Caledonia Uber Alles

I'm delighted to be in issue #2 of "Hopeless Football Romantic," which is the brainchild of Stuart Mole, who will be delighted to sell you a copy (http://www.hopelessfootballromantic.com/). My piece is about my enduring love affair with the Scottish Juniors -:

It’s fair to say I like football, especially the grassroots version. During season 2014/2015, I saw a game every single Saturday from July 5^th, a pre-season friendly between my club Newcastle Benfield and Annan Athletic, all the way through to June 6^th; that’s 49 successive weeks. Of course, keen students of UEFA regulations will note that all domestic leagues that define themselves as winter competitions and are part of Platini’s protectorate must finish their domestic programme by the end of May, though they can finish considerably sooner. For instance, Benfield kicked their final ball on April 25^th and the lowest level of organised senior football in my region, the Tyneside Amateur League, of which I am proud to call myself Chair, wrapped things up with a 1-1 draw between Gosforth Bohemians Reserves and Hazlerigg Victory on May 20^th.  While national sides have always played games in June, it was something of a surprise to see the Champions’ League final played on June 6^th, as UEFA regulations had previously expressly prohibited club football in the sixth month.

Of course, it isn’t compulsory to be a part of UEFA. Indeed, a certain stratum of Scottish sporting culture has long led the way by having nothing to do with FIFA and their meddling, as running parallel to the senior game in Scotland, is a national (though regionalised) competition that includes 161 clubs, playing at a wildly varied standard in front of wildly varying  crowds in wildly varying stadia. I give you, the Scottish Junior Football Association.

Straightaway the title of the organisation may lead some to assume it is a youth league. However the term "Junior" does not relate to the age of players. Football for youngsters is generally known as "Youth" or "Juvenile.” In the late 19th century, membership of the Scottish FA conferred "Senior" status on league clubs who were exclusively professional and the Junior grade developed separate to the SFA framework, with part-time players. If you think the term Junior is illogical, think about our phrase “non-league,” which is plainly daft as every team play in a league. Today, Senior football in Scotland is played in the Scottish Professional Football League, as well as the four potential feeder leagues, the Highland Football League, the Lowland Football League, the East of Scotland Football League and the South of Scotland Football League, of which only the first provides a standard of football demonstrably above parks level. Over time, Scottish football developed its current pattern with either Junior or Senior non-leagues taking precedence in various parts of the country. Confusingly, there is also Scottish Amateur Football Association, but we’ll not even go there, as this article is about the Juniors who, being outside UEFA jurisdiction, unilaterally state their season must finish by “2pm on the third Saturday in June, regardless of the date,” as this is when the Juniors have their AGM.

As a result, I found myself in Memorial Park on the outskirts of Glenrothes in Fife on June 6th, with approximately 200 other weirdos, oddballs and social inadequates from the groundhopping fraternity, watching Thornton Hibs claim the McBookie East of Scotland North Division, with a 4-0 hammering of Lochee Harp from Dundee. Despite the obvious Irish roots of both teams, there was not a hint of sectarianism at the game; in my experience football, like much else, in the east of Scotland is considerably more relaxed and less intense than in the West. There may have been another game on that date between Barca and Juve, but as far as I was concerned, this was Europe’s premier club contest and a fitting climax to the 2014/2015 season. It was also the 12^th different Juniors ground (9 in the West region and 3 in the East) I’d set foot on since my inaugural trip to see Pollok 1 Arthurlie 2 in February 2003, so I’ve a long way to go to complete my set. Unlike my mate Mick, who got me interested in the Juniors on one of my regular trips north of the border. Mick moved from Ashington, first to Cowdenbeath in 1997 and then to Paisley, home of St Mirren, in 2001. He tried season tickets at both his local sides, which enabled him to complete all 42 Scottish league grounds. This done, he embarked on a never-ending tour of the West and East Juniors, both of which he’s now completed. The Sunday Post now employs him and another bloke who lives in Paisley, but comes from Newbiggin, to do match reports from the Juniors.  

In the North region, which covers the Grampian and Moray areas and where the Junior game is at its weakest on account of the strength of the Highland League, 37 clubs play in one of the Super League or the geographically split West and East divisions. Up there, other than around Aberdeen, games tend to be played on glorified park pitches. The Scottish Junior Cup, which has been contested since 1886, has only twice been won by clubs in the current North region; the last being Banks O’Dee in 1957. Even Mick hasn’t bothered investigating the North region. Yet. Moving further south, stretching from Montrose to Dunbar, is the East region, where 61 clubs play in 4 divisions; the East Super League, the East Premier League, the East North division and the East South division.  Here, the powerhouses of the game are found in the East and West Lothian regions; these include Linlithgow Rose, whose Prestonfield ground is a glorious arena, their hated local rivals Bo’ness United, Musselburgh Athletic, who lost in the final of this year’s Junior Cup which was played at Kilmarnock’s Rugby Park, as well as near neighbours, the twin Thistles of Armadale and Bathgate Thistle, who play at the magnificently named Volunteer Park and Creamery Park, which I’ve visited twice. The East region has competition from the Seniors, in the shape of the ostensibly higher standard East of Scotland League, which is strong in the Borders, but weaker elsewhere. It does have some magnificently named members though, in the shape of Civil Service Strollers and Burntisland Shipyard. Without question, East region facilities and playing standards are higher in the Juniors  than the Seniors from all I’ve seen and read.

