I’m
sure many of you will have seen my recent posts about the dire financial
situation I found myself in at the end of September. This cashflow crisis was
caused partly by Barclays suddenly withdrawing all my borrowing facilities as I
was claiming Universal Credit and partly as a result of the cumulative effect
of the DSS suspending Laura’s ESA in August 2017 after unilaterally declaring
her fit for work, meaning she had zero income for 14 months, though thankfully
she won her appeal and will get backdated benefits. However, the most
compelling reason we were left so financially bereft is the conduct of my
former friend, the sociopathic trainee probation officer David Caisley. As many
of you may know from his insistence on living out all of his life’s domestic
and professional failures on social media, when his ex-partner finally threw
him out, once she could no longer tolerate his binge drinking and compulsive
lying, as well as the attendant financial and emotional abuse that is his
signature sociopathic conduct, back in February, I gave him a roof over his
head when he was effectively homeless. While he wasn’t working, I never charged
him a penny for bills or rent, until he started work. He always paid in arrears
and so the last money I had from him was on 31st July. He moved out,
giving no notice, at the end of August, owing me over £500. I’m not saying the money would have kept Laura
and I on easy street, but life would not have been as hard with it as without
it. Most of all I’m saddened that I’ve been taken for a fool by someone who I
helped at his lowest ebb and have lost someone I used to regard as a very close
friend. If ever you consider helping him out, remember the man is a liar, a
fraud, a narcissist and a sociopath, who thinks only of his own needs and not
of the consequences of his actions or the subsequent, enduring impact on
victims. It’s a short memory he’s been cursed with; back at the turn of the
year when he’d done 28 bottles of red wine in 3 days, we turned up with both a
full English breakfast and steak pie and chips to ensure he ate something for
the first time in 72 hours. Still, as the Irish proverb states, eaten bread is
soon forgotten.
As
a result of this series of unfortunate events, I was left with effectively no
cash or access to any. Lacking any other viable options, I threw myself on the
mercy of the dole and was relieved, though deeply humiliated, to be referred to
the Newcastle East Food Bank. Having collected my big, red voucher from Byker
Job Centre, I headed for the collection point at the Happy Clappy Church at the
bottom of Heaton Road that used to be the bingo. Taking my place in the queue
behind a desperate, newly homeless family, a recently displaced single mother
from the South East (judging by her accent) and a Byker granny with a pair of
grandbairns in a push chair, I had my credentials checked by one of the zealous
volunteers from the Elim New Life Mission. All of us cowed by his radiant,
unquestioning faith and united by our collective crime of being poor, we
accepted our gifts of shower gel and toothpaste, before heading upstairs to
collect our food parcels.
Luckily,
I’d brought my rucksack and, on entering the room and accepting a free coffee
with a slice of homemade date and walnut cake, I handed it over to be filled
with tinned and dried goods. I took a seat and one of the volunteers, who was
not a religious zealot, took time out to check how I was doing. Frankly I was
feeling very emotional and this superficial chat put me at my ease. Certainly,
I could see how this brief segment of social interaction would be a great help
to some of the more vulnerable clients, though I’d hope the religious nutters
aren’t unscrupulous enough to use such circumstances as a way to groom those at
their lowest ebb, in the way the Leninist loonies in SPEW used to do outside
dole offices in the 80s. That said, once my fortunes are restored, this is
exactly the sort of community enterprise I’d love to get involved with as a
volunteer. It’s absolutely appalling that Caisley’s conduct forced me there as
a one-off, but it’s even more of a disgrace that ordinary, normal people are
required to use such services in this day and age. Mind, if that bastard
Michael Gove thinks scavenging on the council dump is an appropriate way for
ordinary people to find furniture and clothes, we’ve probably not hit rock
bottom as yet.
After
around 10 minutes my rucksack was returned, clearly full to the brim with
foodstuffs. I gave my thanks and headed home. Once back in the house, I emptied
the goods on the kitchen table and took stock -:
Radox
shower gel
Colgate
toothpaste
1
litre semi-skimmed UHT milk
1
litre dilutable orange
Box
of plain Oats so simple
Packet
of custard creams
Microwavable
Bulgar rice
Packet
of mixed nuts
3
chocolate biscuits
2
packets of crisps
Packet
of spaghetti
Packet
of macaroni
Jar
of Bolognese sauce
2
tins of baked beans
2
tins of chopped tomatoes
Tin
of peaches
Tin
of new potatoes
Tin
of butter beans
Tin
of chicken and mushroom soup
Tin
of beef and vegetable soup
Tin
of sardines
Tin
of hot dogs
Tin
of chopped pork
Perhaps
not the most exciting of weekly shops, redolent either of the kind of stuff
people used to take on camping holidays in the early 80s or what I’d buy as a
student, without the accompanying trays of bevvy of course, but solid and
filling. Frankly, if I’d known what was in store I’d have opted for the
vegetarian option as there’s no way, on grounds of personal taste, I could eat
any of those 3 final items. I didn’t get to sample the custard creams either,
as Ben spirited them away. What I did make with some of the ingredients,
perhaps predictably, was a vat of veggy pasta slop, adding olives, onions,
garlic, mushrooms and far too much black pepper I had kicking around the
cupboard. Close your eyes, breathe in and you could be in Sambuca’s, or Rialto in Ponteland,
enjoying a spag bol ordinaire and two
pints of cooking lager with Mike Ashley and 43 close personal friends.
