against an estate agent from Croydon called Vivian Bendall representing the Tories.<br />
Extra spice was added by the resurgence locally of the National Front in what was a mixed Jewish and Asian area during a time of industrial unrest, high immigration and general dissatisfaction (ring any bells?)<br />
Plus, James Callaghan was already trying to fend off a vote of no confidence by making the Lib-Lab deal. Losing Ilford North, which he did of course, eventually led to a general election and allowed Margaret Thatcher in.<br />
At the time I was a 15 year old schoolboy at the local boys school when we found out the NF had hired OUR school for a meeting. We were told by the sports master who said football matches had been cancelled that weekend as a result.<br />
Tensions were high and so some of my less Semitic looking mates - including at least two who became national newspaper journalists - went to the meeting itself 'for a laugh'.<br />
The rest of us stayed outside, alongside an assortment of Jewish taxi drivers trying to form a blockade. and local Indian youths up for a scrap.<br />
We all had eggs and flour and other missiles and when the NF round the roundabout, escorted by police and towards the school gates, OUR school gates. we pelted them, aiming in particularly for the bloke holding the Union Jack on a pole, as he seemed a suitable target.<br />
Following that and other incidents the government banned any group of more than four people from getting together in public in Ilford until after the election. The police put extra officers on duty outside the synagogues. Bill Grundy sat on the wall of Dave Dillon's house (he's now the news editor of the Mail on Sunday), pointed at Hainault and basically called it a shithole on the Today show on ITV.<br />
It was an awkward time, not least because it was my brother's barmitzvah that weekend. And we had a coachload of my mum's family - the non-Jewish lot - coming down from Staffordshire for the big event.<br />
As their coach, driven by the ever reliable Jeff Bennett, a regular in my nan's pub, weaved its way through roadblocks and skinheads selling copies of Bulldog and armed policemen outside the synagogue, they started to wonder why on earth my mum had ever moved to 'that London'.<br />
But back to the Daily Mail.<br />
After leaving school, going through local papers and then joining The Sun I became industrial correspondent which introduced me to a whole new breed of journalist, and Richard Littlejohn.<br />
One of this new breed was the funny and fantastic David Norris who always introduced himself as being from 'Her Majesty's Daily Mail.'<br />
Despite what Max Hastings may say, David Norris was THE first journalist in Port Stanley after the liberation of The Falklands. He was already in The Stanley Arms on his third pint by the time the British Army got there though Hastings took the credit. Norris did try and shoot Hastings but was stopped by a couple of paras.<br />
Nozzer and Littlejohn and some others were swapping stories one night at the TUC in Blackpool around 1990 I reckon.<br />
Nozzer was quite drunk. So drunk that when a young Tony Blair came in the pub - The Alexandra - Nozzer mistook him for a freelance who had been hassling him and told him to f*** off.<br />
Next day Blair, to his credit, came up to a hungover Norris and asked him if he still wanted him to f*** off.<br />
One of the stories Nozzer related was when, as a young reporter for the Daily Mail, he had to infiltrate the National Front to find out about their recruiting strategy and catch them out some how. Perhaps he hoped to catch them firebombing local restaurants or something.<br />
Trouble was, David Norris was so convincing he started to get promoted within the right wing organisation above the various traffic wardens and council workers they were used to.<br />
So much so that when a high profile march was organised, Norris was given the duty of carrying the flag - a rare honour.<br />
And so he did so, through the gates of Ilford County High School in front of the TV cameras one Saturday afternoon.<br />
And as he did so he got pelted by eggs thrown by a bunch of lefties and some scruffy schoolkids.<br />
It was only fair that I pointed out to him that I was one of those schoolkids. He made me buy him a pint as recompense and carried on telling stories. How I miss that bloke.<br />
Cheerio....SollySollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-86289004367779733592011-12-04T19:35:00.001+00:002011-12-04T20:06:14.845+00:00ChewsroundCaught a bit of Countryfile on the BBC. As someone who remembers John Craven from Newsround, can I just give a little bit of advice? Get some new teeth John. The new ones look good but sound awful.<br />
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The wife's got a new radio so I'm both enjoying and suffering Radio Four. Enjoying such delights as I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue which recently featured possibly the funniest sketch I've ever heard on the wireless, where the contestants had to act out a famous scene from Spartacus but as ducks.<br />
