shite

Shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite, shite, shite shite, shite, shite!

Shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite shite.....

Hodgson must go.

Shite!

Day

It's Christmas Day and I'm sitting on the couch at twenty to one in morning having just finishing wrapping up presents that will be noisily unwrapped in a few hours time.

Even though I'm in a better humour about Christmas this year I think I could still happily do without it. It's for the kids, let's be honest. I think as long as they have fun, the rest is pretty much immaterial.

I have to admit I've "enjoyed" the last two Christmas Days on my own. It was just like the old days when I was back at home, and me and our kid just disappeared mid-morning and let our folks get on with whatever they liked and so did we. My Mum and Dad had a truly enlightened attitude about Christmas when I think about it now. They probably didn't realise it, and still don't.

It does stir up emotions about folk who are no longer in our lives for whatever reason. I can't say I miss my Dad any more on Xmas Day than I do any other day, but I was reminded of mortality very poignantly earlier on today on a visit to Thornton Crematorium.

I haven't spoke about this on the blog before, but Aaron is a twin. His brother, Ryan, died in Jayne's womb before he was born. The little lad never took a breath in our world, and is laid to rest in this cemetery.

The four of us went to pay our respects today. I think it had a particularly strong effect on Aaron, seeing his brother's grave. I once said to Aaron I was concerned he was spending too much time on his own, and his reply was quite firm - he never feels alone because Ryan's with him. Which is some reply for a 13-year old.

Jayne's reaction to Ryan's resting place was of a mother who's never given up loving her child. She was quite stoic, but obviously full of emotion. Bethany's liveliness probably belied the fact she never knew her elder brother, but I could tell she really did feel for both Jayne and Aaron.

As we were leaving we had one of these morbid conversations on how we'd like to be buried. My instructions are quite clear - I would like to be cremated (after the doctors have used any parts of me they see fit for other people - the poor buggers) and my remains scattered on the River Mersey in front of the Liver Buildings to the earth-shattering volume of the Who's "Naked Eye" performed live at the 1970 Isle Of Wight Festival.

After all that...erm...Happy Christmas and stuff!

blast

We had a huge downpour of snow last Friday night, and the although there's been very little new white stuff coming down from the skies since, the sub-zero temperatures have made a welcome thaw nigh on impossible.

Although I don't live in Crosby anymore, I've done a few more chippy runs in the run-up to Christmas and the icy roads around the town make one take one's life in one's hands.

On Radio Merseyside there's been a debate on why so few, if any, of the roads between Crosby and Southport, all under the jurisdiction of Sefton Council, have been gritted - or not as the case may be?

Two of the major routes through Crosby - Moor Lane and Edge Lane - remain ice-rinks. Whereas most of the main routes through Liverpool are pretty clear.

I went up to Southport last night to drop some presents off at our kid's, and visit Mum. It was a fairly uneventful journey there and back to be honest - but it took double the time, and ten-times the concentration due to the icy conditions - to complete the journey.

I know councils can't cover absolutely every eventuality. But Sefton Council knew this snow was coming and did bog-all with their three (yes, just THREE) gritting lorries. I have reliable reports the gritters were just driving about to show their faces, yet weren't spreading any grit. The best rumour going about is Sefton Council SOLD their supply of rock salt during last summer to another authority. How mental is that?

The other side of the coin is once you get used to driving in the ice and snow, it can actually be quite a blast! Handbrake turns and gearbox braking are challenges I don't get to practice much. Anya has performed fantastically through this period - the slippery surfaces have presented little problem for my brilliant little Volkswagen.

Our street in Fazakerley is dreadfully bunged up with snow. Technically it should've been gritted as it's a bus route, but we must've been an oversight?

So although I'll be glad to see the back of the snow soon, part of me's gotten quite used this extreme weather. I didn't even feel that minus 17 in Crosby last week.

Probably because I wasn't there!

fred

I went with Bethany and Aaron to see "Fred The Movie" today.

Like a lot of folk, I like his stuff on You Tube. It's incredibly infantile and stupid which appeals to me on a very, very, very basic level.

The esteemed Mark Kermode reviewed this film by just screaming "aaaarrrrgggghhhhh" basically, so I wasn't expecting much and little, if nothing is what I got.

