2019/2020 Football Writing CV

9 Newcastle Benfield programmes

1 Squires Gate programme

Stand #31; Lowest Common Denominator

View #2; Fire in my Belly

View from the Allotment End #13; Glazed Expressions

View from the Allotment End #14; Restricted View

View from the Allotment End #15; Reborn Again

Staying Alert

You really couldn't invent this current Government if you tried....

So, it’s been just over a week since almost 27 million of us tuned in for Boris Johnson’s most recent state of the nation address. Unsurprisingly, rather than offering leadership for the way forward, information about the actual extent of infection or contrition for the abysmal mishandling of the pandemic by him and his coterie of clowns, this pre-recorded piffle was exactly the kind of platitudinous horseshit, delivered in a shambolic fashion, that we’ve come to associate with the blustering, devious, feckless charlatan who occasionally finds himself in charge of the country. His “roadmap” out of lockdown consisted of a whole quarter of an hour of contradictory messages couched in the kind of syntactic butchery that recalled the best work of the late, great Professor Stanley Unwin, appearing at one point to suggest it was now possible to spend time outside for the purpose of increasing mental wellbeing, but not if you were feeling down in the dumps.

Not content with sending a whole nation to bed on Sunday night in a state of baffled anger, the meaningless “stay alert” mantra was then rendered even more mendacious and obfuscatory when imbeciles like Hancock, Raab and that shithouse whose name escapes me, notably only for taking a day trip to Shrewsbury under lockdown, were thrust blinking and bullshitting in front of the cameras for the daily COVID-19 lie fest that is laughably known as the media briefing.  Frankly, after the huge swathe of retirements at the last election, it becomes ever more abundantly clear that we are at the mercy of a ruling party that is simply not fit for purpose, comprising as it does, the most inexperienced, incompetent shower of clockwork cretins ever assembled. I don’t buy the theory that Johnson is actually some kind of Machiavellian master tactician, manipulating events for the benefit of some, as yet unidentified, global masterplan; it seems ever more obvious that this blundering, indolent, sociopathic shitbag is merely a glove puppet for that evil, shady demagogue Dominic Cummings. It is gratifying to see Keir Starmer wiping the floor with BoJo every PMQ, by the simple expedient of forensic analysis of the lies spewed out by the Tories, though it does throw into even sharper relief the 5 wasted years under the stewardship of someone who would have been better served flogging dog eared back issues of Socialist Challenge from a trestle table at the Islington CLP monthly jumble sale.

Of course, the real message Johnson wanted to deliver, but failed miserably to articulate, was that the needs of capitalism required the probable deaths in service of numerous workers, specifically those who toiled in low paid, high risk jobs. Not only that but, as you could probably guess, the middle and upper classes would not be required to endure such privations. Like a gratuitously offensive rewrite of the famous sketch involving John Cleese, Ronnie Barker and Ronnie Corbett from TW3, Boris and the boys had sorted things so that the upper classes could take things easy and roam freely down country roads in their enormous motor cars, while the gently squeezed middle could send a few emails early doors from the breakfast table before meeting up with their nominated community chum for a round of golf, and the horny handed sons of toil could die, alone and in agony, but with the satisfaction of knowing their efforts had kept the wheels of industry sufficiently lubricated and rolling nicely along.

Just to put the tin hat on this desperate state of affairs,  Raab gleefully confirmed, none of us will be getting a holiday this Summer either; just as well Boris had that fortnight in the Caribbean at the start of the year then. Despite the surprising continuation of the furlough scheme that has already been denigrated by the Chancellor Rishi Sunak as, in less two months, somehow creating a whole new social stratum of lazy, feckless scroungers, who’ve had the Protestant work ethic erased from their DNA, as they are now prepared to subsist on 80% wages ad infinitum, let’s not delude ourselves about the real reason why the knives are out for all sections of the working class, especially those who are unionised. Rather like the cannon fodder who were sent over the top to their certain deaths during World War I, workers, in care, construction and (imminently) education, though not in the private sector of course, are being sent back to toil in unsafe environments to serve the needs of the profit motive.  Not only that, they’re being “advised” not to use public transport, despite the fact some of the lowest paid industries are being reanimated. Still, this will be an enormously popular move among the rank and file of the Tory Party, who will fondly remember Norman Tebbit’s facile entreaty that the unemployed should get on their bike and look for work.  The great news is that, during the week that observed the infinitely more moral World Conscientious Objectors’ Day rather than the previous Friday’s VE Day, unions stood up to the Government and, despite the nauseating lies of the Daily Mail, flexed their muscles, said no and saw some backtracking by the shamefaced vermin in the Cabinet. However, there’s a big battle still to be waged in education. Wait, watch and learn.