A description doesn't do it justice so get on to iPlayer and get hold of the second episode of the current series and go to about five minutes before the end.<br />
But I'm not a full convert yet to Radio Four. For instance there's a consumer programme featuring Paul Lewis who looks like Count Duckula with hair inappropriate for a man his age. And he doesn't sound much better with one of those clipped BBC accents I thought they'd left behind in the 1940s.<br />
There's other good stuff like Desert Island Discs which has been good every since they got rid of Michael Parkinson. But then there's The Archers, possibly the worst acting I've ever heard, and The Now Show, a poor, stupid man's version of 100 other shows that take the mickey out of current affairs.<br />
Of course the wife's into Woman's Hour because it reminds her how far women have come in this country. So I'm more than happy to leave her in peace to listen to it while she irons my shirts and cooks my dinner.<br />
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The worst aspect of all this Clarkson nonsense is not what the man says or does - intelligent people can make up their own mind about whether or not he is funny. No, the worst aspect is how po-faced and humourless it makes 'the left' look.<br />
Union leaders calling for him to be sacked are no better than the Daily Mail trying to whip the nation into a fervour about Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross when no one who reads the paper has actually heard the programme.<br />
They're both as bad as each other. Besides which, Clarkson was joking. It was obvious he was joking. Even to public sector workers who aren't always the brightest of folk (have you ever tried having a conversation with a surgeon, for instance, that doesn't involve talking about money?)<br />
Far worse are those who believe what Clarkson says on subjects like the environment without bothering to check his 'facts'. Then they come out with the same misinformed arguments in any pub conversation where you dare to express any kind of opinion that maybe things like cars and planes and people can damage the environment if we're not careful.<br />
The Prius is more environmentally damaging than a tank. Clarkson said so. It's snowing so there can't be global warming. Clarkson proved it.<br />
You have to ask yourself, who would you believe? Clarkson or Attenborough?<br />
And which one would you rather see taken out in the street and shot in front of their family?<br />
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It's not a good time to be a journalist. What with Leveson's one sided 'inquest' and the celebrity circus from Coogan to Campbell alleging that photographers eat human babies and tabloid reporters shot Kennedy. Or something like that.<br />
Well, the whole bad rap filters down. According to my local paper, six snappers from something called the Chingford Amateur Photogaphic Club went to take photos at an event called The Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. You know, arty shots of fake snow and Santa.<br />
But they didn't have security clearnance which means, according to the people running it, they may well have been paedophiles taking pictures of children.<br />
Looks like they'll have to go back to doing studio sessions with dodgy local 'models' instead, the poor sods.<br />
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I did notice that Alastair Campbell described the press as putrid. This is a man who, according to former News of the World politico Ian Kirby, told reporters from that paper to ask Tony and Cherie about joining the Mile High Club so they could get a good headline and make the couple seem 'normal.'<br />
And you have to wonder what is more putrid. Taking snaps of Sienna Miller in a public street or sexing up a dossier that sends this country to war.<br />
Just a thought....take care, Solly<br />
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<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-39827082374766271012011-11-27T21:02:00.001+00:002011-11-27T21:59:04.778+00:00Good Grief/Bad Grief<div>
Oh well, 'Movember' is almost over and so we won't have to see quite so much bumfluff around and Gary Lineker can stop looking like an arsehole with teeth.</div>
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But congrats to my wife for making such a fine effort for charity (hat tip: John Moloney).</div>
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I don't want to sound like a middle aged football fan harking back to the good old days of terraces, Bovril and man-sized refreshments but have you seen the size of Wagon Wheels these days? They are only slightly bigger than a chocolate digestive. No, really. It's a disgrace.</div>
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So, do you reckon Jessica had a sugary nightmare or a surgery nightmare? Did she wake up screaming that she was being forcefed a giant marshmallow only to find a pillow in her mouth (and not for the first time I'd guess.)<br />
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Or did she wake up from an operation to find a surgeon had made her look like a broom handle with two beach balls sewn to her ribcage?<br />
