Friday, 28 December 2007
Obviously I've eaten shedloads, drank bucketloads and have shit loads!!!
Highlights of the festive period have included meeting my new nephew young James - I'm pleased to report that he's got a hefty pair of fists and will undoubtedly go on to have faster hands than his , admittedly very quick, Uncle Andy.
Went drinking with the siblings (Emma and Rachael - happy now?) and the wife last night around a more salubrious part of Newcastle and discovered Bison Grass Mojitos and wasabi peas...don't ask, just know this - they were lush!
Anyway, hope you all had a good one and I'll be back in the new year.
Ps - Tel, you a daddy again yet?
Wednesday, 19 December 2007
With this in mind I thought I'd round up the week for you before signing off until 2008 (I'll be far too busy, eating, drinking and chatting up barmaids to blog any more this year).
The Lib Dems elected a new leader...Well that'll make all the fucking difference won't it!! Gordon Brown must be shitting himself now - unless he's taxed doing that now.
A Man Utd reserve is being questioned regarding an alleged rape at a hotel where the Man Utd players were having their Xmas party. Call me cynical but, without reading any of the story or knowing any of the facts, I'm of the opinion that it's a load of bollocks.
Drunk footballer + Willing Girl = Tabloid exposure and money in the bank - End Of.
I'm going on my 'xmas do' from work tomorrow, those of you who know me will know that my boss is a cock and I'll be doing well to keep my job - maybe I'll just chat barmaids up all night and keep out of his way!
Anyway, that's probably it from me for 2007 - I hope you all have a great Christmas and a prosperous new year. Personally I'm looking forward to meeting my new nephew before eating and drinking myself into oblivion on xmas day.
See you all next year - Cheers
Monday, 17 December 2007
Bit of an eventful one on Saturday as five of us went to Fulham to watch Newcastle thrash the local team. The match itself was shite - apart from the last minute winner, courtesy of a penalty by Joey Barton, and we could all have saved ninety minutes of our lives by just sticking our heads in for the last thirty seconds.
Either side of the match some good stuff happened :- I sold the spare ticket I had and therefore didn't suffer financially, We got our train tickets (that cover the tubes as well) for less than half price thanks to some wheeler dealing, we abused everyone we came into contact with and one of the lads won £80 by backing Barton to score both the first and the last goals.
So after a heavy days drinking we headed back to Marylebone station in good time to catch the last train. Two tube stops from the railway station with at least twenty minutes in hand it all goes tits up. Some inconsiderate cockney gets himself stabbed on our tube and everything grinds to a halt - despite our best efforts to get a black cab we missed the last train and I was forced to think (not easy when you've been on the hoy all day).
Five minutes later and it's sorted, we get the only train available to Aylesbury where a minibus (organised by my good self) is waiting to transport us to Banbury for the princely sum of a tenner each. On arrival we got dropped off at a pub organised by 'The Shado' that was happy to let us in at daft o clock in the morning.
All in all a good day out, three points for the lads and we didn't get our heads kicked in.
Ps - the title of the post refers to a doylum who was with us being convinced that 'Fairytale of New York' was really about the coastal regions of the North East of England - plum!
Friday, 14 December 2007
In 1969 Newcastle United won the Fairs Cup (forerunner to the UEFA cup) and all was hunky dory in geordieland, a supporter (who's name I don't know) and prominent shareholder who had followed them for many years home and away died soon after but the club failed to mention him in any programme notes or official publication.
His wife, who was some kind of spritual medium type, was a bit miffed by this and put a curse on the club - Newcastle have won nothing since - and to think I thought I was the jinx, being born in 1970!
Anyway, last week she lifted it...on the very day that we beat Birmingham City with a last minute winner - let the good times roll!
Thursday, 13 December 2007
Supporting your team
Abusing Politicians at every opportunity
Being a major Publisher
And signing up gritty Geordie talent
Being whingy tabloid fodder
Having faith in British Law
Being a publisher and not signing up gritty Geordie talent.
Drama Queen, victim behaviour a la Jeremy Kyle/Jerry Springer
Not being an uncle
Happy Christmas you bunch of plums!
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
The Turning point?
At some point in every manager’s career they hit a sticking point. They find that they have an underperforming team, the chairman is getting twitchy and sections of the crowd start vocally showing their dismay. This is the point at which great managers are made.
When plain old Alex Ferguson didn’t immediately deliver success to, the then, mid-table Manchester United of the 1980’s a lot of the Stretford End faithful wanted rid of him. Fast forward twenty years and Sir Alex is widely respected as one of the best managers ever.
Martin O Neill kept the letters he received from deeply unhappy Leicester fans, one promotion and a cup final later he was writing back to them and asking what their problem was. He’s now a prime candidate for the England job and considered one of the best crop of managers in British football today.
Arsene who? Was the cry some years ago in parts of North London as concerned gooners wondered about the non-existent track record of their new manager – do you think they’d swap him now
Sam Allardyce hit his own wall at home to Liverpool recently but it had been coming for a while.
Dour performances straight from the Souness handbook had been glossed over by wins and draws but when the wheels came off at home to Pompey and the scousers then there was nowhere to hide.
Sam took the abuse like a man and got on with it.
The new owner kept his finger off the trigger and the team started doing their job with a key factor being the crowd’s support. They got stuck in away to Blackburn where we lost unluckily, they were the better team at home to Arsenal where we drew but could have won and they kept getting stuck in against Birmingham where we picked up all the points.
Now I’m not saying Sam hasn’t made mistakes and I’m not saying the football’s been brilliant either but you’ve got to give the bloke time.
This club, my club, has been undermined by short term thinking for the last ten years and it needs to end. We’re not going down this year and could quite feasibly end up in the European places if the manager is allowed to get on with his job – why don’t we cut him some slack, support the team and see what happens.
Who knows, in ten years time we could all be clapping as a statue of Sir Sam is unveiled outside St. James alongside the new trophy room we’ve had to build!!
Howay the lads
Thursday, 6 December 2007
Magpie Ranger is progressing slowly – however, I received word this week that a publisher is interested, having read the synopsis, and will be contacting me at some point when they’ve had a chance to assess market potential and distribution options.
That’s exciting stuff but also means I have to get my arse into gear writing the thing!!
I’d best ask Santa for another pair of hands.
Friday, 30 November 2007
This has come about because the Labour party received more than £650,000 from one man (David Abrahams) via a series of middlemen which is against the law.
Gordon Brown has since said that the donations will be returned – well he would wouldn’t he, didn’t seem to bother him before the papers got hold of the story though did it?
They’re all coming out of the woodwork now as well :-
Work and Pensions Secretary Peter Hain has said he failed to register a £5,000 deputy leadership campaign donation, blaming an "administrative error".
Harriet Harman accepted a £5,000 donation from one of the middlemen (Janet Kidd) during the deputy leadership race she eventually won.
Ms Harman said she had no idea the money really came from Mr Abrahams, and had accepted it on the basis that Mrs Kidd was a known Labour donor. She said she acted in "good faith".
Now as we all know the Metropolitan Police has just completed the 19-month, £1.4m "cash-for-honours" investigation into party funding. That inquiry, which cast a shadow over Tony Blair's final months as prime minister, ended with no charges being brought – fuck me, imagine that!!
And now the police are set to begin the second inquiry into the Labour party's finances in two years. They will attempt to determine who knew about the money being channelled to the party through proxy donors, and who broke the law.
This is the second time in the history of our country that a serving Prime Minister has been involved in a police investigation – both of these occasions have happened over the last ten years and both have involved only one party.
Co-incidentally, at the same time, the country has gone to rack and ruin and is now divided into the haves (who live in Ivory Towers surrounded by armed guards and coppers well away from the sink estates they’ve created) and the have-nots (who live in amongst the yobs, hooligans and scum that never have to face to up to the consequences of their actions in case it infringes their human rights).
This country’s fucked.
Tuesday, 27 November 2007
The labour party admitted yesterday that they’d been receiving donations from a man who had persuaded three other people to pretend they were from them.
The man in question – David Abrahams donated a total of £600,000 Using these stooges
Under the law, those making donations on behalf of others must give details of who is providing the money.
Now the above is all factual – If I was to suggest there’d been some kind of cover up in order to protect the government from accusations of being corrupt then that would just be my opinion.
In fact If I was to go as far as to suggest that if, in my opinion, our leaders were bent enough to do this knowing there’d be no consequences for them then what else are they doing that we don’t, and never will, know about?
They’re just my opinions – what’s yours?
So it won't be changing this week either.
Sunday, 25 November 2007
I've decided to present a more professional image to the world of publishing and allow them easier access to samples of my work rather than them having to wade through the abuse and profanity that reverberates around my little blog here.
The link to my website is : - http://www.freewebs.com/andyrivs/
Now remember this blog was my first ever foray into the twenty first century and as such is still my baby so don't worryabout it disappearing as I spend more time on my new site. Keep checking it out and I'll keep posting but if you're interested, have a look at my site and make sure you spread the word(and the link).
