Summer’s Here

Finally after two years in a broom cupboard in Stretford, I have moved offices to Manchester City Centre – so this week has been spent walking through the city in the sunshine – something I haven’t done for ages, and I can’t believe how much the city has changed since I last worked here.

Apart from the increase in the number of Starbucks and Café Nero, there just seems to be a great buss about the place.

At the moment, the temperature is 25° - and in the words of Ian Brown – “Manchester has everything – apart from a beach”

I once suggested that an area of Salford Quays should be converted into a city beach for Mancunians – the idea was laughed away by everyone I told, they thought an urban beach in Manchester would be a haven for the city’s scallies, and the sand would be awash with piss, broken bottles and needles.

Maybe it would have done ten years ago when I moved her but not so much now – even the spilffs I used to illicitly smoke in Piccadilly Gardens as a student have been replaced by urbane professionals sipping lattes on the grass.
It makes me think of Brighton again, and having some time off work.

Tagalog & Mushy Peas

Not posted much on here lately as I've been away to Bulgaria, plus I've also been thinking about doing a course in teaching English as a foreign language.

Anything social that has been happening has been on my parter's side - events which included the wedding one of his friends tying the knot with a Philipino girl in the Lake District, and various visits to relatives.

I should also mention though that I won a holiday for two at a works do where I ended up suitably legless.

Trying to be good and save for the summer as plan on going down to Brighton with my best mate for a bit of a jolly over Pride weekend.

Transpennine Excess

Tried in vain to get a cheap hotel in Liverpool on Saturday - but with it being Paddy's Day in the spiritual home of all plastic Paddies, a cheap hotel was not found.

Decided just to go through for the day on the train, as it's not that far.

We were going through to see one of our friends who we met at the start of our language course.

Our language course, has came to an abrupt end - Anja, the woman who runs the business decided to let me and J get down to the University when there was no class on - after various phone calls and text messages, I've heard neither hide nor hair from her and can only presume that she's fucked us off.

So we've decided to do our next course in Liverpool though our friend's teacher.

This will mean going through to Liverpool once a month, but that's no hardship as it's a cool city.

Arrived at lunchtime, and headed for the pub straight away - ended up in the Lisbon, where they did 35ml measures and nice sandwiches.

Suitably lashed after a good laugh in the pub, managed to stagger back to Lime Street for the train home.

Pic is of Sean Lamont, Scottish rugby player who was sent off on Saturday. Nice boy.

New Addition

I've only just got back from Rotterdam, but when I got back I welcomed in the new addition to my home, who comes in the shape of Mitzi.

Whatever Happened To Black Lace

Is the question that I couldn't get out of my head early one morning last year somewhere in Sunny Beach.

Having been out the night before, and over-indulged I was idly looking out towards the sea.

I don't know if it was the air conditioning unit or just the voices in my head, but I couldn't get Agadoo out of my head.

I propably haven't listened to Agadoo since the last primary school party I went to, where I would inevitabally ended up dancing with the girl who stunk of Spaghetti Bolognese.

In fact, if the truth be told, my last primary school disco saw me play DJ for the first (and not the last) time, although my wheels of steel where then limited to a very basic Midi Hi-Fi (if that word itself isn't a blast from the 80s, I don't know what is), and my stack of vinyl was limited to some 60s, 70s and 80s seven inchers, as well as the then newly released Je Ne Sais Pas Pourquoi by Kylie Minogue - who at that point was considered to be completely naff, and had yet to transform herself into the Disco Diva that she became.

Stock Aitken & Waterman at some point give way to Simon Cowell and Nigel Lythgoe.

Black Lace, however, never pretended to be tender than thou and made honest-to-god party music that was still being played in discos in the aresehole of England as late as 1989.

I was reminded of their greatness other night when I drank a bottle of wine and watched Rita Sue and Bob Too, a film which really shines after more than twenty years.

If hearing "We're Having A Gang Bang, We're Having A Ball" doesn't bring a smile to the lips, then it's a poor do indeed.

I would have thought then that they would now be retired living in palatial mansions in Sussex, lving off the royalties of their music.

How wrong was I.

It transpires that "Cottom Eye Joe" by Rednex was actually the last thing Black Lace released - one of the duo was knocked down by a London bus not long afterwards, and the sole surviving member appears to be living on benefits on a run down council estate in South London.

Poor Michael Barrymore

It looks as though the Murdoch press have gotten their way at last, as I have read that entertainer Michael Barrymore is to leave the UK permanently for a new life in New Zealand with his boyfriend.

Never have I seen the country turn on a celebrity so viciously for announcing their sexuality.

My mother, who in the 80s would not miss an episode of Strike it Lucky, will now no longer watch him claiming he's a pervert and an abomination in the name of Christ.

The reason I find myself siding with Barrymore comes down to the way that facts have been distorted to make Barrymore look like Hitler.

Michael Barrymore is a gay man, and unfortunately he had to remain in the closet for a ridiculous amount of time, whilst at the same time, his freeloading wife was fully aware of his predicament whilst running up huge Visa bills at Harvey Nicks.

I would have thought that the raciest and most debauched showbiz parties would have been hosted by rock legends or heavy metal bands - not the man famous for My Kind of Music.

Something which has been blown out of proportion is the death of Stuart Lubbock, a closet homosexual who was a regular attendee at Michael Barrymore's parties, as well as less savoury events.

There are two main theories about the death of Stuart Lubbock - the first being that he was force-fed cocaine by Michael Barrymore, before being fucked to within an inch of his life, then drowned in a swimming pool cheered on by a crowd.

The other school of thought is that the "internal injuries" were administered after death, in a very Savillesque way by a hospital porter.

What angers me is the constant presence of Lubbock's father Terry who never misses an opportunity to hog the limelight, badmouth Barrymore, and convince the world that his son was a red blooded heterosexual.

The only person Terry Lubbock is trying to convince is himself.

Although it's a tragedy that his son died - Stuart Lubbock was gay.

To blame someone else for his shortcomings as a father is a bigger tragegy.

Charlie With Rick Stein

Have finally now switched my blogger account over to a google one, so any absence of posts can be summed up in a few lines.

Celebrity Big Brother was a sheer disappointment, and nothing short of a media circus. Whoever thought Jade Goody would be a South London version of Kofi Annan is obviously in need of a trip to the real world. At the end of the day, in the wise words of the very first housemates, it's only a gameshow. Don't hate the player, hate the game.

Christmas is now well and truly over, apart from the fact that the UK had some snowfall last week, none of it landing in Stretford, so there have been no early finishes or office closures for me. I suppose there's always next year.

Lauren Harries: Come On Down!

The furore regarding Celebrity Big Brother has now reached hysterical proportions.

Effigies of Europeans are being burned on the streets of India, and The Perfume Shop is withdrawing Jade Goody's perfume.

Militant Asians have petitioned Ofcom with racist allegations left, right, and centre.

I'm only surprised Jihad hasn't been called for.

he one way to calm the situation down is to replace the three Big Brother housemates who walked off the show.

Lauren Harries, is desparate to become a housemate although tests showed that her mental state isn't 100.

So? Put her in and watch her make mincemeat out of the housemates!

The Icicles

This song is from the current Moto advert - I'm lovin' it!