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Bet it wasn't a 'sugery' nightmare, as stated below by the Daily Star Sunday magazine cover.<br />
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Interesting to see how people react to bad news. I was watching my son playing football when one of the other dads told the rest of us that Gary Speed had committed suicide.<br />
My first reaction was that it was very sad. Another of the dads, a Welshman who drives from Essex to Wales for every Cardiff City home game (he and his boy have season tickets) showed shock before summising 'I bet it's a tabloid thing.'<br />
That's how low my industry has sunk. A youngish man commits suicide and some people instantly think it must have something to do with newspaper dirty tricks.<br />
Of course, he may be right. But then again, it may be that the rest of us don't understand aspects of mental illness and depression enough to pass judgement.<br />
Perhaps it turns out that he has a relative who has gone missing or a close friend died recently or a crisis of confidence. Truth is, we don't know but that doesn't stop us guessing.<br />
There are other reactions.<br />
At Swansea City's match, what was supposed to be a minute's silence quickly turned into a minute's applause.<br />
Scared of upsetting the Welsh, most of the media described this as a spontaneous gesture of grief.<br />
But what's wrong with a silence? We saw on November 11th how poignant and powerful silence can be.<br />
The penchant for clapping a dead footballer began with George Best and has continued since. Occasionally it is used when there are fears opposition fans wouldn't respect a silence.<br />
It seems appropriate when it's someone who has been in the game for years and dies of old age like Sir Bobby Robson, for instance.<br />
But when it is such an unexpected tragedy like Speed's I tend to agree with those who think a silence is more appropriate.<br />
And there are yet more ways to react.<br />
Within two hours of the news around 380 people had instantly gone to the BBC website so that, in their grief, they could quickly let the rest of the world know that 'I never knew him but he seemed like a great bloke. RIP - Dave, Basingstoke.'<br />
Thanks for that Dave. It's good to know 380-odd people like you are there to help guide the rest of us through the grieving process.<br />
I'm not against commenting on newspaper websites. It's quite cathartic to post 'I think Rupert Murdoch is fantastic' on The Guardian's 'Comment Is Free' section just to see the reaction from people who wear corduroy.<br />
Similarly, it's a nice feeling to go to a Daily Mail story and big up gypsies, immigrants or global warming to wind up right wing expats.<br />
But what's the point in adding some guff about how sad it is that someone you've never met died in circumstances about which you've no idea. And then add a really corny line like 'you're with the angels now' which is a particular tabloid favourite.<br />
It's the online equivalent of dashing to the scene of an accident to leave a crappy bunch of petrol station flowers tied to a lamp-post.<br />
And to cap it all, they don't even sign off with their real name. So a Daily Mail reader who prefers to sign off as 'Mad Melvin, Florida ex-pat sick of NuLiebor' can anonymously tell the world how sad they are that someone they never knew has died.<br />
The papers and the BBC don't help either by asking readers to 'send us your tribute to Gary Speed.'<br />
Worse still is the short form 'text us your tributes' so that some nasal gimp on a radio phone-in can read out 'Dave from Basingstoke says Gary was a great bloke. RIP.'<br />
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Jokes that make physicists laugh: Heisenberg is driving along and gets pulled over by traffic cops who say to him: 'Do you know how fast you were going?' to which he replies: 'No but I know exactly where I am.' No, I'm a bit uncertain about that one too, at least in principle.<br />
Night all...Solly<br />
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</div>Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-54843174366908953242011-11-22T18:48:00.001+00:002011-11-22T19:21:08.332+00:00It's Raining MendaciousI try hard to take Boris Johnson seriously. Visiting some of the worst ravages of the riots today he said: "I'm going to make Croydon great again." He was doing so well until that last word.<br />
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Paul Dacre is many things. He's not, though, Pol Dacre. The Khmer Rouge were responsible for the deaths of around one in four of Cambodia's population.<br />
They beat and stabbed children, they forced little girls to marry grown men, they ripped the flesh off tortured prisoners using pincers and they even banned the concept of 'love'.<br />
The trial of a couple of withered of Mr Burnsalike despots is currently taking place. If you search the media hard enough you can read about it. Though it isn't getting the line by line, live coverage afforced a bunch of egotistical celebrities at the Leveson Enquiry.<br />