2008 could well be the chinese year of the Fasthands!
*winner of 'best blog in our house award' 2007
Friday, 23 November 2007
From there it was onto my real reason for visiting Landan, the Tutankhamun exhibition - which was good but a bit crowded (bloody tourists - this is my country I should be first!!) meaning that you couldn't spend too long looking at the exhibits.
I then had a pint or two in Covent Garden before being fleeced by 'Maxwells' for some food - honestly I felt violated when I came out - not going there again.
This was followed by a wander up Regent Street to look at the lights (which are shit) and then a casual stroll down Bond Street where I happened upon the switching on ceremony for their lights. This was delightfully old-fashioned with fake snow being blown out of every upstairs window into the street and jugglers and stalls etc lining the whole place - very good.
The lights themselves were switched on by Sophie Dahl, who is a very striking and pretty girl in the flesh, much more so than her picture would normally suggest.
Then, to finish off before getting the late train back to Hicksville, Oxfordshire I took in a comedy show that was situated in the basement of the Thistle Hotel just off Leicester Square, there was one comedian for about an hour and a half and he was very good. His name was Inkey (no I hadn't either) and apparently he's a warm up man for Frank Skinner, if you get the chance check him out.
So that was it - all in all a good, albeit expensive, day out.
Final thoughts on our nations capital - It's like a smaller, dirtier version of Newcastle!
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
With this in mind a group of like minded supporters set up the Toon Ultras in a bid to bring back the noise at St. James. It’s a worthy aim and I for one hope it succeeds as it seems to me that grounds these days are sterile, americanised enviroments where the main aim is to extract as much cash from the fan/consumer as possible.
But…It wasn’t always like that. Back in the eighties St. James Park was a crumbling, old fashioned relic of days gone by. The two main ends were uncovered, seats were a luxury and the toilets were unspeakably bad. The catering would give you botulism, the turnstile operators were bent and todays Health and safety police would have a seizure if they witnessed the steps you went up to get to the terraces.
And do you know what…we fucking loved it.
The home end then was the Gallowgate End and all the boys massed up behind the goal there in one of two sections, The Corner or the Scoreboard. On slow days when the opposition didn’t bring many fans we’d amuse ourselves by taunting the residents of whichever section we weren’t in and proclaiming our superiority over them. The Scoreboard was so named because of the giant, subbutteo style scoreboard that was erected above the terracing and was visible from all areas of the ground. This used to be climbed by ‘over-enthusiastic’ fans and the letters re-arranged on the rivals teams section to read something abusive.
The amount of times we played ‘C U NT S’, ‘W A N KE R S’ and, ‘B A S T A R D S’ were too numerous to mention but it was very funny, no matter how many times you saw it.
The Corner, so named because it was the corner of the end and led onto the East Stand had a flag planted right at the top of the terracing and just along from it was little hot dog stand that was robbed left right and centre every other week. It tended to be the preserve of ‘blokes’, thickly muscled gadgies who had graduated from from their teen years in the scoreboard section and held us teenage youngsters in amused disdain. Shaking their heads at us… like you do a drunken nephew who’s just made a play for the local bike.
To stand on the Gallowgate End on a sunny day, full of beer with thousands of other like minded souls was nearly as good as it got. If the toon were winning or even just playing well then your day was complete.
If it was all going wrong though, if you were on the open terracing in the rain and we were getting a hiding you could always rely on one man.
Mad Darren lived and breathed Newcastle United. You could travel to any game, on any day, in any part of the country and he’d be there. He was the type of bloke who planned his life around the fixture list and, once he was at the game, put his heart and soul into it.
I didn’t know him to talk to; I didn’t even know his real name. I just knew he was Mad Darren and I knew who he was, that was enough. You’d have some beer before the match, get through the turnstile and hurry up the steps; maybe stopping halfway up for a swim in the Gallowgate bogs, then the singing would make you run the last few steps to get in amongst it. You’d hit the scoreboard end and there he’d be, stood on a barrier, swaying drunkenly with the undulations of the crowd around him and you’d join them singing lustily as Darren kept all the terrace favourites rolling off the tongue.
To hit a strange town on a dark wintry Saturday or a wet Wednesday night, knowing you’d probably get beat and the locals would be quite keen on re-arranging your face was a daunting task. Sometimes just getting in a bar, having a few pints and then getting to the ground without having to do your Rocky impression was like mission impossible.
But… getting into the match, counting up your fellow travellers in the gloom all the while being taunted by the pig fuckers from whichever crap little town you were in was made worthwhile when, a familiar looking figure staggered onto a barrier and proclaimed he was proud to be a geordie. You knew then it’d be alright and you’d laugh about it later, in fact you might even write a book about it much later!
Mad Darren probably single handedly kept many of us interested during the late eighties, he was probably responsible for imbuing in many of us the terrace culture and the love of making a day of it following the mags.
Sadly, he died in 1989 in London following Newcastle at Wimbledon, there was a scuffle with some Wigan Rugby League fans, and while the circumstances aren’t fully known, the story at the time was that they were mob handed and he was alone. It was a sad end to a young life but, trite as this may sound, he had died as he lived – following his beloved Mags.
No book about Newcastle United would be complete without a tribute To Mad Darren, I was proud to know him, however indirectly, and believe that in a few short years he influenced the lives of more people than many of us will ever meet.
He was the original Toon Ultra.
Monday, 19 November 2007
For years I have had to put up with accusations of idleness and being a lazy bastard - well no more!!
I had a company medical on Friday and, as well as being pronounced fit - yes I am 'Fit' and it's official, it was noticed that I had low blood pressure.
Now this in itself is a good thing, I'll probably never die of anything stress related for instance, but apparently a side effect of this is Lethargy.
So, it appears I am not in fact a lazy, idle, good for nothing but a brave sufferer of a condition I never talk about.
So remember when I don't post anything for a few days - I'm not being lazy I'm Lethargic!!
Thursday, 15 November 2007
I asked him to give my synopsis for 'Magpie Ranger' the once over and he very kindly did so, giving me a few insights into the commercial world of selling books at the same time. Here's what he said...
Firstly, a question: Is this a work in progress, or do you have a finished draft?
If it is finished, I'd like to read it. But equally understand if you headbutt me to the ground and tell me to 'feck off'. I haven't got kids, but do know the feeling of handing over a manuscript to a stranger - and imagine it is akin to leaving your kids with babysitters you've never met. 'We'll be back about midnight, Myra. Tell Ian to help himself to biscuits...'
In truth, it's difficult to provide any feedback of any depth (or use) from a synopsis. But I like the idea. I'd read it. The core elements are strong, it has regional appeal (both a good and bad thing, but I'll get onto that) and I think the juxtaposition between real sorrow (the death of a friend) and the more superficial sorrow (Toon) would provide real pathos. Plus, the Geordie-ness and humour would keep the dialogue snappy and light.
In terms of getting it published, there are certain hoops that you have to jump through - for every editorial decision a publisher makes, he makes 10 commercial ones.
So I've included below the issues that a publisher/ agent is likely to raise/ consider - some I agree with, some I don't, some are bullshit, some are valid. But all you should be aware of.
* Regional appeal - although this is often a positive, a publisher might be concerned that it will limit the market. The title for example, would be changed. If Fever Pitch had been called Love Life of a Gooner, it would've died on its arse-nal.
* Class appeal - again, this can be a real strength. But worries some publishers (and editors), who will try to re-package the working classes in a particular 'saleable' way, because...
* Publishers are obsessed with 'theme'. This should be as timeless/ classless/ ageless as possible - even if it is a period piece (capturing the 70s, 80 and 90s well could be a real strength, ain't nothing as contemporary as retro!). They also love 'an eternal truth' - which in this case, will sink in during the train ride south.
* Also, a strong narrative is important. When any manuscript is being considered for publication, the ‘rule’ for editors is to ask (as a reader) ‘why am I reading this?’ on every page. They will look for good characterisation and conflict to keep readers engaged.
And a ‘twist’ is always a hook. This can be subtle – say, for example, in the end you change your mind about publishing The Last Match. The fact that you’ve written it, is the end of the journey.
Be prepared for it to be chopped to bits too – in order to follow the rules, publishers/ editors will want to re-structure, cut out characters, add characters, even change the settings… ‘Love your work, Mr Rivers, love it. But this Newcastle that you speak of…. could this be Notting Hill? And instead of football, perhaps – amateur dramatics…?’ Their vision will never quite match yours.
Just from the synopsis – and this is just an opinion – I can see a publisher suggesting the book starts and ends with that train journey South (there is a natural correlation between the actual journey and personal journey). It’s also a classic flashback format, that clearly defines the periods, will allow you to dip in and out of the story and tie up the ‘eternal truth’ up at the end.
Or, it lends itself to each chapter be focused on, or at least starting with, a match (book-ended by introduction and epilogue chapters).
This is the difference between story and plot – which is key to novel writing. Tolstoy said that characters + conflict = plot.
I prefer to think of a story is a timeline of events – prompting no questions, or involvement. But a plot provides depth.
