Eulogy.

I knew that today was coming down the track and there is a small part of me that wishes I could be sitting with you and listening to someone else talk about our friend but the truth is bigger part of me would have fought anybody for the right to stand here and represent Col, and speak about him on behalf of his beautiful family, and the very many friends who have gathered here today to pay their respects and celebrate his life. Like many of you I could talk for hours on end about Col but my role today is to talk a bit about his history and maybe tell some of you parts of his life that you didn’t know about. We are going to hear some beautiful and heartfelt personal tributes shortly so consider this as a sizeable starter to what you will hear from Paul, Ralph and Steve.

I have spent many hours in the company of Chris, Rekha and Ninds but visiting the family home to discuss this ceremony was probably the first time I have done so without Col being present. Whilst he wasn’t there physically he was present in the smiles, the laughter and the immense positivity that was in the room whilst we talked about him, and I hope I can convey a fraction of that positivity in what I am about to read.

Colin Barry arrived on the 3rd November 1960 and was the first of four children born to John and Kathy Barry alongside his sisters Lynne and Mandy and his brother Paul and the family lived in Binnie St on the edge of the city centre near to where the Royal Hospital is today. They moved from there for a spell in Ellesmere Port but it wasn’t Liverpool so they family came back and settled in Daneville Road, Liverpool 4, where John and Kathy still live today.

Col was a late arrival to St Matthews and started his education there in third year juniors and this is where he first met Chris when they were both pupils in Mr Powell’s class. Whilst they were both preparing for the all important 11+ exam that would follow a year later Col still found time to be an altar boy at St Matthews Church and would sometimes incur the wrath of Mr Powell for arriving late to class after fulfilling his duty on the altar.

From St Matthews Col went on to attend Campion in Shaw St, staying on to do A Level’s, but he didn’t remember his time at school very fondly apart from the good mates he made whilst there. He was on the fringes, and like many out there, he found the company of the others on the fringes more stimulating that those who may have been considered the in crowd. He hung out with lads who really were the cool gang like Bernie Connor, Joe Spiers and Ian Killen. The uniting force in their friendship would be their shared passion for music.

It was during this time that Col discovered running and discovered that he was very good at it and admitted more than once during his life that running “saved him”. Col was pretty wild in school, and full of energy, and to quote one of the gentlemen I have just named “He was a bit of a nutter” and the running was a way to divert his excess energy. It was an outlet where he could excel and show his prowess and discipline but it was also freedom. The open road and beyond was something that was a constant in his life.

It was whilst studying for their A Levels that Col and Chris got together. There were a few students who would gather at Norris Green Library to study and Col and Chris were among them and when the exams were over they celebrated with a few drinks at the Jolly Miller. Chris fancied Col but she had some competition from another girl and the competition would be decided by who he would ask to walk home. We all know who the winner was.

The first date was a gig by After The Fire in town and they walked there and walked home. It was followed by a pizza at Rooney’s on Hardman St and that became a regular Friday night out. Col was a cheap date at this time because he was running and therefore not drinking.

Apart from his passion for music Col was a keen geography student and had studied it at A level, wanting to pursue a career where he could further his geography education, but when the A level results came in he didn’t get the grade he was expecting and this led him to taking a job for the fire brigade. I’m sure we could all imagine Col legging it up ladders and running into burning buildings but his job was in the office, and not on the appliance, and rather than putting out fires, his job was in health and safety and making sure fires didn’t start. 

It would have been a steady job with decent prospects but being indoors was never going to be a good fit regardless of how promising the career may have been. Whilst not enjoying the job he did enjoy representing the fire brigade’s running team. Col had already represented Liverpool Harriers and had been running competitively and once that fire was lit it burned until he could run no more and even when he wasn’t competing he would often run to work. He was also encouraging his brother Paul who was running for St Eddie’s at the time and what started out as Col watching from the sidelines led to him running as an independent alongside his brother. He destroyed everyone.

The fire brigade was not going to be a career so Col applied for Harper Adams Agricultural College and went for an interview. It went well but the people at the college were a little bemused as to why a boy from the city wanted to be involved with farming and agriculture so before he was given a place he had to do a year's work on a farm. Chris said she saw this as the college testing Col to see if he had the necessary commitment for this type of career and he was sent to work on a farm with the Poulter family just outside Hereford. 

His lodgings on the farm was a shed. He’d wake in the mornings to milk the cows and would be breaking the ice on the taps before washing in freezing cold water but he stuck at it. In the beginning he wasn’t very fond of the family, and there was an element of town versus country, but there was a shift in the relationship after Col rescued a Hereford calf in a field. No one had known about the calf and it would have perished but for Col’s intervention and as a show of gratitude the Poulters gave the calf to Col who promptly named it “Herry”. He kept it but sold it back to the Poulters when he left the farm and began his time at Harper Adams. He would meet Steve whilst at Harper Adams so I’ll leave him to talk about except to say it was during this time that Col discovered that alcohol was big, and it was clever, and he would eventually leave with a degree in agriculture and farm management.

Col returned to Liverpool where he got a job at Croxteth Park Farm working alongside farm manager Bill whom he would eventually replace when Bill retired. Col and Chris lived on site in a cottage and had the butler and two chefs for neighbours. Chris said the cottage was beautiful but it was quite spooky at night and while they were both settled there they both had a desire to work abroad in a VSO program somewhere far from Croxteth. They both applied and were looking to be placed together somewhere which was initially proving quite difficult. Col got offered a post in Papua New Guinea but there was nothing for Chris. Then Chris got offered a post in Sierra Leone but there was nothing for Col but they eventually get a joint offer to go and work in Kenya and in 1987 they flew off to start their African adventure, a year after they had become man and wife following a ceremony at St Matthews.