Of course, your average Tory probably thinks their policies regarding a mass return to work are an effective way of ironing out social inequality, by solving the problem of inadequate housing for the working class and attendant problems with social distancing, by sending the labouring multitudes back to work with, at best, a 50:50 chance of avoiding the virus. Even more crucially, reopening the schools will provide free day care, such is the value Tories put on state education, for the children of returning workers. Having spent 30 years in education, I know that teachers moan like shithouse doors in a gale at any given opportunity but, without exception, they know what is best for children rather than parents who largely treat schools as dumping grounds for their maladjusted crotch fruit. Again, in this instance teachers are correct; opening schools means potentially hundreds of thousands of pupils and staff are at risk of contracting COVID-19 and, needless to say, dying a wholly preventable and unnecessary death, simply because capitalism requires profits and human rights are irrelevant in a world where human beings are viewed by the ruling elite as expendable cannon fodder. The Tory Party does not have a conscience; any deaths will be blamed on those who finally cracked and couldn’t abide this Police State style lockdown we’ve all been forced into.

I’ve observed the fascistic strictures of the lockdown since it was introduced, though I remain convinced it has done any real good, but I’m getting pretty fucking sick of it and, while I’m not likely to put myself or other people in danger by ignoring it, I can understand why some people are at breaking point. We are social beings and being stuck in a predetermined space, without any choice of who you share that with, can lead to meltdown, never mind lockdown. For example, being restricted to 1 hour outside a day has meant my psoriasis has gone crazy because I’m denied sufficient Vitamin D from exposure to sunlight. Life is about taking calculated risks; otherwise none of us would ever emerge from our homes, but this disorganised and reactive piecemeal relaxation of the rules offers nothing tangible to build on in preparation for the full introduction of a new normal into society. Other than reopening garden centres I suppose. While most of the anti-lockdown protestors are tinfoil hat wearing geeks from the outer fringes of the New Age movement, replete with crystals, balms and incantations, as well as a scarcely comprehensible hatred of 5G technology, there is also the dangerous shadow of  ultra-right wing goons like Jayda Fransen, ready to pounce on any dissent. As about 50 people rocked up at Hyde Park for the showpiece protest, I’d suggest they have a long way to go before they’re taken seriously. The one fact that will keep Jayda Fransen’s natural constituency of barely literate, bald, middle-aged white men in chunky Italian knitwear on the straight and narrow, is their bizarre respect for authority in the shape of Johnson and his squad, if not the Filth.

With news that the R number is creeping perilously close to 1 again, we must look to the advice from Edinburgh and Cardiff; stay home, protect the NHS, save lives. Oh, and fuck the Tories as well.

Craft Work

Beer, in the time of lockdown.....

If Springfield’s notoriously corrupt and evasive mayor Diamond Joe Quimby had attended an English public school, there’s little doubt he’d be the spit of Boris Johnson. Our very own priapic, platitudinous prick addressed the nation on Sunday 10^th May, by means of a pre-recorded  monologue of startling vacuity that took 20 minutes to deliver the square root of fuck all, other than the important takeaway that horny handed sons of toil should henceforth get on their bikes and cycle to all manner of unsafe workplaces, putting their lives at risk to make rich people richer. Meanwhile their bosses have been granted the permission to enjoy a daily set of 18 holes with members of their Lodge from Wednesday onwards. Please bear the following in mind, if you are called back to work; section 44 of the Employment Rights Act gives you the right to walk away from unsafe work. Too many of us don’t know our rights and may need to be reminded that you should not go to work if you feel you are jeopardising your health and the safety of others. Of course, you need to cover your back if you do that, by immediately contacting your trade union. If you’re not in a union, join one now!!