A bad example:
‘A man died, then a woman died.’ That’s a story.
‘A man died, then his wife was so distraught she committed suicide.’ That’s a plot.
And what did Tolstoy ever do, eh?
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
Let me know what you think.
Ever heard of David Robinson? No? Well let me illustrate the difference between how good professional footballers actually are and, despite what we all claim in the pub after another nil – nil draw, why we could never be one. In 1981 I moved on to Benfield Comprehensive school in the East End of Newcastle, most lads from Welly Road went on to Walker School but I ended up at Benner. It had a good reputation then, I don’t know about now but it was well thought of back then in the days of only three television channels. The school has spawned a handful of pro footballers in it’s time, the likes of Steve Bruce (Man Utd through and through no matter what he claims), Lee Clark, Dave Roach and David Robinson to name a few from the top of my head. You’ll have heard of Bruce and Clark, Roachy played quite a few times in the first team under Ossie Ardiles before Keegan moved him on and Robinson? Well, he played once in the first team under Jim Smith before dropping down the divisions (and bear in mind, when he played for us we were shite) and the general consensus on the Gallowgate end was that he just wasn’t good enough for us at a time when we were a second division team.
I agreed loudly and vociferously with all the blokes around me at the time, well you do when you’re seventeen and full of beer don’t you, but all the while I was harbouring a guilty secret and a secret animosity towards ‘Robbo’. I’d played in direct opposition to him in a school match only a couple of years previously. He was the star striker in our years ‘A’ team while I was one of two plodding centre halves in the ‘B’ team, incidentally I think our manager just picked us both together for a laugh, his name was Fish (alright Mickey, hope you’re well) and my mine is obviously Riv.. well you get the picture. Actually there was a bloke in the squad called Waters as well, I kid you not.
Anyway, every season there was an ‘A’ team versus ‘B’ team friendly on a Friday afternoon before the big kick off, this was always well attended as it got you out of lessons for the afternoon and if you were crafty you could sneak off early to start your weekend. So, young Dave had recently cracked getting into the Newcastle United youth team and I’d be marking him, this was it, this was the year I’d be making my claim to an ‘A’ team spot and recognition from the scouts that always came to Benfield, my rightful place in the football league was assured after I sorted this big headed twat out, I couldn’t wait for kick off.
As the sun shone down brightly on the whole school and a gentle breeze casually touched the tops of the blades of brilliant green grass I went over my strategy. The ref, resplendent in his all black football league gear (he was a genuine league referee) raised his whistle to his lips and looked at both goalkeepers, I played it over mentally – hit him hard early on, beat him to the first ball every time, make him look a twat, get promoted to the ‘A’ team, get scouted, use my muscular frame to win a contract at the toon as a top centre half, live on easy street. Piece of piss.
The whistle went and I strode into battle…ten minutes later and we were three nil down, Robbo had a hatrick and he’d been told to ease off by the PE teacher. At the end they won something like eight-nil, he’d got five and never really broken sweat, I couldn’t get near him, I tried to kick him, nut him punch him, everything but was made to look a mug, maybe I should have tried kicking the ball.
Anyway, next time you’re in the boozer moaning about how Lampard’s not good enough for England and Neville’s a load of shite, just remember, they’re much, much better than Dave Robinson, he was much, much better than me…and well…I’m much, much better than you, so think on.
Friday, 9 November 2007
It's difficult to explain to anyone not from Newcastle but I hate them bastards!!!
The match is less than 24 hours away now and my guts are churning at the thought of it - come on Sam, lets nail these twats.
Hope you all have a good one - Good luck with the house move Tel.
Howay the lads
Wednesday, 7 November 2007
I have an article featured in the latest of edition of ‘True Faith’, Newcastle’s premier fanzine. This is hitting the shops on Friday and, if you’re a toon fan at least, is well worth a read.
I've also posted new articles on the Bleacher Report and Nufcview, well, it's the same article posted twice but you know what I mean!
Here's the links :-
see you later.
Monday, 5 November 2007
But…the history and culture in one of the worlds most ancient democracies is awesome. Going up the Acropolis, seeing the Parthenon and looking out over the vastness of the city is something that stays with you forever. Then… having come back to your hotel and got ready to go out, stepping out into the warren of back alleys to find that you’re actually staying in the most lively and up and coming area in the city is just brilliant.
The back streets that were covered in shite had miraculously morphed into something akin to the Quayside in Newcastle. The boarded up shops, covered with posters and chicken wire were actually bars and restaurants that were heaving with locals and tourists alike. Trendy wine bars mixed with ancient Tavernas, new night clubs stood side by side with pavement cafes’ and there were people drinking, dancing and eating as far as the eye could see.
I drank Mojitos and Mythos, ate cheese pies and souvlaki, indulged in outlandish desserts and generally enjoyed myself immensely.
If you can handle heat, beggars and a city that doesn’t look that pretty in daylight then I can heartily recommend Athens. I fucking loved it.
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
Not much happened on the writing/publishing front after last weeks little burst of activity so still a case of fingers crossed there...well until the rejection letter/email comes and then it's a case of fists bunched!
I'm off to Athens in the morning for the weekend so there'll be no posts on here until at least next Monday, probably Tuesday. When you're at work tomorrow and Friday and you're a bit depressed about it just cheer yourself up by thinking of me drinking bottles of Mythos, eating cheese pies and talking to fat lasses with moustaches.
Good luck to the toon against Pompey and to Joe Calzaghe against Kessler - have a good one.
Monday, 29 October 2007
The basic premise was that I, as an exiled geordie, was less of a Newcastle Supporter than a couple of people who live in Wallsend (which is outside of Newcastle incidentally) and as they were at the match and I wasn’t they were in some way superior to me. Let’s look at the evidence shall we?
I went to my first Newcastle Match at the age of six. I started going on my own from the age of eleven and travellling to away games at age fourteen. I was there on the terraces in the rain when we were bottom of division two under Ossie Ardiles. I’ve been chased around Stanley Park by knife wielding scousers, I’ve traded punches on the terraces at Rotherham and I’ve been pissed in glamorous places like Barnsley, Bournemouth and Tranmere whilst engaged in the cause of following my team. I have attended well over 500 matches in my supporting career (not including reserve games which I used to attend regularly back in the day) In short, it has been a lifelong passion of mine, not something I joined in with during my thirties and when the team had become good.
Now, my detractors. Well one of them was a Man United ‘supporter’ until about three years ago – loudly decrying Newcastle in favour of his ‘own’ team until one day he realised that he was actually allowed to go to matches as well as watching it on the telly but it would be cheaper for him to go to Newcastle. He has since re-invented himself as ‘Mr. Magpie’.
The other one was a well documented Liverpool ‘supporter’ during his schooldays and was not seen at a Newcastle match until his friend harassed him into going a few years ago.
These two plums also defended the fat pikey Shepherd vigorously, using the short sighted, not sure how football really works, johnny come lately’s claim of ‘He always backs his managers’.
Now I throw it open to you, my regular readers, who’s the proper Mag here?
Ps – I would have given them some shit at the Fulham match in London on Dec 15th but they’re not going as ‘It’s on the telly’.
Friday, 26 October 2007
I can see the publishers point of view – mouthy blonde bint who’s quite prepared to prostitute both herself and her family to the tabloids in order to maintain her status as some kind of council estate figurehead and has some kind of following who’ll faithfully buy whatever semi-literate nonsense she puts out (or get’s someone else to write for her).
But it still boils my piss!!
That apart – Have a good weekend…and spare a thought for Martin Jol!
Thursday, 25 October 2007
From there you have sub-genres, in recent years these have included sex and shopping, aga sagas and chick lit. Publishers believe that it’s mainly women who read fiction books and adjust their requirements accordingly – hence the abomination of books with pink covers and cool looking birds exploding onto the shelves at your local shop over the last few years.
Now as a bloke in his mid thirties who reads voraciously I’ve always found this slightly strange as have my mates who tend to read the same kind of thing as me – mainly the likes of Irvine Welsh, John King, Kevin Sampson, Christopher Brookmyre, Danny King etc.
And it seems that publishers are slowly waking up to the fact that men can read !! The number of mens books aimed at a particular generation is slowly increasing and following a small investigation I can confirm that the moniker allocated to this new sub-genre is ‘Git–Lit’.
Apparently it refers to blokes in their thirties/forties who aren’t action men but aren’t wimpy, camp, talk about their feelings types either. The type of blokes who’ve had a past and wouldn’t mind reading stories they could relate to.
In fact, basically - BLOKES LIKE ME!!!!
I’m here and I’m ready – let’s get my shit on the shelves.
Wednesday, 24 October 2007
Comment on them, print them out and put them safely inyour attic - they'll be worth millions one day!
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
The England Rugby team that were expected to fail disastrously at the world cup actually failed quite gloriously (it's what we English do best) and struck a blow for grumpy old (in sporting terms- don't get cheeky) men everywhere. If the 'try' had been given then we'd have won the world cup and made history but, surprisingly, two officials from countries that hate us, both openly and historically, decided it wasn't to be - imagine that.
