Dancing Barefoot

 Just because Newcastle United are in the middle of a 16-day Premier League furlough, it doesn't mean I can take my eyes off them -:

As you’re all no doubt aware, I don’t gamble. However, grown impatient with the delays in goal notifications from the BBC Sport website, I was forced to dip my toe in the cesspool of online betting when I downloaded the Flash Scores app, which is both punctual and accurate, though it does insist on offering odds on an array of possible bets with each update. I’ve set Hibs and Newcastle as my favourites, which means I get reminders that games involving both teams are about to kick off. On Wednesday last, my phone pinged to tell me that Motherwell v Hibs would be starting in 15 minutes and on Friday 28^th, I received notification that a 70-minute kickabout between Al-Ittihad and Newcastle United was about to take place, behind closed doors, at the Prince Abdullah Al Faisal Stadium in Jeddah, as a smidgeon more of the small print of the PIF buyout of NUFC is revealed to a disbelieving readership.

Obviously the fact we’ve turned a corner (I’m still thinking like Algarve-Bruce at this point) following the Cambridge game means the lads deserved a spell of warm weather training, devoid of nourishing noontide pints a la Celtic in Dubai of course. In return for  a week’s free bed and board in the cradle of despotism , not to mention the thick end of £85m in transfer fees, Newcastle United  were required to divest themselves of any remaining vestiges of dignity by adopting the guise of sportswashed catamites for the House of Saud.

Rewind a couple of weeks. In the lead up to the Watford game, I’d been sure the lads would have been raring to go from the off; desperate to flush the toxic Cambridge result out of their system. Watching Percy Main get tanked 4-0 at Rutherford at the foot of Lobley Hill, the sounds from SJP carried across the river,  where an expectant support roared the team on. Not one of the crowd expected a win because Newcastle are good, but because Watford are rancid. Just how rancid was shown the Friday afterwards when Norwich, of all teams, ruthlessly picked the Hornets apart and saw Ranieri made to clear his desk. Unfortunately, Newcastle put in a textbook Algarve-Bruce performance, by failing to build on a single goal lead and retreating further and further back, inviting Watford to attack them, with maddeningly predictable results as 2 points were spaffed against the wall. That’s 4 points Watford have denied Newcastle now in 2021/2022; let’s see how that affects proceedings at the end of the campaign eh?

 

There isn’t enough anger at the current situation and too much of what does exist, is wrongly focused on Ashley and Algarve-Bruce. That ship has sailed. We need to live in the here and now, which means more questions should be asked of the ownership. Louder criticism should be directed at Howe. This is unlikely to happen, despite some opportunistic sulking on social media by some less than trustworthy sources, when NUST can unilaterally decide to abolish the share campaign as they still seem enamoured of the latest boardroom bullshitters on Barrack Road. A whopping 87% of a tiny electorate backed NUST board’s suggestion to pass all money collected to charity. It will be interesting to see the receipts for those transactions…

 Following the late concession against Watford and the lack of any discernible progress in terms of overhauling the squad, it would be fair to say there was an ominous feel to the build-up to Leeds away but, and enormous credit to the team, they gave it their best shot and brought home a much needed three points. Sure we’re still in the bottom 3, but at least it shows there’s some life in us still. All we need now are a few more quality bodies in the door and we might finish top of the 4 (or 6) team league of losers at the foot of the table.

Despite the imminent arrivals of Fumaca II (Bruno Guimaraes) and Kevin Scott Junior (Dan Burn) to partner the New Kenny Sansom and Kiwi Pingel in the modern day revival of Newcastle United’s 1988/1989 season, with Nice Guy Eddie in the role of last choice boss, Jim Smith, Newcastle United have not credibly bolstered an inadequate and emotionally spent playing squad. Instead we have concentrated on coquettishly dancing barefoot in front of the House of Saud’s murderous potentates. Now if this trip to Sharia land had been organised for the express purpose of beheading Nice Guy Eddie or Ciaran Clark for managing to get a red card in the Jeddah jaunt that we actually won 2-1, I could have bought into it. Instead, I marvelled in incredulity how such an outrageous outing could have been scheduled for the last week of the transfer window.

Then again, why think that way? Transfers are no longer hammered out in melamine panelled boardrooms, or even over distasteful steak lunches in roadside Beefeaters; it’s all done via Zoom these days, with a club plenipotentiary and medical assistant ready to step aboard a private jet, Liz Truss style, to close the deal. Of course, the new owners of Newcastle United have brought a fresh, vibrant approach to such negotiations, by binning a Director of Football none of us had heard of or even knew he’d been given the gig, after a week in post on Christmas Eve of all days. To think people questioned Ashley and Charnley’s motives and professionalism.

Whether we manage to pull rabbits out of the hat on January 31^st by striking deals for the Manc Franz Carr (Lingard) or any other has-been, never-was or avaricious mercenary and, whether we stay up or not, it seems a racing certainty that El Fraude Benitez will be the ex-officio DoF next season. Nice Guy Eddie is only Head Coach remember; I doubt whether he’ll have any say so in his future at Newcastle United, no matter how much bowing and scraping he does to the PIF royalty between now and the end of May. The misfiring plan that Staveley concocted had Benitez at the top of the pile and that’s what will happen. Great eh? Certainly, I doubt any of us believed that becoming the richest club in the world would involve seeing Dan Burn and Chris fucking Wood turning out in black and white.

Mind, if we do what we’ve singularly failed to manage this season, and get 6 points from the must-win home games against Everton and Villa, then things may appear considerably better than at any time this season.

Percy Unread Words

 I'm continuing to compile match reports for Percy Main Amateurs. Here's my latest set for you to peruse -:

Percy Main Amateurs 2 Cullercoats 3: Saturday 30 October

At half time, the players trooped off with Percy Main Amateurs leading 1-0, courtesy of Jordan Thompson’s close range finish in the 14^th minute. The consensus among the assembled Percy faithful was that Cullercoats had got off lightly in a half of almost incessant Villagers’ pressure, with visiting custodian Taylor Blaney being largely responsible for the closeness of the score, courtesy of a series of outstanding close-range blocks, parries and saves. How different was the atmosphere at full time, when Cullercoats celebrated their triumph that came courtesy of the Main’s second half disintegration, which offered up three gift wrapped goals occasioned by a defensive horror show that saw PMA fall to their fourth successive home defeat and fifth in a row in all competitions.

How different things had seemed in the early stages. Within 10 minutes, the returning Main hit man Paul Collinson had twice been instinctively denied by the gloves of Blaney, as the Villagers forced a series of right wing corners. Perhaps Blaney’s best save was the one when he reacted brilliantly to parry Thomas Kalthoeber’s piledriver. It was therefore no surprise when Thompson broke the deadlock, tapping in to an unguarded net at the back post. It seemed a question of how many the Main would score at this point, but Cullercoats finally got a foothold in the game, calming and slowing down proceedings. They also fashioned one chance, when Matty Coaley hit a speculative thunderbolt from nigh on 30 yards that pinged off the top of the bar.

