Apeman

Went to watch King Kong yesterday afternoon and arrived daunted at the prospect of a three hour epic but left in an invigorated mood. The time had flown by. I suppose it was an old-fashioned film experience – set piece following set piece with too many exciting cliffhanging moments to count. I unashamedly and thoroughly enjoyed it. The IMDB suggests that director Peter Jackson paid homage to the 1933 Faye Wray version by slipping in several knowing details into his epic. I like that sort of thing.

Hey Chick

Hetty and Bella, the two chickens that joined our family unit in August continue to go from strength to strength. Despite gloomy murmurings that they would cease laying during the winter months we are consistently presented with two large and delicious eggs each day. Being off work has enabled me to cook their favourite treat, spaghetti. I am convinced the daft things reckon they are knocking back the tastiest worms in Christendom as the strands hardly touch the sides as they force them down. They adore any form of pasta and enjoy rice – which we believe they think are really maggots – too. I am really fond of these beasts and feel tangible pride in them whenever I poach another pair of their ova.

Tomorrow I shall be at Kingsholm Stadium to cheer on the city against the league’s bottom club, Leeds Tykes. We should win this one especially after a reported fine second half against Wasps on Boxing Day. Confidence should be fairly high but it is slightly disappointing and lacking in ambition to be using a defeat as a springboard for greater things. I am yet to see the team lose this season as I rarely attend away fixtures but am yet to witness any real art from the side, especially in the back division. Hopefully the dream pairing of Tindall and Simpson-Daniel will start to click soon. Oliver Morgan has proved my player of the season thus far. I appreciate his head-up, intelligent runs and dedication to the cause. I rate him highly. The returning hero Mercier has yet to get the backs purring but I recall in our wonderful cup and league winning season three (?) years ago that we scored marvellous try after marvellous try – and that was with the rather predictable bash-through-the-middle centre partnership of Todd and Fanolua and Mercier. Perhaps it will all click soon. No matter. It will be great to meet up with folk and appreciate fine banter for an hour or three.

Yesterday afternoon I strolled around a chilly Gloucester for a few hours, wrapped up warm as toast and with the sunny sounds of Dr. Alimantado filling my ears and transporting me to warmer climes. A search for new trousers proved fruitless and I returned home with only a few library books and a pack of empty CD cases from Smiths to show for my efforts. A poor return indeed.

Records

It is difficult to pick up this weblog. Does one recap all that needs mentioning from the past three or four months or does one pretend the site is up to date and carry on as before? Hmmm…

There were plenty of fine CDs released this year and I guess it is right to celebrate this here. One of my favourite discoveries of 2005 was Sufjan Stevens. His ‘Seven Swans’ album – a year or two old now I think – has been playing on my MP3 player almost non-stop for the past few months to the extent that I put off exploring his album from this year ‘Come On Feel the Illinois’ in case it didn’t live up to the genius of the former. I needn’t have worried. Both albums are full of subtlety, delicate melody and, heck, whimsy. What else have I enjoyed this year? 'Campfire Headphase', the longingly anticipated new long player from Boards of Canada didn’t disappoint. Swirling soundscapes and bags of atmosphere were aided and abetted by, heaven forbid, a few guitars strummed by the reclusive electronic uberstars. 'Aerial', the new Kate Bush album was lovely and intelligent and unusual. The song all about pi on the first CD remains a favourite. Not many people could get away with that kind of eccentricity but the mighty Bush managed to sit songs about maths, washing machines, Elvis and Joan of Arc together with insouciant ease. I loved the new Go-Betweens pop album ‘Oceans Apart’ and really thought the Gorillaz’ ‘Demon Days’ was clever and knowing and funky but was tainted by mass appeal. I know that sounds snobby. My Morning Jacket’s album ‘Z’ - pronounced 'zee' I believe - was eminently listenable to and the latest new Joy Division, The Editors, lived up to that tag as well as any with a fantastically gloomy recording, ‘The Back Room’. S is going to arrange a copy of Vashti Bunyan’s new album soon and I look forward to that. The Observer Music Monthly printed a Top 100 albums of the year review recently which led me to investigate Camille’s album ‘Le Fil’ which is a kind of French Portisheadesque ambient thing with, joy of joys, a drone that runs throughout the whole album. It really is rather beautiful and I have been listening to it while I pen these words. The Observer also pointed me towards the blind Malian couple Amadou et Miriam and their exuberant album ‘Dimanche a Bamako’. I sometimes worry that I only play miserable, contemplative stuff but this soaring, infectious recording bucks that particular trend. It’s noisily life-affirming.

Two Score Years

It is a touch embarrassing to realise that my last posting was in August albeit at the very end of that fine month.

So, what to report? My 40th birthday was just before Christmas and the landmark was passed with fun and friendship and fine food. I feel no different and have, indeed, utterly forgotten that I am now ‘closer to sixty than twenty’. My birthday bash was at the wonderful Café Rene, an oasis of good sense in a world of brand names and theme pubs. It was splendid to be surrounded by super people. My Mark E. Smith cake went down a treat and I received more reggae CDs than you could conceivably shake a Camberwell Carrot at. My current favourite is the mighty ‘Best Dressed Chicken in Town’ by Dr. Alimantado, a seventies roots classic. S presented me with The Fall’s Complete Peel Sessions (interesting version of my favourite Fall song L.A.) which I have been dipping into with relish.

Back

It is always good to be home although a rather damp Ireland proved a relaxing week and was all I expected and wanted. The scenery was spectacular, there was plenty to get up to and the black stuff went down sweetly. We spent a few days on the beach where C and I indulged in some hard-fought matches of boules. An early encounter on Vestry Sands would have displeased the purists. A strong wind was thrusting the jack a vast distance on alternate ends so skill was irrelevant; it was simply a case of who could chuck their boules the furthest. It was ugly, vulgar and brutal but nonetheless compelling. I won all the up-to-eleven-best-of-three rubbers while C was unbeatable at first-to-twenty-one. Honours even.

Professor Noel Sharkey who used to appear on Robot Wars was travelling on the same outward ferry as us although my travelling companions were hugely underwhelmed.

The pictures above show a view of the Blasket Islands and our holiday house just outside Dingle. The former involved having to walk a fair distance. It was worth it.

GL2

A quiet pint with S last night ‘down the Ted’. He has settled comfortably into his new abode but I wish that, with a GL2 postcode and an 01452 dialling code, he wouldn’t keep insisting he lived in Stroud. Ah, the ignominy of having to shop in Quedgeley’s Tescos! I look forward to receiving reports of the young gentleman’s foray to this weekend’s Green Man Festival near Hay-on-Wye as I am considering the whole festival scene for next summer. I am keen to return to Camber Sands for another ATP weekend but – and I think last month’s day at Ashton Court has whetted my appetite – I wouldn’t mind an outdoor weekender especially if the whole family would enjoy it. Green Man looks fine and the accent on the folktronic end of the market appeals.

I am trotting to Kingsholm Stadium later to watch our young guns in action. It’ll be my first chance to see Anthony Allen in action. As ever, my optimistic outlook has mentally deemed him to be better than the callow Matthew Tait and I’m already labelling him ‘the next Brian O’Driscoll’. Sadly, my favourite nipper, Ryan Lamb, is on the bench tonight as I always love his attacking zeal and crafty ways. Olly Morgan is at full back and needs a big match to contest the wearer of the 15 shirt against Worcester. I must confess that Jon Goodridge, not my favourite player, looked confident and assured when he came on against Calvisano last weekend.

The chickens have settled in beautifully and now allow themselves to be picked up which was inconceivable a couple of days ago. I have been cooking them a dozen or so strands of spaghetti every day and they adore their daily treat of ‘worms’. They also go mad for budgie food. Hetty and Bela have proved to be lovely pets and it only remains for them to start laying eggs and then they’ll really be paying their rent. The cats are less sure of them (see above).

Tomorrow we set sail for Ireland and a week on the West Coast. It’s a holiday that is eagerly anticipated and I can’t wait to be back in Dingle again, pint of G in paw, listening to some cracking music.

Summer Sun

Yo La Tengo at Koko, Camden Town 16.8.05

The bloke who yelled ‘Louder!’ had a point I suppose. Purposeful art-house lo-fi hepsters such as Yo La Tengo should really play it soft. The mumbles, the gentle backing tones and the understated riddims were certainly what I alighted at Mornington Crescent in high hopes and expectation for. The cognoscenti should have been ejaculating a polite, ‘Quieter!’ It didn’t quite work out that way. I respect the London gig scene, I really do, but there were too many art threats, too much tourist trade stalking the splendid and beautiful former Camden Palais. And they didn’t stop talking.

Heck, they chatted over some rare beauty. ‘Everyday’ trotted elegantly by, all muffled mentions of Kate Moss and crossing your heart and hoping to die. That was lovely. ‘Let’s Save Tony Orlando’s House’, all wit and knowingness stood out while ‘The Crying of Lot G’ was a melodic gemstone as was the sun-bleached and tender ‘Little Eyes’. Amid all the quaint and studied objets d’art, the occasional sleet storm of noise terrorism cascaded towards the music fans and the tourists. The fans were challenged and appreciated the need for a bit of sturm und drang to counterbalance the gentility and sophistication. The tourists just carried on chewing the fat. Shame.

