Everyday is someones birthday....

An occasional feature of this blog will be a tribute
to someones birthday. A reminder to us all that as
we pull ourselves out of another long winter, on any
given day there is some reason to celebrate. Today
76 years ago Peter Alliss was born. A godfather
among commentators. A man who truly does have the
common touch.
Its a shame that a lot of commentary teams seem to
be just old boys clubs. There are some astonishing dull
and uninteresting individuals who claim to be pundits.
This area of sports presentation is so important in the
continued popularity that it deserves more care. Id love
to see some of these guys sent out to sell anything. They
would starve. I will not mention their names but we all
know who they are. Peter Alliss stood head and shoulders
above any of them. He was funny, laid back, interesting,
and smooth.
Once when he was commentating on a competition
in Florida, the camera moved to an alligator that was on the
course. He said that it reminded him of his accountant. He
wasnt always kind about caddies though....he once said that
the Dale caddies used to throw a brick through a jewellers
window so that they had somewhere warm to stay for the
winter. He was obviously talking about the old stylie caddies
like Billy the hat and Micky the moocher. Not us guys.
One of the things I like very much about his commentating
is his constant referance to clubs all round the country which
reminds the viewer that without these less famous clubs there
would not be such a richness of golf talent in this country. He is
a master at his craft and a phenomenal salesman for the game.
Happy birthday Peter old boy.......come and have a knock
round the Dale soon.
Stay cool , wont you..

slaves to some bogus sense of progress that is driving us all mad (H.S. Thompson )

How do you gauge ones progress ? I have a method
available to me that most people dont have. I have
kept diaries for years. It is always fun to look up a
day , lets say 15 years ago and check out what you
were doing on that day. I did that today....I looked
up 27th of February 1992.
On that day I was living on someones couch having
just been turfed out of my girlfriends flat. I was a very
busy squash coach then. One week I remember I gave
42 lessons. I was desperately trying to keep it together,
even though I was heartbroken and skint. The shelter
from the storm was provided by two old gin queens who
I knew very well. Christine, a frumpy Norwegian , an ex
playboy model , and Anna , an Acton girl with serious
paddy alcoholic roots. They were great fun to begin with
as clearly I needed a roof. But it soon turned into an
unfortunate communal experiment. There were 96 tears.
It did though inspire an idea for a short story called
" Coma, Slug and Slob "......never finished.....too slobby.
The entry that I made in my diary 15 years ago
reads as follows-------
" Felt weak and sick today ...Legs hurting . A few
lessons and training with John . Felt a lot better. John,
Margit, Jerome, and Christine et al went out together to play
some pool . A good time was had by all. Nice vibrations all round
! John cops out early------"
I was 39 at the time so it seems OK, looking back to have
such a rich social life, and to be so physically active. 15 years on
I dont have to sleep on a sofa....I have my own house....but a
less exciting social life. Thats perhaps how things should be,
but is it real progress.......more comparisions have to be made.
Hunter S. was a hedonist to the end........

Freedom tastes of reality ( the Who )

The old memsahibs going away for a couple of
days. HURRAH ! Sounds terrible doesnt it . Shes
OK. Its just the whole couple thing is getting on me
tits. Initially I thought it was crabs but in fact its
the seven year itch. A bit of strategic separation may
well be the answer. Last year a precedent was set in
taking separate holidays ...and fecking why not.
I remember asking an old boy who had been
married for over 40 years what the secret was ...and
he told me that you should spend as little time together
as possible . It makes sense. Why I was interested in that
question ...I do not know. Sometimes I like the idea of a
companion in my old age.....and other times I think I
would rather like to be a kind of Father Jack
figure, popping viagras , and behaving badly. It would
seem a fitting end before I am called up to explain myself.
I can get my train set out tomorrow , eat beans, fart
willy nilly, hang out at the Cannon ogling barmaids, have
some putting practice in the living room, wear a bobble
hat , and pick my toenails on the couch. Oooooh I can
feel the ghost of old Jack creeping up on me.
Marvellous.
Stay cool, wont you ?

