manchester clubbing

Boxing Giants

2009-11-05T16:53:00.003Z

This is David Haye. He’s a boxer (although I think the photo probably gives that away somewhat). His nickname is The Hayemaker.

He’s 6’3” and fights as a heavy weight. He would be considered in many circles rather a large, threatening man. This is a picture of him next to the guy he’s fighting this weekend:

I can assure you that no perspective tricks are being played in this photo. The other guy, Nikolay Valuev, really is that big. He’s Russian, not that that explains it any. His nickname is The Beast from the East. He is seven feet tall and, judging by this picture, has a head made from granite. Haye reckons he’s going to knock him out. I don’t doubt he could, assuming he can reach up that high and doesn’t break his hands on impact.

Kaiwayne Rooney

2009-11-03T16:36:00.003Z

With nothing better to write about in the early part of this week I resort once again to the local news headlines and am greeted with yet more easily dismissible ‘news’. Wayne Rooney and his missus have had a baby, if you hadn’t heard. They’ve called it Kai, or, if, like me, you heard the news report from the rather fast talking presenter, Kaiwayne. Kaiwayne Rooney – catchy. It’s not actually that – middle name is Wayne, first name Kai. It was confusing.

Anyway, I shan’t dwell on the facts too much as there’s not a lot to them. The MEN even had to resort to reporting on the parents' attire in order to fill the word count. This always amuses me. I quote: “Coleen wore a black and beige top with a black blazer and black trousers, while Wayne was wearing a cowboy shirt, jeans and a sleeveless puffer jacket.” Fascinating stuff.

It is the readers’ comments that most interested me today, however. Local news sites are often a good source for some truly bizarre, occasionally spiteful but always representative comments. There was quite a lot of support for Wayne and Colleen on this one but, unsurprisingly, some negative input also. “Do they do shell suits 1-6 months?” asked one reader. Very droll. Some opted for simple messages of support: “Great news! X,” said one, while another felt the need to put actual sentences together: “Congrats to Wayne & Coleen Rooney on the safe arrival of baby Kai. What a beautiful name, too! "The Sea", in Hawaiian...God's blessing on the young family.”

The most bizarre has to be placed in the ‘let me tell you how to bring up your kids’ category, one which, I am reliably informed by infanted friends, fills up rapidly, usually from strangers, post-childbirth. This comment – on a public news website, remember – reads as follows:

“Don't start him on goats milk because it causes lot's of wind and he will burp a lot and have loads of hiccups, and cry all the time.”

Err...thanks for that.

Crisp Breaking News

2009-10-28T15:46:00.004Z

This has been front page news on ‘Manchester’s Number One Regional Newspaper and Website’ for a couple of days now. The headline is: ‘Mum spooked by 'screaming' Halloween crisp’. A woman found a crisp that looks a little like a face – that’s the story. The quote from the lady herself: "I was a bit spooked at first but it is quite funny. I will keep it and show it to my friends. It's almost like it really has eyes - the detail in it looks like eyeballs.” Really, it is quite amazing. Have a look for yourself:

I’m spooked by it. Spooked that someone would give it a second thought, keep it, phone the newspaper, be willingly photographed with it for all to see:

Obviously I’ve doctored that image very slightly so as not to reveal the crisp finder’s true identity. I don’t mean to be critical at all, you must note before accusing me of such. I’m just saying I would have looked at said crisp and perhaps chuckled slightly. Then eaten it. That way, though, the world would never have seen it and where would we all be then, eh?

Guinness Investigations

2009-10-27T17:21:00.008Z

Those amongst you with some memory capacity may remember a while ago I had a bit of a rant about Guinness. It’s not that I don’t like it, quite the opposite, it’s more that I don’t like the way a lot of people treat it and the resulting effect that has on this most pleasurable of drinks. For a recap, or even a first sight, I shall direct you precisely here.

Now, I did say at the time that I would be updating regularly and recording my progress on my Manchester Guinness mission. That hasn’t happened because...well, it hasn’t happened. Unless you class seven months as ‘regular’. I suppose if I were to do it seven-monthly it would be regular.

Anyway, let’s not dwell on that because I have news from the Guinness investigations. I am here to report back. Firstly, let me reiterate something I stated way back in March: “Let’s be clear: This is not a review of Manchester’s bars and pubs. I don’t give a shit what the bar staff look like or if the place is nice and cosy; for the purposes of this research I will solely be interested in the state of their Guinness.”