In the beginning Col really didn’t like it but by the end of his time there he absolutely loved it. Of course, he got on with everyone despite being a Mzungu, the Swahili word for foreigner. He was one of few Mzungu who mixed with the natives and over time he got to know everyone, and was accepted all, from the workers alongside him to the top brass at the police and the mayor's office, and he was comfortable sinking a few Tuska beers with anyone regardless of rank or status. He was one of them despite his skin colour. No airs and graces, no imperialist coloniser, just a guy who wanted to do well and pass on what he had learned. I remember Col telling me that a small part of him wished he had stayed in Kenya because he felt he was really making a difference to people and helping them prosper and improve their lives and their land. 

Spending time and mixing, and drinking, with the locals meant he picked up the lingo and could converse well in Swahili, something that would be staggering and amusing in equal measure when he eventually returned home and would get in a cab with an African cab driver. They would be blown away by a white man who not only knew about their country, and their land, but could also speak in their tongue. Of course, Col also knew all about their music and the artists who were from their region.

We all know about Col’s passion for African music and this is a passion that was born in Kenya. So how did the punk rocker from Liverpool fall in love with Afrobeat? Well Chris said it didn’t start well. They would often travel by bus and the on board entertainment would be little tinny speakers playing the local music. Col was not impressed. On one journey he almost had to be held back by Chris from ripping the speaker off the side of the bus and slinging it out the window. Maybe he was suffering the effects of a few Tuskas from the night before but he wasn’t in the mood to listen to it. Eventually he came around to it and the love for the music that started on those bus journeys, and elsewhere in Kenya, stayed with him throughout his life.

When he returned to Liverpool he subscribed to Songlines magazine which always had a free CD containing music from all over the world and if something caught his ear he would head into town to News From Nowhere, or sometimes HMV, and see if he could find any other output by that particular artist. Col had always had an open ear and would give anything a spin but his love of African music spread right across the continent, and the world, and exposed him to many artists. His massive cd collection is a testament to his eclectic taste and knowledge of a variety of genres.

The African adventure came to a close when Chris returned home to give birth to Rekha and the patter of her tiny feet was heard in December 1989. Rehka spent her first few months living in her Nan and Grandad’s house in Daneville while Col was looking for work which was proving to be difficult. His work and many achievements in Kenya were not given the respect they were due by prospective employers so rather than sit on his laurels waiting for something to come up he enrolled to do a degree in conservation but even with another qualification the job front was still not bearing fruit.

The family moved from Daneville when they got their own place in Craigside Avenue and in 1994 the patter of tiny feet was heard again when Nindz arrived. Chris said they all have great memories of their time in Craigside and the lovely neighbours they had there. The home was a terraced house in a cul de sac and as such the neighbours were always close and hanging out in the street for a chat and a catch up and it was a nice close knit community. As much as they loved it there the arrival of Nindz meant they needed more space and that prompted the move to Blackmoor Drive in 1998 and that remains the family home today.

By the time the family moved to Blackmoor Drive Col was well into his stride in a new job. His friend Martina spotted an advert for a vacancy for a farm manager at Rice Lane City Farm and he applied and got the job. Col loved working on the farm, and loved working alongside his colleague Denise, and between them they developed the farm, introducing rare breeds, applying for funding and grants, and the farm went from strength to strength. The educational side was developed, and work experience programmes were introduced, and Col spent many happy years working there until he was sadly made redundant but he had seen the writing on the wall and had already sown the seeds of what would become Rice Lane Landscapes.

Col hit the ground running with the new venture and even though he had some business cards printed up they were never required because the work came in via word of mouth and business was booming. The workforce expanded to cope with the expansion of the client list, and what started out as a company doing domestic gardens became a business handling large contracts for both the council and the NHS until Col’s diagnosis and subsequent treatment forced him to stop. Col was successful because he was fair, he was a man of his word, he always did a good job, he delivered on what he promised and never let anyone down. Everyone here will know and testify to those qualities and it was no surprise to anyone that the business was successful and his services were very much in demand.

So that is a little potted history of Col but I would like to talk about some of his passions and I have to begin with music. Col had always been passionate about music but when he started going to Eric’s it really opened his eyes and his ears. Being a few years older than myself, and his brother Paul, he would regale us with tales of the bands he saw in that sweaty basement in Mathew St. Chris remembered him raving about a young Irish combo he’d seen supporting Joy Division, saying they were going to go on to bigger and better things. That band was U2. He saw all of those great bands, some multiple times.

Col’s passion infused into us and soon we would be attending the Saturday matinee gigs for under 18s. I have to give Col huge thanks for turning me on to so much great music beginning with Magazine, who were the first band I saw at Eric’s. He was pretty scathing of some of the music we were listening to and anything that was partially smelly, like Genesis Or Zeppelin, was deemed “shite”. I remember him coming in to the living room in Daneville and removing the ELO record on the music centre and replacing it with The Mekons before running out into the kitchen and returning with a pan under his arm which he proceeded to bang along to the unholy row that was coming out of the speakers.

Col had a massively broad taste and loved attending gigs and when he would tell me he had been to a gig I would honestly have no idea who he had been to see. It could be the Peatbog Faeries, Chemical Brothers, Kraftwerk, Culture, Baba Maal, The Stranglers and that’s just six of possibly six hundred I could have chosen.