However, the real jewel in the Juniors’ crown is the West region, incorporating the strongest teams at this level who are drawn primarily from the former Ayrshire coalfield. The top four teams in the West Premier were all from this area; Auchinleck Talbot, Hurlford, Irvine Meadow XI and Glenafton Athletic. Auchinleck Talbot hold all the bragging rights this season; winners of the West league, Ayrshire Cup and Scottish Juniors Cup, while their loathed local rivals Cumnock (games between the two can attract crowds of 3,000; as many as Ross County or St Mirren get!) were relegated. There are 63 clubs in 5 divisions; a Premier and First Division, two Central Divisions and an Ayrshire League. The main Glasgow clubs are Pollok and Arthurlie, who also attract crowds in four figures to their well-appointed Dunterlie Park and Newlandsfield grounds. The grounds are bigger and better; some even have floodlights. The award for best named ground must go to Larkhall Thistle, who call Gasworks Park their home. The one geographical anomaly are Kelloe Rovers from Kirkconnell in Dumfriesshire, who are the only Junior side in an area dominated by the frankly dire South of Scotland League. If you’re intending to go to Kirkconnell, as I did for a 4-1 loss to Yoker Athletic on June 8^th 2013, take a packed lunch; there are no shops in the village. In fact, there isn’t anything other than the football club, whose social club is a portakabin called The Rovers’ Return.

So, as we’ve established, the fact the campaign ends in a flurry of Cup finals in early to mid-June (I didn’t bother on June 13^th, as the three games were at grounds I’d already visited) gives you an excuse for a late season football fix. Mind, as well as having the authentic Scottish summer experience of bathing in pale sunshine while being devoured by midges, I’ve also shivered on Caledonian terraces in the winter. You see I don’t just love Scottish football, I am a passionate devotee of Scottish indie music and home town gigs by the likes of Teenage Fanclub, The Pastels or Belle & Sebastian make ideal excuses for a weekend away, especially when combined with a Junior game. At the end of May, a trip to see Ride at Barrowlands on the Friday was embellished by a Saturday trip to Irvine Meadow XI v Arthurlie in a West of Scotland Cup semi-final (each Juniors club plays in a minimum of 4 cup competitions each season). Cup ties are something else. While games in the West kick off at 2.00 and in the East at 2.30, when there’s a cross regional cup draw, games start at 2.15; that’s what I call a proper compromise. Also, if the game is drawn after 90 minutes, it goes straight to penalties.

Irvine is not a scenic spot on the whole; blighted by unemployment, social deprivation and rampant sectarianism (the world’s first Orange Lodge is a few miles down the road in Kilwinning), it does boast the atmospheric Meadow Park. Having lunched on Scotch pie and Irn Bru, I took my spot on the terrace next to the man with the worst case of Tourette’s in Ayrshire. The fact Irvine went into a quick 2-0 lead didn’t satisfy him; he berated his team in the strongest manner possible. There is something so stylish about Scottish cursing don’t you think? He gave his vocabulary free rein all afternoon, especially when Arthurlie came back to 2-2, courtesy of a horrific keeper error and a last minute equaliser. The script was written; Arthurlie were 6-5 up when a home player thundered his kick against the top of the bar. Mr Sweary responded to this misfortune less than stoically, with an impassioned bellow of “YOU F*****G NODDY,” as the unfortunate lad slumped to his knees. That image and that sound are, in a nutshell, why I’ll keep going back to obscure, bleak corners of Scotland to watch games of questionable quality at ramshackle grounds for many years to come.

Joyousness

Sadly last week I was so busy, I missed two Band of Holy Joy gigs on Teesside. However their astonishing new album "The Land of Holy Joy" is available now from http://www.stereogramrecordings.co.uk/audio/the-land-of-holy-joy-band-of-holy-joy-cddl-album/ and I urge you to buy it. Also out this week is PUSH 18, another essential purchase from joe.england64@gmail.com - to square this circle, here's an interview I did with my dear friend Johny Brown from The Band of Holy Joy that appeared in PUSH 17.

