Parental Guidance

In an act of shameless plagerism from the very good Jerry Chicken blog, my blog has now got a BBFC stylee classification.

Mine isn't as unsuitable and un-kiddie friendly as his, but you should still urge caution, apparently, as this blog contains the word "suck" on one occaision and has a completely unacceptable two instances of the word "viagra", although quite why I'm not sure.

You have been warned.

Won't somebody please think of the children?

Just when you thought it was safe to turn on your iPod, something dreadful happens in the world of music.







Seven years after disbanding, the Spice Girls are reforming, bringing with them, presumably, a host of crap re-hashes of crap records and a god-awful sequel to one of the worst ever films in history.

This should not be allowed to happen.

Another addition to the list of 'Things I can't do very well'

Having stayed up till 5am this morning to watch Ricky Hatton pound his Mexican opponent into the canvas, today was always going to be a very lazy day.











And so having spent all day either in bed, or on the settee, it was time to do something at least remotely constructive.

And to the pool hall we set sail. This was the same pool hall where I had a run-in with a hypocritical Leeds City Council traffic warden last April. Said hypocrite handed me a penalty notice which a recent legal precedent has ruled it illegal, resulting in a nicely worded correspondence heading off to our local parking enforcement office - but that's another story.
At this time on a Sunday however, there is no parking restriction and so with our local authority's orange-clad brigade of vultures out of the picture, we had nothing to fear.

I was accompanied by my mate Oli (the one who was unwilling to change a tyre last week). Now we don't regularly go to pool, indeed my membership had expired, but rumour had it that Oliver was somewhat out of form and so I would provide the perfect opportunity to get back into the winning habit.

That is because I am completely shit at pool. My coordination skills are limited and rather than plan my shots with military precision, my tactics tend to involve hitting any available ball as hard as possible on the basis that a series of ricochets will down something.

In a first to eleven game, the losing margin was somewhere in the "11" area.

At times like this, you realise you aren't as fit as you used to be.

"Michael, fancy football on Wednesday?"
"Where is it?"
"Goals in Kirkstall"
"Sure, put me down"




The above exchange is th first mistake in my new job since joining three weeks ago. Long story short, I goot roped into a 5-a-side kickabout with a few lads from work - it's good to make an effort and blend in after all.

So anyway, Wednesday comes and we arrive at a well-hidden 'soccer centre' which is essentially a field of astro turf divded onto lots of little boxes where people such as myself can make idiots of themselves. My sports playing days were long over. I'd played rugby until the age of 16 but the time came to get a part-time job instead because I quite liked having some money to spend.

Having scored the first goal after a few minutes, it started to go downhill from there and my lack of match practise soon caught up with me. I soon learned that performing a slide tackle on astro-turf would make a cheap alternative to a skin-grafting operation (or at least half of one) and that beer and pie does not make forr a good sporting diet.

Two days later and my thighs were still tight.

Perhaps it's one of those symbolic things. I write this just one day after the 33rd anniversary of this piece of footballing brilliance. The resemblence to the standard I displayed on Wednesday night is uncanny:

Now you know that the IOC have lost it

Whilst all around you are losing their heads, you should lose yours as well so as not to look stupid. That's presumably the motto at the IOC.





Now in some respects, I can accept that the chairman of the IOC's coordination committee Daniel Oswald quite likes the newly unveiled London 2012 logo, after all, that would be a matter of taste. He thinks that it's modern, dynamic, youthful, all the usual meaningless phrases that marketing people tend to come out with when trying to justify an excessively large invoice.
I on the other hand, as well as most of the British public, think that the 2012 logo shit but each to their own.

The worrying thing comes a little later though:

"We were delighted to have confirmation that the legacy aspect of the Games was what it was promised at the time of the bid," he said.

"This legacy is very important and we really consider London will be a model for future host cities of the Games.

What? Are you serious?

A games that is already predicting an increased budget of £9.3bn, has an aquatics centre that saw it's budget double overnight and a games policed by a force that doesn't have enough qualified officers, all of which before a brick has been laid is a 'good model' for future games?