Col was a Liverpool fanatic but he loved all sports. He once told his son in law Ally that he loved Liverpool Football Club but didn’t like football and, given the way the game has gone in recent years, his passion was no doubt diminishing as the game has been taken away from the man in the street and been given to corporates and tourists. Col had a season ticket and before he went to Kenya he gave it up and upon his return it took him about six years to get another one but during that time he would go whenever he could get a ticket.  

Tales of trekking through Istanbul trying to find some beer and being followed by a load of kids. Returning to the Attaturk with two trays of ale and leaving one in the left luggage and finding it was still there at the end. Crowd surfing when the equaliser went in. He was a fan of that, and had done it a few times on the Kop, and had injured himself doing so on a few occasions. I remember texting him when he was in Barcelona to watch the Reds. I asked how it was. He replied. “Gassed. High up” and I guess I should talk about Col’s reluctance to engage with mobile phones and texts as he would have preferred to have not used either. I did get a few words from him which I believe is more than most of his family ever received. His standard reply to them was “FAB”. I remember he had been the match on a Sunday and gone back home after being “overserved”, or “ballooned” as Chris put it, and kicking off the Sunday ritual of “Col’s Kitchen Disco”. I got a text: “Augustus Pablo. Chris not impressed. Red card”

Col loved Rugby more than football and had enjoyed a few trips to Dubai with Ian and Andy to watch the sevens. Watching rugby in The Fly In The Loaf was a ritual and there was always a space reserved up the back for the rugby heads. If there was no rugby there would be some cricket to watch. 

The Fly In The Loaf and The Dispensary were favourite places where Col could indulge one of his other passions. Real ale. He never convinced me, despite trying, and when he had to give up drinking it and switch to lager it wasn’t ideal and he found that he didn’t have the same tolerance for lager. He’d never been a big drinker in his youth and he only started drinking real ale when he came back from Kenya. I will never order someone a White Rat without thinking of him.

Col loved walking in Scotland and climbing parts of it. He was never happier than when he was up there either with his family, or on his own enjoying a bit of “Colitude”. Drop him at the bottom of a mountain and he was off. His brother Paul called him a “Mountain Goat”. It wasn’t just the great outdoors and a good walk in fantastic scenery, it was also a test of his ability to be out there doing it and challenging himself. I believe the expression is “Bagging Monros” and upon reaching the top you can tick that mountain off your list.

He loved the Gabbro rock of the Alps and the same rock is found in Skye and that was one of his favourite places to visit. I believe Skye’s the only part of the British Isles that has this type of igneous rock. Downside of climbing these rocks is that they are very rich in iron and can render your compass useless and Rekha said “He never got lost. Well, not much”. He would go off on his own in January with his crampons and walk through snow. He loved that time on his own and the walks and climbs were always worth the fantastic views at the summit. When he returned you could see the joy and exhilaration in his face.

All the family adventures were not just on foot though, there were many cycling holidays and they had cycled all over the UK, and taken in cycling trips abroad with a memorable and notable one being a trip along the Danube. Offa’s Dyke Pass and the West Highland Way were trips that created memories that will last long into the future.

Col was straight up. A fair man with an opinion on what is right and what is wrong. A man who was steadfast in his opinion but remained open to the opinions of others. A man of his word, a man of character and substance, a man you could rely on and someone who would never let you down. His left learning politics reflected his sense of justice and fair play and his principles were a big part of who he was and they were not for sale.

I am going to close by talking about Col’s biggest passion. His family, or the girls as they are known to most of us. Being the only man in the house meant he often pointed his finger, throwing out accusations that they were ganging up on him, accusing Rehka and Nindz of siding with Chris leading him to trot out a familiar refrain: “I am in charge”. He wasn’t.

His daughters talked about the late night phone calls from him. As a kid these were the calls you wanted to receive. “Girls, d’ya want any chips? Or a pizza? Or some Chicken Wings” and the hunter gatherer would come home bearing edible gifts. Some were not edible with examples being sunglasses, waterproofs and puffer jackets that had been acquired nefariously via “The Halton Castle Catalogue”.

Upon arriving back in the house the kitchen disco would start and he would stick his head around the living room door and say “Girls, come and listen to this!”. Their education went beyond his music taste and when they would be out walking in Scotland he would be pointing out trees and birds along the route. Both Col’s and Chris’s love of nature and the outdoors has been passed on to their girls.

When Nindz started running cross country he’d often run alongside, telling her to go faster, and when she’d tell him her race times he would compare them to his own at that age and was never impressed, always pushing and encouraging her to do better. Both girls have a serious competitive streak that they have inherited from their Dad.

When Rehka got her exam results Col was more impressed about her passing another grade in her clarinet rather than her A level grades. “Your Mum and our Paul have got enough A levels for everyone in this family but we haven’t got a clarinetist!”

Strangers who didn’t know him, would’t know that inside that earthy farmer's exterior was a heart of gold encased in jelly. He was a softy. You cannot be surrounded by animals for a large part of your life without being a bit of a softy. He had a sensitive side that was not on display to everyone but it was to his family and close friends. He was a man of contrast. The dancing, air guitar playing nutcase in the kitchen was also the same man who was never happier than when there was a track in front of him, and an unknown adventure ahead. 

I really could talk for hours about Col but I will stop now and give someone else a chance to share their memories. I am not going to talk about Col’s death because that is not how he will be remembered. He will be remembered with smiles, laughter and happy memories by all whose lives he enriched with his love, friendship and inspiration and when people leave here, and go off to raise a glass to him, and when they tell stories about him in the future, their words will always fall from lips that are smiling, just like they were when I met with his lovely family. I don’t think there is a person here who would not want to be remembered like that.