July 1977. The first Saturday evening of the six weeks holidays in Newcastle upon Tyne. Two weeks previously Queen Elizabeth II had been in town on her Silver Jubilee tour. Six weeks earlier my cousin John brought the Chilside Road Jubilee street party to a juddering, premature close by repeatedly blasting The Pistols through his open bedroom window. A week earlier Mohammed Ali had turned up on Tyneside to officially open Eldon Square shopping centre. He drew a bigger crowd than Mrs Windsor and autographed my mate Roy Fox’s copy of Pretty Vacant that he bought in Listen Ear that morning.    Now, three weeks shy of my 13^th birthday, I’m at my first ever punk gig. The University Theatre has been occupied by a disparate gang of lefties, artists, students, beatniks and other marginal subcultural species, after it was announced that funding would cease and the place could close. Tonight is a benefit gig to raise funds for the protest. Four of us take the 59 from Felling Square into town; wander up Northumberland Street, drop 30p each in collection buckets and take an uncomfortable pew on the sagging velvet couches in what is normally the bar area, which is closed. Three bands are playing; local long hairs Raven top the bill, ironic comic book new wave funsters Harry Hack and The Big G are on middle, but first up are Speed. A female drummer smashes the kit like she’s a grudge against all snares and cymbals. The bespectacled bassist is wearing a rugby shirt. He can’t play properly. The guitarist, all bike jacket, bleached hair and defiant poses slashes away at barre chords on numbers such as Suck, Job Shop and Gonna Hit You. The singer seems shy, almost diffident. He’s in a blue v neck jumper and clean, white shirt; like he’s just taken his school tie off before coming to the gig. He’s electrified once the music starts though. Mesmerising. He’s called Johny Fusion and he changes my life. I don’t see the bloke again for ten years, save a quick glimpse of him from the upstairs window of the 529 walking down Gateshead High Street, clutching a blue Adidas holdall.

December 1987.  Surfers Bar. Tynemouth.  A freezing Wednesday by the bleak North Sea two days before Christmas.  I’m living in Leeds, where that autumn I’d seen Big Black, The Swans, The Gun Club, Age of Chance and The Men They Couldn’t Hang, but this was the one I had to come back for. Summer 87 my mate Karl introduced me to the work of this incredible group, who amalgamated Viennese klezmer music, with Brechtian tales of woe and excess on the streets of South London and North Tyneside. Rosemary Smith was outside North Shields Metro station in the first song I heard by this astonishing ensemble. I recognised the voice from a decade earlier; it’s unmistakably Johny, but he’s using his surname Brown now, as lead singer of the Band of Holy Joy. As a glorious, riotous, anarchic gig comes to its conclusion, I end up with a microphone in my hand, somehow, singing along with Johny to my favourite of theirs; Who Snatched The Baby? I’ve never heard them play it live since that night. Three days later, floating deliriously out of the Gallowgate after beating Man United 1-0 on Boxing Day, who do I fall into conversation with going out the ground? Johny Brown.

May 2015. Johny’s 54^th birthday. The night before he completed a 10 kilometre sponsored run for Mencap. Two weeks previously, the night after the election and the day before his hometown team North Shields win the FA Vase (for amateur clubs) at Wembley, which Johny gives his ticket away for, he plays a gig with Band of Holy Joy at Newcastle Cluny. It is a triumphant homecoming and, over a backstage beer, I present him with a copy of PUSH #16.  He’d read us lots of times before, ever since Joe England sold Johny a copy of PUSH #7 at an Irvine Welsh reading down the Mile End Road. Johny’s partner Inga flicked through and came across the story A Quick One and said “Ian Cusack?” Two degrees of separation at most…

Small world it may be and Band of Holy Joy are a big part of mine. It hasn’t been a breeze for them; endless critical acclaim and public indifference. Shortening the name to Holy Joy then a hiatus for a decade from 1993. A false dawn of reformation, before another period in the long grass. However since 2007, Band of Holy Joy have released a series of ever improving albums, backed up with storming live performances and a regular presence on air at Resonance FM (check out their Friday night BAD PUNK show). Not only that, but Johny has assembled the best band he’s ever played with; Bill Lewington (drums), Mark Beazley (bass), James Stephen Finn (guitar), Peter Smith (keyboards), Inga Tillere (visuals) and Johny Brown (vocals and harmonica), who spared some precious time from recording their new album to answer some questions.

IC: 38 years is a hell of a long time to be involved at the margins of the music industry, however much quality you’ve produced. Where do you get your inspiration and motivation to keep doing stuff from? What would the 1977 Johny say to the modern day one?