Your boots no longer lie about the cold around your feet (Alan Hull)

Yes I exhausted myself working the whole
weekend....so its back to the drawing couch.
It was a thoroughly nice weekend with very nice
golfers but my temple told me that perhaps my
return to the track was premature. The sixth
tee of the New course is the real test. You can see
5 counties from there. When the North wind blows
through there I start to hallucinate...I imagine large
ugly birds to be circling. It is a humbling experience.
I normally dont start the season full on until
St. Davids day....it seems strangely appropriate. I
may well do the same thing again this year. I dont
think the winter has finished with us just yet. So I
am being intelligently cautious ....oh yes. You will
not be catching this fellow without his long -johns
on.
" Never cast a clout til May is out.."...my wise old
mother used to say . She also used to say " See where
the crowd is going , and go the other way..". Thats why I
have never seen a professional football game right from
the start. She was clearly barmy but its odd how one
bigs up ones parents as you get older. Dont start me on
my father....even the bigged up version is less than
complimentary.
But I didnt get where I am today without having
a clear map , clear succinct instructions as to how to behave,
good guidelines. My therapist says I have an overdeveloped
sense of revenge.
Well see about that.

Fare thee well John Wayne theres nothing more to say (The Pogues )

Well...back to the grindstone. I am booked
to caddy for the great Theodore Phunnell, wit,
raconteur and shot inventor on the morrow. It
has been about two weeks now since I skipped
round the Dale. Quite looking forward to it. By all
accounts he is in good form as he shot 76 last time
out so thats only 6 over par. He always seems to
shoot a good round when I am not there. An
unfortunate and puzzling coincidence !
Last time I caddied for him I asked him for a raise.
His subsequent wobbly mentioned Xmas and birthday
bonuses, and a new pair of golf shoes imminent. Ill leave
it a couple of weeks before I ask him again. Dont want
to irritate his combustible blood pressure. It doesnt
take a lot to get his gander up. He has been under a lot
of pressure at work as I understand it.
He once described me in an interview in the Telegraph
as his most unjustifiable expense. I was just happy to get
my name in the Telegraph. Simple things.
Whatever happens it is always thoroughly entertaining
especially if he is in story telling mode. I have rarely heard
funnier stories....and his wit is frighteningly bright. The fact
that I get blamed for every bad shot out there is of no
consequence.....water off a ducks back. But often the craic
out there is largely determined by his playing partners. Lets
hope we get the right ones tomorrow. I love Mungo Gruntos
company but he hates fourballs.
Que sera....sera...
Back on track......FORE!

Irritable vowel syndrome....it socks !

Good Moaning ! Clearly one of the temptations
in writing a blog is to put forward your point
of view. But it would be deadly dull if it just
became a political diatribe...a canvassing tract.
The other temptation at times is to use it as a
means of attacking people one doesnt like. Also
cheap shots at people who probably dont even
read it. Whats the point ? I dont get that excited
about negative feelings anymore. Being angry is
just so exhausting. Im much more tolerant than I
was.
Occasionally though recently I have been saddened
by the news that they may be closing Christiania down
for redevelopement. For those of you not familiar with
the name , let me explain. Christiania is a piece of prime
land in the middle of Copenhagen that was developed
by a bunch of idealistic hippies about 30 years ago. It
became known as the Free State of Christiania. It was
made up of mainly old unused army barracks . It was
a kind of shanty town in an otherwise very up and
coming area. No class A or B drugs were allowed in the
gates but hash was sold freely and tiny cafes sprung up
to cater for the visiting freaks. On a sunny summers evening
sitting outside the " Moonfiske " bar it was idyllic.
People built their own houses on the land by the lake,
arts and crafts shops began, and a real 1000 strong community
sprung up. If you want to see some great pictures of it you should
log into YOUTUBE.COM and feast your eyes on the sheer beauty
of it. Just tap in Christiania. It became very much part of the
whole Copenhagen experience at one time especially in the late
70's and 80's. Danes were proud that they allowed such a commune
to exist. As the Danes became more conservative towards the end of
the last century so the authorities became less tolerant of this
social experiment. It was such a shame.
I had so many good times there. In fact I used to go there
as often as I could. I used to go there in between giving squash
lessons at a nearby luxury hotel. It was gas ! I once took two
friends there that were visiting from London and I had to drag
them away screaming. They loved it. It was one of the few things
I missed about Copenhagen when I finally came home to blighty
after 15 years.
We are already seeing that the way we have lived in the
last 100 years or so may well be our undoing . There has to be
alternatives. Christiania was a super example of how communal
living worked. Now it may well be destroyed.
FRI HASH......FRI CHRISTIANIA...
ps...Dont worry its back to docter jokes tomorrow !