Colin Barry. Much loved son and big brother and uncle, adoring husband, doting dad and my mate. The salt of the earth is lighter without him.

“Hey Grandpa, thank you for getting up and having a dance with me, I love that old folk song “American Pie” and I love that you can still get on the dance floor at 92 years of age and strut your funky stuff”
“Well son, I am delighted to still be here and to be able to shake my walking sticks in time to the groove”
“The guy in the song sings about ’the day the music died’ and it makes me sad. Was this something that happened in the Great Spotify War Grandpa?”
“Nope, but your history lessons have paid off because it was pretty damn close.”
“Who got hurt Grandpa?”
“Well son, there was no blood spilled and no battle casualties but it was definitely the day the music died.” A juvenile tear formed in the corner of the old man’s eye.
“What’sapp Grandpa, why are you upset?”
“Well son, the music died on the 27^th June 2015 and I was watching it live on the old television on the what used to be the BBC but what you know as McNando’s, It was a sight I will never forget.”

“Was that when Elvis died…”

“No son, your history is wrong……”
“Was it the day they found the poet laureate Doherty dead in a skip with a needle in his arm?”

“No son, it was Kanye West headlining at Glastonbury Festival”
“Is that related to the McGlastonBud festival?”
“No…Well yeah, whatever, don’t side-track me son my attention span is as short as it gets. It was a guy called Kanye West.
“I know Kanye West as a resort in Qatar?”
“Yeah, same guy, different brand, this was Kanye when he was a pup.”

“You mean Senator Kanye? Ok, I’m on it, just there are so many Kanyes these days it’s hard to keep track. So how did Senator Kanye kill the music Grandpa?”
“Well, back then, he had a cunt hair of talent stretched to it’s absolute limits, for me it was thinner than a silver Rizla, you even know what a Rizla is boy? Anyway, I thought he was dogshit but the people kinda like him. He shacked up with a lawyers daughter who had a big fucking ass and they were a good team for a while”
“ You mean Kim”
“Yeah, that’s the one. I used to call her Dim Kardashian but she was sharper than a tack when it came to pennies and big asses.”
“So Gramps, how did Kanye kill music”
“Well son, I will cut a very long and very fucking boring story short by saying have a Visagoogle at it and you will probably find it in the McArchive. He pitched up at Glastonbury as a headliner on Saturday.”

“He must have been some hot shit to get that slot Gramps?”
“Well son, he was half of that”
“Tell me the whole story please. I love music and I would love to know who killed it before it became good again”
“Well son, I guess you are of child-bearing age now. At 12 years of age you deserve to know the truth. What I am about to tell you is only for the privileged few. This ain’t for the phone people or the tablet people, they are too far gone, they will never be brought back from the brink but you are still young and fresh and I think you deserve a good shot.”
“Do you want a whisky Gramps? If I get you a whisky will you tell me?”
“Go ‘ead then”
The youngster headed towards the bar and towards the 13 year olds who could buy his Grandad a whisky by proxy.
The ice chimed the crystal glass as it hit the table and the young lad beamed at his elder.
“They only had McJameson’s., everyone has been battering the McGlenfiddich and the Esso so it was all they had.”
“That will do for me, as long as it’s not that McFrack shite that is popular these days. So you want to know the truth son? Are you ready for it? Can you handle the truth of how one talentless bell whiff destroyed modern music with his fat-assed no talent wife?”
“I’m waiting?” (We’re all fucking waitin’. Editor)
“People laughed, people cried, social media went into meltdown when this wanksplash was announced as the headline act for Glasto. That’s what the hipsters called it back then. Made the place sound less like fucking Aylesbury, you can see the angle. Anyway, this guy shows up and does his thing. I didn’t like his thing, a lot of people don’t but a certain type dialled into this bullshit. He used to shout “Wo-oh” and “yeah” and the shit in the middle was nonsense but the people kinda liked it. Then he got too big for his small ass boots, dissed Taylor Swift during the Grammys when he was higher that Virgin Galactic, but the sad thing was he believed his own hype. He thought he was a God, more powerful than the Gods themselves. But, God had more than a DJ and a moving lighting rig. I had seen that moving lighting rig shit back in ’85 with Frankie Goes To Hollywood.
So, he comes on, in camouflage gear like he’s in some fucking war when the only stress he ever had was standing in a queue at the Prada shop waiting to buy his big ass wife a handbag. After he plays his ‘hits’ he gives a shout out to the ‘musician’ behind him and credits him with playing ‘drum machine? Drum machine ain’t no job. Drum machine ain’t no writer or musician. He’s a cunt in headphones on minimum wage!!!”
“Language Gramps, Grandma don’t like the C bomb, behave yourself.”

“I’m sorry son. I guess it’s like all the veterans say “You weren’t fuckin’ there man!!!’”
“How bad was it?”
“Son, I won’t live long enough to tell ya. After the performance the camera cut to Jo Wiley and even she was undecided”
“Dame Wiley??”
“The very same!!! She didn’t know whether to have a shit, shave or haircut”
“Sometimes Gramps, I am glad I was born when I was and didn’t have to see it for myself”
“Well son, when you’re 21 I will tell you about the Stock, Aitken & Waterman years”

British No Heart Foundation

Before I begin let me make one thing very clear. This blog is not a criticism of the above charity. I applaud their effort and their fundraising for heart disease and I would not wish to disrespect their work.
Recently, The British Heart Foundation, has opened a brand new shop in North Finchley, a suburb of North London near my home. 
They had a shop already but this new store is huge in comparison and is selling refurbished, or recycled white goods. Great you may think? A nice second-hand fridge for a bargain price with proceeds going to charity has to be a good thing doesn't it? Well, the answer is yes, I guess, unless you are Ken Bowman & Son, an independent dealer in the same marketplace with the added bonus of machine repair. His store is a two minute walk from the new BHF shop. I doubt Garland Electronics are not impressed either as they are ever closer with Glotech Repairs, another white goods store, less than 100 yards away.