Lewis Hamilton failed gloriously (again, see above) but he's very young and will probably dominate his sport for the forseeable future.
An independent publishing firm who shall remain nameless expressed an interest in seeing not only the full manuscript of my fantastic novel 'Special' but also that of 'On the March' which I once shouted about on these very pages. If you see both in the shops any time next year then I may rename this humble blog the Fasthands school of Excellence!
And finally, one other little thing happened - Gordon Brown hammered the last nail in the British coffin and sold us to Europe for the price of a job when he gets voted out at the next election. He must be very proud to continue the work that his great friend Tony started.
Well done everyone.
Friday, 19 October 2007
(I know I said I'd use the same one for both of them but your american audience needs a bit of tlc where humour's concerned - so there's some editing gone on).
Also, for those of you that can't be arsed to buy Players Inc (ie all of you) even though I'm in it, then I suggest you get the next issue of 'True Faith' as I'm expanding my Newcastle United readership in preparation for the debut of 'Magpie Ranger' and have added them to my cv.
Thursday, 18 October 2007
A small publishing firm that normally specialise in fishing magazines and books have expressed an interest in seeing a synopsis for my upcoming 'Magpie Ranger' opus.
The firm are thinking of moving into sports publishing and their owner/chairman/head honcho is a mad keen Man Utd fan (never mind - can't have everything) - this development came about after a chance conversation I had at the gym last night with someone I've known for a few months.
'Where were you last week then?'
'It's our busy time at work so I've been struggling to get here'
'Oh what do you do then?'
'I work in publishing'
Cue flashing lights and alarm bells in my head closely followed by my spiel about how good I am and me getting an email this morning from my new best mate asking me to send the synospis today so his boss can have a look.
Now I've just got write the fucking thing!!
Wednesday, 17 October 2007
- No-one lost any money
- The panic was started by someone leaking details of the banks position to the press
- It was exacerbated by irresponsible reporting in the media
So with this in mind I was dumbfounded to catch the news last night and witness a commons select committee grilling the directors of the bank and telling them the honourable thing to do would be to resign!!!
Politicians telling privately employed people that their conduct was unacceptable and if they had any honour they would resign.
The same breed of people that hang onto their jobs tighter than superglue to your finger when you're fixing things.
The same immoral, corrupt and ignorant band of wankers that take cash for questions, sort out visas for their foreign nannies, shag anything that moves (and some things that don't...probably), send working class men and women to die in foreign fields in order to ensure lucrative speaking tours in America when their career's over, sold our entire country out in exchange for jobs in the european parliament, filled our streets with eastern european gangsters and prostitutes, stole the pensions of millions of britons condemning them to misery in their final years and, worst of all... inflicted Cherie fucking Blair on us.
Politicians talking about honour? That's like me preaching abstention from profanity.
Monday, 15 October 2007
Unfortunately, the majority of taxi drivers in Manchester appeared to be celebrating it and as I mentioned on Friday that our hotel was in Oldham (about 6-7 miles away) it left us at the mercy of the drivers that were cashing in on the shortfall. One of them charged us £45 on Saturday night/Sunday Morning – mercenary c**t!
Anyway, that apart Manchester was alright. Always nice to meet up with the chaps again and behave like we’re still teenagers. Areas of note were ‘The Printworks’ complex and Brannigans bar where a good time was had by all (except for the bloke who was carried out by three bouncers as one of them punched him – he didn’t have a great time). The hotel staff bore our cheek with professional good grace and didn’t even throw out one of our number who decided he could play the piano they had in the bar.
The greatest sign to me that we’re all grown ups now is that no-one got arrested, chinned or even soiled their bed…next thing you know we’ll be getting married and having kids!
PS - Dancer of the trip award went to Big Tel - he threw some proper shapes.
Friday, 12 October 2007
Anyway, as we’re all in different parts of the country we decided to meet up in Manchester, watch the England match, win loads of cash betting on it (4-0 Owen first goal – you heard it here first) stay on the drink and generally annoy/excite the locals. The decision made we booked our hotel rooms in a central Manchester hotel, ideal for the city centre – well some of us did…others amongst us couldn’t be arsed and as a result the hotel was fully booked so we moved on to number two.
This one was about five miles out, in a studenty area so we could laugh at them through the day before taxi-ing into the centre at night – all sorted. Except…The Best Western Willowbank Hotel, decided last night that for ‘reasons beyond their control’ (ie some Z-list twat from Hollyoaks/Corrie/etc wanted the rooms and would pay more than us) we weren’t welcome but they thoughtfully booked us rooms at one of their partner hotels at MANCHESTER FUCKIN AIRPORT!!!
Cue, lots of cancelling and re-booking at a stupid hour of the night. The net result is that we are now in a better hotel for the same price but will be paying more in taxi fares, money which I shall personally alleviate the pain of spending by pissing in the recption area of the next Best Western hotel I find myself in.
The moral of the story is…If you’re ever in Manchester don’t book with The Best Western Willowbank Hotel because they have the potential to fuck all of your plans at a moments notice without even giving you the courtesy of a reason. In fact they should be renamed Spaghetti Western…as it was obviously all about a few dollars more!
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
In an attempt to raise my profile (and hopefully increase traffic on this blog) I've started writing articles for an american based sports network :- http://bleacherreport.com/sections/EPL
Whether this gets me anywhere remains to be seen but, and this is clever (I'm not thick me like), I'm just posting the same articles on there that I write for Nufcview.
So, no extra work, but a chance of worldwide readership...honestly, I impress myself, I really do.
Monday, 8 October 2007
The following comedy club hits banbury (in Bonito’s which is a cool bar and you can't say that about many places in Banbury!) on the first Sunday of every month and is well worth a visit. It's Four quid to get in for which you receive a feast of laughter in the form of two seasoned veterans of the comedy circuit, one novice cutting their teeth and Silky, the resident compere who is usually worth the entrance fee alone.
If you check out their website you’ll see that as well as Banbury they go all over the place so keep an eye on it, they may be in your town soon.
I think my obsession with profanity (or realism depending on your view) may be hampering my chances so I may have to revise my style or, as is more likely, lower the c**t count in my work!
Fuck them anyway - onward and upward!
Friday, 5 October 2007
As you may or may may not know Bob was Newcastle 's last trophy winning captain and as such he is held in high regard by all Newcastle United fans so I am sure you'll all join me, whatever your club loyalties, in wishing him all the best in his fight against this terrible illness.
I'm sure that if he mobilises the same battling qualities that he always displayed for Newcastle then he'll be halfway there.
Good luck Bob.
Thursday, 4 October 2007
I had boiler bother yesterday as well and a bloke was coming round to have a look in the afternoon so I took a half day off work. As I left at 12.15 Citylink (my new laptop courier) hadn't rung me to say they were on their way so I was confident of being in the house for their arrival.
Imagine my surprise when I found a 'failed delivery' note on my doormat stating they'd been there at 9am and I now had to collect the laptop from their base within 'five working days' - bastards.
I couldn't get to the phone quick enough and was soon on to whichever YTS girl was unlucky enough to answer - the conversation went like this:-
'I spoke to someone yesterday who told me that your driver would ring me when he was near my house thus allowing me time to leave my work and get back to take delivery of something that belongs to me.'
'Unfortunately sir, we cannot guarantee delivery times.'
'I know that why didn't he ring me?'
'Not all of the drivers have phones sir.'
'So last night when I discussed this with one of your colleagues why didn't she tell me that?'
'Unfortunately sir we cannot guarantee delivery times etc. etc.'
So I tried another tack - proper winner this one.
'You want me to collect the thing within five working days yes?'
'Yes sir otherwise it goes back to the manufacturer.'
'So you are acknowledging that people actually have to work but the woirking days thing only applies to your company and no-one else in the world?'
''Unfortunately sir, we cannot guarantee delivery times etc. etc.'
'You're all shit!' - Phone down.
I really didn't want to drive to Kidderminster (sounds a bit rough for a nice lad like me) so in a moment of inspiration I rang the Carphone Warehouse who supply the laptop - their chap couldn't be more helpful. I suggested that he get Citylink to try again but this time to deliver it to my workplace, he agreed and emailed them there and then and guess what - I got it this morning!
Obviously I told the delivery driver what a shit firm he worked for but only after I'd got the laptop.
So all's well that ends well - now to connect my Wifi thingy up...Jesus!
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
You know the one - it was when companies actually wanted your business and set out to win it by giving you a good service, I think it went out of fashion about the same time as schools decided that education wasn't necessary on the curriculum anymore.
I ordered a laptop (you knew where this was going didn't you) and got a nice email saying it had been despatched - That's customer service, so far so good.
Got home from work yesterday to find a card from the courier firm telling me that they'd been and I had one more chance to be in when they called next or failing that I had to collect it myself within five days or the thing was going back to the supplier. I checked out their address, they're a good seventy miles from me so missing the second delivery attempt isn't really an option for a busy cosmopolitan chap such as myself.