Ah
Newcastle United; what act has the tragicomic pantomime reached in this
international break? Well, on the pitch events continue to demonstrate that
Benitez is the Noel Gallagher of football management; washed-up, hopeless,
irrelevant and turning into an embarrassment. Indeed, his refusal to allow the
likes of Freddy Woodman to go out on loan is more akin to something from Josef
Ftizl’s parenting manual. A grand total of 1 point, courtesy of an unconvincing
non-display at Selhurst Park where Palace spurned half a dozen gilt-edged chances,
was harvested from the latest set of fixtures which included timid and
predictable home losses to Arsenal and Leicester, where the ponderous sicknote
Rondon (aka Slimani II) was hors de
combat with some mysterious ailment that really ought to have precluded his
signing in the first place, not to mention the five goal tragedy at Old
Trafford. Sels, Lazaar, Games, Manquillo, Slimani and now Rondon; with that
kind of record in the transfer market you can understand why Ashley keeps his
friends close and his wallet closer.
Having
widely been predicted as being an unwatchable mess, Mourinho’s Evening of
Rehabilitation turned into the game of the season so far, while Liverpool
versus Man City stunk the place out. Newcastle enjoyed 70 minutes of untroubled
dominance, but a 2-0 lead turned into a desperate late loss as Mourinho kept
his job, which is almost as farcical a state of affairs as Benitez keeping
his. At any normal club, things really
ought to be hotting up for Benitez, as the newly slimline and frankly rather
handsome Mike Ashley has been attending games of late to see El Rey de la Mierda de Toro’s tactical
masterclass at first hand.
Without
question, Ashley has been a devastatingly malign influence on Newcastle United,
but the dinosaur tactics, miserable demeanour, rank incompetence in the
transfer market and utter inability to accept any responsibility for the dire
situation the team is in must all count against Benitez. The owner saw the
abject failure in front of goal against Palace and Leicester; no goals scored,
and, in the case of the latter game, a defeat assured the moment the team sheet
was submitted. Don’t forget the storm of booing that greeted Benitez’s decision
to withdraw Matt Ritchie at that game and the vastly increased numbers of fans
who are starting to question the way the manager is going about his job. Many
more are starting to see the validity in the “If Rafa stays I go” anti bullshit
standpoint.
Contrast
the emerging dissatisfaction with Benitez with the rapturous applause Kevin
Keegan earned at the Sage on 2nd October. Alright so Kev has a new
autobiography to sell and, regardless of the atrocious treatment he endured at
the hands of Ashley and his loathsome henchman, it’s a fairly open secret he
only took the NUFC job for the second time as he needed the cash to dig him out
of a Soccer Circus sized hole. That said, self-awareness has kicked in at last.
He knows he’s a tactical relic and has no aspirations to take a seat in the dug
out again. However, and this is important, once Newcastle United are free of
the Ashley dictatorship, there is only one viable candidate for the role of
club president or ambassador; step forward Joseph Kevin Keegan. Let’s not make
the same mistake we did with Bobby Robson; let’s keep our own sort within the
family circle.
Now,
as regards the queasy-looking Premier League table, I have to tell you there
are grounds for minimal optimism. I’ve seen Fulham and Southampton on the telly
of late and they are both rubbish, in the same way Huddersfield, Newcastle and
the ale house kung fu squad from Cardiff are rubbish. There doesn’t seem to be
any conceivable way other relegation candidates will emerge from outwith these
5 and with Newcastle’s games before the next transfer window consisting of
Brighton (H), Southampton (A), Watford (H) and Bournemouth (H), any manager
worthy of the name should be looking forward to a minimum of 10 points from
those games, which should see even a half competent team putting a considerable
distance between themselves and the drop zone. Then again, the tactical
mastermind that is Benitez oversaw a grand harvest of 2 points from those
respective games last year. If we get something similarly modest this time
around, start preparing for Saturday evenings sat in front of Quest TV in 2019.