The second half began in a remarkably ragged fashion, with neither team able to find any kind of rhythm. It was perhaps fitting tat the Cullercoats equaliser in the 58^th minute came from an absolute howler in the home defence. A period of aimless keep ball was ended by James Cooper intercepting a loose ball, running on and firing home from the edge of the box. Moments later, the visitors almost went ahead when a free for all in the home box saw Cullercoats hit the post and then smash the ball high over an open goal. Despite Collinson almost getting on the end of a long clearance by Reece Monaghan, swathed in a crepe bandage to protect four stitches in a head wound, the momentum had shifted decisively towards the visitors. Cullercoats took the lead after 76 minutes, when substitute Jay Errington pounced on a loose ball that the Main had spurned several chances to clear.

Remarkably, the Main came again. Collinson drove into the box and ad his legs swept from under him. He got up and was preparing to take the inevitable penalty when an altercation developed with a Cullercoats player who was intent on delaying the kick. The outcome was the referee brandishing a red card that curtailed Collinson’s home coming. Thankfully Stephenson kept his cool and rolled the kick home. Just when Main thought they had got away with a point, another defensive calamity provided a final kick in the teeth. Errington, stood in splendid isolation at the back post, drove the ball home via the far upright after collecting a misplaced clearing header to settle the contest in Cullercoats’ favour.

 

Percy Main Amateurs 1 Seaton Delaval Amateurs 1: Saturday 6 November

After last week’s defensive debacle at home to Cullercoats, Percy Main Amateurs began this week’s contest in determined fashion. Twice in the opening couple of minutes, Delaval keeper Ethan Custance was called upon to keep his side level, with sprawling saves from the lively Kai Charlton. However, it was the visiting Amateurs who took the lead after 6 minutes with a Goal of the Season contender. Burly opposition centre forward Malik Kalimba hit a first time, side foot, cushioned volley from 14 yards out that flashed past Reece Monaghan before he had time to react. When such an audacious piece of skill is enacted by the opposition, there is no place for recriminations; all you can do is nod your head in appreciation and applaud.

Once the lead had been established, Delaval sat back and invited the Villagers to come at them. This the home side did, but with more enthusiasm than skill. Custance, belying his slender frame and lack of inches, took on the role of sweeper keeper, racing from his goal to hammer clearances away. The Main attempted to obviate this threat by switching to a short passing game, though this allowed Delaval to harry the hosts out of their stride. Far too often in the first period, ponderous Percy players held on to the ball for too long, or took extra, unnecessary touches in the hope of finding a killer pass. When the shots did come in, they were too often weak and misdirected, resulting in the visitors leading at the break.

It was a reinvigorated Percy Main that came out after the interval and slowly, but surely, began to turn the screw on their visibly wilting opponents. It was Custance who came to Delaval’s rescue on numerous occasions. He eye-catchingly spread himself to deflect Dylan Taylor’s goal-bound effort behind for a corner after 55 minutes. The equaliser was soon to arrive, however; on 59 minutes the impressive Finlay Baty floated in a superb corner, right on the head of Thomas Kaltoeber, who precisely nodded the ball beyond the despairing leap of Custance for a thoroughly merited equaliser

From that point on there was only one side likely to win it. Twice Taylor and Charlton saw their on-target shots desperately deflected behind for corners. A series of questionable offside decisions also stalled the Percy momentum when in good positions. So, despite doing more than enough to win the game, Percy Main had to settle for a point. Next week, PMA are away to Newcastle Chemfica in the Northern Alliance Team Valley Carpets Challenge Cup at Newcastle University’s Longbenton Sports Ground on Coach Lane. The postcode is NE7 7XA and kick off is 1.30.

 

Newcastle Chemfica 4 Percy Main Amateurs 0: Saturday 13 November

Newcastle Chemfica ended Percy Main’s interest in the Northern Alliance Premier Division Team Valley Carpets Challenge Cup at the first hurdle, in decisive fashion. While it is inarguable that the Main were well beaten by Kennie Malia’s side, the final score was very harsh, especially on Percy’s Kai Charlton who led the line tirelessly and deserved at least a goal for his efforts. Sadly, it was not an occasion for romantic notions of the beautiful game, and the home goal remained intact.

The game had started in far better circumstances, with the Main almost taking the lead on 5 minutes when Cameron McHarg heading against the outside of the post following a corner. Unfortunately, this bright opening counted for nothing when Chemfica opened the scoring on 16 minutes when Oliver Ure pounced on a loose ball and worked an opening on the edge of the area, before firing in a low shot that whistled past Reece Monaghan. The Main almost got back on level terms with a similar move to the Chemfica opener, except that Joe Kelly’s drive was held at the foot of his near post by Jak Wells. It was a decent save, but not as impressive as Monaghan’s instinctive block with his feet from a venomous Joseph Connor strike, as the half came to an end.

The optimists among the travelling Main faithful collectively believed this stop would prove crucial in the second period. Unfortunately, the more pessimistic Percy disciples’ feelings of gloom were to be vindicated as Chemfica doubled their lead on 55 minutes, after Luke Molloy had spurned a glorious chance by driving wildly over when presented with an open goal in the opening seconds of the second half, when Joseph Davy nodded into an unguarded net after Monaghan had parried Ure’s angled drive. This effectively ended the game as a contest, with the Main increasingly frustrated in their attempts to create meaningful chances. Indeed, only one team looked likely to score, meaning Monaghan was regularly occupied, pulling off a series of fine stops.

Sadly, the roof fell in when McHarg was dismissed after 73 minutes, for hauling down an on-rushing Chemfica striker. The Main survived the subsequent free kick, but their numerical disadvantage was ruthlessly exploited by the home side, when Lufter Karim tapped home from straight in front of the net on 82 minutes. The final indignity came in injury time when an unmarked Shane Walton nodded home at the back post, turning a defeat into a thumping.

Percy Main are next in action on Saturday 20 November, away to Haltwhistle Jubilee in a Northern Alliance Premier Division game. The kick off is 2pm and the postcode for those intending to travel, is NE49 9EH.

Cullercoats 1 Percy Main Amateurs 4: Saturday 18 December

The second game of the Thompson-Walker-Deagle era for Percy Main saw the first victory; an emphatic success away to local rivals Cullercoats, where the Main produced a second half as dominant as it was attractive on the eye. Over the years, many great goalscorers have graced the hallowed claret and blue of the Villagers, but never before has a player who hit the headlines for notching the winner in a Wembley final turned out for the club. Fittingly John Campbell, the former Oxford, Torquay, Darlington, Whitby, Benfield and Heaton Stannington striker, slammed in a hat trick on his debut.