Dacre got it spot on when the Daily Mail today called Hugh Grant 'mendacious' for suggesting, without any evidence whatsoever, that the Mail on Sunday hacked his phone, broke into his flat and hired criminals as paparazzi. The last accusation is ludicrous. Real photographers are far more sociopathic.<br />
Grant was clearly reprising his most famous roles. You know, those simpering posh twats from likeable but inconsequential romcoms. Because he couldn't really be like that could he? His line about standing up to bullies was straight out of About A Boy. His self-deprecating dealing with his arrest could have been from Four Weddings and his well-spoken tosspot routine was a dead spit of Love Actually.<br />
Worse was to come. Garry Flitcroft, a footballer you probably haven't heard of, appeared to say that the fact that two women approached a newspaper claiming he shagged them was such a coincidence that it must have been down to phone hacking.<br />
Except everyone in Blackburn knew he was a serial shagger with a penchant for lap dancing munters.<br />
So he took out an injunction and when it was lifted he had to tell his wife, his father-in-law was ill and several years later his dad committed suicide. He's now divorced by the way. Not all footballer's wives have the patience of the woman married to multi-millionaire Ryan Giggs.<br />
And it was all the fault of the papers. Nothing to do with the fact his wife left him over his philandering, his father-in-law was probably pissed off with the husband of his daughter using local gold-diggers as an ornament for his knob. I'd wager his own dad eventually died of shame.<br />
There's only one man to blame for what happened and that's the two bob footballer who decided to dip his wick in a couple of publicity seeking tarts.<br />
But nothing could prepare for the sight of the unwashed comedy God that is Steve Coogan. Unfortunately in real life he's not as funny as Alan Partridge. And his hair's worse too.<br />
He seems to think publicity is an unfortunate byproduct of being famous. Though it didn't stop him doing several in depth interviews to publicise his various shows, books and DVDs.<br />
It's like saying earning lots of money and, yes, being able to shag lap dancers, was an unfortunate accident that befalls people in the public eye. Funny how all these anti-press celebs like to sleep around.<br />
Unfortunately Grant, Coogan and Flitcroft are pushing at an open door. They could claim the Daily Mail eat babies, the Sunday People drugged their kittens and the Daily Star has reporters permanently living under their floorboards and an army of Guardian readers will believe them.<br />
Even the usually excellent Guardian writer Michael White was fooled. In a brown nosing column he heaped praise on Grant as some kind of hero citing his bravery and kindness. Such sycophantic arse-licking has not been seen since Alastair Campbell's defence of Robert Maxwell, which spared a punch up between White and the future spin doctor many years ago in the House of Commons.<br />
Meanwhile, there's a trial going on in Cambodia.<br />
You can read about it with a couple of clicks of a computer mouse on any number of British media websites. That's because you have a free press.<br />
It means you have a choice. You can, if you wish, read about what Kim Kardashian had for breakfast or you can peruse a report of how some of the world's worst criminals get treated when they caught.<br />
You can read about James Corden going to Broadway, if you want, or you can analyse the Greek debt. You can learn what Amy Childs said on Twitter, what Sinitta had to eat in the Bushtucker trial (another trial, the papers are full of them) and what Lady Gaga wore for some awards ceremony.<br />
The point is, you can do all these things here. And journalists won't come round and connect electrodes to your balls if you don't.<br />
And when they do misbehave, they will get fired or even jailed. Several senior policemen will resign, loads of D-listers will get compensation, Britain's best read newspaper will close and the taxpayer will spend millions on listening to Hugh Grant and Steve Coogan telling us all which bits of their lives you're allowed to read about.<br />
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Oh dear. Russell Grant now claims he 'knew' Diana would die. Funny how horoscopes themselves never actually say such things. Naturally I don't believe a word they say, but then us Sagitarrians are a pretty cynical bunch.<br />
He used to do the horoscopes, through syndication, for the Ilford Recorder. Once when there was some contractualy dispute, we couldn't use it. So instead we, the reporters, did it.<br />
And you know what, it was no less accurate. I'll tell you how we did it next time.<br />
Court adjourned...Solly<br />Sollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-55063098441798756162011-11-19T12:16:00.001+00:002011-11-19T12:57:04.462+00:00Hand in GloveWell done to Alastair Campbell for winnng the Football Focus predictions cup. Obviously better at predicting what's going to happen over 90 minutes than within 45 minutes. Burnley 1 WMD 0.<br />