Do we really need another shop selling fridges and washing machines within a 500 yard radius.
This is sure to have a detrimental effect on these three local traders and however small that effect is, it is happening at a time when independent retailers are totally under the cosh. Increased business rates, increased rent, the parking restrictions driving customers towards retail parks and away from the high st, the threat from on-line retailers like Amazon, and the already dominant threat from Tesco stores which have popped up everywhere in my local area. 
The independents are paying for stock, paying rates, paying rent, paying employees and probably paying VAT.
The BHF shop get stock for nothing, pays reduced rates as it is a charity, reduced rent for the same reason, has numerous tax breaks and doesn't pay it's staff because they are largely volunteers. If the three others were to operate under those same conditions I think they would probably think it was licence to print money.
Is this new version of charity shops really in line with what the ethic, if there is such a thing, of what a charity shop should be? They are supposed to be single premises, filled with anything from cutlery to second-hand books, not shaping up to take on Argos.

In the two shopping areas that I use, North Finchley and Barnet High St, we are swamped with charity shops. We are not swamped with independent traders as many have all gone out of business because of the reasons I mentioned earlier. The Spires Shopping Centre has now turned into The Spires Eating Centre with a large portion of the outlets selling coffee and those that aren't are almost all major brands. Costa, Starbucks, Thomson, Waterstones, Waitrose, you get the picture.

The front shop that faces the High St, formerly WH Smith, has been taken over by a bunch of locals recycling books. People drop books off and pick some up but no obligation to drop before you pick. In the short time they have been open they have saved over 70,000 books from the pulper. Now whether that is Chaucer or Jade Goody, that has to be a good thing doesn't it? I dropped a big bag of books off there earlier and congratulated the gentlemen there on his crusade to save the written word and assured him of my return. As I walked past the nearby Cancer Research shop they had a rack of books out front with a "buy one, get one free" offer and I wondered if this was a recent introduction and a reaction to the free books available three shops down, just after the PDSA charity shop which also has books. Maybe the charity shops are feeling the pinch now. I wonder how they feel with that ill-fitting shoe on the other foot?

I think we should establish a charity shop for independent traders who have been put out of business in recent years. I think it would be a winner. We could call it The Independent Retailers Against Development (TIRADe). I was thinking more along the lines of "The Suffocating Independent With The Corporate Boot At His Throat" but it didn't really roll off the tongue.
They would be entitled to all of the perks that the big charities get. The shop could be manned by all the men and women who have been bankrupted, or made redundant, and they could fill the shelves with all the bankrupt stock.

As I said at the beginning I have no axe to grind with charity shops and all the good they do, especially independent ones like the North London Hospice, but we need to level the playing field here and re-evalaute the motives of these charities and the catastrophic long term effect they will have on High Streets all over the UK.


http://m.times-series.co.uk/news/10329335.New_charity_shop_in_need_of_household_donations/

http://www.allinlondon.co.uk/directory/1149/70675.php

http://www.garlandelectronics.com/

http://www.glotechrepairs.co.uk/areas/north-finchley-appliance-repairs.php

Wise Words Dec 2006

Welcome to final Wise Words of 2006. I wish you alI a Happy Christmas and I hope Santa brings you all you asked for. I have yet another huge list of rants and observations to get through so I better get started.

It’s almost Christmas and I can’t think of a better way to start the proceedings that taking a look at the weekly car crash that is “The X Factor”. I have a passing interest in the show as it is on religiously in my house because my wife and kids love it so I have often caught bits of it. I watched the “Big Band” show which was a double eliminator and saw Dionne sent packing, shortly followed by Kerry, in the wheelchair, who lost the “sing-off” with Ashley. I have seen this Ashley kid before slaughtering The Commodores classic “Easy”. This twat couldn't hold a tune if he was carrying it in a bucket. He performed “Moondance” and forgot the words as well as singing it out of tune. He was a way worse singer than the other two girls and he gets to go through. A triumph of style over substance I feel. He is a cocky little prick with nothing to be cocky about. He might get a gig as a Terence Trent D'Arby tribute act some day and he may get a few little girls excited with his handsome visage but he will never be a great singer whilst there is a hole in his arse. I like the Scottish girl Nikkita and was hoping that she would win although second choice would be a large bomb going off in the building and wiping out all the contestants and the judges, especially Louis Walsh. What has he given the music industry? Boyzone and Westlife. Thanks Louis, what would we have done without you? Anyway tomorrow is the big final and we have the little Scouser Ray against the wailing Leonna. I couldn’t call it could you. I reckon the wee Scouse will pull it off because he has the blue rinse vote with his cheeky Scouse smile. He performed on the “Scouse Aid” gig for the Tsunami that me and Noel played and my mother in law thought he was “marvellous”. There’s your proof. This blog should be posted before the final is over so it could be out of date within 24 hours. If it is not posted then my ranting has extended to Olympic lengths and I didn’t get finished in time.