However the Walker wizard, alongside strike partner Jonathan Wright, once of Hibernian, in perhaps the most left-footed front pairing in history, was eclipsed for the Man of the Match award, as was the utterly impeccable Dean Deagle who produced a stellar performance at left back, and the all-action, strong running, selfless creativity of Billy Walker. No, the star performer for the Villagers was Adam Green, whose titanic showing in midfield enabled the defence to be afforded much protection and created many opportunities for the attack. He literally did not put a foot wrong all afternoon.

Of course, this being Percy Main, it wasn’t plain sailing from the start. After a short delay to proceedings to clean up the mess of a thoughtless dog walker, Cullercoats tried t impose themselves from the start, causing Reece Monaghan to distinguish himself with a brilliant, instinctive tip over from a full-blooded, close range volley by Jonny Watson. It was only a temporary respite though, as Richard Jull capitalised on a free kick in a central position, just outside the area, curling in a delightful finish that left Monaghan helpless.

The Main were level with 90 seconds, when new signing Mark Waite pounced on a loose ball in the Cullercoats area to drive the visitors level. A quiet period of attritional midfield play saw chances at a premium as the two sides cancelled each other out, when John Campbell began to exert his influence on the game. Running onto a glorious crossfield pass, Campbell took the ball in his stride and proceeded to execute a beautiful dink over the onrushing home keeper, Taylor Blaney after 35 minutes.

The second half saw a noticeable increase in the tempo of the game, in combination with a clear step change in the level of performance from most Percy Main games this season. The Villagers simply seemed tougher, more organised and determined to win the game. Undoubtedly, the introduction of several experienced, quality signings were the difference today. After a couple of reasonable shouts for penalties, Campbell pounced again on 65 minutes, slotting home into the bottom corner after Green’s eye of the needle through ball had split the Cullercoats defence wide open.

Jonathan Wright was denied by a quality stop by Blaney, with Campbell unlucky not to complete his hat trick after thumping the rebound against the outside of the post. He was not to be denied, claiming a treble after intercepting a short back pass and firing beyond Blaney’s despairing leap on 81 minutes to complete the scoring on a highly successful afternoon by the coast.

Prudhoe YC 3 Percy Main Amateurs 2: Friday 7 January 2022

On a freezing Friday evening in the Tyne Valley, Percy Main Amateurs played their first game of 2022. While the Villagers were ultimately to leave Kimberley Park empty handed, the performance showed just how far the club has come since Derek Thompson and Geoff Walker assumed control at Purvis Park. Last October, Percy Main suffered an awful, almost humiliating 5-0 home defeat when Prudhoe came to visit. The gap between the sides on that occasion was a yawning chasm, but this game showed the Main are playing catch up at a rate of knots.

With Reece Monaghan unavailable with COVID, former Benfield and Whitley Bay keeper Sean Korsbo made his debut for Percy Main. In the early stages he had very little to do, affording him a perfect view of Jonathan Wright’s stunning opener on 22 minutes. The striker found himself unmarked in central midfield with the ball at his feet. Shifting it on to his trusty left foot, he unleashed a venomous strike that Prudhoe keeper didn’t even see.

After the opening goal, the Main enjoyed a period of territorial dominance, so it was something of a shock when Prudhoe hit back with 2 goals in as many minutes. On 35 minutes, Harry Mitchell’s effort squirmed under Korsbo. If the keeper was at question over that one, he was utterly blameless when Brad Rogers put the home side in the lead with an effort almost as spectacular as Wright’s opener within 60 seconds. Prudhoe then assumed control and the Villagers had to regroup to stay in touch.

After the break, Percy Main came again, with Lee Johnson exerting influence in midfield, but chances were at a premium. Indeed, the next goal came from Prudhoe, when the impressive Matty Law received the ball on the right edge of the area, swapped it onto his left and unleashed an unstoppable effort into the roof of the net. The Main refused to lie down after this set back and Wright halved the deficit with an accurately placed free kick with 12 minutes to go. Sadly, despite their best efforts, the Villagers couldn’t find an equaliser, though there was no disgrace in this defeat.

Rutherford 4 Percy Main Amateurs 0: Saturday 15 January

 

Without the services of John Campbell and Jonathan Wright, both of whom were at St James Park for some unaccountable reason, Percy Main Amateurs suffered a heavy defeat at the hands of former boss Gareth “Beanie” Allen’s Rutherford side that was at least partly explained by the shot shy Villagers’ lack of options in an attacking sense.

Having not faced the North East’s second oldest football club during the last two COVID-blighted seasons, the Main set about their hosts with some relish in a fast paced opening that was typified by Brandon Studholme’s teasing cross shot that hit the outside of Rutherford keeper Matthew Pattinson’s post before bouncing clear. Indeed, Percy placed young Pattinson under severe pressure that he was perhaps fortunate to deal with, especially after dropping the ball at Morgan Patterson’s feet, escaping only when a fortuitous whistle put a temporary halt to proceedings. At the other end, the returning Reece Monaghan was relieved to see an effort from a tight angle by Rutherford’s Owen Whitmore hit the inside of the post, before rebounding into the keeper’s arms.

Perhaps the most impressive home performer before the break was former Main full back Aaron Kah, who enjoyed much freedom down the right and almost put his team ahead, firing narrowly wide on 35 minutes. The opener was only seconds away though. In the absence of a qualified assistant, Main’s Moses Igiehon was pressed into carrying the flag. This game being under the aegis of the Durham FA required him to only signal for throw ins, leaving the referee to adjudicate on all offsides. As a result of such confused complexities, a suspiciously offside Aristotle Guerin collected a through ball and fired Rutherford ahead. Seconds before the break it could have been 2-0, but Monaghan tipped over a venomous close range effort by Nick Gibson.

After the break, a full complement of match officials were present, with the new assistant assiduously flagging the Villagers offside from almost every attack, paying tribute to the ruthlessly efficient defensive discipline of the hosts. Percy Main’s frustrations grew when the impressive Lee Johnson pulled up with a hamstring strain, necessitating his replacement. Unfortunately the reorganisation of the Main’s line-up was an on-going process when Rutherford’s burly striker Stephen Hall pounced on a knock down to slide in a second from close range. At this point, there wasn’t an obvious two goal gap between the sides, but the cruel nature of the game saw Rutherford run away with the points after a deflating third goal, courtesy of Charlie Watson’s speculative effort that went through a crowd of bodies and squirmed under Monaghan’s body to make it 3-0 at the midpoint of the second period.

To their credit, Percy Main did not give up and Billy Walker was denied by a full length dive by Pattinson. The Mains stand out performer was Mark Waite, who drove the side forward all game, with a fine array of passes, but even his best efforts were thwarted when Watson collected a loose ball in the box and fired an unstoppable effort into the roof of the net, to make the final score Rutherford 4 Percy Main 0.