I'm not particularly good at reviewing films, but I found this beaut of a review on the Sky.com website that's worth reprinting here.....

Congratulations Lucas Cruikshank on establishing the first YouTube channel to gain a million subscribers. Congratulations on over 300 million views. And congratulations too on creating the most insufferable character in the history of motion pictures.

Anyone unacquainted with the teenage drama queen who doesn’t want him dead within five seconds is a saint. After two minutes, you'll be wishing for martyrdom yourself.

Fred's every utterance is pure torture. It's like listening to Louie Spence, Graham Norton and Donald Duck having their testicles blowtorched.

When he’s not screaming, screeching, squealing or yelling, he's throwing up, whining, tantrumming or falling over in a desperately unfunny manner.

Besides a good kicking, then, all Fred wants is to make sweet music with Judy (Pixie Lott), the hottie next door.

But while vying for her affections with arch-bully Kevin (Jake Weary), his love is put further out of reach when she suddenly moves to another neighbourhood.

Heeding the advice of his macho dad - a figment of his imagination played to zero comic effect by wrestling star Michael Cena - Fred sets out to win fair Judy's heart.

Along the way he proves himself to be a stalker, a shoplifter, and a complete moron. And there's something decidedly creepy about his relationship with his slovenly single mum.

As if Cruikshank needed to underline his lack of wit, he also gives Fred a charmless alter-ego called Derf (geddit?).

Needless to say, only the most charitable of masochists could wish him well. But don't take our word for it, here are some of the comments posted on movie megasite IMDb.

“I felt like killing myself.” ”I've deleted it twice from my DVR and refuse to let my kid watch it.” “The script is abysmal... the direction is dreadful and the acting I don't know where to begin”. “WHO IS IT SUPPOSED TO BE AIMED AT?”

The biggest turkey of 2010 and a contender for worst film of all time, it’s impossible to see how this traumatising ordeal could be made in a country bound by the Geneva Convention.

Drop dead Fred. Seriously.

It's nigh on impossible to transfer a three-minute sketch into a 90 minute film,
and although the feature was generally rubbish, some of the tomfoolery and slapstick going on that kind-of reminded me of the more mentally-absurd side of "The Goodies" in an odd way.

Probable worst film of the year, but I suspect, in time, it'll gain some kind of cult (yes, CULT!) status.

ferris

Me and Jayne went to see John Bishop at the Echo Arena last night. We arrived a little early, so with nowt to do, we went for a ride on the thing pictured below.

The Liverpool waterfront has been transformed over the last five years. Where once there was just a massive, dusty open air car park has been replaced with a state-of-the-art concert venue, surrounded by hotels, shops and bars. There's a real atmosphere there now.

The ride on the ferris wheel lasted ten minutes, and cost us £15!!!!! But the views were stunning - 200 feet above the ground. Sadly, many of my photographs didn't turn out as well as I'd have liked, but I'm rather taken with the below shot looking north towards the Pier Head......

After the ride, which petrified a usually unflappable Jayne, we went for a drink at nearby Jury's Inn. Maybe it was just us, but we felt very underdressed in the sense that we're in our scrag, and everyone else was dressed up to the nines. The "Beautiful People" as I call them. They might be famous folk, I really wouldn't know.

The John Bishop show had its' moments. He's a funny bloke, and I must admit I've warmed to him more over the last year. But I feel he's welshing his moment for all it's worth, which is fair-play to him. John seems genuinely perplexed by his rise to fame.

Would I go and see him again? Probably not, but carry on lad...carry on....

fallout

Thought we'd avoided the heavy snowfall everyone else has been having. Not so.

The weird thing was how quick it all came down. It seemed that one minute I was out on a clear, dry, yet frosty Liverpool night, at the local chippy getting me and Jayne an insipid chinese meal neither of us enjoyed. And the next - all this....fallout!

I'll put up pics of the snowman I'll have a bash at making later!

loogie

Sad to report that the works' van has finally met its' maker.

I was there on the day that Stan bought the van for GB. I distinctly remember it having just SEVEN miles on the clock - it was that new.