It all comes from the IOC visit to London to check up on how the preparation is going. Given that the IOC, as an organisation, is a law unto itself, my only expectation is that this turned into a lunchtime back-patting session, just dragged out over three days.

Nevertheless, Ken Livingstone can't help but take this opportunity to have a dig at the doubters following these baffling comments:

Mr Livingstone guaranteed the 2012 Olympics would be the "most successful since Barcelona in 1992 in terms of regeneration and legacy".

"As the next three Olympic Games follow London, we will still be getting the legacy benefits in terms of housing and employment," he said.

He added that London would be able to meet all its Olympics targets and would "stage the greatest Games ever".

"It is time for the pessimists and purveyors of doom to start looking at the facts as laid out today and join the rest of us in backing London," he said.

As for the 'most successful legacy since Barcelona', he's probably right. Just as Barcelona turfed more than 50,000 gypsies from Montjuic Hill back in 1992, London will leave a legacy of local residential areas being bulldozed to make way for luxury apartments, leaving behind increased house prices and the dismantling of a community to be replaced by a wealthy clique.

But we should start looking at the facts? I am looking at the facts Mr Livingstone. The facts are that in 2002, the DCMS published the 'Game Plan' report which claimed that "hosting events is not an effective, value-for-money method of achieving ... a sustained increase in mass [sports] participation".
Another public think-tank found that "there is no guaranteed beneficial legacy from hosting an Olympic games ... and there is little evidence that past games have delivered benefits to those people and places most in need".
The facts also state that this Olympics is already over-budget by a considerable degree and that the London 2012 committee has produced an unpopular, epilepsy-inducing branding campaign.

Still, best to stick your head in the sand, assuming you haven't lost it yet.

You've got a friend

If there's one thing that makes you a proper bloke, then changing a flat tyre in the rain is surely up there.


The deluge that hit Yorkshire yesterday didn't make for a pleasant evening on the pop but nevertheless, we ventured up to Headingley where we would watch whatever rugby match was on the TV (Wigan v Catalans as it was) before heading into town.

Now the four Bramley lads all jumped in a taxi and each argued with each other over how much we each owed to pay the driver the £6 fare - the done thing in these parts.

Now our mate Stephen on the other hand, lives in Pudsey and so decided to get a lift up from his mum who refused to drive him anywhere until Coronation Street had finished.

Now before we go any further, please bear in mind that our mate Stephen is not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Bright enough guy that he is, it's fair to say that he lacks a few 'life skills'. It is also worth noting that our mate Stephen will do absolutely anything to get out of buying a round.
Got that? Good, we can continue.

So Stephen meets us in the Skyrack and heads to the bar, unusually, without being prompted. As he's there, the phone stats ringing. The wallet soon goes back in the wallet and he heads outside - his mum has got a flat tyre, or so he tells us.

A few minutes later, my phone starts ringing.
"My mum's got a flat tyre"
"How bad is it"
"Errrm"
"Could you get it to a petrol station"
"Errrm.... can you come and have look"

Now at this point, my drinking buddies thought I was mad but like good mates and proper blokes, undeterred by the monsoon outside, two of us set out to help a friend in need, under the firm belief that such an act of kindness would result in a few free 'taxi rides' in the near future.

We arrived on scene to our mate Stephen standing around on St Michael's Road looking like a drowned rat whilst his mum sat in the car with the heating on.

The tyre was almost destroyed but unfortunately, Stephen looked at me expecting to impart some good news like "it'll get you a a garage" or something equally optimistic. There was no chance. In the wall of the tyre was a hole the size of a ten pence piece and it turns out that she hit the curb at some point. My mate Oli (who had joined me to assess the situation and assist with the tyre replacement) put on his best 'dodgy car mechanic' impersonation and told him " yep, there's yer problem". "Oh, I didn't notice that" he said worryingly.