 

 

 

 

 

Manic Depression

I only had the misfortune of seeing The Manic Street Preachers once and that was back in their early days on 1^st August 1991 at the original Riverside, which probably made it one of the dates on the Generation Terrorists tour. The venue was only about half full, but with a discernibly positive attitude to the band hanging in the air. This positivity morphed into anticipation when the intro tape kicked in; Allen Ginsberg theatrically declaiming his magnum opus Howl at deafening volume. As the poet’s histrionic performance reached its climax, the band appeared on stage and tore into their earliest musical manifesto, You Love Us. At this point, the electric atmosphere began to dissipate like escaping air from a rapidly deflating whoopee cushion when it became abundantly clear, from about 6 bars in, that we weren’t in the presence of the future of rock and roll, but a tawdry, sub-Lurkers, pub and punk rock tribute act. At the end of the Manics’ 45-minute set, the crowd drifted away, all enthusiasm gone, all sense of occasion spent, leaving a rerun of Howl to blast out across a deserted room.

 

I’d not had cause the reminisce about that eminently forgettable night in over three decades, until I squeezed myself onto a packed, semi-seething, semi-dejected giant Omicron breeding tube from St James to Tynemouth after Newcastle’s loss to Cambridge in the FA Cup. A sold-out crowd of 52,000, admittedly replete with extended family units treating the match like a trip to the pantomime, filling up on half time bottles of pop and oversized grab bags of sweets and toffees, who had enthusiastically lapped up the well designed populist videos of great goals by even greater players past (Shearer v Everton, Bellamy in Rotterdam, Tiote’s Exocet, Cisse at the Bridge, Pat Heard breaking his duck against Ipswich), indulged the latest pointless flag display in the Gallowgate, clapped along to a Blaydon Races remix, before Local Hero had the whole lot of them cheering the team to the rafters. And then, despite an unending procession of chances, some spurned and some saved, for the first hour, Cambridge’s sucker punt (see what I did there?) holed Newcastle below the waterline and the last half hour saw as frustrating a pattern of play as you’ll ever see. Again, and again, unnecessary over-elaboration, suicidally short passes and a lack of inventive thinking or willingness to take some responsibility, saw 30 minutes squandered and any interest in the FA Cup ended at the first hurdle, yet again.

Of course, this was a minor loss in the scheme of things. Even during the good times we’ve exited both cups at the opening stage on home soil and without scoring, so this debacle will be no more than a hill of beans if we put Watford to bed next weekend. But are we able to do that? We’ve won 1 game all season and, even more than the Southampton, Brentford or Norwich home games, we’ve squandered a more than presentable opportunity to get a good, confidence building result under our belt. Now, the main and probably only lesson to be drawn from Saturday’s shot shy shit show is that if you don’t have any strikers, you won’t score any goals. I’m not suggesting Dwight Gayle would have been the answer to our problems against Cambridge, but he may just have finished once of the half a dozen presentable opportunities that came our way in the opening half. His absence from the matchday squad is presumably, like those of comedy keepers Darlow and Woodman, because a loan move could be prejudiced if they were cup tied.

Regardless of that, it is beyond essential that one or preferably two, attacking options are added to the squad before the Watford game. It’s great we’ve signed Trippier, or Kenny Sansom as he was known when he last appeared at SJP, but his arrival is only the start of things. Yet again I’m proved to be correct in castigating, PIF, Staveley and the Rubens for not having the merest hint of a Plan A in place when the takeover went through. Although, rumour has it we now have a Director of Football in place. Formerly employed by West Brom, Reading and Celtic, a certain Nicky Hammond is to be viewed with the suspicion afforded to the louche lounge lizard your widowed aunt picked up at a tea dance. Apparently, Hammond has replaced the even more ethereal figure of one Frank McParland in this role. Perhaps he got the gig as he’s some distant relative of Alcoholic Anth. Who knows? Who cares? Well I will if the best Hammond can bring in is Chris Wood.

Unless we’re happy to start next season in the Championship, things need to improve massively and immediately. It seems as if the penny is starting to drop that Nice Guy Eddie, whose career highlights include relegating Bournemouth (don’t forget that absolute pasting Algarve-Bruce’s side handed out to them at Dean Court in summer 2020) and running away from Burnley with his tail between his legs as the job was too big for him, may not be the master tactician and skilled motivator most of the support have deluded themselves into believing him to be. Howe is completely out of his depth and will take Newcastle down. At that point, El Fraudo will return from his Goodison Park sabbatical and another stagnant era of eye-bleedingly stale football will commence. We want our club back, eh?

There has to be a point when even the most rabid, hard of thinking, Strawberry Corner flag waver accepts that the time to blame all of Newcastle United’s ills on Mike Ashley and Steve Algarve-Bruce has passed. I believe that time is now; the new ownership needs to be held to account for their nervous inertia and repeated series of wrong decisions. With almost every game, it becomes ever more apparent that Nice Guy Eddie is as suited to the job of keeping us up as Ossie Ardiles was thirty years ago. There have been windows of adequacy amidst the gloom, such as the Burnley win. Lascelles and Shelvey were immensely adequate on the day and Wilson scored an absolute world-class striker’s goal. The rest of the team seemed far fitter than under Bruce, running their legs off until the final whistle, and demonstrating a united front in their purpose of grinding out a win.

Yet the truly maddening thing was the inability to maintain this progress. Next up was Leicester, where a penalty so soft it registered 6.5 on the Bristol Stool Chart ushered in a pitiful second half collapse. It was never a 4-0 game, but the flagrant inability of Nice Guy Eddie to shut up shop and accept it wasn’t going to be our day, for the sake of protecting a rapidly declining goal difference that doesn’t even boast the excuse Norwich have of Tim Krul as their last line of defence, was worrying.

From there to Anfield, where Hayden’s daft theatrics cost us the first goal. Shelvey may have scored an absolute rocket, but he undid all his good work with a blind and brainless back pass that gift wrapped their second. I don’t know about the rest of you, but ASM’s am-dram Richard III act did not convince me in the slightest that he was injured. He just doesn’t fancy it when things get too tough, which is why, despite all of his skill and tricks, he’ll never be seen as the equal of Robert or even Ben Arfa. I do think I’m being a mite over critical, even though we were almost blown away in the first half and never looked likely to score in the second, as Dubravka made some near miraculous saves, and continues to be one of our few top-flight performers. That isn’t something you can say of Ryan Fraser, but at least his efforts and modest achievements should keep the clownish Almiron, with his atrocious ball control and aimless passing, well away from the first team.