JB: I think Bill and me both share an urge to improve as musicians. Bill especially is really driven, but maybe we’ve got something to prove as we weren’t exactly technically the best when we started, and this phase of the band is us trying to catch up and make records of worth at last. Stuff you can be really proud of. Though when most people our age have long thrown the towel in, it seems that we’re just limbering up.  Shadow boxing. The ability of the rest of the band and especially their dedication (all of them do stuff at Resonance as well) is so high that there’s definitely something to aim for. Being honest, I don’t think I’m ever going to be a proficient vocalist in the accepted sense, but I still like to try and work keenly with the limited range I’ve got. That’s why we did a cover of Don’t Dictate when Rob Blamire and Pauline Murray (of Penetration) came to see us, and of course we’ve been playing with Gary Chaplin recently, who is writing brilliant new material; it’s such a blast to do. Although it sounds like a new song to young bucks like James and Peter. What Goes On was for a Velvets tribute / Resonance benefit night. It fitted our strengths really well and was such good fun to do it has stuck around, and maybe it might point to where we might head on our next album musically, but who knows. At the minute we’re listening to lots of Sun Ra, The Monks, Ethiopian Funk and Joe Meek. I think the 1977 Johny would dig this 2015 version, as he was listening to Nuggets, funk and reggae back then, as well as punk, I would hope so anyway. He would be absolutely appalled at the thought of having to exert himself in any physical activity or do corporate charity fundraising shenanigans though.

You’ve been in London now for twice as long as you ever lived on Tyneside; which city do you prefer? If pushed, could you say which place feels more like home for you?

I think I’m lucky to have and know both places. Depending on mood and circumstance, both Newcastle and London are equally inspiring, stimulating, depressing, irritating, boring, life enhancing, soul destroying and so on. As the years pass, I grow more regretful that I never had the opportunity to live in Paris, Athens or NYC properly for an extended period of time. Being honest, I see this question as being as much about people as places. For instance, I would be happy to live in Latvia (Inga’s home country), I think, or indeed, as we’ve often talked about, Edinburgh or Glasgow.

Ah; Edinburgh, or Leith in particular. You’re great pals with Irvine Welsh, sharing a passion with him (and me) for Hibernian FC. How did either of those things come about? Is that why you shot the stunning video for “There Was A Fall / The Fall,” about the murder of Ian Tomlinson, with the superb Scottish actor (and Hibee) Tam Dean Burn? Your music isn’t expressly political in ideological terms, but there’s a strong sense of morality and social justice to it; how conscious is this?

A friend of mine Max moved up to Glasgow in about 1987 and we sort of fell into company with Irvine one time and hit it off really well. Quite ordinary really.  As a matter of fact, I went to my first Hibs match with Kenny MacMillan, a school mate of Irvine’s. It was a derby at Tynecastle, Hearts’s ground, on a really cold snowy New Year’s Day. We were still tripping from the previous night’s activities, but had a pretty dramatic comedown after a terrible nil nil that was probably the most dreary football match I’ve ever attended but I’ve had a soft spot for them ever since. Football players and teams come and go but it’s the supporters that make a club good or bad, mediocre or legendary in my book and I love the vibe at Easter Road . I get on well with a load of Hibee fans. Tam is a long-time friend and collaborator; I’ve done four stage plays with him and countless radio dramas. He’s looked after me a lot over the years. He’s a top man and a great fucking actor.  The best plays that Tam and myself have worked on together do have that strong sense of morality and social justice in them as well as a theme of unquestioning love for the underground and counter culture. Funnily enough, the only time we ever came a cropper, and it was a big cropper, was at the Traverse in the Festival, when we tried to write something that was expressly political in content and narrative. Disaster. Total. Don’t want to talk about it. Sniff.

Your last Newcastle gig was the day after the general election, as well as the day before your hometown club North Shields FC played at Wembley, to win the FA Vase. I know you gave up a ticket for that; any thoughts on the relative benefits to Shields of those two events?  And, staying in the north east, how do you feel about Newcastle United these days?

Bad timing for me, but a great day for the town and I do wish I’d been there. The election will do the town no favours at all. But then again, when have the powers that be ever thought about rough and unpolished diamonds like Shields? ‘A town where no town ought to be.’ I think Ralphie Gardner (the man responsible for North Shields becoming independent of Newcastle in the 17^th century) said that! As regards Newcastle, you used to find me in the Leazes End every other Saturday and any Wednesday night match from 72 to 77, but with the advent of punk, there seemed to be a mismatch between liking football and liking music. I don’t know if this was a peculiarly Geordie thing, but I  stopped going until I moved to London, then started again around 82, so most NUFC games in the south in the 80’s I was at. I still love Newcastle away; the collective craic and the vibe. I watch it on the internet on dodgy links these days as the Premier League is sadly mainly a TV spectacle. If I was signed up to a ten year season ticket deal, I would be tearing my hair out. It seems that the soul or spirit or whatever I knew Newcastle and our support had when I was a youth is gone. Imagine going for a pint with Mike Ashley or Lee Charnley? No, me neither.

I’m going to miss Upton Park.