The "loogie" as I term it, served us very well - without too much trouble - until GB moved out of the Netherton premises at the end of 2007. I advised Stan not to overuse and overload the van between the depot in Netherton and the head office in Bolton (a mere 30 miles) because it'd get, pardon my French, "twatted".

He took absolutely no notice of anything I said, or anyone else for that matter, and bullied the van to the extreme that it needed several expensive repair jobs doing on it by the time we'd finished the move. Then Stan neglected the servicing (which wasn't done as regularly as I'd have liked anyway) to the point that when Ron took restarted the business, the van needed more attention. The van, in the last year, has flitted in and out of Dougie's garage. But the timing belt went on it the other week, which has caused major internal damage on the engine. And it's at a point now where it's not economically viable to fix it again. So Ron, reluctantly, has had to pull time after 150,000 miles of service for us.

The stupid thing is we'd had got another 50,000 out of the van if it'd had been looked after under the previous management.

Talking of the "previous management", it's exactly a year since GB went under. It seems longer. A lot's gone on in both my personal and working life in the last twelve months that I've completely lost track!!!

lunatics

Me, Jayne and bethany went to see Aaron perform with his school band at a Christmas concert at the Anglican Cathedral tonight. The building is one of my favourites in Liverpool, and the event was very enjoyable - despite bonkers religious overtones. In a religious house.

Aaron's now the principal drummer in the band. He has a good sense of rhythm. He's got my drum machine set up in his room, complete with the footpads, and plays along to anything that takes his fancy.

Within the context of his school band, he has to play rather conservatively. And he does it rather well. At home, however, he thinks he's Keith Moon so you can make up your own mind about that!

Pardon the pun, but I'm constantly "drumming" into him about keeping things simple when playing drums because it's only on very, very rare occasions that lunatics like Moon, Townshend, Entwistle and Daltrey get together and make the noise that we know and love as The Who!

Practice makes perfect....hopefully!

arrogant

To supplement my income, I do a takeaway delivery run a few times a week. It's a fascinating way of witnessing the best and worst of humanity.

Believe it or not, I always try to see the good in everyone. But my faith is well and truly shattered at least once a week by some penny-pinching knobhead and their precious takeaway meal.

Well, I don't know his name but he lives in a modest terrace house on Kelvinside in Crosby. However, "modest" is probably not a word you'd associate with this fellow. His house is a glut of wealth and extravagance beyond the means of most of us. A curtain-less window gives cause to peer into his brightly-lit and opulent cream and gold-themed lounge. His small front path has been transformed with an intricately-carved water fountain. And the bloke drives a black Rolls Royce with the personalised number plate of "TFB 36".

"TFB 36" probably stands for "Tight-Fisted Bastard - 36 times"

His whole lifestyle and property stand out a mile - overstated to the extreme in a street full of otherwise unassuming houses where most people live in the real world rather than the ga-ga land TFB inhabits. He'd suit the jet-set in Blundellsands, but probably likes the notoriety of being flash where he is, because nobody in the posh part of town would give a monkey's ball about him there.

His bill was for £19.80, and he said to me, "there you go...£20" and I turned to go as if he was alright about the change - as I've done with people for god knows how many years, you just get into a routine. But no, TFB 36 says, "what about my 20p change?????"

I wanted to hit the TFB with a brick at that point.

Now, I know a man of his means hasn't made his money giving it away. But, I'm sorry, I take particular offence at this bloke's attitude...for the sake of 20p on a cold, nearly-freezing, Liverpool night.

I have no respect for stuck-up, arrogant mingebags who, wrongly, think they're the ones doing me a favour. Because they're not. The 50p per delivery I get, I will happily forsake in order not to deal with these freaks of nature.

I do this job with the best of humour at each and every person's door. Most folk are regulars and quite pleasant people I have the pleasure of dealing with. But, unfortunately, there's some who openly berate me (and workers like me) with bloody-mindedness and disdain.

They don't deserve my attention or anyone else's. May their god help them when the revolution comes about. They deserve scorn, ridicule and a fresh watery turd across their front steps.

You're wondering now aren't you......

screwed

Due to a callous and aloof government decision to hike university tuition fees, was it any wonder there were student riots in London last night?

As far as I'm concerned, this will be the first of many if Cameron and Osborne have their way with the public purse.