With that in mind I shall begin:

Kro Old Abbey, Manchester Science Park

I had the misfortune of drinking a pint of the black stuff here a while ago and it was without question one of the worst Guinness experiences I’ve ever had (the worst was in a tiny village in Spain where the lady had obviously never even used the funny black pump on the bar before and proceeded to pour a pint with a three inch head, then scoop the excess out with her filthy, claw-like hands. But that’s another story...). My notes from the day read thus:

Pour:5/10 – a cursory pause between delivery but with little meaning.
Look: 1/10 – not even a Guinness glass and it was immediately obvious that it would be thin and completely unsatisfying.
Taste: 2/10 – delivered little but a hint of that good old Guinness taste.
Overall: 8/30

The tulip glass is a must for decent Guinness. Kro don’t even try to make an effort with a traditional bulged pint pot – this was delivered in one of those ribbed, American style things. One of these:

So, so wrong.

Odd

I am surprised to inform you that the pint I had in Odd wasn’t all that bad. The glass was straight, not tulip-like, and the pour was rather unrefined, but it wasn’t actually a bad taster. Got a bit thin towards the end though. Odd’s scores as follows:
Pour: 6/10
Look: 6/10
Taste: 7/10
Overall: 19/30

The Castle Hotel

The Northern Quarter’s supposed favourite boozer should, by the looks of it, be a Guinness drinker’s paradise. It looks like the sort of place artists and poets hang out – those most stereotypical of Guinness drinkers. Judging by the attire of the students who were in there, such stereotypes are something many still aspire to. The Guinness was average at best, thanks to a rather tobacco tinged after taste. Not uncommon with Guinness but that probably says more about the conditions under which most Guinness is served than it does of the drink itself, unfortunately.

Pour: 5/10
Look: 5/10
Taste: 5/10
Overall: 15/30

Matt and Phreds

A Guinness drinker's bar if ever I saw one (or maybe that was just the amount of Guinness drinkers in there that made me think that). It even looks good in other people’s glasses. No huge refinement on the pouring procedure but the look and taste give it the current top spot.

Pour – 7/10
Look – 8/10
Taste – 8/10
Overall – 23/30

All of this may lead some of you to believe that I will never find my perfect pint of Guinness, existing as it does only in my mind’s eye and far from these critical words which I spout. Well, you would be wrong. It does exist, I’ve had it. And it is by that which all others are judged. It is not I who should be less critical but the publicans who should be more attentive.

Retail Giants

2009-10-21T15:08:00.004+01:00

It’s always nice to see a bit of recognition from a large company that they are very aware of their place in the world. Dixons, purveyors of electronic goods to the nation, have produced a series of adverts that are really quite clever. It’s a visual thing really so I’ll just leave you to it. You do have to have a bit of knowledge of the retail world in general, or at least have visited the Trafford Centre before, but it’s a pretty simple concept in essence. Simple, but clever.

Ex-Factor

2009-10-20T23:41:00.004+01:00

This blog, as you may have gathered, is not about anything in particular. I just write about stuff that catches my attention, generally amuses or appals me. Sometimes it’s a bit tricky to find a decent subject on which to release my evident cynicism but this week I have been thrown a lifeline, this week it’s easy thanks to one Shayne Ward, or, rather, his fans.

Shayne, you may remember (or possibly wish to forget) won a television series called The X Factor a few years ago. He won by virtue of the fact that he can hold a tune and was fairly easy on the eye – seemingly all that is required on such projects, the winner merely being cast as a pawn to be manipulated in the game of moneymaking that motivates the people behind such broadcasting activities; free to be discarded once the last soulless pennies have been squeezed from their monotonous vocal chords.

You’ve probably not given Mr Ward much thought over the last two years, the marketing machine that plays him like a puppet not having infiltrated every possible media outlet for a while by virtue of the fact that he hasn’t released an album over that time. OK, but so what, right? Who cares? Well some people do, apparently, because The Shayne Ward Fan Club (they even get capital letters) have finally had enough of waiting and have taken to the streets in protest. They blame his record company, Syco (owned, perhaps not surprisingly, by Simon Cowell), for delaying the release and they’re not happy.