Im not changing those sheets again Mr Wilkins ( Derek and Clive ).

When, as a younger man , I read that docters
are one of the worst professions when it comes
to drinking...this caused some consternation. I
have always been a bit averse to the medical
profession ....good men that they are. This should
be a preamble to a series of docters jokes...but
wait.
I became a sick and nervous child when my
rocking horse died and this manifested itself in
hay fever. My darling mother became fed up of
me sneezing and decided to try to find a cure.
The local docter was a sweet man but had an
unnerving twitch a la Jack Douglas ( eh! eh !....
...has he gone ..! ) . The idea of him giving me a
series of injections preyed on my mind...but it
all passed without too much bloodshed. This early
medical trauma scarred....pass me a tissue.
Later on in my medical history I came across
a docter who used to want me to hold his bollocks
while I coughed......I only went in to talk to him
about some ringing in my ears....he told me not to
answer it. I fear he may well have been a queer fella
before they became PC.
I suppose I have been very lucky healthwise..
but certainly as you knock on a bit you worry more.
Every little ache or pain has to be diagnosed quickly.
Since I havent bothered them much over the years...
I thought I might get a good docter at one of my last
pit stops. My present docters are Mr. Stalker and Mr.
Mockett ( Im not making this up !) . I got tired of making
tea for the former after he had followed me home , so I
mainly see Mr Mockett. A jolly man but he has an
unfortunate habit of inviting the waiting room into
his office to laugh at my ailments . Mockett by name.
As I walk for a living most of my trouble comes from
my feet. I took them to see the chiropodist the other day.
Either my feet are bad or he has got Tourettes Syndrome.
" Docter everytime I talk to people they tend to ignore
me and walk away......whats the story there ..? "
" NEXT ! "

Revenge is sweet...a bit of jingoism

Although I could be described as a hybernaphile.
That is someone who generally likes Celts. I was
glad Ireland lost. After beating Wales last week
at rugby I was hopping mad and hoped with every
fibre that the frogs would stick it to them. And indeed
they did....although they left it a bit late.
The next time I see Keith Woods ( Festa ) I shall
only speak french to him. That should get on his nerves.
He normally clumps me every time he sees me anyway.
So I might as well do something that deserves a clump.
He looked very deflated after the game on the old goggle
box. Ah...the goggle box....Im glad you brought that up !
Sick of it . I have now found something to replace the old
box-------YOUTUBE.COM.
An incredible thing. If you have ever had the time
to sit down and think something like....I wonder what ever
happened to Dennis Leary ? I often used to have that
thought. Well now you can solve those kind of problems !
Just type the name of your favourite comedian into the
search bar on this website....and hey presto.....
and heres a few to enjoy;
Dennis Leary-----Im an asshole
The Pogues-------Body of an American
The basement Jaxx---Bingo Bango
Rowan atkinson ----No one called Jones
Remember you heard it first on the hippieheights blog.
Must get back to the website to listen to Suggs sing an
Ian Dury song....
Check it.....LATER

EEEEh....if ever a man suffered...