Of
course, the real story about Newcastle United has very little to do with the
team on the pitch and everything about the politics and personalities away from
the ground. Back on 5th September, The Magpie Group held an open
meeting in The Labour Club, which drew a crowd significantly smaller than
Benfield against Whitley Bay on the same night. A surprisingly chummy Martin
Hardy managed to do both events, joining his bosom pal Angry Mike Bolam, the
ferocious fence-sitting CEO of nufc.com, at Sam Smith’s Park for the second
half. This time around, the latest Magpie Group summit on 3rd
October attracted less of an audience than made it to Blue Flames for the Under
21s the night after, or indeed the meek entourage who were breaking bread with
Ashley and Benitez at the Ponteland Diners Club. Fair play to the Fenham
educated Flying Column who countermanded the 11 potential courses of action
being voted on at the Labour Club, which would probably have put up more of a
fight against Leicester at SJP than the shower Benitez sent out, raising the
protest stakes by incoherently shouting clichés at a restaurant rather than a
shop. I doubt those who’ve paid north of £350k for a gaffe in Newcastle’s answer
to Bel Air appreciated having a load of scruffs from Jesmond Vale shouting and
bawling until yon time on a school night. To be honest, the Spaghetti House
Siege got better coverage and caused less hilarity than footage of that
bladdered Mackem berating the Jimmy Hill statue outside the Ricoh Arena. Let’s
be clear about this though; many, if not all, blocks of basalt deserve a good
telling off for their recalcitrance.
Ashley,
despite being unmercifully hectored during his tea, was painted as the bad guy
for sticking 2 fingers up at the stormy petrels from Strawberry Place, through
the back window of his departing limousine. Personally, I think it’s fair
enough to react like that if you’ve been jostled in an intimidatory fashion
after a night out. The way that Ashley disappointed me was because he didn’t
act decisively to make this Benitez’s Last Supper by giving him a P45 for his
just desserts. Of course, it could simply be it isn’t ready to hand out yet, as
the content has been decided on, rather like the minutes of the latest Fans’
Forum.
NUST
are up in arms about these minutes, as they apparently had someone record the
meeting surreptitiously and what was said on the night supposedly doesn’t fit
with the published version. According to the latest co-ordinated, ad hominem social media onslaught, which
is starting to resemble a cyber Lord of
the Flies, this is somehow all the fault of the ludicrously over promoted
Lee Marshall, decent bloke that he is. The poor lad probably has nowt to do
with this whole affair, as the timorous, cowering Charnley is probably passing
all this sort of stuff up the line to Keith Bishop’s Ministry of Information
for Ashley approved Stalinist rewrites. Of course, truth is the first casualty
of a cyber war and the fact Lee Marshall is wholly innocent of the spurious
accusations thrown at him makes no difference to the angry brigade. I did
notice in the minutes that Peter Fanning of NUST had tendered his apologies for
the meeting in question, which is what probably caused the delay as he was the
bright lad who broke the embargo on the minutes of the inaugural FF meeting all
those years ago and consequently had an unapologetic NUST expelled, profoundly damaging fan relations and
relationships with each other and the club.
True Faith organised another one of
those ten quid a pop press pow wows at the Irish Club for Thursday 11th
October, with the money going to the West End Food Bank, in the wake of the
most vicious of the Twitter blitzkrieg against Lee Marshall. Unbelievably, it
seems that, despite the utter disgust of several senior members of the Magpie
Group, there is no public acceptance of misconduct or wrongdoing in the
campaign against Lee Marshall. Being frank, it is more than a crying shame that Wallace Wilson, chair of
the Magpie Group and seemingly a glove puppet for True Faith, has neither apologised to Lee nor distanced himself
from the actions of a few mindless morons. Unless he does, he should be
compelled to resign or be forcibly removed from his position in the Magpie
Group, lest it fall victim to the ideological bombast of True Faith.
Meanwhile,
after last Saturday’s Non-League Day undoubtedly passed by the consciousness of
99% of those who regularly rock up to SJP to pay tribute to Ashley’s Empire of
the Senseless, the lasting legacy of his and Benitez’s incompetence is that the
coming game against returning hero Chris Hughton’s Brighton is the lower
profile and less appealing game on Tyneside this Saturday, lagging far behind
the Dunston versus Gateshead FA Cup clash that the BBC are showing on the red
button. I said after last December’s dire 0-0 when Brighton were last in town
that I’d not be returning to SJP while Benitez remained in charge. I’d imagine
a significant number of others will have come round to my way of thinking if
the result goes against Newcastle this weekend. It’s just a shame that the
umbrella organisation to harness all displeasure and frustration among NUFC
fans has been hijacked by True Faith
for their own ends.
Ashley
OUT! Benitez OUT! Wilson OUT!
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