"We want the album, we want it now!" they chanted whilst displaying banners and placards bearing their hero’s image. "We, the fans, want a new album, we want a new tour and we want Shayne to be given the chance to shine like the star we know he truly is," one said in a frankly breathtaking expression of solidarity for the ‘singer’. These people, let’s not forget, have taken time off work to go out and express their feelings. My favourite quote was this one: “He's not just a pop star, he's the people's champion.”

Still, despite rather grand reports that the protesters ‘took to the streets of Manchester’, the collection of a dozen or so friends in a corner of Salford probably didn’t bother the general public too much and neither was there much of a bill for the Police’s time, one wouldn’t imagine. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see a bigger expression of public disgust when the album actually is released.

Burnley Squiggle

2009-10-15T16:48:00.001+01:00

Corporate branding is something that people spend literally thousands of pounds on. Logos, public image, all that sort of stuff. You basically pay some sort of agency loads of money and they give you a logo and some words about missions and identity and awareness, maybe even a slogan, then leave you alone with it all. As you can tell, I’m something of an expert on all this.

Burnley (that’s a town, by the way, in Lancashire) have themselves embarked on such an exercise of attempting to improve their public perception, the result of which is proving to be something of a talking point. The logo they’ve adopted is the particular focus of the attention. Here it is:

Now, I’m no designer, and nor am I a corporate branding expert, so far be it from me to criticise...but...it’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it? I liked one comment: “Well the sign sums Burnley council right up...keep going round in circles and end up in a right mess."

To be fair, if you look at the Burnley website the animation thing does look a bit more impressive than the squiggle. A bit.

November in Manchester

2009-10-13T13:22:00.002+01:00

Social media – great, isn’t it? Facebook, Myspace, Twitter...how else would you spend those idle hours when your boss is out? Certainly not doing the filing, if you’re anything like me. Some people are actual experts in social media. Can you imagine? I can – I spoke to one once, in a pub. It was pretty boring, I have to say, but not altogether soul destroying. It can be a fairly interesting world, that of Social Media, if you look into it. I probably just wasn’t in the mood when I was in the pub.

Anyway, my social media musings are not without purpose, you may be surprised to learn, as word reaches us of an ambitious, but nonetheless inspiring, project involving social media, Manchester and a love story. Not a combination you might expect to see but one that a Manchester-based writer, and social media fan, presumably, has conjured to create what will be a sort of novel played out through the medium of social media and the internet. A Smovel, perhaps? (can you see what I did there?)

There’s more to this, however, as the great Mancunian public are being asked to contribute to the story by sending in photos of places and landscapes of Manchester that will then shape the settings of the story. Spanning a whole month (November, believe it or not), the story will be played out through the various Facebook, twitter and blog accounts of the main characters of the story, integrated into which will be the photos and situations sent in previously by you, the lovely public.

If you fancy getting involved in this Smovel (I’m having copyright on that, by the way) go check out novemberinmanchester.blogspot.com. Your photos of all things Manchester will be grateful received at ilove@novemberinmanchester.com.

Coco-nut

2009-10-07T17:17:00.001+01:00

My discovery of ‘Hot Water Bottle Nose Man’ led me to another video which, in the tradition of bizarre and humorous videos, I felt I had to share. Don’t worry – this blog isn’t going to degenerate into a stream of ‘Look at what I found on YouTube’ conscious; I would like to think I had a little more decorum than that, but I’m making an exception this time because...well, this is really quite weird. And anyway, maybe a world record of the week wouldn’t be too bad a thing to blog about, would it? Let’s try it:

Today’s world record is sticking your forefinger into coconuts. This guy manages four, just about. I’m pretty sure number three actually breaks the finger, but such trivial details are nothing for a man after a place in Guinness’s book:

Hot Water Bottle Skills

2009-10-06T16:42:00.001+01:00

I’m not sure I can quite muster the eloquence to fully convey my feelings towards this, so I shall try by starting with the basics: There’s a man attempting to break a world record. The world record involves blowing up a hot water bottle until it bursts. This man, unlike others who have attempted this record (there are others?), is going to be doing it through his nose. I really don’t know what to say so I will just leave you with Mr Jemal Tkeshelashvili.

Well done Jemal!

Naughty Bollards

2009-10-01T17:01:00.006+01:00

As you may know, I love Manchester’s bollards. I talk about them enough on here anyway. They provide no end of amusement and an outlet for some of my rage at the people society deems worthy of highlighting as being rather stupid. Or rather the bollards highlight as being rather stupid. I’ve talked about all that here and here.