It has to be the most expensive turkey ever known to man despite it being “cold”. I will begin some moans about the society we live in with a small piece about the convicts who were recently given a share of £800,000 for being forced to endure cold turkey when they were taken into custody. I have to say that I have just had a two minute break after reading that last paragraph back to myself. I was thinking what was going to come next and you know what? There isn’t anything! I am truly lost for words. If you have any that you would like to contribute then please do.

It seems the government have stumbled across a solution to deal with absent fathers who have not been making maintainence payments. They are going to shame them by publishing their names on the internet. I am sure that will do it! When it is introduced I am sure that half the named and shamed will be spending their maintainence money on a pc from Dell and some lively broadband so that when their mates come around they can show them how well they are doing. Again, I feel I can’t add anything more to this piece to make it any more amusing or ridiculous. I think a better solution would be going round to the house and taking the sofa and telly. Everyone loves the telly and if you’ve got a telly you need something to sit on.

I will end this bit with a rant about “24 hour rolling news”. I think we are in danger of being over informed. Every tragic event, every murder, every plague, war, famine, disease is now piped into our living room all day, every day. I wouldn’t mind if there was the odd item that would inject a little sunshine into the proceedings but it always seems to be gloomy. It seems the war in Iraq is old news unless some suicide bomber gets a hit of over forty scalps. If it is one death and a few shrapnel wounds we won’t even hear about it. I don’t know if or where it will end but if it does it will be coming live from the Middle East. I think I better wrap this bit up before this sounds like a column in the Daily Mail.

I recently attended a couple of 18^th birthday parties, one for my daughter Lois and the other for her boyfriend Tom. Let’s begin with Tom’s party. Nice do. Weird seeing this kids freaking out to “Summer Of 69”, “Don’t Stop Me Now” and Van Halen’s “Jump”. I don’t why they like these tunes I guess they found them in their parents record collections just like we all did at some point. Saying that there was nothing contempory about my old man’s record collection. The only thing that caught my ear was Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday and Frank. Franks is so big you don’t even have to say his second name. A bit like Robbie….but good. The rest of it was John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonius Monk. The evening brought something to my attention that I have wanted to discuss for a long time and something which I have only just fully understood. I am a man and I buy a pair of shoes and I wear them probably everyday until they look shabby and then I buy another pair. The last four pairs of shoes have been exactly the same and the last six pairs have been the same brand. I wear these Merrell street slippers. They are called something much groovier than that but that’s what I call them. I have two pair of kickers and a pair of Grenson boots that are for weddings and shit and are the second pair that I have owned and date back to the last Frankie tour. I have two feet and I reckon four pairs of shoes are going to do me for every occasion and barring a tsunami reaching the first floor and wiping out my wardrobe I reckon I am well covered. My wife, on the other hand, has several pairs of shoes. I remember the last time there was an official census and the count ended at 52. A lot have been lashed since then, most notably eight pairs of converse in every colour. I reckon they would have bagged a few quid on Ebay today. I know that womens shoes hurt their feet but I only found out recently that women expect them to hurt. How did I miss that one. I thought that when they bought their shoes and they hurt it was because they were new and needed wearing in but even when they have been worn twenty times they still hurt. Plasters are applied and feet are blistered and damaged but it doesn’t matter anyway because any amount of suffering is worth it if the shoes are fucking killer. I like a pair of shoes just as much as the next guy but I would not wear them more than once if they fucked my feet up. Anyway back to the 18^th and where this rant started. Tom’s Mum had a really high pair of stiletto heels on. They were at least five inches and she was really struggling, especially after throwing a few shapes around the dance floor to “Dancing In The Dark”. They were high and very pointy and I think they could have put in her traction but she seemed happy enough. Feet are killing but I’m still dancing and smiling.

Next up was my daughter’s 18^th. She asked me to DJ at her party. Being her DJ involved getting the DJ gear and shlepping it up to the venue and then playing five cds that she had compiled. I got into cross-fading a few tracks and if I would have been getting paid then it would have been money for old rope. Funny thing was the next when I went into the pub the barmaid asked me to do her 21^st. Even when I explained that it was not my selection of music she just told me to play what I “played the other night”. The party went really well and bar a few early knock outs and puke ups I think it was a success.

Let’s get musical. First up are “the clean of Scotland”: Clean George IV. This band features two guys who were formerly in a band called Serial P.O.P. that were managed by my mate Grant. I went to see them at The Dublin Castle in Camden the other night with Grant and Smarty and they were fucking amazing. It was the third time I have seen them and they just get better every time. The have a single out at the moment called “The First Blast Of The Trumpet Against The Monstrous Regiment Of Women”. It was Edith Bowman’s single of the week and was also being played by Colin Murray on Radio 1. It was a shame that I think us three were the onl ones who were there to see them. Well, you lot missed out. They are fucking boss. The played a new song called “Fat Equals Death” which has a chorus that has the lyric “Return to Slender. Fat equals death”. Really killer guitar riff that hooks you and drags you along. Should you wish you can hear them at www.myspace.com/cleangeorgeIV

Next up the new Beatles Album. I ain’t heard it yet so I don’t have an opinion. I believe it was written for a Cirque Du Soliel show that is currently in Las Vegas so I guess if you listen to it without the acrobats then you are only getting half the picture. It is a bit weird that it was done by the father and son (I guess John and George are the Holy Ghosts). I saw some of the tv surrounding the launch and seeing George and Giles reminded of someone handing over the family business. Until I hear the “Love” album I will furnish you with my mate’s opinion. He reckons it’s the Beatles Do Jive Bunny”. Whilst we are Beatling I am just listening to a couple of tracks from ”Chaos and Creation In The Backyard”. There is a track called “A Certain Softness” which sounds like it was written about Heather. I wonder what songs will be on his next offering. I suggest “Ripped Off” to the tune of “Get Back”. I have three tracks from his last “critically acclaimed” album. The one I am listening to now is a rip off of “Many Rivers To Cross” and the other one apart from the Heather one is not much cop either. Stay at home Paul and count your money while you still have all of it.