The Italian Job

Gloucester 61 – Calvisano 0

These are optimistic times at Kingsholm. Even before yesterday’s pre-season friendly I was quietly pleased with the sensible recruitment in key areas and the subtle mix of experience and raw young talent that the club was developing and entrusting with our hopes. Yesterday’s romp against an admittedly average Italian outfit confirmed my positive feelings. Gloucester bullied in the right areas, were abrasive as heck when they needed to be but, when the canvas required, painted beautiful brushstrokes.

The forward pack fought doggedly for the ball. The Balding fellow, captaining the city with assurance and maturity, led by example and contested the breakdown fiercely. The likes of Eustace and Wood were not far behind in terms of application and hunger for work. New dad Vickery concentrated mainly on the rigours of the set-piece but his day with ball in hand shall come soon. James Merriman did a few decent things and showed fine pace at times but was not as involved as I would have wanted. His time will come; experience counts for a good deal and the nipper needs more game time at this level.

Behind the pack lurked nuggets. James Simpson-Daniel was barely stoppable. His speed, both of thought and deed, had the hapless Italians chasing shadows all afternoon. He chose some peerless angles and scored a most remarkable first half try carrying the ball across the pitch and defeating defender after defender before touching down under the sticks. A second period ankle injury must cause concern; we need his class in weeks to come. The second nugget was burly, brave Jack Adams who dominated the midfield with his no-nonsense running. He forced his way through tackle after tackle, scored a couple of smashing tries and seriously looked the part. Lads of his age should be wearing braces not scoring them but this punter is not complaining. I thought young scrum half Hadyn Thomas had a satisfactory home debut too. His first half radar was slightly out and McRae had to stretch to receive a couple of efforts but, after the break, he appeared sharper, more composed and ready to take on the oppo back row with some sniping breaks and pacy runs.

Late on, a trio of substitutions proffered real heart to the supporters. Patrice Collazo relished his return to Stade Kingsholm and completely dominated the tight and was a handful and a bit of a nuisance in looser exchanges. Olivier Azam took Collazo’s lead and used his aggression and passion with no little effect. Finally, a returning hero, Ludovoc Mercier captured the crowd’s imagination with a sublime cameo and fluent running, fine vision and beautiful passing. Essentially the man kicked superbly. His first kick from hand sailed from 22 to 22, a driver’s whack when we have been used to one or two irons for the last year or two. All of his goal kicks bisected the uprights and he scored a well-taken try with his first touch. It was marvellous. I think we’ll do extremely well this season with Ludo at the helm.

On returning home it was a delight to watch our youngish team win the Middlesex Sevens – and Gloucester fans of more than fifteen or twenty years service will appreciate how bizarre that concept is. Simon Amor led the side with pure class but it was our other teenage centre, Anthony Allen, who really caught the eye with classy, powerful running and a wide range of exquisite skills. It was a thrilling final against Wasps and I felt huge pride in the city lads for a wonderful achievement.

All looks mighty fine then as the new season approaches. We have so many talented youngsters in Allen, Adams, Morgan, Narroway, Wood, Merriman and the acutely talented Lamb. The forward pack has been bolstered by new signings and players returning from injury - the arrival and potential impact of the Springbok Davids will be intriguing – and we have a player who can kick us deep into opposition territory and score point after point from almost anywhere.

I can’t wait for proceedings to commence.

Coops and Campfires

Our chickens arrived today and I’m really rather fond of them. The man from Omlet delivered them mid-afternoon and after their eglu was erected and the ladies’ wings were clipped (under supervision I sliced through one wing with a pair of scissors rather nervously), the pair of them spent some hours getting used to their new surroundings. They pecked a lot. I must confess I spent ages just watching them. As dusk fell we managed to shoo them into their coop for the night and locked them safely away. It seems we can’t expect any eggs for six weeks or so.

I received a charming email from Warp Records earlier. It consisted solely of the front cover of the new Boards of Canada album and the date of its release, the 17th of October. It appears that the recording is to be called The Campfire Headphase – it had to be really - and I simply can’t wait. There have been numerous fabulous records released during 2005 but this has to be the most eagerly anticipated. .

On the way back from Yorkshire yesterday we overtook, on the M5, the Grimsby Town FC team coach. I guess that this was at about three o’ clock and we were somewhere in Worcestershire. I noted that a few of the players were fast asleep. On our return I checked the BBC website and discovered that they were to be playing Bristol Rovers that evening and a further visit ascertained that they had beaten The Pirates by two goals to one. I derive a sad pleasure from any glimpse into the lives of professional sportsmen and felt vaguely contented that the lads whom I had spotted enduring the grind of a longish bus journey had ‘done the business’ against The Rovers.

Harmy Army

Yorkshire proved an enjoyable few days for all of us. I introduced my dear old friend M (pictured above, with yours truly) to Su Doku, Laura Cantrell and late-period Prefab Sprout while he introduced me to Terry Riley and I play the orchestral minimalist’s Shri Camel album as I write this. Both our MP3 players are fuller as a result of the past few days. Pickering is a fine place to live, gentle and unassuming and peaceful. Some time spent in York was worthwhile on Sunday although we arrived too late to take advantage of the array of eclectic shops. For the second year running Theo and I went on the Ghost Trail, this time accompanied by older sister and M and the boys. It was almost exactly the same ‘script’ as last time and the actress lacked the warmth and good humour of last year’s guide. I was disappointed but unsurprised.

A sudden migraine headache on the Saturday meant I missed the trip to Filey and instead stayed ‘home, alone’ and rested. The opportunity to stop in and watch the Ashes Test was not wasted though and I was glued to every ball. Steve Harmison’s slower ball to dismiss Clarke was true art and rivalled Warne’s deadly spinner to get rid of the elegant Strauss as delivery of the match. The drama was immense on the Sunday and I was certainly resigned to England losing as the Australian lower order ate further and further into England’s lead. Any jubilation I felt at Kasprowicz gloving a beauty to Jones was certainly overshadowed by huge, huge relief. I was trying to explain to Theo why I enjoyed supporting Gloucester RFC the other day and I said that, after time, one starts to know the players really well and appreciate their quirks and personalities in the sporting arena so that one wills them to succeed for rather simple human reasons. The English cricket boys receive my support for similar reasons now and after watching them progress so encouragingly over the past couple of years* I feel I know them pretty well. I find it hard to express how desperate I am for them to reclaim the Ashes for the first time since I was a youth.

I am reading a really beautiful book at the moment, ‘The Shadow of the Wind’ by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. It is set in post-Civil War Barcelona and is a ghostly mystery tinged with elements of romance and tenderness. It is an unusual read and struggles to fit into any genre. Its elegant, almost poetic style renders it a delightful piece of art though. I recommend it.

The chickens arrive tomorrow. Perhaps it is not the done thing to name pets before they are truly yours but we have decided firmly to name the birds after Gloucestershire’s prehistoric burial sites so they will be known as Hetty and Bella after Hetty Pegler’s Tump in Uley and Belas Knap near Winchcome. These are definitely more imaginative names than those our cats have: Ginger and Marmalade.

* S telephoned while I was typing this nonsense up and maintains strongly that my allegiance to the England cricket team is less tangible and much more recent than this. In fact he states firmly that, 'You hate the English cricket team.' I beg to disagree with the young man. I feel a bit hurt actually.

Plastic Sniffed

The plastic was sniffed before I had left the Kingsholm ticket office and, as ever, it reminded me of something from my childhood which, for the life of me, I can’t quite recall. Walkinshaw’s address to the masses was understated and fairly dull while the badge is larger than in previous years but still ghastly. I am a season ticket holder once more and approach the new term with plenty of optimism and zest. Close seasons are incredible for helping one forget atrocious performances and horrendous losses. Also, I am, it seems, gratefully in receipt of the hottest ticket in the west, and shall be attending the Worcester vs. Gloucester match at the beginning of September.

The Coles are heading to Pickering for a few days - gosh, I hope no burglars read these pages! - so a dormant period should be expected.

Sniffing the Plastic

I’m heartened and encouraged by the news that the city club defeated the might of Leeds yesterday and by a handy enough margin too. I’m glad that Collazo is back to shore up the scrum and I confess to feeling relief that Monsieur Mercier is back in the colours. We need to play uncompromising ten man rugby as often as we can this term and eke out territory before unleashing our remarkable backs. Frankly, I’m not sure where Henry Paul is going to fit into Gloucester’s plans next season. Tindall (Tinds?) and Simpson-Daniel would be my first choice centres with the loyal servant Fanolua and the young bucks Allen and Adams waiting in the wings. I didn’t rate Paul’s attitude last season and consider him an expensive makeweight. I’m looking forward to the rugby a lot more now. I’ll be purchasing my season ticket for ‘The Shed’ (I somewhat dislike that term) on Thursday. It shall be a cash transaction and, as ever, I shall vigorously sniff the ticket’s plastic wallet within seconds of purchase, read Tom Walkinshaw’s accompanying letter and fall for its charm before examining the pin-on badge safe in the knowledge that I’ll never be seen dead wearing it in public. I shall then flick through the pages of my ticket and consider what disasters and triumphs those unprepossessing pages will bring over the next few months. Then I’ll go home for a nice cup of tea.