So it is with some sadness that I read the news of the bollards' latest victims, incidents that it would be entirely inappropriate to extract mirth from. It was not hapless civilians this time who fell foul of the bollards relentless access restraint but emergency services – ambulances – who, if I must say a bad word against my traffic-stopping friends, should really have been allowed through. They have fobs, we’re told, which should activate the bollards to allow access where mere mortals are not welcome (i.e. Cross Street). They also have keys should the fobs fail. In two recent incidences, however, neither fob nor key was effective, necessitating a detour and therefore delay to the ambulance journeys. The patients waiting for said ambulances, I am pleased to report, were not adversely affected by this delay but naturally fingers are being pointed at my inanimate friends, the bollards. They should have worked. But they didn’t.

I’m sad. I like the bollards – I love them in fact, as I said at the beginning of this – but sadly they’ve acted inappropriately and like a mother with an eleven year old who’s thrown a stone at a cat, I’m disappointed in them. Someone might change them, someone might remove them. Then where would we be? I’d have to talk about bloody football all the time then.

In a reluctant move to unmask the offenders I shall provide you with photographic evidence of one of the incidents:
There they are in the background on the right, looking ashamed of themselves. Or, at least, they should be.

Smelly Baggage

2009-09-29T17:04:00.001+01:00

The subject of flying is not one I am entirely enamoured with. Flying in planes that is – not just flying by yourself, that would be an altogether different prospect. Planes, airports, taking off, landing, sitting in a long metal tube surrounded by other people (I’m not that keen on people if I’m honest but that’s another post) waiting for the drone of the engines to keep me on edge for the next god knows how many hours...I’m not a good flyer. There’s nothing particularly in depth or complicated about my fear, it’s purely the fact that I don’t really want to die, thank you very much, and a plane crash seems to be a pretty sure way of that happening. OK, so statistically (I hate it when people talk statistically) it’s not – you’re more likely to be killed by a donkey, apparently, but to be honest I’d rather take my chances. Although I’m not sure donkeys cover as many destinations as Easy Jet.

I was pleased this week therefore to read the story about a flight that was prevented from taking off from Manchester and a man arrested because his bag smelt funny. 80 minutes the flight was delayed and the substance causing the stink in his bag was found to not be explosive, as initially thought, merely corrosive. So that’s all right then. What I’m particularly please about though is that the staff flagged it up – his bag smelt a bit funny and they bloody noticed. Hooray - for once, I am mildly reassured by something in the aviation industry. Here's some men in suits being cautious:
The man, incidentally, is still in Police custody, so it’s possible he might have been carrying this stuff with less than honourable intentions. Or it might be like one only a week ago when a similarly smelly bag was regarded as suspicious – that one could be explained simply, however, thanks to a broken pot of nail varnish. It makes me wonder what the rules are for getting a job as a baggage handler – presumably if you suffer anosmia, you’re out.

Rio Rosso

2009-09-23T16:42:00.006+01:00

I can’t quite believe it – I’m going to write about football again. I have an excuse this time though because the football reference is only a lead into the main story, which is actually about a restaurant. Restaurants, incidentally, are one of the reasons we’re here, in case you didn’t know. Have a look here. That’s the point of this whole thing.

So, now we’ve got that cleared up, let’s get back to business. I’m going to start with a name: Rio Ferdinand. If you don’t know who that is I wouldn’t worry – it’s largely irrelevant to the story, you need only absorb the fact that he’s professional footballer, one of the ones on £100,000 per week or some ludicrous amount. One of the ones that lots of people pay £40 every weekend to go and shout at.

He plays for Manchester United does our Rio. That’s one of the clubs in...actually, if you don’t know what Manchester United is you’d probably best stop reading now and go and do something else. Does the garden need weeding? That’ll do – go and do that. I’ll continue with Rio for those that are left. He’s opening a restaurant. Here's a photo of Rio, possibly doing something he'll soon be familiar with: "One margarita and a chicken salad please."

Or maybe not.

Such ventures always amuse me because, of course, Rio Ferdinand isn’t actually opening a restaurant, he’s funding one. His mates are opening it, or associates, or business partners or whatever you want to call them. People who would otherwise not be able to afford a prime city centre location for a brand new restaurant were they not friendly with our Rio (I’ve no idea why I’ve started calling him ‘our Rio’ but there you go – I can’t stop now or else it would seem silly).