Nick Clegg's attitude throughout this sorry debate has been of a man with his kecks caught down. I said the Tories would stitch the Lib-Dems up good and proper, and it hasn't taken them long has it? The thing with Clegg, Cable and Hughes is they could stop this nonsense HERE AND NOW! But they won't.

Their attitude is one of "we're here to serve ourselves, and not the country."

If the Liberal Democrats have ONE Member of Parliament left at the next election it will be a miracle. They have lost any credibility they previously had, and are the laughing stock of British politics.

On the subject of Prince Charles' car being attacked by protesters yesterday, all I can say is what makes him and his bint any more important or different from everybody else?

In fact, I'd reckon that the damage to HRH was a deliberate attack by Government agents to discredit the student movement.

It's all balls - the country's screwed as if you didn't know that already

parents

Me and Jayne went to Aaron's "Parents Day" at his school today.

He's very good at much of what he does at school. He's not too keen on P.E, Aaron's not really a sporty type anyway. He's well-mannered and pleasant to tutor according to the teacher.

It was good to hear, and a far cry from my own parents thing back at school, which I'll come to in a minute.

Strange feeling walking around a, for want of a better term, "secondary modern" school. Reminded me a little too much of where I went. It's a different place, obviously, with a different regime but it's funny how it can catch one out.....

I think I've spoken about the "Parents Evening" debacle I caused back at Chezzy, a fair while ago. For those not in the know, it's worth repeating here.

Fifteen years old, and I'd had enough with school. I'd got to the point where I'd downed tools and was on strike until I could officially leave. The letter came around the class that "Parents Evening" was soon and would all pupils give the form to their folks to sign whether they were coming or not.

I gave the letter to me Dad. Through our talks, he knew I wasn't happy at school. He opened it, had a quick glance, and asked me, "is it worth me and your Mum going in for this, son? We don't want to be embarrassed."

"No, not really, Dad"

"Okay, no problem." In one of the few times he signed anything official of mine, he ticked the "not attending" box, and I duly passed the letter back into school the next day.

A few days later I was in English class with Mrs. Aberdeen - one of the few teachers who I actually liked and gave a toss about in class when so much of my other schoolwork was down the drain. She proclaimed, loudly, "now, at Parents Evening I'm seeing everyone's Mum and Dad....except Andrew's. Can you tell me why, please?"

Cool as you like I answered, "I told them it wouldn't be worth them coming in, Miss."

Her face was a picture - like she'd been smacked in the mouth with a dolphin or something. Quickly, she regained her composure and carried on. But you know what, I felt so ashamed of what I'd said. Mrs Aberdeen didn't deserve my contempt.

If there's one thing I truly regret at school it's that little incident. Silly, but it stucks in my mind like a sore thumb. Not a lot else bothers me.

Anyway, well done Aaron. Keep it up, son!!!

responsible

To anyone in the U.K, these will be familiar scenes at the moment. Well, actually, in Liverpool we haven't had much snow to speak of, compared to the rest of the country, but the pictures below show the sort of weather we've been having.

There's an ethereal beauty to frosty scenes - which is something I'd never associate with Liverpool usually!

The daily grind, regardless of whether I'm in work or not, of de-icing the cars goes on. But where, last week, we all looked at each other with exclamations of -8 degrees or whatever, now there's a fairly relaxed and nonchalant attitude to this arctic chill, courtesy of our Russian friends if you believe the weather forecasters.

Mind, I came out of the house just before and nearly went arse over tit on the icy pavement. Remembering a caller on local radio who said that there's laws in Germany for householders to clear snow and de-ice their immediate vicinity. I thought how sensible! So I went up to a local garden centre and bought a big bag of grit - £6.99! Market forces at work!

Where we live it's particularly devoid of any direct sunlight, at the front of house anyway, so the slippery conditions still prevail whilst the weak heat from the sun slowly melts ice elsewhere. I threw down a couple of shovel fulls of grit on our path and the pavement outside - the responsible, caring person that I am. And it's worked a treat.

But for how long is another matter.

Villa

Houllier's return to Anfield was a bit pointless. His Aston Villa side are truly woeful, and a very easy win was secured last night without several key players.