Well its been 38 days since I last had a
drink and apart from the daily suicidal
feelings I feel great. Id like to say that it has
been a great experience but I would be lying.
It has been tough. I used to soak up Guiness
like a sponge.
Its not only the alcohol that one gives up but
almost a whole culture. Standing in the corner
of the Cannon drinking coffee while the " Firm "
are all getting rat-arsed is a leprous feeling. Even
the rather smug comfort of knowing that they are
poisoning themselves , diminishes after your sixth
cup of coffee. I got so hyper the other week that
the bald headed fat bloke who laughingly calls
himself the landlord , insisted I drink water to
compensate the effects of the caffeine.
The mad repetitive conversations that the piss
heads have no longer interest me . To watch the
Mulatto kid , half Barbadian half scots ( loves to
Calypso but only when hes flush ) , collapse into
guffaws at the slightest provocation, makes him
less of a sage in my clear eyes.
But having spent a lifetime being a barfly , I
do honestly feel that I should vacate the front line
stool to a younger bar maid puller. That, alas, is a
mature recognition of whats what , and why ....and
why not ?
I shall be mooching down to the day centre soon
for a cup of rosie and a game of draughts......
Retirement cant come soon enough for me !

Welshman think so much about their ladies, they put one on their flag, over by there

I was wondering what brought about my
piece on celtic bestiality the other day when
it suddenly struck me like a smackeroo
blurdee from the heavenly bode...deep joy.
Its that time again when my old Welsh blood
starts to bubble towards the surface and flush
my normally immaculate, sophisticated, European
complexion. I feel like singing from the rooftops over
by there, or down by here. I feel like rubbing myself
all over with daffodils, putting leaks into everything.
Yes. Its that time of year when its considered healthy
to hate the English and other neighbours.....the Six
Nations Rugby trophy.
I am old enough to remember when the Welsh
were invincible. The days of " God Olmighty" Edwards,
" Jinking Jenius" Williams , " Jet Propelled Rhino ",
Williams and the rest of the boys bach. I recall
standing in the stand with my Northern mate...
Atkinson Grimshaw...when a Scotsman fell out of the
upper stand on top of us still holding his pint glass. He
then challenged us to a fight....we managed to calm him
down with promises of more alcohol . I blame Thatcher
for closing the mines , and the advent of light industries
in the vallies. Thats where it all went wrong. They are
not the men they used to be.
But we will find the strength again. We will rise
and take our rightful place at the top.
" Feed me til I want no more
Feed me til I want no more........."
We just have to beat those perishing paddies...isnt it ?
Come on Wales.
Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.....
Come on Wales

Sharks will only attack you when you are wet( Sean Lock )

During the general idleness that has been the last
3 weeks I have of course watched a lot of nature
programmes and its amazing what you learn. I
have also begun to think or imagine what it is like now
in Africa with a vast convoy of landrovers and film
crews. Its no wonder a lot of the animals seem so
tame. There must be more film crews than animals
out there right now. Imagine every European country
having a couple of channel schedules to fill , and sending
out competing crews to get some good shots of the
wild life. Youll have animals soon acting out their
favourite dramatic scenes . They dont want to be seen as
dull or uneducated.
I then have begun to fantasise about doing a bit
of exploring myself...nothing to difficult you understand
to start off with. I dug up an old idea about doing the
Pembrokeshire coastal walk. Its a 15 day trek through
the wilds of West Wales....and apart from atrocious weather,
marauding male voice choirs , and the occasional drunk
rugby player its quite safe. I dont really want to do it on
my own so I am appealing to you all to volunteer. I shall
of course be expedition leader ( otherwise Im not coming !).
And then I thought we could climb a small mountain every
year until we keel over, frothing at the mouth. We are reaching
that difficult stage where we will be affected by some lurgy or
another. Personally I would rather have Parkinsons disease
than Alzseimers ( sp?) . Id rather spill my pint than forget
where the f+ckin thing is. So what do you say brothers
and sisters. Lets rage against the dying of the light.....
any volunteers ?
" Rucksacks turn into hunchbacks
Muscle men turn into mice....
In a painless panorama
Of perpendicular might....."( John Cooper Clarke )
Cheerio

..." and those Korean meatballs really were the dogs bollocks ."(Naive food critic )