I’ve no problem with this. If I were earning £100,000 per week to kick a ball around I’d probably buy some stuff like yachts, nice cars, big houses and restaurants. And one of those big watches they wear – yes, I’d like a big watch with diamonds on it. One that is so big it overlaps my wrist and my jumper sleeves are unable to stretch over it. Although I wouldn’t be wearing a jumper, of course, it’d be a silk Gucci smock, or some such creation. With Prada flip flops and a beanie hat made from Dodo wings.

Where was I? Oh yes, our Rio and his restaurant. He’s calling is Rosso because a)It’s an Italian restaurant and Rosso is an Italian word and, b)Rosso means red in Italian and Manchester United – the football team he plays for – play in red. Can you see what he’s done there? Against the odds, and no doubt reflecting the fact that our Rio is still in touch with his roots, we’re told the restaurant will be “not...ridiculously expensive, it will be good food at a good price,” which sounds like a reasonable idea, considering most people like good food at reasonable prices. Footballers – not so stupid after all.

Oh, Emmanuel

2009-09-17T15:37:00.002+01:00

On the rare occasions when I will feel inclined to comment on matters of the pitch, it is not fuelled by a huge passion for the game, rather a passing interest, and more often than not with a bemused eye on what is taking place on the neatly tendered grass and surrounding stadia. This week’s commotions naturally caught my eye – how could they not, being a citizen of this fair city, a reader of local and national press and not a hermit (for surely you must have to be one not to have heard). Mr Adebayor was a naughty boy at the weekend, in some people’s eyes. He allegedly stood on someone’s face on purpose – not a pleasant action in anyone’s book, especially when the someone was a former ‘teammate’, although presumably only through circumstance rather than kinship.

It’s the other offence that inspires me to put fingers to keys in this instance, however, the one for which Emmanuel is being chastised so virulently by the press and Arsenal fans alike. Was it another stamp, or perhaps a fist this time? No – he celebrated a goal. And ran down the pitch then fell onto his knees. That’s it. OK, so it was to gloat in front of the fans of his former club, against whom he had just scored, but that’s all it was – a celebration, a gloat. I scored a goal against you. I put the ball in your net. Nah nah nah nah nah.

The furore is of course not helped by the reaction of the Arsenal fans, who proceeded to try and bombard Mr Adebayor with a variety of objects, one of which struck a steward, rendering him unconscious. It’s interesting that some Arsenal fans have labelled his actions ‘disgraceful’. Celebrating a goal and in some way rubbing it in for the opposing fans? Hmm...because that never happens in the terraces, does it (NB: It does. I’ve been to football games. Someone even said something rather disgusting about someone else’s mother, the relevance of which to the game I couldn’t quite gather).

Anyway, would all this have happened had Emmanuel not performed his celebration? Well, no, but that’s hardly cause to chastise the player. You cannot explain a violent act by blaming it on a non violent (although admittedly confrontational) one. ‘Just ignore them’ a mother would say to a child taunted in the playground, ‘They’ll get bored eventually.’ Maybe Arsenal fans should take note, for their extreme reaction was no doubt what Mr Abedayor was after. They should maybe have remained perfectly still and quiet, a few checking their mobile phones, others swapping pleasantries and discussing the weather, some simply looking to their feet and waiting for the ball to be returned to centre and the game restarted. Ignore the show off, he’ll get bored after a minute or two.

I don’t think football rivalry quite works like that though.

Bollards Again

2009-09-15T16:48:00.004+01:00

Following my observations here a few weeks ago, and the news that the council were going to start charging the cretins who keep driving into the bollards in the town centre, it seems some people are still determined to ruin their vehicles, or those of the company for which they work, all in the name of skipping a few hundred metres of road. The latest driver to fall foul of the ‘ignoring warning signs and lights and think I’ll be able to scoot through’ disease even has the audacity to be arguing his case, albeit anonymously (presumably he’s had enough of looking stupid in public). Although, if I were quoted as saying something like, “We were launched into the air. It lifted the van so quickly that I smashed my head on the windscreen,” as he was, I’m not sure I’d want my face attached to the article either.