Where I think the gap between the support’s belief in Eddie Howe’s ability and the reality of the situation became a yawning chasm was the Man City game. Yes I know it’s Man City and that, on their day, they are undoubtedly the finest team in the world, but to drop Schar, who I’m not claiming to be the stamp of Baresi in his prime, in favour of Clark was idiotic in the extreme. This tactical masterstroke unravelled within 5 minutes of kick off, when fatal hesitancy by the Harrovian handed City the opening goal. Calamitous inaction against this lot is not a good idea. Of course, the scandalous decision not to award us a penalty after Fraser was barged to the floor merely denied us the chance of a consolation, but it further illustrated my point about our shocking goal difference. A further 11 conceded and 1 scored in 3 games makes you wonder if the repeated charge against NUFC fans that they are delusional may actually be the case if any of us express any confidence in our relegation battle credentials. All we can hope for is that the postponed games Norwich, Burnley and Watford have in hand are just fixtures they haven’t lost as yet.

And so to the Manchester United game… Having enjoyed splendid entertainment at Hebburn Town 2 Dunston UTS 1, which for £7 must represent the best quality Step 4 football on offer in the whole country, I was delighted with the way the FSA looked after my welfare, when Chief Executive Kevin Miles gave me a lift home. We discussed the forthcoming game and neither of us had any confidence Newcastle would avoid defeat. We did and should really have won as Ralph Records appears to be another in the lengthening line of chronic underachievers who have attempted to replace Ferguson. The worst legacy of this game was the injury to Wilson. He gets too many of these but it did mean, with the COVID cases as well, that the Everton and Southampton games were postponed, leaving a sense of optimism undimmed until the Cambridge game, which is just about where we came in.

As Heraclitus pointed out around 2,500 years ago, everything is constantly changing and nowhere is this more obvious than at Newcastle United, where the only evidence of mankind consistently doing selfless good works is in the superhuman efforts of the West End Food Bank. Everybody else is underperforming and this needs to stop immediately. NUST seem to have accepted the takeover as a fait accompli and have retreated from sight, allowing the new owners the freedom to do more damage to Newcastle United than Mike Ashley did in 14 years. Their website mentions last summer’s elections to their board, but not the results of the raft of resignations by many of the successful candidates, including that of Graeme Bell. I’ve not met the bloke, but he seemed personable and dedicated, though his choice of on-line friends was questionable and may have made his position untenable. If NUST are meek and mute, True Faith are noisy and noisome. Both the on-line and print versions seem to have turned into an imitation of The Mag, with anodyne opinion pieces that ignore the herd of Saudi elephants shitting in the corner of the room, filling their pages. At least they’ve ditched the endless series of match reports that clogged up bandwidth and pages.  Meanwhile the Twitterati continue to lick Saudi hoop and ignore the very real possibility that, as I said it would, this is all going to unravel at breakneck speed and leaving the rotting hulk of Newcastle United to decay until death.

 

We want our club back. At least I do…

 

 

 

 

It Wasn't Memorial Device...

One important football result that may have slipped under your radar over the Festive Season was in Scotch League 1. Rearranged for Wednesday 29 December, after being initially scheduled for Saturday 11 December but COVIDed off on the Friday, it eventually took place in front of a Sturgeon approved crowd of 500. Airdrieonians faced up to Queens Park at the Penny Cars Stadium and beat them 1-0 to cement third place in the table, courtesy of a 71^st minute Kerr McInroy left footed effort from outside the box that ended up in the bottom right corner of the net, following a corner.

I should have been at that game. I’d bought a ticket for the original date, kept hold of it for the rearranged fixture and booked return train tickets to somewhere called Drumgelloch and a room in a B&B in sunny Airdrie for the night of the 29th. Then came Jeanette Mugabe’s devious response to the seemingly benign Omicron variant. Allegedly intended to protect the population from the rampant spread of what appears to be a far milder version of the original COVID virus, the First Minister introduced an array of repressive and totally unnecessary measures, falling millimetres short of the imposition of martial law, designed not to protect but to subjugate citizens. For no readily defensible reason, crowds at football were limited to a random figure of 500. Airdrie aren’t the best supported team in Scotland, but their 722 average was in excess of the number of tickets available for the Queen’s Park game. Now, my main reason for wanting to go to Airdrie was simply a ticking off exercise in my glacial paced attempts to collect all 42 Scotch league grounds.  

In all conscience I couldn’t have deprived a true Airdrie fan of their place at this game, so I contacted the club and arranged for a refund of my ticket. The hotel was equally understanding in cancelling my reservation, sending my cash back the same day. Unfortunately www.thetrainline.com  were not so accommodating, refusing point blank to cancel my ticket and leaving me £50 out of pocket. On reflection, the only course of action available to me was to contact the megalomaniac tyrant responsible for the State of Caledonian Emergency that prevented me from travelling; Fraulein Mugabe herself. So, I fired off this email, for which I have yet to receive a reply -:

Dear First Minister,

I am writing to you as a resident of England and a lover of Scottish football, who has been affected by your decision to limit all football games to 500 capacity. On Wednesday 29 December, I was supposed to be heading for Airdrieonians v Queen's Park to tick off my 26th ground of 42 SPFL teams, but obviously that plan is out of the question now that football games are effectively free from spectators.

Airdrie average less than 1,000, but if only 500 are allowed, I wouldn't want to deny a regular a chance to see their team, so I've secured a refund for my ticket and my hotel, but it seems as if the train ticket agency have harder hearts, as they will not issue a refund. This is a shame as I was hoping to return to Scotland on Saturday 22 January to see Auchinleck Talbot v Hearts or Kilmarnock v Dundee United; however, if I'm out of pocket for the train tickets, it makes it less likely I could boost the Scottish economy if I’m skint. As I earn only £22k per annum and you take home in excess of £150k, I was wondering if you could help me out with a dig out? If so, I'll stand you a pie & a Bovril when I finally get to Somerset Park.

Regards,

So why was I heading to Airdrie in the first place? Like any good yarn, it’s a long story. Firstly, as I alluded to in my email, I’m still vainly trying to collect Scotch grounds and, despite seeing Hibs win 4-2 away to Airdrie in the 1997 relegation play off, I still needed to visit the home of the Diamonds, as that game was played at Clyde’s ground before the Penny Cars Stadium had been built. Secondly, anyone who has read David Keenan’s This is Memorial Device will feel a deep, emotional longing to visit Airdrie. Thirdly, I had been invited to read at the launch of Finest Cuts, an anthology of the first five years of Falkirk’s very own litzine, Razur Cuts, on the Friday 10 December, the night before the original game was scheduled for.

Having appeared at a previous Razur Cuts event back in 2018, I know that Falkirk has a magnificent alternative scene, much of it fired by the boundless enthusiasm of a squad of punk inspired gents of a certain age, whose love for both music and Falkirk FC is a joy to behold. I suggest you visit https://razurcuts.com/ to see what is available, especially the new Finest Cuts anthology that I’m honoured to have my piece Normally included within, which was my key to an invite to read.