Thinking on my feet I rang their depot, I'd had a brilliant idea, the conversation went something like this :-
'Hello, I missed your delivery today, here's my consignment no. ******** '
'We'll try again tomorrow, if you miss it again you'll have to collect.'
'Well, heh heh (chuckle designed to get obvious teenage girl on my side) I have to be at work tomorrow but...'
'We can't give you a delivery time - if you're not in then you'll have to collect.'
'Yes but I have to be at work, I can't just take a day off at short notice. Anyway why don't we try ...'
''We can't give you a delivery time - if you're not in then you'll etc...'
'Listen, I have to be at work but why don't I give you my phone no. and then the driver can ring me when he's ten minutes away and I'll make sure I'm there.'
'I'll give you my number and you can contact me when he's on his way, I'll nip out of work and be at home when the driver gets there. Everybody's happy.'
I'll take the number but I can't guarantee he'll call you. We can't give you a delivery time - if you're not in then you'll have to collect.'
Etc. etc. etc.
Is it me? Was I expecting too much?
I've already filled the car up for the trip to collect the fucking thing!
Monday, 1 October 2007
Here's a link to their website :- http://www.endofthisworld.com/
If you fancy having a pop or even just being kept up to date with what is probably a world first then drop in, sign up and write owt.
Friday, 28 September 2007
“Nah man I’m Pele.”
“Well I’m Kevin Keegan then.”
“Who are you Simon?”
“Me, I’m Kenny Dalglish.”
“Bastard, I wish I’d thought of that.”
“You swore, I’m telling Miss.”
That was Hardcastle, snivelling little grass, he wasn’t in our gang but he hung round the edges. He was shite at football as well and claimed he didn’t like it. Welbeck Road Juniors was no place for a lad who didn’t like football and he had to play with the lasses most days.
“Who can I be then?” I whinged as eight year olds did at dinnertime in the seventies when all the good players were took already.
“You Andy. You can be Rivelino.”
“Aye man, he scored that free kick in the world cup. He was deed good.”
“HA HA – you’re called Rivers and Simon said you could be Rivelino. That means you’re Riverslino. HA HA.”
“Piss off man Hardcastle.” Deka smacked him in the face and he ran off crying, looking for a teacher. Deka was my mate.
“Reet then.” I said, happy at being thought worthy of a brazilian nickname and knowing in my heart it was because all the lads compared my skills to the south american tricksters' and not because my surname was vaguely similar to a little known ex international.
“We’re kicking towards the dinner huts and I’m Rivelino.”
Aye, them were the days. That’s my very first football memory, probably Hardcastle’s first taste of football violence as well. However, my first taste of professional football was in the 1976 season, we hadn’t long moved to Byker and Uncle Charlie took me to the match with him. I can vaguely remember us playing Arsenal, me sitting on a barrier bored and it being absolute shite. Obviously that was me sold and set for a lifetime of misery, Cheers Charlie.
At that age football consisted of watching Shoot on a Sunday afternoon. For those of you who don’t know, Shoot was a regional highlights programme that operated a strict rotational policy no matter which division your team was in. In practice this usually involved you sitting through an hour of Carlisle United (fucking Carlisle aren’t even in the North East) versus Darlington and then at the end you got two minutes of Newcastle being twatted four nowt off some Cockney team. I once sat in and watched it, while my mates played in the street outside, purely to witness the mighty Peter Withe score in a three one defeat to Brighton. In the interests of balance I have to point out that obviously as well as Shoot you also had Match of the Day on BBC one but, if you didn’t support or want to watch Liverpool then this was utterly pointless, a bit similar to supporting Sunderland really, enough said.
Anyway, at the tender age of six there was no way I’d be going to the match on a regular basis and there was no way Uncle Charlie wanted to interrupt his pre match drinking to take the nephew along so Shoot was the closest I got. The real football action at that age was in the street where, as inventive future bouncers, entrepreneurs, plumbers, butchers and drug dealing layabouts we created games that would keep us occupied for hours on end. The names trip off the tongue even now, Gates, Three pots in, Headers and Volleys, Spot and of course Kerbs. You can stick your playstations and DVD players up your arse, proper kids played these games, usually in packs of twenty or so and always with some blood and tears mixed into the equation.
During the ephochal 76 season when I saw my first live game and fell in love with the club that was to be my life for the rest of my life we achieved something that has happened only twice since – we got to a cup final. Granted it was only the league cup and not the sexy FA version but it was a cup final. We’d fucked up badly in the 74 FA cup final but I’d been too young to understand that, now though at the age of six I was old enough to know what was going on. Actually, in this city, where Grannies who’ve never been to the match can tell you who’s shit and who’s not trying and even people who don’t like football can tell you why we never win anything, I was old enough to have an actual opinion.
All I can remember of the game was that we lost and an alleged geordie (Dennis Tueart – wanker) had scored the winner past us with an overhead kick. It didn’t matter that we’d had a weakened team or that we had laid the ghost of the spineless 74 cup final team, we’d still lost. Now obviously as a six year old who knew that we’d been in a final only two years before this wasn’t the end of the world as obviously we’d be there again quite soon wouldn’t we? All these adults that filled my house drinking party sevens and singing Blaydon Races were always telling me how we were the best team in the world so it stood to reason that we’d win it next year. Oh the innocence of youth!
Me and the lads were soon out in the street playing Cup finals, the misery of losing at Wembley soon forgotten, well unless you claimed to be Dennis Tueart, you soon got a clout if that was the case. Me, I was Rivelino, Brazil had never beaten Newcastle in a cup final so that was alright.
Feel free to comment on the style or the content...or you could just slag me off as usual.
Thursday, 27 September 2007
The other day I was picking up apples from the bottom of my garden and evaluating things. The more I thought about it the more I realised just how far I've come in the world, from humble beginnings on a council estate in the East end of Newcastle to my own home in the prosperous south. I can eat steak every night if I want to, I can go out when I want, have weekends away with the lads and generally have anything up to four holidays a year.
In short, I realised that I'm very comfortable and I became a little worried that this would affect my writing, I mean my books and stories are all about the mean streets and the scum who inhabit them not litterbugs in market towns playing quaint games called Aunt Sally .
This was still concerning me as I watched a small kitten gambolling on my lawn with it's mother.
I got the little bastard right on the head.
Wednesday, 26 September 2007
- Gordon Brown / A Charva (or chav if you’re southern)
Consider the evidence: -
- Charvas are bang into tack (or dope if you're southern) and Gordon is addicted to tax.
- They’ll both shaft anything they can – In the Charva’s case it’s charvettes, in Brown’s case it’s England.
- You’d like to give them both a bit of ‘Happy slapping’
- They’re both ruled by the head with one eye
- They both rob pensioners
I rest my case.
Tuesday, 25 September 2007
In the same area both PCSO's and real coppers have been banned from riding bikes unless they have '12 months experience' in case they fall off.
Words fail me.
This country's fucked.
Monday, 24 September 2007
Well, with this in mind, I note (some lads at work buy it) that they’re starting a ‘give us a referendum on Europe’ campaign (other papers have been doing that for months but The Sun will claim it ‘was us wot won it’) and I’m betting the prime minister will be sweating a bit now.
You see, the bosses at The Sun are experts at gauging public opinion so when they decide to start any sort of campaign it’s usually in the knowledge that they’re onto a winner where their readership is concerned. As the Labour party manifesto promised us a referendum and they’re now going back on that (similar to top up fees and the non-raising of taxes as I recall – well unless you’re Scottish) then Gordon may well be about find out that the honeymoon’s over.
Would selling your country out and giving it away to our former enemies be considered treason these days? And, my main question, if it is then is it punishable by death?
Friday, 21 September 2007
'He was the peoples manager...sniff'
'Sob...I've left my flowers at the main gates. Do you think he'll see them?'
'Boo Hoo...Has Elton arranged the benefit gig yet?'
Get a grip you soft twats!!
Thursday, 20 September 2007
Feel free to join the forum and comment on it...or just slag me off on here!
Wednesday, 19 September 2007
The first makem looks around shiftily and answers,"I've secretly always wanted to be a geordie and be attractive to women, now I'm in heaven I'm not ashamed to admit it - can I be a Geordie?" and so God snaps His fingers, and it is done.
The second one in line sees and hears this and says "I want to be a handsome Geordie too." Another snap of His fingers and the wish is granted.This goes on for a while, but when God is halfway down the line,the last person in the line starts laughing.
When there are only ten people left, this man, the solitary geordie from the car, is rolling on the floor laughing his strides off. Finally, God gets to the end of the line and asks the laughing one what his wish will be. The man eventually catches his breath, and says: "Make 'em all Makems again."
I'm here all week!
Tuesday, 18 September 2007
They're all chancing twats that should be shot with shit.
Monday, 17 September 2007
Later on instead of a cheesy disco we had a real live band who were shit hot and plenty of drunken jigging about ensued. All in all a great day and a good time had by all. Cheers Neil.