The argument between driver and council this time is that the bollards are only meant to be active from 11am. The driver claims to have attempted to cross over at two minutes to eleven. The council claim it was two minutes past. The state of the front of his van seems to provide a pretty conclusive answer:

Accusations of tailgating are being strongly denied although one fails to see how it could have happened any other way, as the bollards are set to stay up once the first car after 11am has passed over them. Unless the driver simply drove into a fully positioned bollard. Then he would look stupid and I’d definitely not want people to know who I was if I’d done that.

Deansgate Boulevard

2009-08-27T17:14:00.003+01:00

On an unfamiliar departure from my usual slanted view of the world and this fair city of Manchester, I write this time with news of a positive nature and no hint of the usual faintly veiled apathy with which I normally report. This news, you see, is as pure as good news gets. It’s like a spring emerging from a mountain side, untainted and clear. As long as you don’t see the dead sheep rotting into the ground 20 metres uphill.

Plans are afoot for Deansgate, that famed thoroughfare that strikes its path right through the belly of this town, to become pedestrianised. Following the recent works that have made vehicular access impossible, many people are now so used to a car-free Deansgate, and refreshed at not having to risk their lives while dodging around an illegally parked footballer’s Aston Martin to catch their bus, that they’re lobbying for the no vehicles rule to become permanent. And...this is the best bit...the council appear to be listening to them.

"The work on Deansgate has clearly targeted an interest...to look at options of pedestrianisation and we will listen,” so says Jim Battle, deputy leader of Manchester council. “"The principle of pedestrianisation is understood and it's a question of how we could practically apply that. We are at a stage where people are coming forward with ideas and we will listen."

This is cause for some celebration. Or rather it would be if such words from an elected member could be believed without resorting to the default mindset when such a person (see also politicians) opens their mouth, which is, of course, one of extreme suspicion. He tempers his gushing positivity with the following statement, “For example we could perhaps look at the idea of pedestrianisation on certain days of the week or times of the year.” Hmm...that’ll be the rotting sheep then. We’ll probably end up with it being closed to cars between 4am-7am. Or only on days of the week beginning with G.

Still, it’s a nice idea and one that hopefully will be taken to a conclusion that befits the wishes of the people. Those are the thoughts that I shall take away with me as I leave this city, and these shores, for two weeks of recreation in a warmer, computer free climate. I’ll leave you with a picture of a car-free Deansgate. Just imagine is without the cones and the cage-like fencing. Or the massive trench in the ground.

Christmas comes to Rochdale

2009-08-25T12:15:00.002+01:00

The month is August. The hope for some summer sunshine is still alive in many of us, the nostalgic smells of freshly mown grass and hot city streets still tease our noses and the evenings still maintain a glow of daylight at least an hour or two after many of us return to work. Winter is in the future. It’s not something we’re thinking about yet – the dark nights, damp days and frosty mornings. We’ll deal with them when they arrive but for now it’s not something we’re even contemplating.

I say ‘we’ but it seems not all of us are so in the moment and keen to revel in the season in which we are currently residing. Rochdale City Council, for example, seem positively enthusiastic to get summer over and done with and get on with the dark days of winter. They decorated their streets this week, you see, but not with colourful bunting for a carnival or banners advertising a summer fair. Christmas decorations are their ornaments of choice. In August. Christmas decorations going up in August.

I normally get annoyed at evidence of Christmas anytime before late November so this naturally has me almost incandescent with seasonality rage. I have no problem with Christmas; indeed, being a lover of good food and booze and days off work, it’s a time of year I am quite enthusiastic about. In December. The end of December. August is just ridiculous.

Car Trouble

2009-08-11T12:42:00.001+01:00

The elected MP for Salford has been having a bit of a bad time of it recently. Not so long ago, I was chastising her on this very blog for her rather creative use of our money in the now much over reported expenses claim row.