It was an unpleasant experience, the rain was unrelenting, it was getting dark, a stream was racing down St Michael's Road and we were more dressed for going to fancy bars than for fixing car. But like the good people that we were, we had to help our friend and so we did.......






... we told him to phone the AA and then went back to the pub.


This was about 8:30. He then met us in a city centre bar at about 11:00pm.

Coming in Your Ears

Oh, I almost forgot - time for a shameless plug.











Back when I was a wee bit younger (and I'm only 21 so don't go too far back), my school operated an internal radio station, Radio Grangefield, which basically meant that anyone in the school could go on and inflict their tastes in music on their peers during the designated lunch break.

That was great, but then one of the tutors had a bit of a brainwave. Instead of just having the station running for an hour a day over speakers dotted around the school, they would take the idea to the locals of West Leeds. The Media Studies department then scrapped together around £3000 for a restricted service license, allowing them to use an FM transmitter for a period of 4 weeks.

That was some 10 years ago. Today, the station is going still going strong, and has undergone a major development over the years. From playing vynal records on a small FM modulator, they not have a fully digital set-up, broadcasting live on an RDS FM transmitter and online.

It's far more than a PR stunt for the school as well. It provides a unique experience for the students to pick up skills that academic work just won't teach them. The station is run almost entirely by the students. They produce the programme content, they book studio guests and they sell the advertising space, all of which counts to their portfolios.

And as of this Monday, the station has started broadcasting again. I'd fully recommend you have a listen, either online or, if you're within reasonable distance from Pudsey, on 87.7FM. I don't know how strong the signal is, but I picked it up at the White Rose Centre yesterday if that's any indication.

Oh, and the the promo video on the schools media site (underneath the talent contest clips), that's my handy-work ;)

More arena meetings

Leeds City Council love to have to host functions.






It means they can hire out some fancy conference room at a posh city centre hotel, have a flamboyant lunch with some expensive Fair Trade coffee whilst putting it on a decent sized expenses account.

So when you like to have these meetings, open days, conventions or whatever you like to call them, it pays to have a few good excuses for one and at the moment, there's no better excuse than the Leeds Arena, or more to the point, lack of one.

A meeting has also taken place today to discuss the development of the Elland Road site, currently a half-modernised home to an ailing football team, some industrial units and a vast spread of wasteland that gets used as a car park for 25 days of the year next to a motorway. It's a complete eyesore as you approach the city and there are few worse ways of saying 'Welcome to Leeds' as you come downhill from the Pennines.

And it's probably no coincidence that the two 'events' have taken place with just 24 hours between them. The council want an arena, they want to improve the Elland Road site - two birds with one stone. Oh, and Leeds United chairman Ken Bates wants to stick in his two penneth as well.

A city centre location is up for discussion as well, a bloke from London has even offered to pay for one, but when he was sounding out his plans, the council seemed more interested in turning the Town Hall into a world class venue. That bloke seems to have vanished in these parts and I can only assume he got fed up of the heel-dragging from our elected leaders.

Long story short, Leeds doesn't have an arena. It effectively rules the city out of hosting indoor sporting events, conferences and major indoor concerts. Outdoor venues we are well catered for and Leeds has successfully hosted major acts in the past at Temple Newsham, Roundhay Park and Millenium Square. This weekend sees the O2 Wireless Festival at Harewood House and the annual Leeds Carling Festival will be coming to Bramham Park this August Bank Holiday. That's OK when the weather's fine, but when the winter comes, Leeds is very much off the radar, with loiners having to make the trip to either Sheffield or Manchester.

Hopefully, something fruitful has come of all this. Leeds has been crying out for a venue like this, be it just for conferencing and pop concerts, or if it is to also play host to an ice hockey - Sheffield Steelers have been crying out for a proper derby clash. My only worry is that the usual 'feasibility studies' continue for a good few years to come to the point where nobody cares anymore.

A Lazy afternoon

With the beautiful weather that fell upon us yesterday, it was rude not to take advantage.