Well I have just been informed by the raconteur,
the diamond dandy Theodore Funnell that none
of my favourite golfers did any good in Barbados.
So my promised 10% amounts to nothing ...so its
hi-ho and back to work I go . Tomorrow I shall
have to be up with the lark , and back to the
lovely Dale. I havent worked for about three weeks
so the walk will probably do me good and the
weather seems nice.
It will be nice to catch up with some of the
shack gossip. Is Nigel " Plans " aka " Plants " still
numero uno ? Has " Narky " Larkys mood improved ?
Have " Twiglet " or " Baby Staines " found proper jobs
yet ? Has Chilli cast off his surly and dishevelled former
self , and started to act like a normal human being ? Did
" Waynetta " get laid in Los angeles ? All exciting stuff.
What kind of mood will my top client Theodore be
in. Bearing in mind that it is a full moon tonight...its odds
on that his mood may be a bit changeable. He is also
playing golf back in blighty and not on the luxuriant shores
of Barbados. Will we be in the company of the wonderful
Mungo Grunto, matinee idol ? All these questions will be
answered in the morning. Cant wait.
I should really get back into work mode and go in
to hustle for work every day but this will sadly interfere
with my meditation schedule .....and just when I had left
Babylon and was floating towards Zion. Yeh ! No -one
remember old Marcus Garvey.....
Well, cheerio.....and stay cool wont you ?

I stuck my finger up a woodpeckers hole , and the woodpecker said God Bless my soul ...( a perverted poacher )

Now I am here to strongly suggest that
you avoid any sexual contact with animals..
it is in fact illegal. Although if you cant help
yourself the best animal to have illicit sex with
has got to be a giraffe...at least she can warn you
if the police are coming. My favourite animal sex
joke is:
" Why did the pervert cross the road ? "
" Cos he couldnt get his cock out of the chicken ! "
I am only bringing up this subject because I am a taffy,
and all the valley boys have to put up with a barrage
of jokes about Welshman and sheep, when we move to this
godforsaken country. It is very irritating and tiresome.
Im more of a pig man myself but only if there is lashings
of apple sauce and the right vegetables.
But why bring this rather sordid subject up in the first
place I hear you asking ? Well I am fed up of these racial
stereotypes especially when I am the victim, and I am
fiercely campaigning against a law that is still on the
statute books. Apparently on a certain Sunday you can
still shoot a Welshman in Herefordshire . This cant be
right ! I was also appalled on my little jaunt to Cornwall
last year that the Cornish people arent that keen on the
Welsh. Something about the taffies coming over to work
the tin mines during the depression. I mean lets all try
to think about what Wales has bought you ...Harry
Secombe, Dylan Thomas, Shirley Bassey, Paul
Whitehouse, and Amen Corner. Not a piss head or sheep
shagger amongst them. Come on mates ....muckers...
lets give the sweaties and paddies some stick.....
marvellous.....

Constipation...understanding Elvis ?

How can such a sex symbol end up such a
lardie ? 13 cheeseburgers a day can be unlucky.
His favourite dish was a huge plateful of mashed
potato covered in bacon and crisp bacon fat. Just
like his Mom used to make for him when he was a
nipper. His exaggerated and immense love for his
Mom could have been a cause of his gluttony ?
Discuss ?
One of my favourite stories of his possible oedipal
problems was after his Mom died. He was terribly
fond of his Mom and if he got upset about anything
his Mom would play with his toes to calm him down
and amuse him. A kind of little piggie thing. When
his Mom died she was lying in state in some Memphis
church and Elvis climbed into her coffin and started playing
with her toes as if this would somehow bring her back to
life. Weird , eh ?
Perhaps because he was a surviving member of twins,
he felt somehow he had to eat for two. All this amusing info
on the "king " I gleaned from a monster book on him by a
bloke called Albert Goldman. Marvellous writer on a par
with Kitty Kelly who wrote that controversial book on
Sinatra. Whats all this got to do with caddying , or indeed
constipation you may ask ? Why are you asking such
awkward questions ? Well if he had taken up golf it could
have saved his life....look at Alice Cooper ....and its an odd
man who doesnt like sport...think on.
You are less likely to attract attention to yourself if you
wear blue suede shoes on a golf course. I think thats enough
of a connection.
Fore !