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Attended my first ever boxing match over the weekend. An amateur event involving several short bouts with lots of padding so not much blood. Being a namby pamby liberal, I'm not a natural fan of boxing.<br />
But three things in particular struck me. Because the judges score points for accuracy rather than the ability to brawl, there is a very, very, high level of skill that is obvious, even to the untrained eye.<br />
Second, the boys themselves (none of those boxing seemed older than about 19) are incredibly polite and courteous outside the ring. I believe it's something to do with the discipline. I chatted to a trainer and, although there are a couple of exceptions, he said that over the years hardly any of the young boys from his club who boxed got into trouble in their everyday lives, not even fights at school.<br />
A lot of the lads turned up with family, some from miles away. The parents didn't look so well disciplined frankly. The third thing I noticed (and you couldn't help but notice) is how many people connected with boxers seem to have tattooed necks.<br />
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The Guardian this week had an article online about 'the new boring'. It was a condescending attack on the comfy middle classes who spend all their time talking about Downton Abbey, who watch Kirstie Allsopp, prefer Strictly to X Factor and are into knitting and home baking.<br />
They may have well just called it We Hate the Daily Mail and be done with it.<br />
I've never watched Downton, hate the Allsopp woman and neither knit nor bake but The Guardian is a fine one to talk.<br />
Every episode of Mad Men is treated like the second coming in the paper, analysed to death and blogged to within an inch of its finely attired life. Same for The Wire and The Killing and any number of trendy non-British shows. Most of which I love, incidentally.<br />
The Guardian, remember, bored the world to death with the whole Wikileaks saga and for the past year has been putting everyone into a coma with its self-righteous analysis of the hacking 'scandal.'<br />
It has failed to realise that 90 per cent of the country are bored stiff of the whole hacking debate. I work in journalism and know well some of the guys who have been sacked or arrested and even I'm bored. Heaven knows how much everyone else is tired of endless debates on the BBC and mind-numbing government committees featuring some tubby attention seeker who thinks he's funny.<br />
I'm bored by James Murdoch's robotic voice too, and by Whoring Hugh Grant becoming the paragon of virtue for the whole sorry tale. I'm sick of hearing that another 15 D-List celebrities may have been on the list and are so offended they'll settle for a £10,000 back door payment.<br />
I'm also sick of meeting strangers, telling them I'm a journalist when they ask, and then laughing lamely when they say 'oops, you going to hack my phone now, hee hee.'<br />
Then you have interminable, expensive, public enquiries led by a group of posh people with no knowledge of the tabloid press and even less awareness of the type of people who read them.<br />
It's rare to agree with both Kelvin McKenzie and Paul Dacre but they were spot on in the Leveson Enquiry.<br />
And it's all over a little trick that was discovered by journalists involving mobile phones belonging to people who didn't realise you needed to change the factory setting code in order not to have your voicemails read.<br />
It's not hacking, it's a scam. Showbiz reporters used to do it to each other to see what stories they were working on. It was a running joke at the Princess Margaret awards held by entertainment hacks. All those names in Glenn Mulcaire's notebook? I'll bet that most of the them are journalists who have had their voicemails entered by other journalists.<br />
The journalists responsible for deleting Millie Dowler's messages should have been sacked but to close the paper down was ridiculous. But, frankly, no one gives a flying one that Sienna Miller didn't delete her voicemail messages or change the code on her mobile before someone listened to them.<br />
I know this isn't the popular view, but I simply think to much fuss is being made and I'm bored, bored, bored. As journalists, most of us have occasionally done things that are a little suspect in order to get a story. I've got this nagging feeling that even I may have done at some point in the past.<br />
Before digital communications, we had readers tuning in to police and other emergency broadcasts via shortwave radio then ringing the newsdesk when something happened to try and make a quick buck.<br />
This is quite clearly just as much of a theft as voicemail interception but no one bothered, not even the police who, in effect, were the 'victims' of the theft. And it was through this that, when I was on The Sun, enabled us at 2am to discover a disaster of epic proportions unfolding on the Piper Alpha oilrig, despite the official comments from the rig's owners and the authorities at the time that it wasn't that serious.<br />
And reporters have been slipping a bit of dosh to coppers for almost 100 years. Suddenly it's a hanging offence? Do me a favour.<br />
Want to the know the 'new boring'? Just read The Guardian's media page on most days.<br />
