Testing out mobile uploads with an image of George from today.

This article was written by Hunter Davies, for guardian.co.uk on Saturday 14th August 2010 23.09 UTC

I don’t think I have ever been as disgusted, disheartened, dismayed and generally pissed off at the thought of a new Premier League season which has at last lumbered and lurched towards us.

England fans were kind enough last Wednesday at Wembley, but then England fans at Wembley are football tourists, celeb seekers, families on treats, adore Becks, want to sleep with Becks, so their boos were modest , well-mannered. I suspect this season many proper, long-suffering fans will keep up the jeering for some time at the sight of some of our preening, prancing, multimillionaire superstars, formerly living gods, when they first reappear in front of them at their local ground World-class players? Do me a favour.

I have still not recovered from that embarrassing shambles at the World Cup. I wandered round the house for days in a state of unsuppressed fury – not just with those thick-headed lumps and muppets who couldn’t even control the ball or pass to each other, but with myself. How could I ever have led myself to believe that some were supposedly the envy of the football world? Why did I think that because they play for our world-famous clubs, har har, in the greatest league in the world, blah blah, then ergo they must surely be able to stuff potty little countries such as Slowmotia or Algerion?

At least this season, our idiot, brainwashed TV commentators will have to cease referring to world-class striker Wayne Rooney or world-class midfield schemer Frank Lampard or world-class resolute defender John Terry. The whole world now knows the truth.

This season, fans at all our Premier League games will at least be able to amuse themselves by trying to spot any members of an endangered species, once common all over the pitch and in the boardrooms of English football since l863 when it all began – namely English persons. Where have they all gone?

For several years now, we have grown used to most Premier League players being from foreign parts. We hardly blink now when the Arsenal team trots out and not one of them is English. By Christmas, the majority of the owners could well be foreign as well. This influx of foreign owners seems to have upset fans more than the foreign players, hence the campaign last season by Man Utd fans who turned up in green and yellow, the team’s original colours, instead of red.

You have to admire how so many of these foreign owners wangled it – somehow managing to buy one of our famous clubs with the club’s own money – ie, by borrowing against the club’s assets, then using the club’s income to pay off the loans, while paying themselves massive salaries. When they sell, as they surely will, taking a huge profit, they will leave debts unpaid.

If it all sounds so easy, why haven’t more of our Brit-born chancers done it? Not only do we seem to have lost the talent for footer, we can’t even manage to create any top-class conmen any more. I mean fit and proper but cunning moneybags persons willing and able to take over our clubs.

In the old days, football directors might have been amateurs and idiots, but at least they were local amateurs and idiots. They were butchers, bakers, solicitors, people who built up or inherited local businesses and saw it as a duty to serve their local club. They might stuff their faces at club banquets, ponce about at embassy receptions when the team toured abroad, but they didn’t take a penny out of the club. Their motives were vanity, social status and connections. It’s hard to believe but as late as the Seventies, clubs such as Arsenal and Spurs turned money away, refusing to have ads in their programmes or around the pitch.

Now, the whole object is to make money – ripping off the fans, changing the shirts every season, £3 for a rubbish programme full of ads and lists of sponsors, tasteless tea for £2, a prawn sandwich at £3. I don’t know why they don’t make all refreshments free, when the real money comes from the club’s share of the TV rights. From home and abroad, the Premier League has sold TV rights for billions. Each club this season should get up to £40m. For doing bugger all, really.

Vanity, status and connections still come into it. The Abu Dhabi owners of Man City considered it enhanced their reputation and popularity to own part of such a global brand as the Premier League.

It is hard to work out what really motivates the Chinese or the Middle Easterners or the Men from Mars currently about to gobble up Liverpool. Allegedly. The Chinese are not normally in it for popularity, but they are impressed by the business possibilities. Even if you soak a Premier League club dry, run it into the ground, or the Championship, some other dodgy fat cats or shady conglomerate will emerge from Outer Mongolia and take it off you. For is not the Premier League the best league in the world?

The answer is no. The Bundesliga in Germany now gets bigger gates and their clubs are democratically owned and controlled – by councils or fans, not individual capitalist pigs. As for the best players, and the best football being played, then the número uno is La Liga in Spain, no question. They have the world’s finest, most expensive talent, such as Messi, Ronaldo, Kaká and Iniesta.

So how does the Premier League get away with it, with all this boasting, still making all this money? Because we are stupid. Fans are simple, foolish, easily pleased, totally illogical, emotional nutters.

Being a football fan is not like being a client or a customer, a patient or a punter. We will take our business away from Morrisons if Tesco charges less for beer. We will change our doctor if we don’t like his receptionist, swap our wife or husband if we think they have become, you know, old or boring. But following a football club, that’s for life. Or longer.