Ms Blears, you will have seen, has been in the news again this week, again connected to her position at MP for Salford but this time in slightly more unfortunate circumstances. She took the bold step of going out canvassing in her esteemed constituency and the even bolder step of leaving her car, a nice shiny Citroen, unattended, alone and vulnerable on the street. When she returned the car was, shall we say, in a less than roadworthy condition than that she left it in, with all tyres slashed and the windscreen with a hefty dent in it. This rather strange video demonstrates:

Hazel herself played down the incident in public, claiming it was just ’the actions of a tiny minority’ and that she hadn’t been targeted specifically. The reaction from readers of the local press has been rather more telling, however, with many putting fingers to keys to express their annoyance and, in some cases, pure rage not only with Ms Blears’ naivety but also the apparently preferential treatment she received from our boys in blue. Let’s just take a little sample slice from the response from Salford:

“Isnt it amazing that within minutes an array of cop vans arrived, if that had been me or you we would have had to rely on the AA, or a friend, no Police would have turned up, no nothing. Blears, even now you are so pig headed that you fail to see you are hated in the region...a lot of Salford people simply can’t stand the sight of you.”

It’s certainly to the point.

A muddy tale of misfortune

2009-08-06T16:58:00.002+01:00

Finding mirth and entertainment in other people’s misfortune is not, believe it or not, something I often indulge in. Indeed, I have huge empathy for the troublesome and sometimes bizarre situations people find themselves in but I was unable to read this particular story without a smile adorning my face and a little glee piercing my heart. It’s a simple and ageless tale involving a dog, some sticky mud and a determined but ultimately doomed family. I will relay the events for you below and you too can indulge in a bit of light entertainment courtesy of a hapless family.

Family take dog for a walk in the park.
Dog runs across large muddy area and stops in middle. Dog doesn’t move. Dog is stuck.
Child attempts to go to dog’s aid. Child reaches dog but moves no further. Child is stuck.
Mother attempts to go to child and dog’s aid. Mother reaches child and dog but moves no further. Mother is stuck.
Father attempts to go mother, child and dog’s aid (you can see where this is going, right?) Father reaches mother, child and dog but moves no further. Father is stuck.

Honestly, it’s like something out of a bloody Carry On film. To add to the whole impact of this little tale, we even have photos. Praise the lord for the camera phone.

Bollards.

2009-08-04T13:43:00.002+01:00

There was a time when I thought this story was an urban myth. Thankfully, these days we have YouTube to dispel such wanton thoughts within seconds and, as with many things in life, the You and the Tube happily hosts a number of examples. The story to which I refer is that concerning a set of traffic control bollards on a street that runs through a mostly pedestrianised section of the city centre. For obvious reasons, private vehicles are not wanted on such a stretch of carriageway but on occasion access is required for other people – emergency services and buses, for example. So the bollards work very simply and you need a little electronic thing (I don’t know exactly what it looks like) in your vehicle to lower them and allow you to pass over the top. They then, as you might expect, return to their natural, upright, protruding state.

The problem arises when impatient/stupid/arrogant (delete as you see fit) people think they can sneak in behind a bus or ambulance and scoot over the bollards before they have a chance to pop back up again. You can see where this is going, right? Well, you are correct. Have a look:

What did I tell you – stupid. Well, the council agree and so fed up are they of paying out to repair these bollards that they’re going to start prosecuting anyone who lumbers blindly into such a predicament, to cover the costs of repairing them. Fair enough, I say. There’s plenty of warning, after all (signs and lights and stuff), and, well, it’s not hard, is it? Just go the other way.

BOGOF Talent

2009-07-30T17:22:00.003+01:00

News reaches us that one of Britain’s biggest stars has signed a lucrative deal with an emerging player in the burgeoning world of online bingo. But who could it possibly be? Dale Winton? Philip Schofield? No my friends, someone much more esteemed and worthy of note – none other than DJ Talent.

If you’re anything like me, the first thought to enter your head may well be, ‘Who?’ The answer to that question lies beyond these words but be warned – once you’ve gone there, things may never quite be the same again.

Born Anthony Ghosh in 1978, the artist now known as DJ Talent first came to the attention of the public in 2006 for the unenviable quality of being mugged a lot. That’s true – I haven’t made it up. It’s on Wikipedia, ergo it must be true. He later appeared on a television programme called Britain’s Got Talent, which is presumably the arena with which the people behind BOGOF Bingo are hoping his name will associate them.

His appearance apparently drew quite a lot of press coverage at the time, consisting as it did of him repeating the same phrase over and over and being buzzed out by Simon Cowell on the programme – a sure route to success in this country if ever there was one. Famed for his love of the atomic number 79, and its associated chemical element (that’ll be gold then), his early career as Mugging Victim is best explained with the use of a picture:
His Argos loyalty card statement must make for impressive reading.