I got to go to a gig recently and was made to feel like a fan which is a very rare thing for me these days. Myself and a few guests went up to Liverpool to see The Real People play at The Academy. Trev, Kev, Tonto, Big Al and I let virgin take the strain and went up for a night out in the pool. We managed to hit the centre of town before the Anglican Cathedral closed and we took the opportunity to go to the top of the tower and have a look at the city below. We had a few locals with us and we had a boss night out. Beer, and then some football, that’s if you count the appalling 0-0 draw the Liverpool got at Middlesbrough as football. More beer and then some Tandoori Lamb Chops for ten (that comes to at least a couple of lambs) and then on to see The Realies. It was boss. It was such a long time since I saw them play I had almost forgotten some of the words. When the gig started I was singing every word (like my Mrs at a Robbie concert). It was great to see a gig in Liverpool where the audience is so much more up for a good time than in London. It was a great gig and a great night out and something I will be repeating next week when I travel north to see them again.

The View From The Tower Of The Anglican Cathedral Liverpool

Last up on stage are Frost. I got a phone call from Mitt a couple of months ago and he said “Frost” and I said “Yeah ok, if you say so?”. Didn’t know anything about them until I got to the gig. They are prog, with a capital P. Quite mad to hear this sort of music being played in a small club like The Scala. It kinda washed over me a bit because I was not familiar with the tunes. There were three tunes but the last one was 25 minutes long with several different movements. It was good to see four blokes playing their instruments very well and writing some good shit but I need to hear an album because it was all over a bit quick and I was a bit gassed. You can check out Frost for yourself at www.frost-music.com and those of you with prog leanings can let me know your thoughts.

Frost Live At The Scala, London

I will close the music section with a brief mention about the Ardmore Christmas party. I have been to this party for the last two years and got up and played a few tunes with the boys in my band as they are usually providing the entertainment. I only did three tunes, two of which were covers and then got back to having a few beers with Smarty. Another night to remember (or forget, depends which way you look at it). It was hosted by The Crown Hotel in Cricklewood which was modernised by Ardmore. It is a famous place, especially among early Irish immigrants, but it is a very posh establishment these days and I don’t reckon you would get past reception in a donkey jacket or hard hat these days. I almost volunteered to play with the lads the following night but work commitments prevented me from going but I will be at some point in the future. Go and get my cover on with boys and Mad O’Brien.

I made a long overdue visit to Wales to visit Tim and to attend the official opening of his new studio. His new stduio is fantastic.He managed to get his hands on the old SSL desk from Wessex Studios in London. This desk was probably used to mix two of my favourite albums: “Spirit Of Eden” and “Laughing Stock” by Talk Talk. I reckon I will have to pop up there in the new year and do some recording with the boys in his new huge live room. We spent the evening eating Thai food and putting the world to rights. I did a little bit of star-spotting whilst I was waiting for Tim at Llanelli station. Who should pull up in his Merc but none other than Welsh snooker legend Terry Griffiths. He was dropping off some young snooker protoge at the station. What lovely hair he has. I reckon he is on the same hair dye as Macca.

Tim's Studio

I almost forgot to mention the wee man. My guitar man Noel had his 30^th birthday this week. We had a little gathering at a local Italian eaterie and I took my chance to eat some veal. I feel eating veal in a little off these days. You know, baby calves, in boxes, no life, bred to be ate. Sorry, they taste real good and until a calf comes up with a cure for cancer and fights his way to the top of the food chain then the plate is always going to be his, or hers, final destination. Happy birthday Noel, and as I said on your card, I hope you are still my guitar man when you are celebrating your 40^th!

Dan & Noel

I wanna rave for a little while about my latest toy. I got a new phone. Well, it’s a camera with a phone in it. It has a 3.2 megapixels and a Carl Ziess Tessar lens on it. With the memory card it takes about a million pictures and has an hour of video. I have been getting well into it. Not like I wasn’t before but the pictures I have had out of this phone have been fantastic. If this blog has worked out ok then you should have been able to view some of the pics in this blog. If not it appears I have been foiled. At worst you should see some links to be able to see them. There should be a few snaps below of me getting arty with the camera phone. Any thoughts welcome.

Ed Smart, Waiting Room, West Finchley Tube.

Bank Branch, West Finchley Tube.

Note to all car designers. When can we have retractable wing mirrors on all cars??? I recently had the wing mirror smashed on my car. The guy who did it probably didn’t even realise but then again he may have been a bus driver. If you have read any of my previous blogs then you will know that bus drivers are not my favourite people. Anyway, I digress, the wing mirror is busted. So I go on the internet to look for a spare. I find this spares gateway for auto parts and within a day I have four places in the uk that have what I want (except it ain’t sprayed?). So I get a wing mirror for £40. A bargain but still a large £40 pain in the arse. We live in narrow streets and there are cars everywhere. Do me a favour and save us all a few quid and get some retractables on the go. Close door, press key, alarm car, admire your fuck-off, retracting, james bond wing mirrors. Manufacturers can make them go up and down and even defrost them so why not have them disappear into the door. I would rather have that than a heated seat or an ipod compatible car stereo. Wouldn’t you?