One wonders why Le Boss, ably assisted by the irreplaceable Gary McAllister, took on the Villa job? They have their moments, nothing more. However, their owner, Randy Lerner, has taken a cautious, backseat approach to Villa's fortunes and it leaves the impression that being too little involved is almost as bad as being too much (Glazers, Hicks, Gillett, Manderic, etc....)

Easy pickings. Great offside goal by the enigma that is Ryan Babel. Man of the match, yet again, went to Lucas Levia. He calmly went about his job picking off Villa's midfield like flies. Good to see.

More please.

rummaging

Since moving, I've begun and finished transferring all my bills and stuff across to Fazakerley. It's been a quick process and my important details are now from here rather than the flat. Cyril's got my new address and all mail's been redirected. For now.

One of the first things I did after I moved was join the local Fazakerley library. When joining, I was asked, strangely, my football allegiance. On reply, I received the following plastic item pictured below......

It's a brilliant piece of "giving the people what they want". My first impression of Liverpool City Council's services is of a very positive nature.

Timed also to arrive to me is a new bank card. My bank, Santander (they who've taken over from Alliance and Leicester) sent a new card to my old address that failed to arrive. I cancelled that one, and asked for a replacement to be sent to here that duly arrived on Saturday, and a new PIN number today. However, the card was good for rummaging around Ebay, yesterday, getting the final bits and pieces for the kids' Christmas.

It's been a stressful couple of days here and its' reasons are not for the blog's eyes. Let's just say that church and sweets can be explosive!!

merrier

We started putting up the Christmas decorations today.

This is a comparatively new experience for me. I never bothered when I was at Mum's, and even less when was at B'sands. Jo once put up a fibre-optic Christmas tree in the flat, which was pretty cool to be honest, and I think I liked it because it was quite understated.

Christmas is something this year I'll have to endure for the sake of other people. I've had a couple of quite pleasant years away from all the bullshit, but particularly with Aaron and Bethany, I can't go around this time with a face on me.

If Christmas turns out to be a laugh, then all the merrier. But if it's the same load of bollox that I've percieved it in the past, then I think I'm better prepared to force-smile my way through it now than I've ever been.

Must be age........

tosh

Congratulations to Russia for winning the bid to host the 2018 World Cup.

Un-congratulations to England for spitting their dummy out because they think they have a divine right to host the tournament.

The fact that England secured just 2 of the 22 possible votes in the first bidding round shows how little influence the English committee had on the proceedings. Media coverage of the bidding wasn't entirely helpful to the home nation bid either.

Such a shame..............

Maybe FIFA were put off the English bid because of their over-reliance on using all things Mancunian for the presentation. Their was Bobby Charlton, (Manc legend), Prince William Of Old Trafford, David Cameron (Tory tosspot in possible pay of the Glazers), David Beckham (Manc leg-end) and a community worker from Moss Side who made Liam Gallagher sound like a member of the aristocracy.

Manchester isn't the home of football. It might think it is, but it isn't. And facts prove it.

English football has three overwhelmingly successful soccer cities. They are Manchester, London and Liverpool.

If you take the total number of major trophies (League, FA/League Cup and Euro success) each city has won, based on the current number of Premiership football teams based in these cities, it works a little like this........

LIVERPOOL (Liverpool and Everton)

League Championships 27

FA/League Cups 21

European 12

GRAND TOTAL - 60

MANCHESTER (Manchester United and Manchester City)

League Championships 20

FA/League Cups 21

European 6

GRAND TOTAL - 47

LONDON (Arsenal, Chelsea, Spurs, Fulham and West Ham)

League Championships 19

FA/League Cups 37

European 9

GRAND TOTAL - 64

And Manchester self-styles itself as the footballing capital of England? What tosh - in fact, it's another example of the hugely-exaggerated veil of self-importance this deluded bunch of people and their supporters attach to themselves.

London may be the most successful city, but surely Liverpool is still the out-and-out winner based on the two-team ratio as opposed to five.

It's not often I give our Blue friends the benefit of the doubt, but they deserve their place here.

Anyway, the fallout and bitter recriminations to the unsuccessful World Cup bid are a bit of the laugh, so I'll enjoy it while it lasts.