Two and a bit hours on a direct train from Newcastle to Falkirk Grahamstown, half an hour’s snooze in a hotel with a very dirty bathroom and a ten minute walk up the road saw me in The Tolbooth pub, the location for that night’s fun. After being welcomed by Derek (Steel) and Dickson (Telfer), Razur Cuts’ head honchos, I settled down to watch the evening unfold in the company of my pals Fee (Johnstone) and Isla, from Aberdeen. First up was compere for the evening Dickson, who introduced proceedings and read a piece of his own. The entertainment for the evening consisted of two bands, No Love Lost and Kremlin Juniors, who brilliantly channelled a nostalgic but insistent 1979 post punk vibe, and four readers (Martin Geraghty, Julie Rea, Fee and yours truly), as well as a very illuminating interview Dickson conducted with Derek. Martin, a talented crime novelist who informed me the Airdrie game had been postponed, and Julie, a superb feminist writer whose every syllable shocks and scares, were followed by No Love Lost in the first half. After a short break to charge our glasses, a large, expectant and respectful crowd also enjoyed Fee’s humorous take on the small town Lesbian experience, as well as tolerating yours truly, before Kremlin Juniors ended the evening in style.

 

By closing, I was bladdered, so staggered back towards my hotel, saying goodbye to Fee and Isla on the way. I believe I was asleep about 20 seconds after I closed the door. Next morning Derek collected me and we visited his brother Scott’s place. Scott was the leader of Kremlin Juniors, whose debut gig it had been the night previous, and he was christening his luxurious garden man cave. Inside the treasure trove of 70s music and football memorabilia, squeezed about 15 Falkirk fans, steadily bevvying in preparation for the Bairns home game with Cove that was my new destination. I’d been to Falkirk before; a 4-3 win over Airdrie (ironically) in January 2017 with my pal Andy Hudson.

This time, I sat in the Main Stand rather than behind the goal, which felt fitting as this game marked the start of a new era at Falkirk. Having sacked the last manager Paul Sheerin after a 6-0 battering at Queen’s Park the week before, a new boss Martin Rennie had been appointed. That said, he wasn’t here, as he was working his notice at Notre Dame University in New York State, where he had been in charge of the Fighting Irish women’s team. Perhaps more importantly, Derek and a load of his pals had gone from boycotting home games to actually investing in the club as part of a new direction from the boardroom. Interestingly Dickson wasn’t with us. As an East Stirlingshire fan, he had taken advantage of their inactivity and ventured up to Forres Mechanics versus Lossiemouth.

 

As far as our game was concerned, it began in a storm of boos, directed at ex-Falkirk boss Paul Hartley who now manages Cove. It ended in a similar fashion as the Aberdeenshire side wiped the floor with a Falkirk team who were younger, smaller, weaker and significantly less streetwise than their opponents. The final score of 0-3 was a fair reflection on events, though the day had been saved by the glorious curried chicken pie I’d had before kick-off. After the game, Derek dropped me at Falkirk High, from where I caught a very empty train that became incredibly full at Waverley.

 

My next trip to Scotland, Holyrood hysteria allowing, will be on Friday 21 January when me, Ben and my mate Dave are heading to Barrowlands to see Godspeed Y.ou! Black Emperor. If that’s on, then the football I have planned is the Scotch Cup tie between Auchinleck Talbot and the Gorgie Filth. We’ll just have to wait and see. However, I intend to visit Airdrie this season

 

End Notes

 Another year comes to an end and with it, my personal lists of favourites. Record music was available all year long, but live stuff only came back to life in August. These lists are of recorded music I purchased this year and live performances I witnessed. The enormous volume of free CDs and downloads from the saintly TQ magazine haven’t been included, as I hope to return to a discussion of them at a later date.

2021 Albums:

1        Mogwai – As the Love Continues

2    Godspeed You! Black Emperor – God’s Pee at State’s End

3= Alex Rex – Paradise

3= Alex Rex – Memory, Speak

3= Wyndow – Wyndow

6   Teenage Fanclub – Endless Arcade

7   Arab Strap – As Days Get Dark

8   The Wedding Present – Locked Down & Stripped Back

1974-2020 Albums:

1    Green Ribbons – Green Ribbons (2020)

2        Mo Tucker – Playin’ Possum (1983)

3        Victor Herrero – Hermana (2018)

4        Mogwai - Zero Zero Zero (2019)

5        10CC – Sheet Music (1974)

Singles etc:

1 Hamilton Bohannon – Disco Stomp (1974)

2 Suicide – Cheree (1977)

3 Teenage Fanclub – Home (2021)

4 Wigan’s Chosen Few – Footsee (1975)

6        Eric Bell Band – Lonely Man (1980)

Live performances:

1.      Alex Rex – The Cumberland (October)

2.      Green Ribbons – The Cumberland (November)

3.      Band of Holy Joy – 3 Tanners Bank (August)

4.      Arab Strap – Boiler Shop (September)

5.      The Burning Hell – The Cumberland (November)

6.      Parastatic – Bobik’s (August)

7.      Emergency Librarian- Cobalt Studios (October)

However, it must be acknowledged that there are a few entries above that haven’t been discussed in previous 2021 cultural blogs which I’ll deal with now.

Books:

There are only two texts to mention here. Firstly, the astonishing anthology of the first five years of Falkirk’s fabulous Razur Cuts fanzine. Entitled Finest Cuts, it contains 300 pages of top quality outsider short fiction and poetry, only partially ruined by the inclusion of my piece Normally, which originally featured in issue #9. Next week’s blog will be an account of my most recent Scotch adventures.

I was pleased to be involved in the crowd-funding of Life’s A Ball, a lavishly laid out photobook by Zak Waters, with text by Ivor Baddiel and Mike Amos, concentrating on dozens of photos of lower league grounds in the early to mid-1990s, with many shots of glorious old Northern League clubs at the Easter groundhops of 1995 and 1996. No words needed; just check out the atmospheric images.

Music:

My mate Sam Whyte lost her dad earlier this year and has been disposing of his record collection in a piecemeal fashion. I’d already snaffled Footsee by Wigan’s Chosen Few when I spotted Hamilton Bohannon’s stellar Disco Stomp on her Discogs page.  One of the most downright dirty ass grooves of the whole decade, Disco Stomp is the go to bass and drum heavy funk workouts that Bootsy, Sly and JB weren’t involved in. There are more pheromones on this track than in a Spanish fly bottling plant. Adorable. I also bought 10CC’s Sheet Music, but sadly apart from the seminal Wall Street Shuffle, it’s a load of smug proto yacht rock.