Pausing briefly to acknowledge the fact that in this region, a certain subset of ageing violent heterosexual men from the skilled working classes venerate golf and Freemasonry alongside Islamophobia as part of their Authoritarian Populist weltanschauung, the different freedoms granted by the “easing” of the lockdown by the Uxbridge and Oxbridge buffoon are allocated according to the needs of capitalism and not the general good of humanity. Big business requires more profits to maintain the social hierarchy; if this means more deaths, tough. Still, at least Sean and Matty Longstaff can play headers and volleys in the garden now…

The usual Tory approach of the stick rather than a carrot, which has recently seen those lucky enough to be furloughed branded as “lazy” and “workshy” for seeking to live on 80% of their normal wage, was reinforced by Johnson’s vague and imprecise suggestion that if we all obey our lords and masters, then the pubs might open again by late July, supposing that the decent boozers haven’t all bitten the dust during this whole hideous, dystopian gap year we’re being forced to endure.

When Johnson announced the closure of all pubs on Friday 20^th March, I did what every other normal person did; I went to my local. There, in the wondrous Tynemouth Lodge, surrounded by friends and acquaintances, I had my last sup of Bass to date. I’d like to say it was my last drink and that I’d embraced an abstemious lifestyle, but that would be a lie as, in common with millions of others around the country, I’ve become an avid home boozer. It’s not as if I’m one of those moralistic, ostentatious moderate social drinkers who never drink in the house, keeping only a medicinal bottle of Brandy in the sideboard for emergencies, but I normally only have a drink in the house as a final assommoir, rather than preludial draft (who on earth invented the term pre-drinking?), mainly because I like to taste the beer I buy from pubs without previous pours impeding my palate.

I love and miss certain pubs, almost as much as I love and miss my family and friends. The list is extensive and obvious: at the coast, The Tynemouth Lodge, The Enigma Tap, Flash House, Barca, not to mention half the buildings on the Fish Quay from The Low Lights along to The Wooden Dolly. In town, the likes of The Bodega, Bar Loco, The Town Wall, Head of Steam, Box Social, Crown Posada and Bridge Tavern are grievous blanks in my social world, not to mention the very best of the Ouseburn in the glorious jewels that are The Cumberland Arms and The Free Trade Inn, as well as The Punch Bowl in Jesmond and The Northumberland Hussar in Heaton. Every pub I’ve mentioned is a superb example of a quality beer bar that attracts an interesting and varied clientele that makes it a proper public house. I hope they all make it through to the other side of these insane times we’re living through.

Incidentally, if you are expecting this piece to be an informed series of reviews of different ales, you’ll be disappointed. Instead, I’ll direct you to my lad Ben’s Instagram account @PeevyTimes where he talks about beers I’ve never heard of with the kind of enthusiasm I reserve for bands from Glasgow. My intention is to give a less scholarly overview of what realistic alternatives there are to crates of Stella or bottles of San Miguel for the discerning tippler.

While there have always been quality real ale outlets selling glorious hand-pulled, unpasteurised, often unfiltered, pure and righteous beer, it is only really with the advent of craft ales that quality bottled and canned beer for off sales has become more readily available. I know that the enduring geniuses from Wylam Brewery have been knocking out bottled beer for a good decade and a half, but it seemed to be difficult to source it other than in ASDA or from the venerable, and reassuringly pricey, Rehills’ in Jesmond. However, from around 2014 or thereabouts, it became possible to source craft beer from many different sources. My initial favourite was Glug in the Grainger Market, run by Simone and Ian Clarkin who had already established a superb delicatessen Mmm. Going for train or house cans was the grown-up equivalent of visiting an alcohol-based Fenwick’s Toy Fair as, in those early days the choice was dizzying for the uninitiated, who chose their poison by either design or the blurb on the can at first, only learning the names of hops and styles of beer by the experience of blind testing. Tragically, having moved into larger premises on Grainger Street, they found it impossible to keep going. Similarly, the first Coastal bespoke deli and bottle shop, Boda Home, has recently closed its doors, while posh office The Wine Chambers has only one outlet open these days, allowing its North Shields branch to give way to the potentially more lucrative Tynemouth Front Street branch.