We have changed our mind about the chicken house. Today we ordered the coolest coop on the market, the Eglu, made by the uber-hip Omlet company that has helped make chicken-keeping the hottest hobby around. Our Eglu and two chickens arrive a week tomorrow and I am beside myself with excitement.

Hot Chicks

A busy day or two. Today the Coles headed out to Honeybourne near Broadway and checked out a variety of chicken houses as we are to start keeping a couple of hens in our back garden soon. We’ll probably plump for a ‘Half Pint Penthouse’ which should provide a decent place for a pair of Black Rocks (see picture) to live in. Excitingly, these hens are prolific layers and could produce, as a pair, well over 500 eggs a year. I can think of few things more pleasing than tucking into a couple of boiled eggs, freshly laid in the back garden by two contented pets.

Gloucester, it appears, may have narrowly lost to Castres this evening in a tournament in France. I must confess that rugby football matters have passed me by recently. Murmurs on internet guestbooks continue to depress me somewhat. The latest causes for mass despair seem to be the changing of the badge on the team shirts and, this week, the unveiling of new unhooped kit. I can cope with both changes. Those up in arms over the new crest have shortish memories as I don’t think the team used to wear a crest until recently. In my early days at Kingsholm the lads used to wear a simple shirt with no embellishment whatsoever. I also feel folk fail to realise that we have absolutely no say what the players wear on the pitch as the club is owned lock and stock by Tom Walkinshaw after supporters overwhelmingly voted that the bloke should be able to do so. I’d rather the players wore cherry and white hoops but I’ll cope with a new modern look if the abject performances of last term are banished and results improve. Frankly, in these difficult times, there are more important things to worry about.

Watts Per

In a moment of consumer lust I bought a fabulous speaker system for my MP3 player yesterday. The manager of Dixons (sadly I couldn’t wait patiently and buy online) furnished me with item after item to plug my Creative into and test for loudness and greatness and eventually I plumped for the doughnut shaped beauty, a JBL OnStage, that is pictured above. It is only a tiny thing really but, by heck, it makes a wonderful noise. I love it very much.

This summer I have started working part-time (and on a voluntary basis) for Oxfam in Gloucester mainly because it keeps me busy but also because they posted an advert in their window asking for people to help redo their book department. They have a large warehouse of books ‘out the back’ and today I ruthlessly set about ‘culling’ (Oxfam’s word) the shelves of older stock and replacing it with higher quality and more sellable stuff. It was marvellous fun and the time flew by. At the end of my stint, the shelves were packed with lots of my favourite writers (Ian McEwan, John O’Farrell, Malcolm Bradbury) where earlier the likes of Maeve Binchy and Catherine Cookson had nestled dully. The staff were friendly and quite a mix. This afternoon a fallow seventeen year old lad in the warehouse tried to get me into Motley Crue and Green Day by playing me their hits loudly. Rather condescendingly I explained that ‘I was there’ for the original punk rock but must admit to surreptitiously tapping my toe to ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’ by Tommy Lee and company as I priced up my next batch of modern literature.

The Sun!

These pages have been a tad neglected recently but I have nothing really exciting to report.

I vowed not to touch the blessed things but I have been sucked in and now am ever-so-slightly hooked and am developing a bit of a habit. I am talking about Su Doku puzzles. I have been a bit sniffy about these things mainly because, as an admirer of chess and crosswords, I have felt they lack a certain depth in comparison. I think that does hold true still but they represent a fine mental challenge and I enjoy tackling them. I have two Su Doku books and took one to a child’s party at the weekend so I could sit in the corner and cogitate. One mum spotting this, asked me if I, like her, had a go at the Su Doku puzzles in The Sun every day. I don’t think she realised that they also appear in most of the broadsheets too. I politely replied in the negative and made a mental note: Sun reader.

I am listening to the new Brian Eno album, Another Day on Earth a good deal. In fact, I’m playing it to death. It is a subtle item and it needs a few plays to fully appreciate its layers and profundities. Eno is certainly an artist I have to seek out and learn more about. The tag of ‘ambient pioneer’ is often given to the fellow and I am sure much of his back catalogue would be right up my street.

Capital

Yesterday was fun and certainly unusual. My dear son and I travelled to London Town by charabanc and were treated to a wonderful personal tour of both chambers of the Houses of Parliament by Stuart and Chris who work for our M.P.. I’m really interested in history and politics and all that malarkey and it was rather exciting to stand at the dispatch box where countless Prime Ministers have addressed the House. Later on we met Gloucester’s member, Parmjit and had a drink on the terrace of the Commons overlooking the Thames before watching half an hour of Jack Straw answering Foreign Office questions in the main chamber. It was certainly a day to remember.

The rest of the day was spent shopping. I ventured into the London Bridge and Chess Centre and bought some chess pens and postcards, a quaint and somewhat charming Russian chess puzzle book and a demonstration board that I’ve wanted for school for ages. We then strolled purposefully to Hamleys where T bought a magic set and helped…ahem…Mr Magic, Hamleys’ magic department fellow do a couple of tricks. There were lots of onlookers. Outside I spotted my only celebrity of the day if you discount Parliament: Ade Adepitan who plays wheelchair basketball for Great Britain wheeled past. I had to look up his name on the net but he was instantly recognisable.

It was somewhat eerie travelling on the London Underground after the awful events of the 7th but I’m glad we did it. I certainly felt a touch nervous when the doors slid shut for the first time of the day at Victoria but that feeling soon disappeared and it swiftly became second nature again.

A Pleasant Shock

I’m enjoying the process of unwinding and relaxing that comes from a period of holiday. On Saturday the Coles and the L family spent a smashing day at Bristol’s Ashton Court Festival. I confess that we didn’t get to see many bands but we certainly tapped into a fine vibe, ate well and exotically and, in the case of S3 and I, visited the beer tent regularly. The shopping experience was fun: one could buy anything, anything. I certainly would fancy 'doing' Ashton Court again next year.

One band that S3 and I did catch was Minotaur Shock (above) which is really another name for the young and affable Bristolian multi-instrumentalist David Edwards who was jauntily chucking energetic and angular gee-tar shapes over electronic samples and rhythms with another multi-instrumentalist, cheerful Emily Wakefield, adding soothing clarinet and flute textures to the whole mix. They made a joyful sound. They are on 4AD records. I’m playing the second album Maritime as I write this but Chiff-Chaffs and Willow Warblers, the debut, is also worth a close listen. I first mentioned Minotaur Shock on these pages back in April.

Longings

Hot and bothered.

I must confess that I long for the weekend. On Saturday the Coles are heading to the Ashton Court Festival in Bristol for the day, certainly a first for me. The Super Furry Animals - to a certain extent, a band who have regrettably passed me by - will be headlining but there should be plenty of other treats too. I note that both local drum and bass hero Roni Size (New Forms is a stunning album) and dub reggae stalwarts Zion Train will be in action at some point this weekend and I hope it is Saturday. There'll be plenty for the kids to do too. I simply look forward to chilling, preferably with the coolest of beers in my hand. There should be plenty of superb food on sale too. At midnight on Friday night I will collect the copy of the new Harry Potter book that I ordered from Ottakars last week. I plumped for the adult cover. I have my pride.

Terry Hall

I played the Terry Hall album this afternoon and it - no real surprise here - proved a delight, full of pop gems and intelligent lyrics. It was fun trying to guess who wrote what with Hall (see yesterday) and I still haven’t checked the cover to ascertain the information. Hall’s voice is a national treasure, as laconic, plaintive and mildly sarcastic on ‘Home’ and last year’s fabulous ‘The Hour of Two Lights’ as it was when he bleated out, ‘Ain't you heard of contraception?’ back in 1979.

This is the first time I have published a photograph on these pages. The new bass strap is seen in action. Paul Simonon eat your heart out.

Buy Buy Buy! Sell Sell Sell!

This was the first Saturday in a while that I’ve been able to fully relax and it’s been a pleasant day. I popped into Gloucester this morning for a few bits and pieces and dwelt on how old one feels when buying a bass guitar strap for one’s son. By chance I encountered S in town who was furtively attending to some financial transactions. We chatted amiably for five minutes outside The Body Shop.

This afternoon was spent profitably at the Sir Thomas Rich’s School car boot sale where I picked up four CDs, Maxinquaye by Tricky, Dummy by Portishead to continue the trip-hop theme, Home by Terry Hall and Debut by Bjork. Alas the Bjork CD case was empty of disc on our return home but I enjoyed the Tricky album this afternoon and look forward to further listens. I already have the wonderfully atmospheric Portishead album on tape but I really wanted it for my MP3 player and I always enjoy anything by Terry Hall. His album, which I haven’t yet played, contains songs co-written by Ian Broudie, Nick ‘Haircut 100’ Heyward, Andy ‘XTC’ Partridge and Craig ‘Briefly in The Smiths’ Gannon. I reckon it’ll be a fine listen.