Anyway, it’s all a bit slow on the old writing front at the minute. I’m slowly stacking up the rejections for ‘Special’ in an attempt to over-shadow my rejection pile for ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’ and I’m confident of meeting that particular challenge. I’m still writing my Newcastle United memoirs – working title of ‘Magpie Ranger’ (you’d have to be an old school Newcastle fan to get that title – so the Wallsend Ultras are out!) and that’s proceeding slowly but surely. It’s a bit cathartic really, I keep remembering things from my youth that still make me laugh now – stuff like being chased across the pitch at Rotherham or hoying Mars bars at Gazza, those were the days eh.
Right then, best get on with some work – see you later.
Thursday, 13 September 2007
Feel free to have a look and, if you're a newcastle fan, join the messageboard and start commenting. The site is in it's infancy but will take off soon so get in at the start and make your voice heard.
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
found it...I'm moving it to the right thread now.
I appear to have inadvertently deleted a recent comment by 'JCL' that was intended for my 'Reasons to be cheerful' post. The comment involved Gordon Brown, The unions and Zimbabwe and was very good - if you'd like to post again I'll make sure it goes up there.
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
Knowing that this years crop of over-dramatic, shrieking, ignorant, selfish brats from Big Brother are slowly coming to the realisation that their fifteen minutes of fame is over and they have to return to their jobs at McDonalds/Tesco/the Call Centre as their own chat show and world wide adulation does not actually await them – I only wish I knew one of the twats so I could rub it in.
Vanessa Feltz telling Ulrika Johnson that after being married twice, having three kids by three different blokes and generally putting it about that maybe she should hang back before walking down the aisle again. I always like to see a critic criticised.
Rumours of Gordon Brown falling out with the unions – it’s the beginning of the end for the man who stole all our pensions, lets crime run uncontrolled (unless you drive a car – then you’re public enemy no. 1) and wishes to rename our country ‘Scotland too’.
Seeing that Leeds United might soon be run by a combination of Ken Bates and Freddy Shepherd – I’ve never liked them so I find this very amusing. The cherry on top of the cake would be if Souness was employed as manager!
Let’s hear yours.
Monday, 10 September 2007
Hope you all had a good weekend. Just a quick bit of writing news for you all, Special has been rejected by a few more agents over the weekend (they'll all be sorry one day the fools - mwah ha ha ha) and I'm seriously considering hitting the publishers now, particularly the more independent, regional ones.
What do you reckon - stick or twist?
Also, I've written about ten thousand words of my Newcastle United book (Magpie Ranger), I was aiming at about fifty thousand - sort of Novella length - I'll keep you updated as to how I get on with that.
Friday, 7 September 2007
Here's this weeks column for Nufcview - doubtless you'll all have an opinion (especially the Manc and Chelsea contingent!).
So then, five games unbeaten, three clean sheets and a top six position in what is shaping up to be a very open league this year. We’re looking solid at the back, combative in midfield and the lads at the front are starting to click…this couldn’t be our year could it? Nah, course not…I find a reason to think it’s our season every time, Jesus you’d think I’d remember that I’m a Magpie not a cockney red.
Whilst I’m eternally optimistic where the toon are concerned (apart from when the Caledonian chancer was in charge and employed a bigger entourage than Mariah Carey - I knew we were going nowhere under that clown) I have to temper my enthusiasm at our good start with a couple of nagging doubts that surface every now and then.
Will Big Sam continue to find a place for Smith when Barton’s fit? Our midfield is certainly getting stuck in and we all appreciate that but it does lack some creativity and the ball can get bogged down in the middle of the park when we’re screaming for Oba or Owen to be released.
Will we always play the big-little man combo meaning Oba or Owen alongside Viduka or Shola rather than both the little fella’s up front together? I’d like to see us rip into some teams and take a chance occasionally.
Will the injury curse hit us again? You know the one; Roeder never mentioned it and Souness never shut up about it.
Will the FA declare this season null and void after we’ve done the domestic treble for blatantly not allowing Chelsea to win everything even though they’ve got the most money? Aye, I’m back in optimism mode again!
Seriously, the fact that I can only think of two sensible reasons to dampen my cheerful disposition is testament to the whole air of professionalism and enthusiasm that has engulfed St. James Park in recent weeks. Full credit for that must go not only to Big Sam but also to Chris Mort and Mike Ashley (Bigg Market Mike as he’s known in our house). A recent example being Charles N’Zogbia’s new contract, the manager tells the chairman that the player deserves new terms, the chairman sorts it quietly and with the minimum of fuss and one of the hottest young players in the premiership is rapidly tied up on a five year contract before Arsene Wenger even gets a sniff. Under the old regime it would all have been played out in the columns of a particular local evening newspaper and after the player had been publicly told he ‘owed the fans’ would have ended up in him leaving – or am I wide of the mark?
Anyway things are looking good, everyone’s upbeat and, for the first time in ages the management and players at the club are in tune with the fans.
Bugger it, I’ve changed my mind, altogether now …We’re gonna win the league!
Howay the lads
Thursday, 6 September 2007
I can't for the life of me remember his name but we recognised each other straight away - small world eh?
Tuesday, 4 September 2007
- The Newcastle website I write a regular column for (http://www.clubfanzine.co.uk/newcastle_united/index.php) is apparently going to be featured in 'The Sun' this week - so keep an eye out for it and let me know if my name's mentioned!!
- I've started writing an account of my years as Newcastle fan, the ups and downs, the drink and fights, the birds and bollocks (mainly bollocks to be fair). This book WILL be published, either by an independent geordie publisher (The Mag, True Faith style) or by the publishing company I'm seriously considering setting up - Byker Books!
Anyway, just thought I'd let you all know what I'm thinking - so let me know what you think.
Monday, 3 September 2007
Turkey is prowling his small holding cell at Clifford Street police station, his rage takes a hold of him and he begins banging on the cell door
TURKEY : LERRUS OUT YOU FUCKING PIG WANKERS, I HAVEN’T DONE OWT.
TURKEY : DAZ CAN YOU HEAR US? DAZ, WHICH CELL YOU IN?
TURKEY : FUCKING CUNT'S WHERE’S DAZ?
The eye slot in the cell door opens
POLICEMAN : Keep the fucking noise down Turkey and get yourself ready to welcome a new cell mate.
TURKEY : A FUCKING CELL-MATE.YOU CAN’T DO THAT IT’S AGAINST MY HUMAN RIGHTS TO SHARE A CELL LESS THAN FIFTEEN FEET WIDE. UNLESS IT’S DAZ, IS IT DAZ?
POLICEMAN : No it’s not, it’s fucking Persil, now shut the fuck up.
The eye slot in the door slams shut and Turkey continues to pace the perimeter of his cell, thinking aloud.
TURKEY : I hope it’s fucking Daz; he’s bound to have some gear stashed up his arse, saying that like the last time it was shit.
TURKEY : Whoever it is he’s on the fucking floor, this is my bed and it better not be any of those immigrant cunt’s either, the cheeky fuckers coming over here and getting all our benefits without doing any graft.
The cell door lock turns and the door opens.
POLICEMAN : Here’s your new cell-mate Turkey.
ANTHONY : Look officer, this can’t right, there must be some mistake.
POLICEMAN : Shut the fuck up and get inside.
ANTHONY : Please, at least give me my own cell for the night.
POLICEMAN : Have you heard that Turkey? He doesn’t want to share with you.
TURKEY : Cheeky cunt, I don’t want to share with him either.
The cell door shuts and the policeman shouts through it.
POLICEMAN : Just don’t ask him why he’s called Turkey.
ANTHONY : What did he shout?
TURKEY : Nothing, So who the fuck are you then?
Anthony offers his hand and replies
ANTHONY : Hello I’m Anthony, Anthony Hughes.
Turkey ignores the offer of the handshake.
TURKEY : I’m fucking Turkey and that’s my bed.
ANTHONY : Oh right, so we don’t have a bed each.
TURKEY : Does it look like it?
ANTHONY : Err okay…at least it’ll only be for a few hours.
TURKEY : A few hours, what the fuck you on about? You’ll be lucky if you get out by tomorrow afternoon.
ANTHONY : Tomorrow afternoon, I can’t stay that long. I was told I’d get to see the duty solicitor in the morning.
TURKEY : On a Sunday morning, you’ll be fucking lucky.
ANTHONY : But I must, when will I get my phone call?
TURKEY : This isn’t the fucking Bill. You’ll be lucky to get a blanket never mind a phone call. What you in for anyway?
ANTHONY : Nothing, I haven’t done anything.
TURKEY : Bollocks you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t done anything. So what is it then? Have you and your boyfriend had a fight?
ANTHONY : I’m not gay I’m married.
TURKEY : Aye and so was fucking Barrymore. So what is it then? You better not be a nonce.
ANTHONY : What’s a nonce?
TURKEY : A nonce, a kiddie fiddler, a paedo. Is that what you’re in for?