The Kop v Manchester City

Let’s have some sport. I recently went to see Liverpool play Man City at Anfield. The game was poor and the highlight was seeing Didi Hamman warm up alongside the main stand and receive a massive ovation from the Kop and the rest of the assembled throng. What a player. Liverpool fans have seen some great midfield players in their history but I would rank The Kaiser amongst the very best that have ever worn the reds shirt. I was sad to see him leave and would still have him on the books because he is true class. His finest hour for Liverpool was his introduction at half time in the Champions League final against AC Milan. Three nil down, looking grim, hoping it ain’t an absolute spanking, “You’ll Never Walk Alone” live from Istanbul. Oh, it might be ok, Didi’s coming on. I don’t think I have seen him have a bad game. I am sure some pedantic statto may disagree with me but I don’t remember one. The master of keeping the ball because there is no pass, and then falling over to win a free kick. As predictable as rainfall in Manchester. And let’s not forget the goals. I saw the goal that won him Goal Of The Season against Newcastle at Anfield. The man could hit a ball, pass a ball, win the ball and keep the ball. I must say I did take a large amount of joy out of his goal against England in the final game at Wembley. Was it Didi’s goal that made Keegan realise he was “a little way short”? He deserved every clap of the applause that greeted him on his return to Anfield. Thanks Didi, you were the bollocks.

It seems that my club is going to be bought out by the sheik. I don’t think this will be an Abromovich situation like at Chelsea. These people are an investment group with the accent being on investment. Rick Parry, the Liverpool chief exec, was quoted as saying “you only sell the family silver once so you better get it right”. That’s what it feels like to me. Selling the silver. I guess nothing stands in the way of progress and money and I guess it was inevitable at some point down the line. We have a new stadium to build but I believe that we should stay at Anfield. I think in the very near future every club will be struggling to fill their stadiums. The rising cost of tickets and the non-competition of the Premier League I believe that football is at it’s zenith. How intimidating will Anfield be for a Carling Cup game on a wet Wednesday in November when only 30,000 turn up? Liverpool have never played to a crowd of less than 50% of capacity in my memory. If they have, let me know. I know Chelsea have had less than 10,000 at The Bridge during the history of the Premiership. Sorry couldn’t resist it, reminds me of that famous song, oh how does it go? oh, I know “Where were you when you were shit?”. The days of your sky season ticket for the club of your choice are not far away. That’s where the money is. I would ask any football fan reading, or listening to, this to tell me how much they would be prepared to pay to watch their teams home and away games from the comfort of the sofa? If Liverpool can licence their games throughout the world then they will take it. Sky TV have put the hardware in place and people have got used to the hardware now. Instead of the Playboy Channel you can have “green porn” and watch your team instead? Sky’s Premier League exclusivity is doomed. The clubs have got a taste for the money and they want more. Their investors want more and the fans want success at any cost. I would exclude Leeds fans from that last statement as they lived the dream for a few years only to wake and find their club had been sold from under them and the reality was relegation, administration on the goldfish on lease. My prediction is that within the next Sky deal will be the option of the big clubs retaining the rights to the games against the other big clubs and Sky just getting a licence to show the matches. I bet The Emirates Stadium has a nice TV production suite within it as well as more than enough camera points. I am sure every new stadium will. At the end of the day it is just another way that they will try to keep you on the sofa. That’s why I watch all my games in the pub!

Sometime in the next few days I am going to have to do some Christmas shopping. I dropped off a bag of my wife’s clothes at the Cancer Shop next to the studio. I don’t know which particular Cancer Shop it is but it is a Cancer Shop. I went past there again today and I was wondering if it would be possible for me to go into the shop looking for something for the Mrs and actually buy something that I had dropped off the day before. I wouldn’t know half her clothes if they were on a rail in front of me. I dunno, maybe it’s just me, but the thought of me doing that (and being truly capable of doing that) seemed amusing at the time.

I have tried to end every section of this edition with a request for your opinion or input. This especially applies to the podcast. I know that there are plenty of readers because I see the stats and you may not wish to contribute to the comments because they will get lost amongst the Viagra advertisements but feel free to stick something in the forum or drop a mail on the podcast page. It is a new thing for me and any tips comments that will improve my output are welcome.

I want to finish with a culinary topic. Don’t panic, I’m not going to go all Ramsey on you and start effing and blinding any more than I usually do. The topic is Mince Pies. Why can you only get mince pies at Christmas. You can probably get them all year round but they are not called mince pies and they are often disguised as something else. I don’t know about you but I love a mince pie. Mince pie and cream, mince pie and custard, mince pie with another two mince pies. I love them. This year I am going to make a note of when they disappear and then make a note of when they start appearing and declare a “Mince Pie Season”. We could have a website ilovemincepies.com . We could have a forum. Subject: “Mince Pies spotted in Welsh Co-Op”. Subject “Tesco’s Finest Mince Pies Are Not Much Cop”. People could discuss the finer points of Mince pies and their seasonal appearance. I will close as this is getting a bit Eddie Izzard when it is really the result of Ed Smart for it was he who gave me the idea for this section when he said “A puppy’s not just for Christmas but a mince pie is!”, Hope you enjoyed it?

MUSIC BIT AT THE BOTTOM: A – Teen Dance Ordinance, Paul McHeather – Chaos & Creation In The Backyard, Depeche Mode – Playing The Angel, Clean George IV, 4 Way Street – Pretzel Park. Most sounds courtesy of Trev’s Jumping Jukebox.