Anyway, as we mentioned his current employers are more concerned with the recent furore surrounding his appearance on a popular television show and the resulting catch phrase that injected itself into the conscious of a number people with nothing else to do on a Saturday night. Something along the lines of ‘I say Britain, You say talent. Britain's got talent! It's the DJ Talent!’ Marshall Mathers III must be quaking in his size nines.

One presumes his status with BOGOF Bingo will be initiated with a similar catchphrase that encapsulates his unique act while delivering the BOGOF message. Still, it’s got to be better than simply being known for getting mugged a lot.

Eyes Right

2009-07-28T16:26:00.003+01:00

Those of you who frequent the Oxford Road area will no doubt have noticed the road works that have been going on there for some time. An inconvenience to many, no doubt, especially with the major changes on the tram lines in the rest of town, but little did we expect the works would actively seek to outwit and harm us. It seems someone forgot to repaint the normally useful signs that sit on the road, telling you which way to look before you cross. After temporarily being changed to warn of approaching menace from the left, no one thought to change the instruction back once the road was reverted to its normal state and vehicles – large ones at that – returned to approaching from the right.

The workmen blame the council. The council blame the workmen, naturally. I’m pretty sure no one really cares whose fault it as long as they fix it quick. Having said that, there must be relatively few of us who rely solely on these little comments on the tarmac to keep us in the land of safety and protect us from the lethal motorists of Manchester. I know I look both ways even on a one way street.

Click

2009-07-21T17:30:00.005+01:00

Discussion is rife in the office as to whether this is actually a good advertisement or not. I say yes. Someone else says no, because ultimately it doesn't take you anywhere. WHLN - discussing the big issues of the day.

I'm sticking by it anyway - it is good becuase it's funny and...actually, that's my only criteria. I'd like to know if anyone doesn't keep clicking. Go on, you know you want to...

Plasmas for Goalposts

2009-07-15T16:40:00.001+01:00

It doesn’t need me to say that the lives of professional footballers are somewhat abnormal ones. So it should be of no great surprise to learn that along with contracts of tens of thousands of pounds per week, and the trappings that are inevitably indulged in as a result of that, other extras are also often included in their job offers. Like the odd house to live in, for example. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?

One such house has been used by Manchester united for a number of years, nestled in the Cheshire countryside and sitting in a price bracket most of us would consider as a pretty decent lottery win. Man Utd and that house have parted company now and it is being sold by its owner, one Mr Morris, who is of sharp enough mind to sugar the sale up by revealing the fact that the house was once occupied by Ronaldo. That’ll be the dearly departed Ronaldo, who is now sunning himself in Spain, living his boyhood dream.

OK, so far so expected, but it’s when you get into the details of the house, so gleefully regaled by its owner, that we really get into the psyche of that strange creature that is the professional football player. “A shattered window from a kicked football still exists,” he claims, which says similar things about Ronaldo’s garden football skills as it does his own as a landlord. “Dart holes dent the back of the office door from Ronaldo playing darts,” is the next ‘selling point’, while the strangest is kept for last – “Broken parts from TVs are sprinkled around the cherry blossom tree from where Ronaldo would shoot footballs at TVs for target practice.”

Brilliant – not content with used tyres or even those fake men they have at the training grounds, the big R had to use plasmas for target practice, just to rub it in to us mortals just how bloody rich he really is. And in the cherry blossom as well! Isn’t that an endangered species or something? Still, quite how much these choice facts will bump up the price of this place remains to be seen. It’s on at around the £1.5 million mark. Sounds like it needs a bit of work on it to me.

Cocktails on Wheels

2009-07-14T17:32:00.000+01:00

Ever heard the twinkling of an ice cream van and thought to yourself, ‘If only there was something a bit stronger than a cider lolly’? If some are to be believed, stronger things are available from ice cream vans in certain areas, but let’s not get into that now – what I’m on about it the latest idea from chief drinks maker at Northern Quarter bar Apotheca, Carl Peters. He’s bought an old ice cream van and turned it into a mobile bar, serving up cocktails and drinks at parties and events. Have a look:

It’s even kept its original jingle, although improper use could see a barrage of soon to be disappointed children charging forth with 99 flakes in mind. At least their parents would be happy. Available for hire, The Cocktail Van offers a drinks service for all types of parties and events with a ‘professional mixologist’ Carl at the helm.

Our verdict: Mobile booze is definitely a good thing.