The Band of Holy Joy’s next album, “A Night of Fire and Stars in the Land of Holy Joy,” is out on Stereogram records on September 21^st; more info from http://www.bandofholyjoy.co.uk/

BAD PUNK is on every Friday night at 10pm on Resonance FM; 104.4 if you live in London, http://resonancefm.com/ if you don’t

Close of Play

Just before 6pm on Sunday 13^th September, Chester Le Street 2nds clinched the Banks Bowl by dismissing Tynemouth 2nds for 160 to win by a margin of 79 runs. Comfortable enough in the end and perhaps no great surprise, considering Tynemouth had been forced into 7 changes due to unavailability, almost entirely occasioned by the Great North Run. Perhaps it was also a case of justice being done, as on August Bank Holiday, the first attempt at staging the final saw Chester Le Street amass 280 or thereabouts, before the rains came and washed away any chance of play before Tynemouth had a go at such an imposing target.  On a personal level, the conclusion of the game was tinged with sadness; not just because Tynemouth lost, but because it meant we had reached the end of the 2015 NEPL season. Well, possibly we have, but more of that later.

My previous cricket blog (http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.co.uk/2015/08/summertime-in-england.html) at the end of last month was written with South North poised to win the Premier Division in the penultimate round of games on the first Saturday in September; this not unexpected event duly occurred with a 9 wicket win away to Stockton, who were bowled out for 89. At the same time, Chester Le Street had a losing draw with Durham Academy to erase their slim, mathematical hopes. On that particular Saturday, with Benfield away to Marske United, I’d stayed local for my football, taking in a half at a couple of Tyneside Amateur League games between Newcastle East End and Wardley (3-0) and West Jesmond against Killingworth YPC (2-2), played on the superb 4G astro at Walker School, in my role as league chair. Not only was this a responsible thing for me to do, the earlier kick offs of 2pm in the TAL allowed me more time to see some cricket. At least, that was the plan…

On a rare day without the bicycle, I was reliant on public transport. The initial plan had been to head to Jesmond for Newcastle versus Benwell Hill.  However, the visitors were bowled out for 76 and the home side knocked the runs required off in 20 overs, so the game was over before I’d even made it to the Fossway. Consequently, I had no option but to head south side to the crunch relegation clash between Gateshead Fell and Blaydon. The good news is the mythical number 1 which goes from Whitley Bay to Kibblesworth heads through Low Fell. The bad news is it goes down Durham Road and not Old Durham Road, meaning I had to get off at Valley Drive and slog it up there on foot. Compounded with the fact that the bus takes an age, it meant I only saw about an hour’s play. Contrast this with my mate Raga, who had been to the 3pm kick-off 0-0 draw between Dunston and Ashington, before driving to the Fell in a matter of minutes, arriving before me. It was great to catch up with him and set foot in Fell’s ground for the first time in more than three decades.

Blaydon had to win this game if they were going to avoid relegation; sadly for them they were bowled out for 156 and saw Gateshead Fell achieve the target for the loss of four wickets. It must have been a crushing blow for Blaydon, but what genuinely moved me was the sincerity of the post-game handshake, especially when one considers what had been at stake in this meeting of local rivals.

The next day, Sunday 6^th, was glorious; just the sort of cloudless, late summer day on which to watch cricket, providing you could see properly that is. Waking in plenty of time at mine, I realised I had neglected to bring any of my newly delivered (to Laura’s) disposable lenses with me. Consequently, I had to throw myself at the mercy of Vision Express in Eldon Square, who found me a couple of pairs (spare set for emergencies), enabling me to head for the Banks Salver final at Eppleton against Tynemouth.  Again I was on public transport; this time the X1 to Easington Lane. It’s a great cricket bus; not only does it go up Old Durham Road, right past Gateshead Fell, but it also passes by several NEPL clubs in the former sunderland coalfields that must be on my agenda for visits next season: not only Eppleton, but also Hetton Lyons, Philadelphia and on to South Hetton, while Burnmoor and Washington aren’t too far off the X1 flight path. I’ll take it as read it goes close to South Hetton, as I got off at Hetton Le Hole, where Eppleton is located rather than continuing to the romantic terminus of Easington Lane.

Having only previously been in the area on a couple of occasions to see the former Northern League club Eppleton CW in what is now the Durham FA ground, I assumed the cricket club was in the same complex; not a bit of it. Thank goodness for phone GPS technology, which got me there without further mishap. Eppleton are blessed with a lovely, earthy, traditional ground as well; Jimmy Adams was the professional here back in the 90s. Sadly the enforced route march back through the village and messing around with lenses that caused me to get a later bus than I’d intended, resulted in me arriving after 10 overs, with the home side 31/2. For the first time when watching NEPL cricket, I was charged an entry fee; £1 with a programme. Perhaps more clubs should try this, as it must have earned Eppleton at least £100 with the healthy, partisan crowd in attendance.