North Shields Fish Quay has long been the go to destination of choice for discerning Coastal sorts. To expand its reach and appeal, 3 Tanners Bank and The Engine Room came together to host a record fair on Sunday December 5^th.  What a combination; rare vinyl, craft ales and fantastic visiting street food. It was enough to persuade me to las out on a super rare copy of Mo Tucker’s debut solo album, Playin’ Possum.  Recorded years before she became a bizarre mouthpiece for Pizzagate and Q-Anon conspiracy theorists, it isn’t lo-fi in the style of her excellent 1989 Life in Exile after Wartime album; this is no fi. Amateurism turned up to 9, at which point the dial fell off. Mo plays all instruments and clatters brilliantly through cuts by Bo Diddley, Chuck Berry and Lou Reed among others. A tremendous, noisy treat.

 And finally, released in a limited run of 50 cassettes, Memory Speak is a live album by the full Alex Rex band recorded in summer 2019 at Cleeve House in Wiltshire. As Alex’s preoccupation moved from Vermillion to Otterburn, we get a set stuffed full of the finest Dylanophilic, Bobcatian superior folk rock outside of The Basement Tapes. From the opener Every Wall is a Wailing Wall to the closing Pass the Mask, it’s a performance of the highest quality. The absolute highlights are obviously the enduring macabre cynicism of I am Happy and simply unparalleled genius of Night Visiting Song. As ever, the emotion on listening to a new Alex Rex release is utter bafflement that this man is not selling out Wembley Stadium.

 

TQ 50

 The superb outsider / underground / no audience music magazine TQ has just published its 50th edition. It's brilliant & I am honoured to be included. Here's an interview I've done with them. After you've read it, head to http://tqzine.blogspot.com/ to find out more -:

What was the motivation for the magazine?  And why the name glove?

In short, my enduring adoration of marginal and outsider art, combined with a desire to provide an outlet for writerly voices that wouldn’t ordinarily be heard, provided the impetus. However, the devil remains in the detail and I’d best tell you a little bit about myself, to put everything in context and explain how I arrived at this point, as I turn 57.

Without question, my cultural life changed on December 24^th 1976 when I heard John Peel play two particular songs on his Christmas Eve programme; Richard Hell’s (I Belong to the) Blank Generation and Roy Harper’s When an Old Cricketer Leaves the Crease. I do realise Peel also gave Anarchy in the UK its first spin on radio during the same programme, but I’ve never been a fan of glam rock, so we’ll move on. Instead, that night I fell in love with music that seeks not commercial success, but artistic integrity and I remain happily besotted, by all genres of slightly off-kilter eccentricity, though not by whimsy or punishing extremes. Yes, I like commercial music, such as British Sea Power or Teenage Fanclub, but even there I detect a dedication to art and an uncompromising seam of creativity. As I get older, I find that increasingly I like my gigs to be intimate, my pubs to be cosy and my sporting adventures (both cricket and football) to be at a grassroots level and part of a defined community.

One irony is that while there are plenty of outlets for cheerful obscurity in terms of bands, pints and team games, it is the authored, tangible printed word, as opposed to the plethora of personally created blogs and peer compiled on-line journals, that struggles to find an outlet in this country. For the creative amateur and artistic outsider, hammering away at keyboards in a literary vacuum, far from the rarefied climes of agents, editors and publishing houses, including even the likes of Rough Trade Books, where is the printed showcase for their endeavours? We, as a species, need the continual replenishment of the pool of written endeavour. Don’t get me wrong, as someone who lectured in English Language, Literature and Creative Writing to adult learners for 30 years, I have an intimate knowledge of the canonical greats of English Literature. Most of them I love, but they are respected mainly for their iconic status than any sense of enduring relevance. Even recent (post WW2 in academic terms) fiction is starting to ossify. As someone who studied the American Novel at postgrad level, I recognise that Kerouac, Burroughs, Miller, Vonnegut, Bukowski and a thousand other brilliant, semi-outsider writers aren’t saying much new these days as their work starts to be categorised as being of a particular time and cultural subset. Obviously, it is a million to one chance that I’ll have a contributor whose work will be discussed amid such storied circles one day, but that isn’t really the point of glove; I’m more concerned with samizdat and zeitgeist. That said, P. J. Smith from Liverpool first had something published by me and he has just had his first collection of stories published, by Rough Trade, ironically enough.

Having spent three decades encouraging young and not so young learners to express their thoughts in the best word order possible, I became aware that those of my creative writing students who were developing an individual voice had few options when it came to getting their stuff in print.  Personally, I’ve written for an enormous range of publications about music, football, politics and cricket since the late 70s, so I was aware of the scarcity of literary zines, as opposed to scholarly poetry magazines (which absolutely have the right to exist and cater for a specific audience). Basically all we have these days is: the brilliant Razur Cuts from Falkirk, in London, the novelist John King edits Verbal and Sean Preston from Ninjatune compiles Open Pen, while Jim Gibson in Nottingham, runs Low Life Press and a round of applause must go to the Farnborough Fante, Joe England, who created the ground breaking Push. His encouragement and support for my writing ended a decade-long hiatus from about 2002 when I didn’t write anything literary at all. In Newcastle, it’s a long time since Basil Bunting, Allen Ginsberg and Gordon Burn performed at Morden Tower (the first place I ever saw Whitehouse incidentally) and there was nothing up here, not that I had any interest in narrowing creative parameters by being a regional magazine. I just wanted to provide a vehicle for outsider writers, both thematically and culturally, to get their stuff read.

Hence, after I stopped doing a Newcastle United fanzine The Popular Side in 2017, I wanted to stretch myself administratively and creatively and so I introduced glove to the world. I did the whole thing entirely by myself, as I had an uncompromising vision of an A5 photocopied magazine, of about 40 or so pages, with no adverts or editorial. I found a printer who did a run of 150 for a quid a copy. Postage in the UK is about another quid, so with envelopes on top, selling it for £2 a copy including P&P means I lose 15p a pop, not to mention costing me about £60 for contributor copies, but so what? The enjoyment I get from it makes up for being a few quid in the hole twice a year. The contributors are listed on the inside cover, with only brief social media contact details instead of thumbnail biogs, partly to save on space, but mainly because I wanted the words to speak for themselves. Being candid, I also worked solo on glove as I’m a frankly cantankerous old sod who can start an argument in an empty room.

The name glove came from an art project I undertook from 2015 onwards, whereby I collected every lost or stray glove I saw on the street, or on a bus, or tied to park railings. I never went out without a spare carrier bag to transport them home, where they’d go through the wash, be scented by Comfort or Lenor and then, after a gentle spell in the tumble drier, they’d stop being hand warmers and become vital parts of an organic piece of art. I placed all the coloured gloves in one transparent Perspex cube, calling that piece glove box, and all the black ones in another Perspex cube, calling the other piece black box. They were exhibited at Sotheby’s London in Summer 2019, though both remain unsold. The front and back covers of every issue has been one of my discoveries in the wild, as it were. Incidentally, I no longer collect gloves.