Thankfully, there are many options for those of us now forced to enjoy our libations in the garden or even indoors, which will hopefully explain why we’re lucky to be locked down in 2020 rather than in 2000 or 2010, as the choice, in terms of both merchants and products, was minimal back then. Personally, I’ve invested in both collection and delivery services and see the positives and drawbacks of both. My local beer shop is the incomparable Yard House, which can be found in the back room of the Post Office at 27-29 Percy Park, Tynemouth, North Shields NE30 4LT. Offering excellent service, a massive array of cans and bottles at decent prices, as well as up to 5 different taps that can fill any metrically measured container, they won’t sell you anything that isn’t in pristine condition and they’re happy to chat about beer all day long (even when there’s a massive queue extending half way down to Longsands!). You’ll see me in the queue almost every Friday afternoon. I’ve heard excellent things about NORD (167 Park View, Whitley Bay NE26 3RF), though as yet I haven’t used their services, but I’m hoping to remedy that soon as their range of beers looks beguiling. Check them out at: https://nordbottleshop.co.uk/

I know I said I’m not one to review beers, but I adore Tiny Dancer by Flash House Brewing Co, and not just because head honcho Jack O’Keefe plays for Tynemouth Bad Boys in the midweek cricket league. Truly, it is an exceptional beer among many exceptional brews they’ve produced. Sadly though, they appear to be in hibernation during the current crisis. Check out their website  for any news of future developments; http://www.flashhousebrewing.co.uk/ Meanwhile, another North Shields outfit is supplying both beer and bakery products. The hands down best new pub of the past 3 years, The Enigma Tap, situated at 60 Bedford St, North Shields NE29 0AL, is somewhere you must visit when the insanity ends. Until then, you can book a delivery on line, as I did, and receive bespoke door-to-door service for competitive prices, with free delivery over £30 and 10% of all sales donated to the Whitley Bay Food Bank. Check them out at: www.enigmatap.co.uk  I had Enigma Tap deliver me 8 cans of the finest beer of 2020; Citra Cryo IPA by Two By Two, who are unquestionably the best local brewery. The beer was stunning, as were the tap versions of Citra Cryo and Snakes Eyes IPA that I got from Yard House this weekend just gone.

I’m a little out of the loop for beer shops in town, though I will forever sing the praises of hard rock and hard cycling devotee Bruce Renwick, who turned his love of beer into the way he makes his living with the superbly stocked CentrAle in the Central Station. Bruce will always find time to enthuse about his range of produce or the Tygers of Pan Tang, not to mention absolutely castigate Mike Ashley. It’s a great shop and I’d never dream of taking a train without several samples of his exhaustive stock list by my side. We’ve mentioned Rehills of course, but one place I’ve no real knowledge of, though both Ben and my Canadian pal Dave eulogise it, is Block and Bottle just over the High Level at 14 Wellington St, Gateshead NE8 2AJ. Apparently, a new outlet is about to open in Heaton, so I’ll check it out then.

5 brilliant Tyneside Breweries:

-          Two by Two

-          Almasty

-          Flash House

-          Full Circle

-          Wylam

5 recommended Tyneside Beer Shops:

-          Yard House

-          NORD Bottle Shop

-          Enigma Tap

-          CentrAle

-          Block and Bottle

Of course, there is also the matter of buying on-line, either from stockists or by signing up for a monthly scheme. As regards the latter, I’ve used two companies, both based in Edinburgh, with varying degrees of satisfaction. I signed up to Beer 52, on the back of a promotional email, back in Summer 2017. The price was reasonable, and it came with the compulsory magazine full of adverts and packet of sunflower seeds; the only trouble was the beer was uniformly appalling, consisting of a dozen small cans of peach and rose petal flavoured lagers. Perfumed piss basically. I sent them packing until early lockdown when their email offered 12 different Irish craft beers for £25 (plus magazine and birdseed). This time the beer was wonderful, though no Helvick Gold by the magnificent Waterford based Dungarvan Brewery, so I got the next monthly case of beers from Virginia, which came with the wonderfully informative The Story of Craft Beer by Pete Brown that tells you, in a very readable way, exactly what you need to know about beer styles and the process of brewing. These ales weren’t as good, but there was no reason to cancel. Hence, I’m waiting for May’s delivery before I make a decision. The other company I went with in the past was Flavourly; price wise, they are bargain basement but, having had to work my way through 24 cans from First Chop, I have to say a load of their stuff is like the obscure brews you see for 59p a bottle in B&M or Home Bargains. Cheap, but not so cheerful I’m afraid.