We don’t actually mind all these foreign players. I was always amused at Arsenal – who are not my team but I try to go when Spurs are away – to hear Gooners shouting for Paddy and Bobby, who turned out to be Patrick Vieira and Robert Pires, French players whom they Anglicised, Goonerised and generally adored, as long as they wore an Arsenal shirt and did the business.

Fans don’t see nationalities or skin colours – just lads in our shirt, which we hope they will wear with pride. If not, by God, won’t we boo and jeer? And the foreign owners… we are not too bothered, as long as they put money into the club, which of course at first they always say they will do.

We are stuck, trapped, caught. Despite all the things I now hate about football, I have to admit I am thrilled that the new season is at last here. Those last four weeks sans footer have been so miserable, empty, aimless. Yes, sad and pathetic. Just like the England team.

Hunter Davies’s next football book, Postcards from the Edge of Football, is published in September by Mainstream, £20

guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010

A month or two passed and we decided to give it another go. We watched the first episode again and that was it, we were hooked.

As I type this out we’re one episode away from completing all five series. Everything you’ve ever read about The Wire is true. Just go and watch it.

Anyway, last night, whilst watching the penultimate episode, I happened to properly look at the DVD case. We’ve previously been loaned each series as a single group of DVDs but this time we got the main box itself. Now it’d been obvious that the DVDs must have originated from China via eBay. We suspected that the discs were copies, but they’re bloody good copies. The thing that caught my attention though was the main image on the cover.

Here it is:

Do you see the problem? Sure, the image depicts some of the main characters in a sort of collage and then it’s super-imposed over a night scene of a large city. That city would appear to be Sydney, Australia; a fair few miles from Baltimore in the USA, where The Wire is set. Interesting!

I then read some of the blurb on the rest of the box. Can you make sense of this:

All I can say is, wow!

A few weeks ago, some signs appeared close to the automatic traffic signals that govern one of the points of the triangle. They are to inform drivers that they are leaving the 20mph zone. I was a little surprised to see that one sign in particular was completely blocking the red, green and amber lights.

So I emailed the Highways Dept:

I’m writing to you about some “20 Zone Ends” signs that have been erected on Branch Road at its junction with Whitehall Road, Farnley, Leeds. The signs are so close to the traffic lights controlling the junction that you cannot see what colour the traffic lights are displaying. Even this morning as I approached the junction, I mistakenly though that the traffic lights were out of order.

Here’s a picture I took a few moments ago:

http://pix.caramboo.com/images/poorsign.jpg

I wonder if you would rectify the problem? Perhaps lowering the signs would do the trick.

Thanks

Their reply:

Thank you for your email, I have passed the information onto the Traffic Section. Your enquiry needs some investigative work and therefore you will receive either a full or substantive response by 19 May 2010.

Kind Regards

By the 20th May I’d heard nothing, so:

Well it’s the 20th and I’ve not received either. The signs are still obscuring the traffic lights at the junction of Branch Road and Whitehall Road. Dangerously I would say.

Here’s my image. Says it all really. It shouldn’t take much investigation. Just look at the picture, agree it’s not right, send man with ladders to sort it out.

Easy.

http://pix.caramboo.com/images/poorsign.jpg

So I got this reply:

Thank you for your e-mail. May I apologise for you not receiving a reply. I have forwarded your e-mail onto the Traffic Engineer for this error, and I have asked him to respond to you as soon as possible.

Followed by this, ten minutes ago:

Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention and please accept my apologies for the delayed response. I have been on paternity leave until this morning.

The recently erected sign is as you suggested is not in the best possible position and will be repositioned as a priority.

I expect the works to be carried out either today or tomorrow.

So I reckon I may have a result to report soon.

More as and when it happens…

It did happen. See: Six Inches to the Left

A few weeks ago The Leeds Guide tweeted an emergency call for volunteers to be electoral workers for the May 6th election. By that I mean polling clerks, ballot paper counters etc. I reckoned I was up for that, so I applied, as did Lisa. We didn’t hear anything until Tuesday 4th May when we were asked to attend Leeds Town Hall at 6.30am on the morning of the election. Our role was to be on stand-by in case any already appointed volunteers failed to tun up.

Lisa and I arrived at the Town Hall at 6.30am and were taken up to what appeared to be the council’s nerve-centre for the election. There were a couple of other people there already and we were sat at one end of a large office. We listened to various presiding officers calling the office with a few early morning teething problems such as missing hand-rails at polling stations and apparently broken ballot boxes. After about 20 minutes we were asked whether we came as a package. We laughed, said yes and were given the task of going to the largest polling station in Pudsey where two polling clerks had failed to show. It was a lucky deployment on our part as the trip to Pudsey from Leeds City Centre took us past the polling station where we could cast votes in our constituency, Leeds West. We went there first, voted and cancelled each other out in the process, doh, before then driving up to Pudsey.