Eppleton attract a very different following to Newcastle, South North or Tynemouth; you only have to hear the accents of both the players and supporters, who grew increasingly passionate and raucous as the game went on, to learn this. Alternatively, contrast the kind of dogs you see at games: Labradors and King Charles spaniels at Tynemouth; pit bulls and Jack Russells at Eppleton. This is unapologetically working class cricket and wonderful to see, including a knot of local Asian teenage lads following the game intently. Eppleton had all but secured the Division 1 title and promotion spot the day before, seeing off the challenge of both Burnmoor and Washington and will be a credit to the top division. I’d seen them once before this summer; easily disposing of Newcastle at Jesmond in the 20/20 quarter finals, with some lusty batting. 

They’d also scored 340 to beat Newcastle in the semi-final of the Salver, so it was no surprise to see Gary Burlison and Kamran Shah both hitting 75 to set Tynemouth a total of 225; exactly 5 an over. This total could and should have been much lower, but Tynemouth couldn’t hold their catches, unlike Eppleton who took the first 3 Tynemouth wickets with blinding bits of fielding. From that point, defeat became firstly likely, then inevitable as Tynemouth stumbled to 124 all out and a loss by exactly 100 runs. However, there was a silver lining to this defeat; ambling back down to the bus stop and preparing for a lengthy journey home, I was deeply humbled by Tynemouth Director of Cricket Vince Howe offering me a lift, not just part of the way, but to the end of my street back in High Heaton. Another reason for me to be grateful for discovering the wonderful world of local cricket.

And so to the last weekend of the season; on Saturday 12^th I played for Winstons in the Over 40s in the morning, drawing 1-1 away to sunderland Oddies in Pennywell (got lobbed for their goal; 3 yards off my line… schoolboy stuff), then headed to Benfield to see us lose 3-1 to a rejuvenated Bishop Auckland, who had lost 7-0 at Whitley Bay on the Tuesday. Well done to them. The weather, until around 4, was truly filthy; sheeting rain and a strong wind. As a result, the choice of either Tynemouth v Whitburn or South North v Newcastle (or the reverse fixture for the 2nds) was an academic one; all NEPL top division games were abandoned without a ball bowled. Therefore, Blaydon were relegated and replaced by Eppleton, who managed to reduce Boldon to 63/6 before their game was washed out by the second wave of rain across the region. Sunderland’s game fell foul to the weather as well, enabling Chris Youldon to turn out for Benfield. I bet South Shields wished Jonny Wightman had been available for them in Northern League Division 2; despite the goalscoring debut of Julio Arca and a crowd of nigh on 800, their stumbling start to what was assumed to be inevitable promotion continued with a 1-1 draw against hitherto pointless Stokesley.

Back to cricket; South Hetton finished bottom of the first division, but their relegation has not been confirmed just yet. Ordinarily, they should be replaced by Esh Winning (I’ve played Over 40s at their ground; we lost 7-0) who have won the Durham League, but there are concerns about the facilities and club infrastructure there (promotion would theoretically be for 3 Esh Winning teams, not just the first XI of course). Consequently the NEPL management committee have rejected Esh Winning’s application, though the club have appealed. A decision is expected this week; if their appeal is unsuccessful, South Hetton will host a play-off against Durham League runners-up Mainsforth (I’ve played there in the Over 40s against West Cornforth; won 2-0) next Saturday, or Sunday if it rains. Complex and exciting times; I don’t know anything about the 3 clubs involved, so I’ll remember the words of Thumper’s pa; “if’n you can’t say nuthin’ nice, then don’t say nuthin’ at all.”

Thankfully Sunday 13^th  saw splendid sunshine, providing the final chance of sunstroke for the season. Buses take forever to Chester Le Street, so I took the train. At the station, there are direction signs pointing to the cricket ground; they mean the Riverside of course, though Chester Le Street’s home of Ropery Lane is another lovely spot to watch cricket. The floodlights of the test venue in the distance show the proximity of the two grounds.

On arrival, with Chester Le Street 30 without loss, I was greeted by Vince, who again offered me a lift home; my gratitude abounds to him for that. The home side clocked up 239/9, with 15 year old Tynemouth bowler Owen Gourley, who had played football for Wallsend Boys Club in the morning, taking 7/53. Unfortunately, this wasn’t enough for either victory or the Man of the Match, as Matthew Cranston made 106 for the home side to take the award. Interestingly, players don’t get trophies for playing in finals; instead they get 2 pint vouchers to be used in the bar. Vince purloined a couple and we toasted the end of the season with some delicious Shropshire Gold for me and Bitter & Twisted for him. Perhaps the assembled grumpy and glum faced Mackems who’d made it back from their home defeat to Spurs should have been drowning their sorrows with that one.  