I also bought a 1968 Roy of the Rovers annual to add to my collection and seven Charlie Buchan Soccer Gift Books from the sixties and seventies (including a few of these) for 50 pence each. This is somewhat out of character but I’m tempted to flog the blighters on eBay – something I’ve never done before – and make a few quid for the holidays. They are in incredibly good condition.

The Lions have been extremely disappointing in New Zealand and only a few players have emerged with any significant credit. For me, Joshua Lewsey has been the pick of the tourists’ backs and he has shown grit, skill, pace, power and intelligence in the tests. The best forward was Gethin Jenkins who held his own in the tight and rampaged manfully in the loose. Eventually I gave up hoping for any spark from our team and concentrated on appreciating the art served up by the All Blacks. They are a remarkable team and will surely prove worthy winners of the next World Cup. Unbelievably it will be 20 years since their last and only success.

David Essex

It is nice to return to these pages after a week or two’s break. My muses were needed elsewhere for a bit.

The South African Quinton Davids has signed for Gloucester. By all accounts this fellow is a bit of an underachiever and has perceived fitness – and possibly attitude – problems. Dean Ryan is building him up to be a key signing though and, as ever, I’ll give any new signing the benefit of the doubt. He is certainly a big chap and is being billed as the perfect foil for the more lightweight and effete Alexander Brown. We need a burly bruiser and I hope it works out. A South African colleague of D rates the guy. Fingers crossed, eh?

It seems that Alan Tait may be on the way to Kingsholm to replace surly David Ellis as the club’s defensive coach. I welcome this news. The new Scottish contingent on the management team shall certainly bring a professional outlook and a pleasing ambition to the Cherry and Whites. The Davids/Tait news has cheered me and I merely long for a new full back to complete the squad. My current opinion is that we must include Olly Morgan somewhere in the fifteen next season, possibly on the wing. I’d quite like a speedy, hard-as-nails guy to don the 15 shirt as well.

I got the new Saint Etienne album today, Tales From Turnpike House. It has received generally fine reviews apart from Q Magazine who panned it. The Guardian gave it five stars – a rare accolade – and on the first couple of listens I have grown to appreciate its wit and sunny textures. It is dubbed a ‘concept album’ because it features songs about a fictitious block of flats in London. I can cope with this. I detect a Free Design influence on the first track. David Essex is a guest vocalist on one song. I can cope with this too. I quite like the bloke. Rock On was a cracking number although I never fully appreciated the darker soundscapes of Winter’s Tale.

I popped into Gloucester’s best – well, actually I mean coolest – record shop, Pulp the other weekend to see of they had the Saint Etienne album. It hadn’t arrived in but the manager, a bit of a dude, was blasting out The Friends of Rachel Worth by the wonderful Go-Betweens. I know that S will hate me for this but I engaged the bloke in conversation about the acclaimed Antipodeans and probably sounded a bit of a pompous know-all to onlookers. However, I managed to drop into the chat that I had seen the band recently as well as proffering advice on Grant McLennan’s solo output. Frankly I feel I emerged from this encounter with great credit. I shall certainly stroll into the Pulp emporium next time with head held high.

Apologies

Sorry, but a combination of problematic computer (taking it to the ‘doctor’ tonight) and a mass of other pressing work means I’ve ignored these pages for a bit too long. Normal service will soon be restored.

Please could you stop the noise, I'm trying to get some rest

I guess the combination of body clock and hot weather have ganged up on me yet again to wake me at six this morning and prevent me from returning to any semblance of slumber. Instead I reached for my Zen, folded a t-shirt and lay it over my eyes and reclined, listening to OK Computer, picking up, on my stereo headphones, previously unfathomed lyrics and unheard twiddly music bits. It was a decent start to the day really.

Yesterday I awoke at a similarly early hour but this, of course, meant that I was able to partake the Lions match against Otago in the House of Pain. Woodward, naturally, will prove conservative and pick meat and potato back rowers like Back and Hill for next weekend’s test opener but I would love to see Ryan Jones given a start after yesterday’s sublime ball carrying performance. Michael Owen too has been impressive and I also appreciate the thoughtful footballer that is Martyn Williams (despite having a deep-seated and rather prejudiced thing about the name Martin being spelt with a ‘y’). In fact, I have come over all Welsh and believe the make-up of the Test team should reflect our Celtic friends’ free spirited, confident and winning rugby football. I would chuck Shame Williams and his dancing feet on one wing, add Dwayne Peel and Stephen Jones at half back (SCW will surely pick Wilkinson though), use Gethin Jenkins’ belligerence at prop, partner O’Driscoll with Andrew Ridgeley, I mean Gavin Henson and strongly consider a berth in at least the 22 for Tom Shanklin or Gareth Thomas. I can’t see it happening though.

Relief

I must sorrowfully confess that I have been debating whether or not to purchase a season ticket for the rugby this season and considering that I have loyally bought one for the past 17 or 18 years (including a half price student one in 1989 that cost me the princely sum of £22.50) my reticence and disillusionment is not to be sneezed at. Last season certainly took its toll. I can cope with poor play – just! – as I’ve encountered enough of it at Kingsholm in the gruesome early 1990s but I saw too many players over the past few months not trying hard enough. Tom Walkinshaw’s comments before the last home match along the lines of ‘Have a good look at that stand behind me because it’s the last time you’ll ever be seeing it’ surely rival, ‘Go back to your constituencies and PREPARE FOR GOVERNMENT!’ for unfortunate timing and rotten prescience. It all got a bit too much for me. D’you know what I mean?

Today’s news that Dean Ryan has been named head coach with the intelligent Brian Redpath as assistant and Duncan McRae as skills coach has cheered me and I can confirm – hold the front page! – that I’ll be getting a season ticket now. I’m relieved it has been sorted and I’m ready to trust Ryan and Redpath for now and hope the youthful coaching staff’s ambition and ebullience will right the ship. Somehow names like Kirwan and Williams didn’t seem Glaws enough for me. I sense a bit more credibility and, dare I say it, intellect and quiet sensitivity with the new team.

We do need new players still. Rob Thirlby signed today and, with the embarrassing Seti Kiole leaving at the same time, we have swapped a joke for a class performer with plenty to prove and time on his side to do so. Rumours that the Bob Casey deal may be back on encourage this supporter and I emphatically hope we can attract a top full back that Oliver Morgan can play second fiddle to and develop his remarkable skills. Another winger would be fine too as well another prop to complement Vickery and Collazo. But for now, I’m glad we are back on track.

Wrappers Delight

Following on from yesterday’s posting, I note today – via an email I received from Bristol Academy – that Black Uhuru are playing in August. I’ve got an album by them on tape somewhere which I used to play to death and for the life of me I can’t remember what it’s called. Now I can remember. Now I can remember. (Gratuitous Fall lyric) It was called Showcase and it wasn’t until I looked it up here that I released Sly and Robbie both produced and played on it.

I saw Malcolm Preedy in Tescos tonight. He was buying gift wrap of all things. My eyes misted over. I reckon he could still do the business for Gloucester.

Roots Rock Reggae

In the car I’ve got a cracking tape on the go. Side One is Sons of Thunder by Doctor Alimantado, classic roots reggae, very uplifting, really bass heavy with loads of soaring melodies. The other side is a Lee Perry compilation and I think it is called ‘The Best of…’ Again, bags of bass but a tad more invention and more of a hint of the unusual from ‘Scratch’. These riddims on the way to work kick off my day splendidly.

On the subject of reggae there are some wonderful John Peel Session tracks by Misty in Roots available here. I popped by the M.I.R. site to see if they were playing locally soon. I must keep a close eye on the reggae gig scene; the Burning Spear gig of three years ago still brings back memories of a wonderful evening and I fancy more of the same.

Stalin wasn't stallin'

Downfall was a powerful film, atmospheric and rather claustrophobic but, as an historical piece, essential. As a study of power it was compelling as Hitler, increasingly out of touch and with Soviet shells exploding audibly nearby, staunchly maintains (shades of Comical Ali?) that victory is achievable and that if his orders are transmitted to some over-stretched battalion or other then all will be well. Impotent generals merely query his decisions. They dare not speak up too loudly. I confess I nodded off for a while towards the end but was bolt awake for the business end of proceedings and missed not one frantic gun shot to the head, suicide capsule or dodgy Russian Cossack dance.

I’ve finished ‘The Rotters Club’ and really enjoyed its coming-of-age delights. I popped into Churchdown Library this evening and got out the new Nick Hornby novel ‘A Long Way Down’, a Nicholson Baker book, ‘A Box of Matches’ that I haven’t yet read and another book by Jonathan Coe called ‘The House of Sleep’. I shall have to read the Hornby first as it is on FastBack and I risk the house being repossessed if I don’t get it back within a week. I have really appreciated three Nick Hornby books over the years. ‘Fever Pitch’ and ‘High Fidelity’ pretty well parallel my own cravings for sport and music. ‘About a Boy’ was hilarious and very sharply written. His last book ‘How to be Good’ was a little too contrived for my liking.