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I noticed that in their joint column in the Daily Express, Richard and Judy described the new drama series Pan Am as about as boring as an in-flight mag. Now I've read the excellent and very professional in flight mags for airlines like BA and I've read Richard and Judy's excuse of a column in the Express and I know which one I'd prefer.<br />
Sit back and belt up....SollySollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2940633047368066335.post-36854502614343446682011-11-14T21:36:00.001+00:002011-11-15T21:09:13.799+00:00Falling StandardsAccording to a survey by Bath Spa University (which is one step below the Bath Londis University), the kind of dog a person owns reflects their personality. It said that owners of labradors are 'agreeable.'<br />
I have a labrador. No we're not. Argument over.<br />
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The paucity of decent female columnists - and there are notable exceptions - is ever more apparent when reading the Evening Standard. What was once a great paper for London is now a collection of stories about Boris Johnson and the latest back slapping charity campaign. Plus the editorial cure for insomnia, an interview by Mihir Bose.<br />
Sarah Sands, who I once thought of as an intelligent writer, now peddles drivel for the paper. Tonight she sought to make an argument against arch atheists Stephen Fry and Richard Dawkins.<br />
She'd been to see them in a debate on the existence of God. Naturally they were witty and urbane and logical. Unnaturally, her way of countering their argument was not.<br />
In a nutshell, she tried to prove that God exists because of two TV programmes she had recently seen. A documentary on Leonardo da Vinci proved there is a God because so many of his paintings were holy and the sitcom Rev did so because, er, it was funny.<br />
And that was it. That was the best she could come up with to try and prove there is an omnipotent being in charge of creation. A decent painter with a spiritual side and a decent sitcom about vicars.<br />
I don't believe in God but I have spoken to and heard many people who make good arguments why I might be wrong. And for atheists to make their argument, they need a robust opposition because that encourages a better debate.<br />
Poor old Sarah Sands does the theist cause no good at all. Nor her reputation come to that.<br />
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There was once a sketch on Not the Nine O'Clock News where two politicians are insulting each other on a TV debate when one keels over and dies. The other immediately stops slagging him off and goes into a speech about what a wonderful MP the dead man was.<br />
Mark Antony said something about the good men do oft gets interred with their bones. But not if you're an MP they don't. Oh no. When an MP dies all the sycophantic journos from the lobby line up to Tweet what a great bloke/woman they were, no matter what.<br />
I've no doubt Alan Keen was a good bloke. He liked football, and not in the Tony 'I remember Jackie Milburn' Blair way either. He died too soon and was a great constituency MP somewhere in West London miles away from his Middlesbrough roots.<br />
But while he may be remembered as a Boro scout and a keen player against the mainly public school XI of political journos, arguably his best known accomplishment while in office was to fiddle thousands of pounds of expenses on the public purse for him and his MP wife, Ann, to claim for a second home they never lived in.<br />
They were known, not unkindly, as Mr and Mrs Expenses. So among all the praise, perhaps we shouldn't forget just how many of our 'decent' MPs had their hands in the till all those years.<br />
For me, as a Labour supporter, I feel it is somehow worse when it's one of your own who does it.<br />
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The more I take my son to his various sporting commitments, the more I can only admire the poor sods who run the various football and cricket teams, tennis clubs and swimming lessons for juniors.<br />
Particularly football. Standing on the touchline, belting out tactics to a bunch of 12/13 year olds in the freezing cold, looks like hell to me. But having to deal with stroppy dads and stupid mums telling him what to do when they clearly have no idea, is a nightmare.<br />
To all those dads who run teams, who fall out with other parents, who have to balance the hopes of all the kids, good and bad, not to mention balance the books, collect the fees, persuade one of us to run the line and bring the corner flags in, I salute you.<br />
And no, I'm not going to to do it. It's bad enough running the line at football or trying to score at cricket without trying to acquire the patience of a saint, which I clearly don't have.<br />
My attitude is to stand as far away from most of the other dads as possible and have a sneaky fag while they argue about whether or not to play five in the middle.<br />
They think it's all over...it is now - SollySollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06791276449832156885noreply@blogger.com0