There weren’t many home players imbibing though; apparently the night before they’d had a serious end of season do. Newcastle 2^nd XI captain Phil Hudson, soon to be unveiled as a Popular Side contributor in issue 9, had also severely been on it the night before, celebrating his side winning the title. I felt his pain as he attempted, through the chokehold of a hangover, to explain the intricacies of the bonus points system in the NEPL. You need a degree in statistics to grasp the nuances and I was minded to agree with the apparent response of Captain Nicotine himself, Jacques Du Toit, when being told of the complexities of the system; “ach, if we fucking win, we fucking win and if we fucking lose, we fucking lose.” Well said that man!

So, as the sun sets on the 2015 season, statistics show I’ve now been to 7 Premier Division grounds, with Hetton Lyons, South Shields, Stockton and Whitburn still to be ticked off, but only Felling visited in the First Division. I can see what I’ll be doing on Saturdays and Sundays from next April onwards. Can’t you? Though I know I'll divide my support equally between Newcastle and Tynemouth, as South North are rich enough and successful enough without me following them. I'll still go to the beer festival of course.

In the First Class game, the county championship has 2 rounds of fixtures to go (even as I speak, Durham will be conjuring up more and more unlikely ways to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, to flirt agonisingly close to the relegation trap door; has John Carver got the job of batting coach at the Riverside I wonder?), not to mention the final of the Royal London Cup. While the bewildering pace of test cricket continues unabated, with tours against Pakistan and to South Africa on the horizon, the local club game has now gone into hibernation, though there is the small matter of the Tynemouth beer festival this weekend; tough decision whether to attend that or not, as it’s the same night as the  victory celebration for renowned cricket devotee Jeremy Corbyn at the Irish Centre. What would CLR James do? Attend both probably; it’s what I intend to do.

Live at the Witch Trials - VOTE CORBYN

Regular readers will remember my impassioned plea in July for Socialists to join the Labour Party and support Jeremy Corbyn for leader; http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/the-glorious-twelfth.html The poll closes this week and the winner is announced this weekend, so get your skates on and VOTE CORBYN.

Despite that blog, I was somewhat aghast to receive this email on August 20th -: 

Dear Ian,

Thank you for your recent application to become a Member of the Labour Party. A panel of the National Executive Committee (NEC) have considered your application, and have decided to invoke Appendix 2.1.B.x of the Labour Party’s rules, which states:

“At any time before the individual is accepted as a full member of the Party, the General Secretary may rule that the individual application for membership be rejected for any reason which s/he sees fit”

We have reason to believe that you do not support the aims and values of the Labour Party or you are a supporter of an organisation opposed to the Labour Party and therefore we are rejecting your application. Under the rules of the Party you have the right of appeal to the NEC of the Labour Party. This appeal must be lodged with the NEC within 14 days of receipt of this email.  Failure to make an appeal would mean that a further application for membership from you could not be considered for twelve months.

If you wish to appeal please write to leadership2015@labour.org.uk.  If you do not wish to appeal please let us know so that your membership fee can be returned to you. Should you decide to appeal, the NEC will consider any points you wish to raise with them.  You would need to send a statement giving reasons why you should be accepted into membership of the Labour Party.

Yours sincerely,

Iain McNicol

General Secretary

Clearly I wasn't going to take that lying down, so I fired off this response -:

Dear Comrades,

I received an email this morning informing me that my application to re-join the Labour Party had been rejected by the NEC, as "We have reason to believe that you do not support the aims and values of the Labour Party or you are a supporter of an organisation opposed to the Labour Party.” I presume this is because I stood for TUSC against the Labour Party in the Dene Ward of Newcastle City Council in the May 2014 elections; a course of action I bitterly regret, as I will explain.

I feel the validity of my application would be supported by many elected representatives who know me, such as Ian Mearns MP, Mary Glindon MP and Chi Onwurah MP, as well as Newcastle upon Tyne Councillors Nick Kemp, Dipu Ahad and David Stockdale, as well as hundreds (no exaggeration)  of ordinary party members, many of who boast decades of devoted, unbroken membership.

Please allow me to explain why I applied to join the Labour Party and why I am appealing against the decision to turn my request down; one of the first things I did on the morning of May 8^th when I woke late, hungover and in despair at the prospect of 5 more years of Cameron and his cronies was to apply to re-join the Labour Party. It would be inaccurate to say my membership had simply lapsed, as the last year I had paid my annual subs would have been 1984. Why did I leave? Well, partly it was absolute disgust with Kinnock’s point blank refusal to back the NUM during the strike and partly it was because I’d grown up and moved away from the Militant dominated Felling ward in the Gateshead East constituency that I was unfortunate enough to have been born in, as I realised that the nonsensical, Leninist belief in vanguardism that brainwashed, social inadequate Militant zealots endlessly parroted (when they weren’t trying to bleed people dry for the “fighting fund”) was plain wrong. I believed in The Labour Party; I did not believe in entrism, which is why I rejected a Militant dominated constituency. Why didn't I join the Labour Party where I'd gone to university? Because I was at the University of Ulster in Co Derry and Labour didn't organise there in 1983.  