Undone by passion

It was a military style operation. I arose at 7.30 am then after feeding two ravenous cats I zoomed to the local shop for bread and newspaper before making breakfast of marmite and toast and steaming tea with which I sat down at 8.07 to enjoy the haka and the beginning of the Lions fixture against the Maoris. I timed it to precision but, alas, the red-shirted representatives of these isles let me down a tad. There seemed to be a lack of a game plan and a slight lack of passion whereas the Maori players attacked every ruck and maul, flew into every tackle, chased every ball as if their lives depended on it. Richard Hill looked anonymous and had his poorest international match for ages. I could be proved wrong but right now, the All Blacks have little to fear and would back them to take the series by a 3-0 margin. Frankly, they have to be firm favourites for the next World Cup too. With Dallaglio injured, part of me thinks that the need for a talisman dictates a phone call to Martin Johnson might be an idea. We need leaders and the New Zealanders would certainly fear and respect the former England skipper.

I am off to see the Star Wars film again tonight.

Friday Thoughtz

It has proved a tiring week with disturbed nights and migraine headaches so I am glad it is Friday and a chance to relax a little. I was playing the new Gorillaz album earlier today and it really is a sparky little gem, full of subtleties and clever melodies and ideas. None of the songs buy into the verse-chorus-verse scene and, heck, it works. I dwelt, as I listened, upon all that hoo-haa a few years back when it was Oasis vs Blur in the battle of the Brit-poppers. Since then Oasis have churned out four or five mundane, derivative, ordinary (the worst insult) albums while Damon Albarn has released, with Blur, three fabulous records, all challenging and flipping intelligent, as well as a couple of Gorillaz albums (I confess I know little about the first one although the singles were great), a film soundtrack or two and a World Music album. Hats off to the fellow. I rate him.

I spoke to an Edinburgh bound S on the telephone last night. It is likely we’ll be ‘meeting halfway’ on Monday night for a screening of Downfall at Tewkesbury Roses Theatre. I’m quietly intrigued by Downfall which tells the story of Hitler and his entourage as they face the last days of the war in a Berlin bunker. Its reviews have been consistently excellent.

Come on England!

Another migraine last night. I was woken by that rotten spectrum of lights at 12.26 am and then struggled to return to sleep. It must be the weather but part of me sheepishly reckons I could be playing my now MP3 Player too loud and that this is what is chewing the veins in my brain. Serves me right. Anyhow, I shall lie down and relax in a few minutes and watch the England gals take on Denmark in the Euro ’05 championships. It’s a tough life.

A few rumours, the first for a while, have been appearing on the various message boards today. The Bob Casey deal might be back on and we are also looking at a young South African lock called Francois Van Schouwenburg who plays for the Blue Bulls. It seems Steve Bates may be on his way as backs coach with Dean Ryan seemingly set for the poisoned chalice that is the Director of Rugby post. James Bailey and Alex Page, neither of whom were Premiership class in my eyes, both look set to leave Kingsholm. I’ve been rather down about the whole Gloucester RFC scene recently but these rumours somehow have cheered me.

Those awakenings

I polished off ‘Toast’ at the weekend, an acid-sharp autobiographical book by Nigel Slater, The Observer’s food columnist. It was a poignant, coming-of-age piece, dealing with death, rejection and the awakenings (yes, those awakenings) of adolescence. It was a pithy read and I sense that Slater has one or two scores to settle. He certainly loves food. Excerpts from ‘Toast’ can be found here. The final sentence of the Jam Tarts section is a beautifully written joy. Another book, a novel this time, dealing with those awakenings is ‘The Rotters Club’ by Jonathan Coe and I began reading it a couple of days ago. Thus far, and I am only on the second chapter, I have laughed out loud seven times, nodded sagely four times, and raised a quizzical eyebrow thrice. It is set in the seventies against the backdrop of industrial disquiet at the Longbridge car factory. With its mentions of strikes, progressive rock and cheesecloth shirts, it is certainly a period piece but a witty, thoughtful read too.

The Force is Strong (Here be Spoilers)

A busy weekend indeed. Yesterday the residue of a cruel migraine took the shine away from my senses but I managed to watch the Lions take on Bay of Plenty in their first tour match. A few slithers of fine play lit up an otherwise error-ridden match. Adrian Cashmore , the Bay full back was once a top target for Gloucester but he chose instead to ply his trade in Japan. I felt for Lawrence Dallaglio who broke an ankle and will miss the rest of the trip. For all his faults and arrogance, he epitomises a good deal of what Lionhood represents and the squad will miss him. I thought that Dwayne Peel and Joshua Lewsey were the pick of the Lions. As ever I am left with the feeling that Andrew Sheridan and Matt Stevens are the two most over-rated players in the England set up and are lucky to don the famous red shirt.

Last night we bade farewell to our Hungarian guests with a party in the baroque surroundings of Leckhampton Scout Hut. The pair presented us with a few gifts before they departed our shores, some wine, biscuits, books about Budapest and Hungary and a large packet of sweets unfortunately bearing the name ‘Negro Mix’. For a few seconds it was like being in a seventies sit-com featuring Jack Smethurst. Oh dear.

This very morning took me and two children to the cinema to attend a showing of Star Wars Episode III: The Revenge of the Sith. This film has received the most appalling reviews but I loved every second of it. Every shot looked fabulous and of course everything led to a predictable denouement featuring death, betrayal and deep breathing through masks. Naturally it was all nonsense of the highest order but, having been there ‘at the beginning’, I lapped it all up, including the rather contrived inclusion of Chewbacca the Wookie whose very planet didn’t really need to be in the film, let alone ‘it’ itself. The last half hour sped by and packed so much in including the maiming of Anakin via volcanic nastiness, the birth of the Organa/Skywalker twins, the adoption of said infants, the death of Padme, the exile of Yoda, the ‘birth’ of Vader, the beginning of the Death Star’s construction, Kenobi pitching up on Tattooine on a camel type thing looking every inch a Magus and more besides. What marvellous entertainment. Stuff the critics.

Music and Drinking

I supped a quiet and pleasant pint or four last night with the noble S. Before we set out we exchanged music discs for each other’s delectation and today I have been sampling plenty of new sounds. The Robert Wyatt CDs are treats; the man is a national treasure and his recordings demonstrate a kind of Englishness, modest yet good-humoured and left of centre, that I respect and admire. I have also enjoyed acquainting myself with Bark Psychosis and Six Organs of Admittance, two acts that are busting with ideas and fuse intelligent electronica with subtle melodies and interesting soundscapes. I enjoyed reading that Bark Psychosis make ‘easy listening for uneasy people’, a charming description of their art. My world is better for all this music. I have worked rather hard today and these artists have formed a pleasing backdrop to my efforts. I still have plenty to look forward to. The Stereolab boxed set will prove a delightful challenge and I have D’s copy of Slint’s Spiderland to get into as well.

I enjoyed last night’s drink. For perhaps the first time in our friendship, S and I discussed the process of buying a house. It was a tad unsettling but I suppose we are both in our late thirties now and sensible things like that are what fellows of our advanced age are supposed to chew over. It also transpired that we each played R.E.M.’s New Adventures in Hi-Fi last week, both for the first time in quite a few years. Spooky. We agreed that it remains a fine if unspectacular album. We finished the evening with a lamb kebab (S) and a bag of chips (me).

I'm not happy

I guess one could say that the current state of the city club leaves me at a rather low ebb and, for the first time in many years, I’m not eagerly anticipating purchasing my season ticket. Concepts such as integrity and trust and credibility seem pretty thin on the ground right now and the last thing I ever appreciate is being taken for a fool. A good deal of my disquiet stems from the workings of Tom Walkinshaw from the dismantling of the Powergen Cup and League double winning side to the re-signing of the liability Azam on a huge salary to the scapegoating of Melville after a rotten season run on the cheap to the cancelling of the new stand. It all leaves me embarrassed at best. My trust and well-being will be partly – only partly, mind -  restored with the employment of a go-ahead Director of Rugby (not the surly and third rate Dean Ryan) and the recruitment of a superb lock and a fabulous full back. I would also favour a new hard as nails prop to support Vickery and Collazo and a try-hungry winger. The blurb that arrived with my season ticket form announced that the stand was postponed so that things could be put right on the pitch. Sadly, I don’t believe this for a minute but a few more ambitious signings on and off the park would help change my mind and suggest that the club I’ve supported since a lad isn’t the shoestring outfit run by lickspittles (thanks George Galloway) and paupers that I reckon it might be.

Time for bed

All five Coles headed to The Guildhall tonight for a private showing of The Magic Roundabout. Well, it wasn’t supposed to be private but we were the only people in the quaint old cinema that still needs new seats. The film was dull, unfunny, confused and a million miles away from the genius of Eric Thompson and his leftfield yet understated voiceovers of my childhood.