And so what better way of sitting on a hill, with a few beers, watching Bramley Buffaloes beat Gateshead?

Certainly one of the better ways to spend a lazy Saturday afternoon in the sun. Now I just need to nip back outside to enjoy what remains of today's heatwave.

It's going to be even worse than we thought

If ever further confirmation were needed that anything of importance in the hands of Londoners is doomed to failure, it came this week as the logo for the London 2012 Olympics was unveiled.



Already over budget, Seb Coe's Olympic kitty is a further £400,000 lighter after turning to a design agency to create the "iconic brand" that "takes our values to the world beyond our shores, acting both as an invitation and inspiration." Of course, because in the UK, we value odd bright pink shapes that don't spell out what they are supposed to spell.

If the logo wasn't pathetic enough in itself, it now emerges that the accompanying video to showcase the logo is guilty of causing epileptic fits. Someone, somewhere, forgot to check that the video could legally be broadcast in the first place. Words fail me.

And this is all before they have even laid a brick. The aquatics centre is already went twice over budget just six months after a bloke from the IOC in Singapore said the word "London" and the overall budget, as estimates stand today, is in excess of £9bn - that's before you factor in any further increases in the cost of steel and other raw materials.

London 2012, before it has even started, is destined to be a bigger disaster than the 1976 games - and it took the citizens of Montreal 31 years to repay that debt.

The "do-nots" of DJing

I've already told you about how I found myself in one crap pub last week, well yesterday I found myself in another equally forgettable establishment - this bad pub theme could become a regular feature.


The venue in question happened to be 'The New Inn' in Farsley, commonly referred to as the 'mad-house' by those who accompanied us.

After hearing the place from well over 300 yards away, the scene inside was one of complete amazement and, frankly, horror.
Aside from the shirtless skin-head and the cluster of chain smoking middle-aged women chatting away about Big Brother or whatever crap TV show they watch these days, the more disturbing sight was the sheer number of 61+-year old women who still thought that they could dance like a 21-year old.

But what was even more wrong was the DJ, who committed one of the most appalling acts of Disc Jockey amateurism ever displayed.
Under no circumstances should any DJ play 'Friday I'm in Love" when it isn't Friday. Ever.

The point behind Poker?

It doesn't take much persuasion for me to find myself inside an ale house of some variety, so when I was invited to a Pudsey hostelry by an old mate, I didn't stop to ask many questions.









Upon arriving at said establishment, it became clear that the night would not be consisting of numerous drinks, pool and darts but instead, would be featuring eight individuals sat around a green table who would take in excess of one hour to pass around some bits of cardboard and some coloured plastic discs.

It quickly became apparent that this particular venue was part of some "Live Pub Poker League" and that these scenes were becoming increasingly common within those four walls. As a complete novice, I stood well back, but my friend had no intention in explaining to me the intricacies of Texas Hold 'em.

So I sat just over his shoulder, not saying much for fear of distracting him and upsetting the hoard of locals who could tell that I "wasn't from round 'ere". Instead I just watched and nodded as he turned around and told me "that's a good hand, that is" and "he's bluffing, he is".

The game itself is as boring as sin. For reasons I still don't understand, players were dropping out after various rounds and in the end, two players were left to battle it out. My mate actually emerged victorious to take the grand prize of £11 that had been so valiantly fought for. That said, my opinions obviously count for little, Poker is a massive industry and has acquired a global media appeal.

Sky Sports, in fairness, do their very best to sensationalise the whole event. Titles such as "Poker Million Masters" are obviously designed to give the idea of six fat blokes at a table a little bit more of an appeal and sticking heart-rate monitors on the players and having a whole host of graphics appear on screen make for compelling viewing after you get home from the pub at 1:00am.

The pub itself was hardly Pudsey's most upmarket establishment. The choice of beer being limited to nothing worth consumption, the overwhelming prevalence of Burburry clad 17-year-olds and the illegal sale of Eastern-European duty free cigarettes from behind the bar spoke volumes.

Still, these places serve a purpose I suppose.