ANTHONY : Certainly not, how dare you.
TURKEY : You’d better fucking not be, and don’t fucking how dare you me or you’re getting a hiding.
TURKEY : So what are you in for then?
ANTHONY : As I said I’m innocent so I’d rather not say.
TURKEY : Must be something to do with tax or fraud, you look like that type, not like me.
ANTHONY : I’m not any type, this is all a huge mistake, I’ve done nothing wrong.
TURKEY : Yeah course you haven’t and neither have I.
ANTHONY : So are you innocent as well?
TURKEY : Oh yeah, it wasn’t me that screwed the off license on Shields Road and it wasn’t me who lifted the computers from the hospital.
ANTHONY : Oh who was it then?
TURKEY : What?
ANTHONY : So who was it then?
TURKEY : For fuck’s sake it was fucking me wasn’t it! That’s what I’m saying you dick it wasn’t me, but it was me - and I didn’t get caught.
ANTHONY : Oh right I see, but it really wasn’t me.
TURKEY : Looking at you it probably wasn’t, you don’t look like you could turn the garden over never mind anything else. You’re obviously not a career criminal like myself.
ANTHONY : You make a career out of crime? You don’t look old enough.
TURKEY : I’m twenty three, a veteran in this game and crime does pay, don’t let anyone else tell you any different.
ANTHONY : So what sort of things do you do to earn money?
TURKEY : Everything, armed robbery, drugs, prostitution.
ANTHONY : You do armed robberies?
TURKEY : That would be telling wouldn’t it?
ANTHONY : I suppose its better that it didn’t know.
TURKEY : Yeah, I’ve got loads of shooters me and they’re not just for show if you know what I mean.
ANTHONY : You shoot people?
TURKEY : Only if I have to.
ANTHONY : So how many people have you shot?
TURKEY : Like I said before that would be telling.
ANTHONY : Okay, I understand.
TURKEY : Aye, but between you and me it’s more than two and less than four.
ANTHONY : Oh right. So what about the prostitution? You don’t exploit girls by pimping them out do you?
TURKEY : Fuck me; the state of some of them they’re the one’s doing the exploiting.
ANTHONY : Don’t you feel guilty? They’re someone’s daughters.
TURKEY : Aye but a man’s got to eat.
ANTHONY : There’s loads of legitimate ways to make money though, have you never had a normal job?
TURKEY : This is a normal job where I’m from?
ANTHONY : I can imagine, what about the drugs then? Do you sell them?
TURKEY : You’re asking a lot of questions, are you a fucking bizzie?
ANTHONY : No I’m just making conversation; you brought up your different means of income.
TURKEY : You’d better fucking not be. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d tried to fit me up, it’s the only way they can catch me.
ANTHONY : But you’re already caught, you’re in here.
TURKEY : I’m in here but I’m not caught, caught means prison, not the cell’s at the local nick, and that’s another story altogether.
TURKEY : What were we saying just before that?
ANTHONY : The drugs.
TURKEY : Oh aye, my speciality, the only line of work where you can mix business with pleasure, well that and the pimping.
ANTHONY : So you take them as well?
TURKEY : Well I need to test out the merchandise; my customers will go elsewhere if the product isn’t up to scratch and my pallet is as cultured as anyone’s when it comes to barbiturates.
ANTHONY : Isn’t selling drugs a bit risky?
TURKEY : Only if some stupid fucker decides to stray onto my patch.
ANTHONY : Does that happen much?
TURKEY : You’re asking a lot of fucking questions again.
ANTHONY : Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, I’m just interested.
TURKEY : The answer’s no anyway, they know better.
ANTHONY : Aren’t you worried about the effects of the drugs?
TURKEY : It’s the fucking effects of the drugs that everyone wants; you haven’t got a fucking clue have you?
ANTHONY : No I mean the long-term effects of the drugs.
TURKEY : What birds, money and power?
ANTHONY : I mean the mental side effects like paranoia and depression.
TURKEY : The only fucking depressing thing in here is you, I’m telling you about the life of a gangster and all you’re arsed about is some little puffy side-effects.
ANTHONY : Oh right, sorry cocksucker.
TURKEY : FUCKING WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?
ANTHONY : Err nothing, I just said sorry.
TURKEY : ARE YOU FUCKING SURE?
ANTHONY : Yes, why what did you think I said?
TURKEY : It doesn’t fucking matter, but watch your step.
TURKEY : So what the fuck are you in here for?
ANTHONY : I’d rather not say.
TURKEY : And I’d rather not be sharing a cell with some boring cunt who’s hiding things from me.
ANTHONY : I’m not hiding anything I’d just rather not say. Where did you get that cup from?
TURKEY : One of the bizzies brought me a cuppa before you were let in.
ANTHONY : Do you think I could get one?
TURKEY : Fucking no chance, even though we’re on opposite sides the bizzies respect someone of my standing.
ANTHONY : Cocksucker.
TURKEY : FUCKING WHAT!!
ANTHONY : I said I’m parched.
TURKEY : YOU FUCKING NEVER YOU JUST CALLED ME A COCKSUCKER.
ANTHONY : I never honest, I just said I’m thirsty.
TURKEY : THAT’S THE SECOND TIME YOU’VE CALLED ME THAT.
ANTHONY : Honestly I haven’t said anything like that, I wouldn’t dare.
TURKEY : You fucking better not either, In fact you better just shut the fuck up, I’m going to try and get some kip. These pills are getting all weird
ANTHONY : This is what I’m on about with the drug side-effects. People can hear and see things that aren’t happening.
TURKEY : Fuck off, I can handle my drugs, it’s me who makes other people paranoid.
ANTHONY : So have you had a lot of drugs tonight?
TURKEY : Enough to kill an elephant, but that’s fuck all to me.
ANTHONY : Maybe that’s why you think I’m calling you a cocksucker.
TURKEY : FUCKING WATCH IT CUNT.
ANTHONY : Okay cocksucker.
TURKEY : I FUCKING KNEW IT.
Turkey jumps up from the bed and tries to attack Anthony. In one deft movement Anthony throws Turkey on his back.
ANTHONY : Cocksucker.
Turkey jumps back onto his feet and tries to attack Anthony again.
TURKEY : YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD CUNT.
This time Anthony floors Turkey with a single punch.
ANTHONY : Stay down or I’ll really hurt you.
Turkey remains on the floor.
TURKEY : I slipped, I’m going to fucking kill you when I get back up.
ANTHONY : Course you are fellatio boy.
TURKEY : Who the fuck are you? Who have you been talking to?
ANTHONY : I’ve already told you, Anthony Hughes. Does the name not ring a bell?
TURKEY : Does it fuck.
ANTHONY : That’ll be all the drugs rotting your brain.
TURKEY : There’s fuck all wrong with my brain but when these pills wear off I’m going to fucking tear you apart.
ANTHONY : Not much chance of that Turkey. Tell me why do they call you Turkey?
TURKEY : Fuck off.
ANTHONY : Why does a big, armed robber, pimping gangster get the moniker Turkey?
TURKEY : Fuck off.
ANTHONY : I’ve heard it’s because you got caught gobbling another lad’s cock at school.
TURKEY : Is it fuck, it’s because I was the first lad at school to get a gobble.
ANTHONY : We both know that’s not true don’t we? Just as we both know you’re not a gangster are you?
TURKEY : I fucking am and you’re fucking dead when I get out of here, you and your family.
ANTHONY : Instead of issuing meaningless threats I’d start to think about what’s going on here if I was you.
TURKEY : What the fuck you on about?
ANTHONY : Think about it Cocksucker. How do I know so much about you and your past? And why are you lying on the floor fucked?
TURKEY : Too many pills, that’s why. Who are you?
ANTHONY : Another side-effect of drugs is that it impairs your memory.
TURKEY : And another one is you’re fucked once these pills wear off.
ANTHONY : You said you could take your drugs.
TURKEY : I can I must’ve had a dodgy one.
ANTHONY : Maybe it wasn’t a pill.
TURKEY : It must be, I can hardly move. Shit this hasn’t happened before, what if I get worse? Fuck, you’re going to have to get the on-duty bizzie.
ANTHONY : That’s the paranoia I told you about.
TURKEY : It’s not fucking paranoia, I can’t move, ring the buzzer.
ANTHONY : Not just yet, there’s plenty time for that isn’t there.
TURKEY : Seriously mate there’s something not right here, I’m
ANTHONY : Aah now we’re getting somewhere.
TURKEY : What the fuck you on about?
ANTHONY : Paralysis: A partial or complete loss of voluntary muscle function; a condition of helpless inactivity.
TURKEY : You’re fucking mad, who are you?
ANTHONY : All will be revealed in due course, now why do you think you’re paralysed?
TURKEY : I’ve told you I can’t move, I must’ve had a dodgy pill.
ANTHONY : Ask yourself this. Why has your paralysis only came on since I was put in the cell?
TURKEY : Eh?
ANTHONY : Come on Turkey think; how come you didn’t feel like this earlier in the night? I know you’ve been taking drugs since this afternoon because I’ve been following you.