I watched the last hour of the soccer international between England and Colombia on our return and I was pleased to see Michael Owen snatch a cleverly taken hat trick and place himself fourth in the list of all-time England goal scorers behind Greaves, Lineker and Charlton. I actually fancy our chances in next summer’s World Cup. We have so many world class centre backs, very fine full backs, a fabulous midfield and, in Rooney and Owen, surely the strongest pair of strikers in world football. The team is settled too. All we need is a top keeper. I’m afraid neither Robinson nor James inspire too much confidence.

Chance meetings

The Coles have spent this afternoon visiting the Woodcraft Folk camp at a farm near Withington, greeting our Hungarian friends and all the other Woodcrafters. It was a chilled out place with few rules and plenty of contentment. I approved. After a five minute stroll though fields and copses we reached our car, loaded up and drove slowly out of the farmyard. A middle-aged woman watched us pull off and as we passed she peered into our vehicle and flashed us a lovely, charming smile and waved in the most friendly of manners. She had no real reason to act with such a kind spirit but it was firmly appreciated. It was Jilly Cooper.

 

I bought Demon Days by Gorillaz earlier and I’m playing it now. I rate anything Damon Albarn does and this album has certainly garnished wondrous reviews. The Guardian states that, ‘first impressions could not be more wrong. Demon Days goes boldly against the current trend for brash immediacy and instead repays time and effort on the part of the listener. Songs that at first sound half-finished, reveal themselves merely to be subtle.’ I ask for nothing more from the music I listen to.

 

I’m meeting S for a pint later this week and he is bringing goodies. I look forward to sampling his Stereolab boxed set and his Fall Complete Peel sessions set too. I’ve got so much new stuff to appreciate right now but, like a drug, I crave more and more sounds to dig.

We are Devo!

I wish I could be at Twickenham today. I read eagerly on my cable television preview page that Lancashire are playing Devo at headquarters today. I don’t always favour pro-celebrity sporting events but the thought of the hard-nosed, gritty Lancastrians encountering the boiler suited, new-wave pioneers Devo in a union showdown leaves me shuddering with anticipation. What next? Neath/Swansea Ospreys vs. Sparks? Pertemps Bees vs. Scritti Politti?  The mind boggles.

Blinking Marvellous

I deeply appreciate the new albums by Eels and British Sea Power. Blinking Lights and Other Revelations, which is banging out of my Zen and filling my head as I write this, is a double CD and, I confess, I have only played the first of the two CDs thus far. It is certainly a profound piece, very dark and pensive yet very melodic and pleasing to the ear. Dealing with desperation, depression, neglect and troubled lives, it is not an album for parties but I do admire its intelligence and confidence. The superb reviews it has harvested are deserved. I have vowed to myself to play and grow accustomed to Disc One before tackling the second CD. British Sea Power’s Open Season possesses a bona fide English charm, a raffish whimsy and a lovable eccentricity. It is an album whose mysterious and intriguing soundscapes evoke – for me – bygone eras with its homage to, inter alia, polar explorers and Victoriana. This is an epic set of songs and I recommend it. The single Please Stand Up is a gorgeous Echo-and-the-Bunnymen-cum-Kitchens-of-Distinction influenced four minutes of swaggering pomp. Yum.

The city club has signed Haydn Thomas from Exeter Chiefs. I am unable to recall any other Gloucester player being called Haydn but I hope an Austrian-sounding forename is not this fellow’s unique selling point as I anticipate that a speed of thought and movement and full array of scrum half skills might also accompany our new signing to Kingsholm. I will welcome any ambitious young player of quality to the club and I really hope his challenge to Peter Richards for the nine shirt is productive to both players and to the team. We seem strong in this position with Alex Page, Simon Amor and the breathtaking Ryan Lamb all on the books. We have more fine centres than one can shake a VIP membership for Liquid at as well as two superb outside halves in McRae and Mercier. The boy Lamb can, naturellement, play in both these positions too. We just need to strengthen the back three and our backs are looking good for the new season. The Thinus Delport rumour needs watching therefore.

Checkmate

We have a pair of Hungarian teenagers staying with us at the moment. I defeated the lad Tomas at chess half an hour ago. He is the second best chess player at his school so I feel mightily pleased. No Eastern European scalp over the black and white squares is to be sniffed at. He wants a rematch later and pathetically I feel slightly nervous. I sort of miss the cut and thrust of competitive chess so maybe I should start wood-pushing again. I had an offer to join the Upton club a few weeks back so perhaps I should take the plunge.

Pumas tame Lions

British and Irish Lions 25 – Argentina 25

It’s funny how you spend all week saying how much you admire these Lions and then, when you go and watch them, you end up wanting them to lose. Of course, I’ll be right behind them when the real deal starts but last night it was difficult to support an outfit that lacked passion and ideas and were outsmarted, outgrunted and outplayed by an under strength Pumas XV that threw everything into the cause. Still, it was a fine atmosphere and an interesting – but not, I feel, historic – occasion and I’m glad I went. The new Lions anthem, screeched by one of those glamorous young opera singers who always seem to pitch up on these occasions, was truly awful. Embarrassing.

Pained

I have mentally entered a bunker in order to stop reading too much about the situation at Gloucester RFC. I have gradually become more and more pained about the leaving of Melville and hope that the decision wasn’t too rash. I think the man deserved a season with a bit more ‘wedge’ behind him to help build a challenging team. My opinion of Tom Walkinshaw is rather low right now. I simply don’t trust the bloke and feel he could be damaging the club. The business with the grandstand was especially embarrassing.

Naturally rumours are plentiful regarding the reasons why Melville left and a few names are being mentioned as potential successors, including Sir Clive Woodward. Woodward would certainly attract ‘names’ to the club but he is used to employing a large backroom team and I don’t think we have sufficient readies to back his needs. We do have a chaplain of course. There’s a start. Frankly, I don’t believe Sir Clive will ever pitch up at Kingsholm. My money remains on Kevin Putt or, maybe, John Kirwan. I just hope we sort things out speedily. Other clubs seem to be recruiting at some pace and I worry that we may be missing out on key signings. I reckon all this business has put the transfer of Big Bob Casey at risk.

Singing the blues

I enjoyed Wilko Johnson greatly last night. Basically the fellow does five things. He plays such superb blues guitar that one feels the word ‘genius’ is a worthy one. He careers round the stage looking fierce. He ‘aims’ his instrument at the audience and pretends to be shooting them with a machine gun. He attempts a smooth ‘duck walk’ movement that generally comes off. He sings rhythm and blues scorchers in a whining, fairly high-pitched voice. All of the above render him a wonderful artist and one to cherish.

 

It was fine to accompany affable and jaunty S3 to the concert last night although I am still feeling a little tender and wan almost 24 hours after the event. It was a very late night. S3 has helped me fill up a little more space on the near vacuum that is my 40GB of Creative Zen beauty. Today I sat and listened to The Byrds’ Sweethearts of the Rodeo which is a beautiful recording. Later on, if I have time, I have new albums by Eels, New Order and Teenage Fanclub to consume as well as exciting stuff by Ambulance, Brendon Bensons and British Sea Power to explore. My cup, verily, doth overflow.

 

Tomorrow evening I shall be attending the British and Irish Lions play Argentina at the Millennium Stadium. The concept of ‘The Lions’ remains one of my most cherished sporting delights. My eyes regularly mist over when I consider the city club’s Mike Teague crashing through wave after wave of Australian would-be tacklers back in 1989 during that immense summer of bewitching rugby football. I shall be glued to all the Lions action this summer and feel privileged to help give the lads a rousing send-off on the morrow.

A semblance of credibility

Naturally, the message boards are full of discussion today. Why did Melville go? Was the timing right? Should Ryan have left too? Who will replace the fellow? The pithiest comment I read was that should Sir Clive Woodward take over (unlikely, I admit), how would he manage to pick a team not containing any Gloucester players. Personally, I feel that all conjecture on the part of supporters is utterly expected yet ultimately pointless. Not one of us could do anything more than guess what goes on behind the scenes at Stade Kingsholm. My hopes are that the next appointment brings a semblance of credibility back to the old place. I would think the time is ripe for a hard-nosed Southern Hemisphere type to take the reins. I worry sometimes that a drinking culture thrives at the club and that some players lack the required levels of professionalism. I want this sorted. My other concern right now is that potential signings that were lined up may think again. I am thinking mainly of Big Bob Casey here.

My choice this morning for Director of Rugby was Kevin Putt, a canny old fox who was in charge of Natal until his recent sacking. He has knowledge of the Premiership having played for London Irish and I reckon his knowledge of South African rugby would be useful in attracting possible recruits. However, I note that from online searches that he wasn’t too highly regarded by fans of the Sharks. I also have a nagging doubt about John Kirwan’s credentials but am unable to explain why – just a gut instinct, I guess.