Once I moved outside the Labour Party, I remained outside the Labour Party and, being frank, I’ve taken every single opportunity to cast my vote to the left of Labour over the past 30 years. This means I’ve voted variously for: SPGB, Respect, Communist, Green and once, to my utter shame and regret, for TUSC; though in defence I was voting for myself. Not one of these candidates have won has won; they’ve almost invariably finished bottom of the poll and the lot of the working classes has not been improved one iota by my actions.

Despite such voting history, I’ve never wanted anything other than a Labour government and I feel a great affinity with many of the Labour MPs in my region. In October 2011 I went to London on union business (I am branch secretary for UCU Tyne Met College) to meet Mary Glindon in the House of Commons. As it was half term, I took my son Ben down with me. He’s a Socialist by breeding and instinct, so when Mary took us out onto the terrace and we met Dennis Skinner, it made Ben’s day. When we were introduced I said to Dennis he’d always been a hero of mine. He expressed thanks but also announced “we must avoid the cult of personality. Ideas are what matters.” The power with which he delivered these words mesmerised Ben, who says that was the moment his political die was cast. I’m proud to say my son became part of the Labour Party a few days after the election as well as my partner Laura Huntley, who has never been in a political party in her life, but knows that we must all flock to Labour to save this country. To me, this mass application for new memberships is incontrovertible proof that our movement must be a synonym for the Labour Party; to be outside of it is a futile gesture destined to result in the political and social wilderness.  Socialists openly laugh at the antics of the Militant cult; it’s the brainwashed zealots who’ve wasted their lives in unquestioning devotion that I feel sympathy for.

When I first heard of TUSC, I was naively enthused by the idea of a supposed "left of Labour coalition," probably because Bob Crow had just died and I’d found his speech at the Big Meeting (Durham Miners' Gala) in 2013 utterly inspirational. Of course if Bob, whose union RMT had a policy of forming a new workers’ party to replace Labour, were around today, he’d be appalled by the behaviour of TUSC, as the descendants of Militant are still in the business of being the Trot equivalent of the Moonies or Jim Jones and the People’s Temple; ruining people’s lives by destroying their ability to think or act independently. Before I realised a Militant leopard never changes its spots, I stood as a TUSC candidate in the Dene ward for Newcastle City Council in 2014 and polled 180 votes, which was 6% of the total vote. Contrast it with the fact TUSC got 170 (0.2%) votes in Newcastle East at the general election. That was not just a disappointing result; it was pathetic. It was humiliating for those who continue to pretend, that TUSC are even relevant.

The general election result made me rethink my whole political approach. Did I support the ideas and philosophy of the Labour Party as the sole, credible mass vehicle for the greater good of the entire population of the United Kingdom? Definitely yes. Could I see myself spending another 30 years outside of the Labour Party, considering how little had been achieved over the previous decades? Definitely no. The simple and unavoidable truth is this; the Labour Party is our only realistic hope. It is our party. It is the party of the working class, the party of trade unions and trade unionists, the only party ever to have granted us concessions to make life under capitalism bearable. Universal free healthcare. A cradle to grave welfare state that protects the weak. A party that seeks to make society fair. To make citizens healthy, educated, securely housed, suitably and gainfully employed, regardless of ethnicity, nationality, class, creed or sexuality.  The Labour Party did all these things in the past and it still exists. It does not essentially matter to me who wins the leadership election, because I still want to be in the Labour Party whether it is Liz Kendall or Jeremy Corbyn leading us.

This country needs massive investment in social housing, education, health care and welfare benefits. It does not need to reward devious, rapacious banking criminals. The only way we can possibly hope to turn the country round again is to involve ourselves in reanimating the Labour Party, and ensuring Labour sis elected in 2020 on a socially inclusive, socially just and broadly Socialist platform.

I respectfully wish to be allowed to join the Labour Party to make this dream a reality. 

Thankfully, it elicited this response -:

Dear Ian,

Thank you for your email. Please take this email as acknowledgement of receipt of your appeal against the decision of the NEC panel regarding your membership application. As you have sent us this appeal, you will receive a vote in the current leadership election. If you have already cast your vote, this will be counted.  As you will appreciate we are dealing with a high volume of correspondence. Please be assured that we will be in touch soon regarding the progress of your appeal.

Best wishes,

Kat Buckingham

Head of Constitutional Unit

Not only  did my vote get counted, but I wrote the whole episode up as an on-line article which you can find at the end of this link http://www.disclaimermag.com/politics/labour-the-left-and-the-need-unity-whoever-wins-the-leadership-race-2875 

So, what lessons do we draw from all this? I think the message is clear....