Our Ben, who knows his stuff, recommends Premier Hop, especially their virtual shop on Instagram, Mikkeller for expensive imported stuff and Honestbrew for their reliability.  I’ll take his word for it, having enjoyed many fine beers in pre social distancing days. Let’s raise a glass to those days returning and to a final pair of short lists, celebrating more brilliant breweries from around the country and abroad as well.

5 fabulous English breweries:

-          Cloudwater; Manchester

-          North Brewing Co; Leeds

-          DEYA; Cheltenham

-          Kernel; London

-          Verdant; Falmouth

5 superb International breweries:

-          Lervig; Stavanger, Norway

-          Gamma; Gørløse, Denmark

-          Basqueland; Gipuzkoa, Euskal Herria

-          Whiplash; Dublin, Ireland

-          Amundsen; Oslo, Norway

The Queen of Scotland

Lavinia Blackwall's new album, Mugginton Lane End, is brilliant. Here I explain why you should buy it...

One thing you may have picked up about my displacement activities during this pandemic, is that I’ve enthusiastically embraced the phenomenon of online shopping. Last week I spoke of my recent passion for the collected works of Michel Houellebecq and next week I intend to address the purchase of craft ales, with a personal take on which breweries and shops I advise you to investigate, but this week we’re going to have a look at some music.

As I’ve already alluded to, I’m a sucker for completism; if there’s a chance I can fill those frustratingly empty corners of my collection by blitz buying the less trodden byways of an artist’s oeuvre, I’ll seize it and worry about cost implications later. You’ll be aware of my deep and abiding love for Trembling Bells and the succession projects who have grabbed my undivided attention and unconditional love since the tragic split in September 2018: Alex Rex, Youth of America, Lavinia Blackwall and Stilton, well as ephemeral projects like Three Queens in Mourning. This last lot is as good as example as any of Alex Neilson’s mercurial take on the role of the Hardest Working Man in Showbiz, or Govan’s version of it anyway. The drummer teamed up with Alasdair Roberts and Jill Lorean to do a short tour in support of the publication of  Will Oldham’s book of lyrics, covering their favourite Bonnie Prince Billy numbers; it may, sometime, come out as a record and if it does, I’ll buy it. The problem is Alex Neilson has done hundreds of these releases and while it’s fairly easy to keep tabs on new releases, the hard part is going back in time to plug gaps I may not even have known about.

Another problem with Alex Neilson is that he is able to persuade me to spend my money on the more recherche elements of his practice, not even by emotionally blackmailing me, but by simply pointing out what he’s got available. He’d been digging around his flat when he unearthed spare copies of releases by Directing Hand, Kelley & Neilson, as well as Edwards, Mikami & Neilson. Soon as he messaged me, I hit PayPal for these and an Alex Rex t-shirt (unworn as yet); I’ll do so again when he digs out further promised goodies in the shape of another Directing Hand album and a Tight Meat promo, the noisy project he formed with author David Keenan when both were staffers at the late, lamented Volcanic Tongue, though it appears the Goathland CD from the very first iteration of Trembling Bells, limited to a run of 50, has long gone. I’d donate blood, platelets and any amount of plasma for that one.

Of the 3 discs I’ve bought so far, the one with trumpeter Greg Kelley (Passport to Sartori) is one he claimed I’d never listen to more than twice. He’s wrong; I’ve played through the untitled, ranting maelstrom that sounds like a herd of elephants falling down the side of a mountain three times now. I absolute love it, especially the opening track on side one and the middle one on side two; no names, no pack drill. It’s the most extreme parts of Don Cherry meeting with Buddy Rich. Free improvisation turned up to 11. It’s great and it’s terrible in the sense of being more than a wee bit frightening. Unbelievably Alex hasn’t listened to it in a decade, though he claims to be proud of the Edwards, Mikami & Neilson Live at Café Oto set.  I must hold my hands up here and say I’ve not bonded with this one yet, though I will return to it soon. First impressions suggest it’s very restrained, with what seems to me to be formal song structures and set lyrics, taking it away from the kind of unfettered free jazz caterwauling I like best of all.