I received my Creative Zen MP3 player yesterday and already have chucked 33 CDs onto the blighter. I love the thing. The sound quality is marvellous and it is very easy to use. I just need to learn how to ‘tag’ untagged tracks and I’ll be fully there. At this point some readers nod sagely while others go, ‘Eh..?’ I have got a 40GB player so the capacity is there for well in excess of 12,000 tracks. This is a cool gadget. This is a cool gadget.

I was so busy ripping CDs last night that I didn’t write anything much on here. I should have, of course, mentioned that it was 25 years ago to the day that Ian Curtis hung himself. I have been playing Unknown Pleasures and Closer a fair bit in recent weeks. They still sound utterly compelling and timeless. The tragedy is that Joy Division could have continued to have made soaring, otherworldly music with Curtis. I wonder what we have missed out on.

Part Company

Nigel Melville parted company with the city today. I wish him well and feel a vague sadness as well a slightly guilty thrill that we might be getting someone new to help the players paint beautiful pictures on the pitch. In my view, Melville was a man of integrity and possessed a fair level of credibility. I fear our chairman possesses neither.

The Joy of 6

I wouldn’t say I’ve fallen out of love with BBC 6Music because I haven’t. I must admit that I do miss Andrew Collins manning the early evening show. I enjoyed his laconic style and laid back wit. He played some cracking records too and, importantly, appeared to love what he was spinning. His enthusiasm was endemic. Steve Lamacq, Collins’ replacement, appears less confident and is, in my opinion, a tad awkward and unnatural. I don’t think the fellow has ever really inhabited ‘the real world’ and exists only for fey indy-pop. Of course he plays other stuff but not with the unbridled joy that Andrew Collins used to.

One show I do admire greatly is Stuart Maconie’s Freak Zone, a rare old treat every Sunday evening. Last night he featured a prolific Italian film score composer, Paulo Piccioni and his stuff was fantastic. I dug it. Maconie also played some new Vashti Bunyan music that she has recorded with New York’s Animal Collective for an upcoming EP. It wasn’t the most immediate or catchy sound but according to the keen host, it is a grower. I shall investigate more. The voice sounded beautiful of course.

I’ve signed up to this thing called Collective on the BBC website. It is jam-packed with ‘culture’ and features too many book/CD/gig/film reviews and features to count. I’m not yet sure what my membership entails but it seems an absolute treasure trove of goodies to read and inwardly digest. I’m tempted to submit the bits I’ve penned on these pages about this year’s Go-Betweens and Gang of Four gigs for their concert review section.

Well, heck...

Saracens 24 – Gloucester 16

We didn’t deserve to win this. I’m embarrassed to consider that Seti Kiole was on the same park as Thomas Castaignede. I was in the queue at the Co-op this morning behind Adam Eustace as he purchased his newspaper of choice. I had nothing to say to the fellow. An ‘Unlucky yesterday, Adam’ would have been hypocritical and untrue. We weren’t in the same class as Saracens and, frankly, on current form, do not merit a place in the Heineken. Here’s to 05/06, eh?

Heroes

I don’t think the tingle that comes with being in the presence of heroes ever fully leaves one. Take this year for example. In January I stood transfixed by the Gang of Four’s edgy post-punk brew while all the time thinking, Blimey, that’s Andy Gill over there. I sensed a similar frisson at the Millennium Stadium when, bizarrely enough, Ireland ran out to warm up: a glance over at O’Driscoll and a startling thought emerges that I was watching probably the finest rugby player on the planet (apologies, Christo) jog towards me. And I sadly confess to ruminating but a month or so ago that, heck, I was stood eight feet away from the bloke who wrote Everybody’s Happy Nowadays.

Last night I got two heroes for the price of one. Grant McLennan and Robert Forster have been making records with The Go-Betweens since 1978 and, frankly, I don’t believe they’ve made a bad one. This concert showcased the new long player Oceans Apart which is a perfect 40 minutes of soaring pop melodies and the band’s trademark acerbic wit and wisdom. The new songs are lovely. Forster’s Darlinghurst Nights is a beautiful portrait of the swagger of a cerebral youth and that the group, last night, followed this with McLennan’s gorgeous, multi-layered The Statue meant a beautiful ten minutes for the assembled aficionados. This purist delighted in a moving Part Company, a passionate rendition of Draining the Pool for You, a bewitching Cattle and Cane and a lilting Bye Bye Pride to end the evening. Every song was an event. Rarely at a gig, I knew every song well and I can’t recall the last time that happened. This was a great occasion.

It was super to see the two men in action. Forster, a towering dark presence, cut rather a camp figure with his somewhat exaggerated movements. S described him as a quite arch character and thought he resembled Keith Floyd. I reckoned he looked a bit like a slimmer Alan Bates or maybe Gordon Brown. I enjoyed his brooding on-stage persona, staring intently at the audience. McLennan, according to S, was dressed like a 26 year-old. He appeared more relaxed and good-humoured and seemed content to stay out of the spotlight. I greatly admire both these fellows.

Between 12.50 pm and 12.15 am all I consumed was three pints of lager shandy and a packet of Bombay Mix. On returning home I was spent and unwell, a rancid mixture of hunger and rotten heartburn. A cautionary tale here: always have a proper tea before popping to the second city to watch Antipodean pop heroes. The Bombay Mix was a panic buy at Frankley Services and, by heck, I regretted it five hours later.

I got hired but I got tired of draining the pool for you.

Last night's Glasgow set list includes, I note, the haunting Draining the Pool For You. The Holy Trinity has just become a Fantastic Four. I must phone S to finalise travel arrangements for Friday evening.

I am, as the week progresses, becoming more and more excited about Gloucester's battle against Saracens on Saturday that will confirm the winner's place in next season's Heineken Cup. I can kid myself ad nauseum that I'm not really bothered which competition Gloucester play in. I can come over all high and mighty and pronounce that on current form, the city don't really deserve to dine at the top table of European football. However, the bottom line remains that I love this noble club and want them to win at Twickenham for the sake of pride and, frankly, to be where we belong next term. Come on Gloucester.

The messageboards remain full of spite and nastiness after the club ditched its plans to build a new grandstand in the summer a few weeks after that Walkinshaw fellow, dressed in what looked like a bin liner, passionately announced its arrival in front of an adoring (forgiving? stupid?) popular enclosure. Essentially I can't raise too much displeasure. I'd rather play to a packed 13,000 for a season, rebuild on the pitch after a blissful recruitment campaign for new uberstars and continue to enjoy my rugby football. Having been attending games since 1978 my philosophy of GRFC supporting is well-honed: enter ground, meet friends, laugh, chat, cheer on team, have a pint, go home. It's amazing how well that works. Despairing about unbuilt viewing areas is ne'er on the agenda.

It's...

It’s Go-Betweens week on these pages. Last evening’s Brighton set list is up on the worldwide web and I note that most of the new album will be played as well as some old classics. The Holy Trinity of Spring Rain, Cattle and Cane and Bye Bye Pride gets an airing. Hurrah!

My new Creative Zen MP3 player is on order – well, I’ve asked a chum who is going to be in the States at the weekend to buy me one. I’ll be able to store roughly 8000 tracks on the blighter – about 750 albums worth I guess. I’ll start by loading my favourites and then widen my horizons. There’s so much new stuff – a bit of jazz, some world music, more reggae - I want to get into and learn about and this device will give me more time to listen to sounds. I’d anticipate taking it to work, listening in the car and during free time.

Some stuff about The Go-Betweens on the Radio?

Hats off to the dude who dreamt up the ‘Listen Again’ feature that adorns BBC online radio. For a week or so one can play stuff that one has missed and quite often there are nuggets to be found. Today I have returned home from work and been able to listen to a session The Go-Betweens recorded for BBC 6Music’s Gideon Coe show yesterday. The interviews are wonderful. Grant McLennan sounds like Michael Lynagh or maybe a youthful Eddie Charlton with his kindly, measured tones. Robert Forster sounds a bit tougher and I would have it no other way. Both fellows, despite their intellect and worldliness, speak with that strange Australian habit of making every sentence sound like a question? I added a question mark erroneously at the end of the last sentence just so you can try that way of speaking at home? There, I’ve done it again? It is called ‘Australian questioning intonation’ and Stephen Fry (the greatest living Englishman?) once put it into Room 101.

The songs they played were lilting and fine.

With Friday’s Birmingham gig in mind I’m trawling the net to find a set list from their first gig of the current tour which was in Brighton last night. No luck so far but judging by their last concert in Australia we might be in for a blast of The House Jack Kerouac Built, Spring Rain as well as the recent favourite Surfing Magazines.

The guy who wrote television’s 24 is a huge Go-Betweens fan it seems and named a tower block The McLennan-Forster Building. Apparently the character played by Kiefer Sutherland says it all the time.

By hook, or, verily, by crook, I should be the proud owner of an iPod within the next week. Actually I favour a competitor of said item, the Creative Zen MP3 player which has gathered super reviews and seems easy enough to use. I know S has pooh-poohed the whole idea but I like the idea of carting round one’s entire record collection. I’m quietly excited.