The polling station was poorly addressed but we eventually managed to locate it and found that we were part of a team of five. One presiding officer called Elizabeth, two local Pudsey chaps then Lisa and me. Elizabeth split the electoral roll in two, leaving Lisa and me with addresses starting with A through L. We had a very quick crash course in what to do; trust me it’s just common sense stuff with a bit of PR thrown in. Once we’d been given the low-down we started accepting our fist voters and it wasn’t long before the package was performing like a well-oiled machine. It’s simply a case of cross-checking names against the electoral roll, recording poll numbers on a separate sheet and then handing out ballot papers. Easy.

The voters came in surges, twenty or thirty would turn up at the same time and then none for five minutes or so. The busiest times occurred when people were on their way to work in the morning, school-run times, people on their way home from work and then the busiest period between about 6.00pm and 9.00pm. Lisa and I worked solidly all day without a break until 10.00pm when we assisted Elizabeth in finalising the procedural matters and locking the polling-station portakabin. We made sure Elizabeth was OK before visiting a local pub in Pudsey for a quick pint . It was rather welcome!

The interesting points of the day were:

• Seeing young first-time voters turning up, sometimes alone and sometimes with their parents. One young girl in particular called the occasion “A momentous point in her life” and I felt quite honoured that I was the person facilitating her first voting experience.
• Interestingly, there were quite a few first-time voters who were clearly well into their twenties or thirties. Perhaps the election really did engage the apathetic voter this time around
• Realising that in the main, the voting public are decent and good. It doesn’t matter what their party allegiances are, people are OK
• Dealing with a cross-dressing chap who to all intents and purposes looked like your trendy Aunt or Grandmother. I was fooled but his male name gave the game away. I think I paid him a compliment by being fooled, I hope he realised that.
• A few laughs during the day. Such as asking one young bloke for his address by saying “Where do you live?” to which he replied “Just up there…” pointing up the hill. Awwww bless.
• Hearing a loud sportscar pull up outside and then in walked a full-on airline pilot in his uniform. He perhaps thought he looked cool, I thought he looked like a prat.
• It was inspiring seeing people with walking disabilities turning up to vote. I like to think they’d turned down the opportunity of a postal vote or proxy to actually carry our their civic duty. Top stuff indeed. If you couldn’t be bothered going slightly out of your way to cast your vote, shame on you.
• Lastly, although a few people asked if we were working all day, one of the last people to attend the polling station really made me feel worthwhile. He came in, voted without saying too much and then left the building. He returned a few moments later, popped his head around the door and thanked us for what we were doing. Brilliant.

 

All in all the day was a very rewarding experience. OK we’ll be getting paid for the day but to honest if you had to do it without payment, I think I’d have done it anyway. I thoroughly enjoyed being part of the democratic process. Hopefully Lisa and I suitably impressed and we’ll be asked to participate again on a regular basis. You can’t put a good package down you know.

I Don’t Do Diaries

I’ve never been one to keep a paper diary. You know the “Dear Diary, today I discovered what’s been missing from my life…” kind of thing. I’ve always been too busy actually doing things rather than writing about them. All my best experiences and images I’ve seen are in my head and I don’t really feel the need to write about it too much. So that’s got me questioning the need to write about things I do on a daily basis on-line on a blog, on here. Who cares about my trip to town, my evening in the pub or how I love my cat? I wouldn’t if I was someone else. All the dross and random shit in my life gets recorded on Twitter anyway and therefore it also appears on my Lifestream Page.

I think the removal of the feeling that “I should really do a blog entry today…” will allow me to get other things done.

Multiple Interests

I think one of the reasons that I don’t write on my site too much is that I have conflicting or perhaps too many interests. I enjoy:

• Techy stuff, mainly Linux related
• Web Development, particulary WordPress
• Sport. Cricket, Rugby, sometimes Football
• Horse Racing, including betting
• Photography, both taking photos and post production
• English, punctuation pedantry and use/misuse
• Politics, I think I’m a closet Marxist (a bit)
• Films
• Music and Music Festivals (well OK just Glastonbury these days)
• Having just bought a new mountain bike, cycling

So what I’m thinking is that I really should departmentalise my blogging. Maybe have a page that’s a focal point for everything I get up to on-line. Sort of like a portal to everything that’s me. If that’s not too narcissistic. I’m going to mull it over and perhaps come up with something in the next few weeks. I’ve got a bit of time on my hands coming up anyway so maybe this is a good time to shake off the cobwebs!

The weird thing is, I like meat. A meal without the central focus of meat or fish is something I always find a bit bland. Even things like pizzas always seem to be missing something when there isn’t any ham or pepperoni etc. I think it might be in my mind because I was brought up believing that the meat in a meal was the most important aspect of the food placed before me. If I was full I could leave stuff as long as I ate the meat. I even think I eat in a particular way that pays homage to the steak of pork chops on my plate. That’s going to go in (checks clock) a little over 12 hours time. Eeek!