TURKEY : You’ve been fucking following me, why? Who the fuck are you?
ANTHONY : You’re moving away from the point Turkey, what could have brought on your paralysis?
TURKEY : Fuck off, just leave me.
ANTHONY : Okay then ask yourself this. How many times in the past has a policeman given you a cup of tea or coffee?
TURKEY : What’s that got to …….. WHAT! SO YOU’RE SAYING THE FUCKING COPPERS HAVE SPIKED ME?
ANTHONY : Now we’re getting somewhere, and they say the youth of today has no intelligence.
TURKEY : THAT CUP OF TEA WAS SPIKED, WHAT WITH?
ANTHONY : Ahh so now you’re thinking that I’m involved in this.
TURKEY : Are you?
ANTHONY : Oh yes, most definitely.
TURKEY : What is it? What’ve you spiked me with?
ANTHONY : Don’t worry it’s only incapacitated you but thankfully you’ll still be able to feel things - like pain.
TURKEY : Fuck off you can’t do anything to me in here.
ANTHONY : Why not?
TURKEY : Are you a fucking copper?
ANTHONY : I’m afraid not…. and you should be afraid that I’m not.
TURKEY : Who’s sent you?
ANTHONY : No-one.
TURKEY : Look mate, its err Anthony isn’t it? I don’t know what you’re here for but you’ve got the wrong bloke. All that stuff before was just bollocks, I’m not a gangster I’m just a normal kid. I was just trying to impress you.
ANTHONY : But you said you were going to kill me and me family, how would that impress me?
TURKEY : I didn’t mean it though; I was scared.
ANTHONY : Scared and paralysed, not a nice combination is it?
TURKEY : No, look please help me.
ANTHONY : HELP YOU! My, my, now we have come full circle.
TURKEY : What do you mean?
ANTHONY : You’re lying here helpless, scared and paralysed, hoping to be saved from this nightmare that’s engulfed you.
TURKEY : Please mate, help me.
Anthony walks over and kicks Turkey in the face.
TURKEY : Aarghh, stop, please stop.
ANTHONY : Is this ringing any bells yet Turkey?
TURKEY : What’s going on please tell me, I don’t know what I’ve done?
ANTHONY : That’s the problem Turkey, you and your friend Daz don’t even know what you’ve done.
TURKEY : Daz, where’s he?
ANTHONY : He’s shall we say ‘sleeping’, that’s why he couldn’t hear you shouting.
TURKEY : Asleep? What have you done to him? This is a fucking police station you’ll never get away with it.
ANTHONY : ‘Getting away with it.’ I imagine that’s a very common phrase for scum like you.
TURKEY : Look just leave me and I’ll not tell anyone, I promise.
ANTHONY : What do you consider to be ‘getting away with it?’ One year in a youth detention centre maybe?
Anthony kicks Turkey in the balls.
ANTHONY : A driving ban and one poxy year in a youth detention centre in return for taking the life of a beautiful young girl. IS THAT FUCKING GETTING AWAY WITH IT?
Anthony leans down and lifts Turkey’s head by the scruff of his neck.
ANTHONY : DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM NOW?
TURKEY : Shit, you’re the dad aren’t you? You’re the bloke who’s daughter it was. Look mate, it wasn’t me driving it was Daz, I tried to stop him but I couldn’t… please don’t.
ANTHONY : Was it Daz who chose to pull her body to the side of the road, rob her and then drive off?
TURKEY : Yes, it was Daz, all of it. He made me.
ANTHONY : Did Daz make you drink and take drugs and steal the car?
TURKEY : Yes he threatened me.
Anthony slams Turkey’s face into the floor.
ANTHONY : That’s exactly what Daz said. So now let’s look at the facts.
TURKEY : Please… don’t.
ANTHONY : I’m locked in a police station cell with one of the murderers of my daughter.
TURKEY : I’m sorry.
ANTHONY : Some of my brothers’ incensed ex-colleagues, he’s retired from the force now, have gone to great lengths to ensure that they’re all on shift together when you and your friend have
TURKEY : Please, I’m begging you.
ANTHONY : They have also aided and abetted me in drugging you and even provided me with this.
Anthony pulls a large knife from the back of his trousers.
TURKEY : FUCK PLEASE MAN DON’T, FUCKING PLEASE.
ANTHONY : Recognise this Turkey? This is the knife my friends planted on you to facilitate your arrest. Now what would happen if you had two knives and the police only found one on you? That would mean that you still had a knife in the cells.
TURKEY : I’ll do anything man, please stop, I’ll say anything. I’ll tell the courts that Daz done it on purpose.
ANTHONY : And what would happen if you and Daz were placed in the same cell, with one knife? Can you see where this is going cocksucker?
TURKEY : Fuck I’ll do it for you; I’ll kill him for you man, just let me go. Please.
ANTHONY :You kill him? No need for that Turkey, that pleasure was all mine, after all you said he was the driver.
TURKEY : FUCK DAZ’S DEAD! Shit man please don’t kill me. If you let me go I won’t say anything honest. Bring him in here and I’ll take the blame. I promise I won’t grass.
ANTHONY : YOU WON’T BE FUCKING ABLE TO.
Anthony leans down and plunges the knife into Turkey’s neck. As Turkey screams the plastic toy knife retracts on it’s internal spring. Turkey lies sobbing on floor in a pool of urine.
ANTHONY : You worthless little cunt. Not such a big gangster now are you? At least your mate didn’t piss his pants.
TURKEY : I’m sorry; please I didn’t mean to kill her. I didn’t know she was your daughter.
ANTHONY : That’s the thing Turkey, she fucking wasn’t my daughter, but if she was the knife would’ve been real.
Anthony walks over to the cell door and presses the buzzer.
ANTHONY : JIMMY, WE’RE FINISHED IN HERE NOW.
The cell door opens and Jimmy, the policeman from earlier, enters.
JIMMY : How’d it go mate? I take it he never recognised you out of uniform?
ANTHONY : Nah did he fuck but as expected the cunt shit himself, I still wish we could have done it for real though.
JIMMY : Well we’ve still got the bet going; first one to be diagnosed with a terminal disease goes all vigilante.
ANTHONY : Yeah every cloud has a silver lining and all that.
JIMMY : Aye that’s right. Go and get your uniform back on and I’ll make us a brew, then we can watch it back on tape before we wipe them.
Jimmy and Anthony leave the cell, lock the door behind them and turn the lights
(c) Fasthands 2007 - Remember my solicitor's watching!!!
Thursday, 30 August 2007
I was going to start this week by mentioning the events at Middlesbrough and the subsequent press hysteria about something that goes on every week at every other ground in the country but I don’t wish to give any more publicity to the obvious sensationalism and bandwagon jumping that has been employed by various tabloids and even broadsheets (particularly one that employs a bitter mackem) that should know better.
So I’ll simply ignore that lopsided and obviously biased reporting of events (how come slagging someone off for being an Aussie isn’t racist?) and stick to the football. We’re four games in, another clean sheet and still unbeaten, I’m sure we would all have liked another win in the league but looking at it dispassionately five points from a start that included two away games isn’t bad at all. I also noticed from the Boro game that Big Sam has no fears about changing the formation if he feels that there’s just cause – the switch to 442 in the second half was a refreshing reminder that our new manager knows what he’s doing. I have to say as well that seeing Mike Ashley in a Newcastle shirt in the director’s box was a heart warming sight and must have been a slap in the face to those southern based hacks that have been trying to stir up dissent amongst the ranks ever since he bought us out. He was also sat next to Big Sam last night (wearing his ‘Smith 17’ shirt again-smudger must be chuffed) at the Barnsley match – so much for never leaving his house eh?
We’ve got Wigan rolling up on Saturday and, despite their reasonable start, we should really be looking at taking all the points in this one. Sibierski and Bramble will probably get different receptions, particularly ‘Super Sib’ after his comments about scoring past the makems. I think it’ll be a touch hard on Bramble if he gets booed as he has had some good games for us in the past and scored the odd vital goal, but I’m sure he won’t care much anyway, you could queue up to slag me off for a salary of thirty grand a week and I wouldn't give a monkeys!
While we’re on the subject of mackems I notice that Roy Keane has just spent another nine million of the paddy’s cash on the footballing gods that are Kenwyne Jones and Danny Higginbotham – yeah I don’t know who they are either. I make that roughly twenty eight (28!) million pounds that ‘the next Fergie’ (how many times have we heard that about ex Man Utd players) has spent on top class talent such as Chopra, Richardson, Gordon, Higginbotham and now Jones. He wants to be careful, those lads from over the water don’t mess about when a punishment’s required, when it all goes pear shaped he could end up like the bloke with the tar and feathers in the papers yesterday!
Anyway, enough of the circus down the road, we’ve negotiated our way to the fourth round of a cup we’ve got a chance of winning (honest!), we’re unbeaten in the league and we’ve got a home game against a team with Titus Bramble at the back – let’s get into them.
Howay the lads