I won’t be going to the Wildcard Final this Saturday. On Friday evening I shall be visiting the aforementioned Go-Betweens and on Saturday evening there is a ‘do’ to attend in Gloucester. There is, frankly, only so much excitement a man can take so the rugby trip has been sacrificed. I shall watch proceedings keenly via Sky’s telecast facility.

Playing the Wild Card

Gloucester 23 - Newcastle Falcons 16

This was a gritty, determined performance from the Cherry and Whites and, it has to be stated, a match we would probably have lost on the form of six or seven weeks ago. There seems a greater spirit in the team in recent weeks and a great deal of this is down to the return of the no-nonsense McRae at ten who, today, dug deep and sniped away at the Falcons in the second half to carve a rugged victory for the home fifteen. Plenty of other players merit a mention. Adam Balding led from the front bravely and with passion. He carries the ball with vigour and is never content until every last inch has been gained from his possession of it. Adam Eustace appears to have grown in stature in the last few weeks and is putting in more disciplined and mature performances as a result. I enjoy the centre pairing of Simpson-Daniel and Forrester, a lively couple of wires who are always going to create chances. The boy Forrester knows the way to the try line and his brace today proved crucial. The front row won the spoils for the city this afternoon. Nicholas Wood continues to impress, Mefin Davies was his usual consistent self and Gary Powell snatched the man of the match award for his fine all round play.

It was interesting to watch the match on television and witness Mr Tindall sat with Mr Vickery outside a hospitality box. Next season will be fascinating with four new signings – five if one includes the lad Allen, a centre of huge promise it seems - all capable of adding so much to our promising team. The names of Hernandez and Casey keep popping up and if they, too, were added to our roster then we would have a squad to rival that of our league and cup double winning season. I’m reasonably ambivalent about the whole Wildcard scene but feel that our sixth place does merit a Heineken berth. With a stronger bunch of players at the ‘holm for 05/06 I hope we can clinch a win against Saracens next weekend.

zzzzzzz

I have had two contrasting evenings of sleep. On Thursday night I slept not one minute and was still strolling home through deserted city streets and avenues at 4.30 am after a very busy and exciting evening. Last night I feel asleep on the settee at eight, was covered by a sleeping bag and slumbered there, log-like, for twelve solid and dream-free hours. Today I feel more refreshed and sharp.

I can’t think of too many other occasions when I have not gone to bed all night. Perhaps I have taken a distorted view of events – no doubt for the worst reasons of self-publicity and self-acclaim – but I have managed to convince myself that as a youth I once stayed up for two consecutive nights. An exuberant night on a cross-channel ferry boat was followed by an all-night clubbing session in an unsleeping Berlin. I was 19 and one half and would have been clad only in black and grey. I’m sure C will fire off a volley and tell me that I really crossed the briny lying supine in a recliner, snoring energetically and that I remained at our hotel the next evening with a cup of cocoa from room service for company.

In la Brisa de la Palma a teenage Rasputin takes the sting from a gin

My word, the new Go-Betweens’ album Oceans Apart is a beautiful work of art. As I pen this I’m enjoying its multi-layered cleverness and tender charms and subtle melodies. It really is rather special. I love so many things about this combo. Robert Forster’s lyrics always bring a wistful smile to this grateful punter; it’s the ‘way he tells ‘em’ too, the laconic delivery, a posh Australian accent, I guess I’d call it, adds a lot to the enjoyment of the songs. I really like Darlinghurst Nights, a song about the discovery of an old notebook that evokes the lofty ambitions of youth. The Statue is my other favourite right now, a soaring melody and thoughtful, uplifting words from the McCartney to the acerbic Forster’s Lennon, the more poppy and optimistic Grant McLennan. I'm glad I own this recording. It remains - an historical note here - possibly the only album I've ever bought in Stroud.

A snake in the grass

A nasty migraine – the second this week – has dampened the Bank Holiday euphoria but a good night’s sleep should serve me well. Like London buses, one doesn’t suffer for a while but then two come along in close succession.

I began to ail walking across fields on the way back to the car from Belas Knap, a superbly preserved long barrow set in marvellous and beautiful countryside near Winchcombe. Belas Knap is over 4500 years old and a place of mystery and wonder. The Coles marvelled at a startling find by a dry stoned wall just a metre or two from the burial chamber. For the first time in my life I witnessed an adder in the wild basking in the late spring sunshine. It was a remarkable sight and one that certainly made the pulse race just a little more quickly.

The rugby season is almost over. This coming Sunday we need to defeat Newcastle Falcons to qualify for a Wildcard Final against either Saracens or Worcester who play off on the Friday night. I fancy us to beat Newcastle. I was reasonably contented with our form on Saturday and I’m confident the city’s young guns like Morgan and Wood will enjoy a crack at a Twickenham final, albeit not the one we would have desired at the start of the season. I hope Saracens defeat Worcester later this week. Worcester are a form team and may prove too strong for Gloucester as things stand now.

Ambush at the College Arms

Gloucester 13 – Saracens 13

This was a disappointing result but disappointing for all the right reasons. This was not a capitulation from a team lacking spirit but a gritty team performance that deserved more. The disappointment I felt at no-side was because the city could have won this fixture.

Of course this was a strange encounter. Gloucester are recruiting hard and I suggest that the make-up of next season’s fifteen will be much changed from yesterday’s mixture of has-beens, never-will-bes and future stars. Two nippers caught the eye. Luke Narroway, replacing Andrew Hazell early on, was a thorn in Saracens’ side all afternoon and blazed away for the home side’s cause relentlessly. He was my man of the match and certainly one for the future. Oliver Morgan – also The Observer’s Industrial Correspondent, I note today – looked an elegant young so-and-so with ball in hand and took his try well. He was obviously thrilled. I would chuck him the 15 shirt for Sunday’s Wildcard semi final against Newcastle. A bouquet, too, for Adam Eustace who put in a committed, mature display and impressed this supporter especially as I’ve been rather dismayed recently with his level of performance and lack of discipline.

On to next season and I look forward to Mercier returning. We have missed his long range punting and ability to provide a platform for many a victory with his place kicking. Tindall, Collazo and Richards are all clever signings; not one of them could be called a journeyman and my word, we’ve all despaired at a fair few of them in recent months. Bob Casey, the London Irish lock is the latest name linked to Gloucester. The fellow has enjoyed a superb season at Reading and would be just the sort of skilled operator we need. He is a big lump too. We need his type at Kingsholm.

It was good to sup a few pints after the match both in the Deans and then in the cosy, comforting surrounds of the Café Rene. En route to ‘the Caff’, A, D and I were ambushed by a distressed and rather disturbing ‘W’, an old school colleague who was shambling in a malevolent manner around the environs of the College Arms. We paused to listen patiently to a vaguely incoherent rant about the alleged rebranding of GRFC into the ‘Gloucester Reds’. ‘W’ maintained that this would cause confusion for the uninitiated who might confuse the rugby club with Gloucester-based branches of Liverpool FC or Manchester United FC supporters. It was a passionate argument but I have encountered more intelligent debate, it has to be said. We scurried on after the encounter with the occasional concerned backward glance.

Almost the end of the season

A busy week indeed and little time to attend to these pages. I’m pleased that the city club has signed the nuggety and combative scrum half Peter Richards from Wasps. Like Balding last term, he comes from a club which knows all about winning and competing fiercely so I hope he adds something special to our squad. Notably, he’ll be paid less than some of the big name scrum halves linked to Gloucester so we can strengthen elsewhere – hopefully full back, wing and second row.

I feel that Saracens will prove too strong for the noble Cherries tomorrow. Their side looks impressive in all departments. Damage limitation will be the first priority and any win will prove an almighty bonus for the lads. I look forward to watching Olly Morgan make his full first fifteen debut. I rate the lad. He was also very polite to me at Open Day which was mightily well received.

Patrice

Patrice Collazo has signed a three year contract and I am delighted. With a fit Vickery and a rampaging Azam causing mayhem, I look forward to a little more forward dominance next term. I am pleased we have young Nicky Wood as cover but the jury, for me, remains out on Powell and Sigley. Next year’s team and squad are gradually coming together. I shall sleep better once a hulking great lock has signed to complete the pack. Hopefully Mercier will put pen to paper soon too.

-ness x3

A combination of busyness, tiredness and illness (I spent most of yesterday in bed feeling ghastly) has kept me away from these pages. I blame ‘A Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou’. It really was dire.

A tip came my way recently: The Saturday edition of the Financial Times was a cracking read, full of features not pertaining to fiscal issues and with plenty of Arts and Culture coverage. Verily, I dipped my toe in its pinky waters yesterday and enjoyed. It’s certainly a serious newspaper, very weighty but worth the effort. However, only one page of sport… My Saturday Guardian is one of the week’s treats for me and will remain my pick of the papers. Good to try something else though.

I heard some Junior Delgado on the wireless this morning, on Radio 5 Live of all places. The fellow died earlier this month but was a respected roots reggae musician with a thundering, almost anguished vocal delivery. I thought it sounded fantastic and I note that today’s Observer Music Monthly also sings the guy’s praises. I’ve added his retrospective Original Guerilla Music to my Amazon wish list.