So what’s the deal, why am I making what amounts to a lifestyle changing decision? Here are a few random things that have influenced me:

• I like animals. Especially cats. Particularly our cat George. I think I’m a bit obsessed with his well being and I like the fact that we got him from a rescue centre. We saved him and that’s cool. So, how can I justify loving my Georgey so much and then tuck into, for example, Roast Duck. I mean, I like ducks! I was watching an Animal Rescue program on telly the other day and this RSPCA guy was trying to capture an injured duck on a riverbank. The guy got the duck and they sorted out the injury. Hurrah. Except I also like to eat duck. Imagine some alien observers watching our day to day goings on. RSPCA guy saving a duck in one scene while a restaurant serves up duck in another. The aliens would think we were crazy and hypocrites. We probably are.
• A few years ago I had to frequently visit a slaughterhouse. I always felt really uneasy about it. On one occasion I found myself at the rear of the building and I saw a little fenced off area containing several lambs. They were all looking at me and behind them was a green door. On the other side of the door was death. Not good. During the same period in my life I would often follow vehicles carrying large amounts of chickens. All piled on top of each other and they’d be staring out at me not knowing what was going on. They were on their way to the chicken processing factory. Not good.
• In another period of my life I attended quite a few human post mortems. I’ve seen human bodies of all ages sawn open and witnessed the removal of vital organs. Once the internals are out, you may as well be at the butchers counter in Sainsbury’s. There’s no difference. So whenever I have to cut up chicken or beef, I wonder what my reaction would be if I were cutting up human flesh. Chicken = OK, Human = Throwing up. But there’s no difference, meat is meat.
• If I were marooned on a desert island and had to kill to stay alive, I could probably bring myself to do it, even if I wouldn’t like it. Could I accompany say Jamie Oliver to a farm, select a goat, kill it and then cook it? Not a bloody chance. Can I go to the supermarket and buy a joint of beef where it’s all sanitised and the death and slaughter is kept hidden from me. Course I can. More hypocrisy.
• I know animals kill other animals for food, I know there’s a food chain and we’re at the top. I know my rejection of meat isn’t going to change the world. It’s my choice though and I don’t want to eat something that has a face and eyes and can look at me.
• Of course there are a few other reasons to turn veggie, such as green issues. Fewer cattle means less carbon emmisions and more grain for humans. I understand all that. There’s the health advantage from not eating red meat etc. I understand all that too. They aren’t my reasons though. My carbon footprint is a bit shite due to my techy interests and I can’t claim health reasons since I probably knock days off my life every time I quaff copious amounts of Brothers Cider.
• So how about eating lesser animals. Like prawns and lower life forms. Well, I have a problem with that too. Where do you draw the line. Who decides what’s on my vegetarian Schindler’s list. So I’m not drawing the line. No animals directly or indirectly. I will drink milk though. That’s going to make me a lacto-vegetarian apparently.
• I’ve also started to think about animal products that I don’t eat. Leather springs to mind. So I’m going to avoid leather products as well. I’m not going to throw out all my belts and shoes but after mid-night tonight I won’t buy any more.

I realise that my life is going to be a bit more complicated from now on. People are going to have to go out of their way to accommodate me. I’m going to have to work a bit harder to find tasty nutritional meals and I’ll be scouring the ingredient panels on food I buy but I’m up for the challenge. There will be things I’ll really miss. @MilliesMum has agreed to join me but I don’t think she’ll go the distance. Perhaps I won’t but I’m going to try my hardest to give it a good go.

It’ll give me a few things to write about on here anyway!

The thing is, the way people are decorating their houses is getting way out of hand. The entire frontage of their homes are strewn with an array of light strings; fake animals, generally reindeer and the odd huge Father Christmas (Coca-cola variety, obviously). What are they trying to achieve? It strikes me that it’s nothing more than Beat the Joneses. John Jones up the street has an impressive display, right, I’m going even bigger.

What has any of this got to do with Christmas anyway. Let’s celebrate the alleged birthday of Jesus by sticking hundreds if not thousands of light bulbs on the outside of our house. In fact let’s do it just after bonfire night, that way we can get that warmy fuzzy Christmassy feeling for about seven weeks. Nice. We can conveniently forget about green issues for the festive period. Instead of switching stuff off to do our bit to save the planet, we can switch shit loads more stuff on!

Oh that last paragraph just made me think about something. I bet those people who do illuminate their homes have a green waste wheely bin. Can you imagine the ridiculous idea of someone taking their cardboard and paper and plastic out to their green wheely bin whilst at the same time lit up by their festive display. It sounds ridiculous doesn’t it but it will be happening, you just know it. Amazing. I’m going to keep on the look-out in the next few weeks to try and see that situation with my own eyes.

I hate Christmas

Dave