How has the zine evolved and do you have plans for the future?

From the very outset, I was adamant that I wouldn’t have a website. I am not a designer. I am a writer. If I tried to build a specific on-line presence, it would look shit, because that isn’t my skill set. It’s the same with TQ I would imagine; our readerships are happy to consume a physical document, but would baulk at the idea of scrolling through a PDF on a smart phone, as it would be headache inducing. In that sense, the magazine has remained true to its roots.  Being judgementally subjective, I feel issue 7# from January 2021 was the best one yet, because of the strength of contributions. Sadly #8 is, for me, the worst. This is partly because of issues with the layout, as the printer transposed the two halves of the booklet; what should have been pages 3-18 are now 19-36, and vice versa, which has spoiled it for me. I still paid the printer as he needs to eat and apologised to all my contributors whose work has been mangled but, in all conscience, I couldn’t charge anyone for it. If anyone reading this wants a copy, send me an email or a message to @GloveLitZine and remember to include a postal address.

As regards plans for the future, it is all in the hands of the current and future contributors. If they send stuff in that I like, or even dislike if I sense it is good quality writing, there will be further issues. All contributions are welcome; simply send your stuff by email (Word document attachment preferably) to iancusack@blueyonder.co.uk

On a personal level, I would love to do a 3-track CD single of certain bits of my writing, with an unmusical backing. I’ve got some bass riffs I’d like to record as unchanging, repetitive loops, over which I’d intone my words. Some really clattering Mick Harvey Birthday Party style drumming, Laura Logic atonal wailing sax and discordant, feedback and fuzz guitars would be nice as well. All recorded independently of course. Anybody interested in collaborating? Get in touch. I’d also like to do live spoken word stuff, but I’ve never been asked. Also, I suppose I should write a novel at some point.

You have a strong roster of contributors. How have you built that up?

Rewind 10 years. Joe England had just produced the debut issue of PUSH.  I was alerted to its existence by my mate from University, Raymond Gorman, who was the guitarist in That Petrol Emotion incidentally, as he had a couple of poems included. I bought a copy and came across a whole galaxy of underground literary stars I’d never even heard of. I submitted a few poems, more in hope than expectation, then began to tentatively rediscover a love and a compulsion for writing short fiction, inspired by what and who I was reading.

Without doubt, the greatest contemporary, underground talent is Michael Keenaghan, a north London Irish James Ellroy. Read anything and everything you can by him. He is a genius. Other fantastic talents came to my attention; TJ Corless, Fee Johnstone, Ford Dagenham, Holly Watson, Dickson Telfer and about a hundred others. We used and still use social media, mainly Twitter in my case, to publicise each other’s work and to support other talented writers or new publications. As time has gone on, this has started to include many writers from abroad, so it’s a global grouping of not for profit prose specialists and poets. Through Twitter and email, we correspond and swap ideas. From this growing, nebulous community, new voices emerge and older ones are regenerated. By no means is it a closed shop, as nothing makes my heart sing more than a quality contribution from someone whose name is new to me. Even better, some of them have just started to write and are searching for their own style of expression.

I suppose the whole process is one of serendipity; I don’t know who is going to send stuff in. I’ve often tried to put it out there that I’d like to a female only edition, or a Scottish one, but it doesn’t happen like that. Contributions are the great unknown. I’ve directly asked people to submit, but with limited success; writers need to be loved, but many recoil from pressure. Therefore, the words I’m sent always guide me, not the author or even the form. If something has that vital spark of creative genius, I need to publish it. Sadly, I’ve not had many lengthy stories (we’re talking 5k words plus) submitted, but I wouldn’t rule them out, even if the length is prohibitive to other magazines. I try to lay glove out so it consists of a prose piece is followed by poetry and so on. I do occasionally include several pieces of flash fiction or poems by the same writer, but that approach is not applicable for those who submit substantial pieces. Of course, these guidelines are not unbreakable.

One way in which I’ve been very lucky is that I’ve not had to reject pieces from people who actually get what glove is about. Stuff that goes in the deleted items folder tends to be from the equivalent of poetic Twitter bots, who send in screeds of banal tripe about God or their grandkids, all in rhyming couplets, to about 30 publications at the same time. All I say in reply is, sorry but this doesn’t fit with our ethos. They don’t tend to get arsey or even reply, because they won’t have read glove or probably any of our writers elsewhere. I have to admit that people who submit and haven’t seen a previous copy do get on my nerves. It just seems arrogant to assume your work will fit in, without bothering to check what has gone before. Same goes for those I publish who accept a contributor copy but throw up their hands in horror if you ask them to buy an extra copy to help support the magazine.

 Without going into detail, some of the subject matter covered in glove could be seen as fairly controversial and some readers (not me) could be offended. As editor, is there a line you will not cross?

Brilliant question, and one I could throw straight back to you. Who do you find more offensive: Sutcliffe Jugend or Coldplay? Undoubtedly the latter for me. Similarly, Barbara Cartland’s world view disgusts me in a way that Cormac McCarthy doesn’t; and if you’ve read his A Child of God, you’ll know he writes about taboo subjects in quite an unadorned, visceral style.

Needless to say, I won’t countenance anything racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic or otherwise hateful. Taking that stance as a given, then if you don’t count rejecting pieces I find banal as censorship, then I have never knocked anything back on the basis I found it too extreme. In fact, I’ve only really worried about two stories I’ve published; in issue #5 Derek Steel contributed a piece about a domestic murder / suicide that troubled me, until I talked to him about it and he explained the point of the piece. This is the crux of the censorship debate in my eyes. As his motivation was entirely honourable and artistically impeccable, I had no reason to think that the writing could be interpreted as in any way immoral, whatever than means, or gratuitous. In the current edition, Michael Keenaghan’s Ring describes the activities of a fictional paedophile gang of rich and powerful London politicians, ending with the central character’s execution. The worry I have is that some people, mendaciously seeking a reason to affect outrage, are too stupid to read to the end of Michael’s piece and will abandon the story halfway through, completely missing the moral purpose revealed in the denouement.

This leads me to say that I would happily publish pieces that include graphic violence, explicit sex and other subjects some people may be offended by, though with a proviso. I would need to be 100% certain that the motivation of the writer in straying into such territory was justified at an artistic level and was not for the purposes of self-gratification, as I’m not a pornographer and have no interest in what arouses other people, or worst of all, gratuitous and exploitative. Playing to the gallery for likes or financial reward by engaging with the lowest common denominators in terms of style, plot or characterisation, is truly a sin in my eyes. Similarly, anyone who sets out to write a smash hit or a best seller is truly an enemy of art and creativity. I’d like to think I’m a defender of them both.