Unfortunately, our cat Kraken has more sober musical  tastes than I have. Within about 30 seconds of the start of Red Munrow, the opening track on Directing Hand’s Songs from the Red House album, he was off his cushion and scratting at the front door to be out. I did him this favour and he didn’t come back in again for at least an hour, which coincided with Laura coming back from the shops, as I’d put the album on while she was out, knowing full well she’d hate it.

If you’re not familiar with Directing Hand’s work, they combine free improvisation drumming and wordless vocals, with chilling versions of traditional folk songs; for instance, the closing track on side 1 here is the most daemonic interpretation of My Lagan Love imaginable; not even the Shankill Butchers made the blood run as cold and so much in spate as this. The original numbers feature Banshee wailing and tribal percussion, to create unsettling slabs of primal noise. Getting to the point, at last, the performers who make up Directing Hand were Alex Neilson (the drummer) and Lavinia Blackwall (the voice). This record, which preceded the jaw dropping, pastoral beauty of Trembling Bells’s debut Carbeth, seems not just from a different decade, but from a different universe to the work the two of them are doing now.

Since Trembling Bells split, Alex has gone deeper and darker to the underworld in his solo albums Otterburn and Andromeda, while Lavinia, freed from the constraints of phrasing words she did not write, has embraced the chance to compose and sing her own material. Consequently, she is no longer merely a vocalist, though one with the most beautiful and versatile of voices,  but has bloomed into a singer songwriter with a rare and boundless talent for producing beautiful songs that, despite her permanent residence in Glasgow, seem as glorious as they are English. Do not take this to mean they are merely wistful, dramatic or even tragic, for they are also joyous, uplifting and as life-affirming as a trip through the meadows on a Midsummer morning. And doesn’t Muggington Lane End sound idyllic enough to be on Clay Pipe Records? However, do not be fooled into thinking that Lavinia’s work is to be pigeonholed like a latter-day Pillows and Prayers pastoral symphony to red squirrels and water nymphs; this album has muscle and packs a mighty punch.

 Much of the album has been signposted before the official release date, both live and on line. Indeed, Lavinia’s debut single, a tangible 7” of the ludicrously upbeat and jaunty Waiting for Tomorrow coupled with All Seems Better, came out early in 2019. It acted as a clear indicator of Lavinia’s intended approach to material recorded with Stilton, the backing band put together with her fiancé and artistic collaborator, Marco Rea, who first came to my notice as part of the Wellgreens over a decade ago.  Despite the presence of former bandmates Mike Hastings and Simon Shaw on the debut single, it was a massive departure from the heavy prog doom of Dungeness era Trembling Bells, offering hope instead of introspection and jollity in place of anger. The happy and uplifting atmosphere was continued on the next track she released on Bandcamp, Troublemakers. During her June 2019 tour, when we had the pleasure of a brilliant Saturday night out at The Cumberland Arms, Lavinia offered tangible CDs of Troublemakers and the anthemic Ivy Ladder, which live can resemble a Last Waltz style ensemble, teary-eyed singalong.

While Stilton are completed by Jim on bass and Seb on drums, with the album augmented by guest musicians such as the aforementioned Mike And Simon, not to mention Laura J Martin on flute, there are also stunning moments of solo artistry. Lavinia used to be a proper rhythm guitarist in Trembling Bells, but seemed to abandon this instrument when Alasdair C Mitchell appeared on the scene, in favour of keyboards. The album sleeve says she plays guitar, but also keyboards and it is in front of a piano that Lavinia becomes a transcendental performer; the stark and baroque Hold on to Your Love and life-affirming Keep Warm are the most touching and intimate moments of the aural hug that is Mugginton Lane End, though it continues to baffle me why the story of Watson, a live highlight, hasn’t made the cut.

Having journeyed to Glasgow on 1^st February to see Lavinia and Stilton support Alex at the celebration for the release of Andromeda, Laura and I had already pencilled in another trip on 1^st May for Lavinia’s album release at The Glad Café on the south side. Of course, the current insanity put paid to that, so we must wait until the world is safe again. However, I am reassured that Mugginton Lane End is getting the attention it deserves in these crazy times, as every review I’ve read has been somewhere between effusive and gushing in its praise. For the avoidance of doubt, this is another one of those pieces praising Lavinia to the skies. Buy this album and put a little optimism in your heart.