Facing my two-wheeled fears

After a virutal blackout, enforced by the increasingly demanding workload of my NCTJ course (6 weeks in, going really well, thanks for asking) I can return to the blogging fold with the news that today I rode a bicycle for the first time in nearly a decade. I can confirm that the adage is true - you don't forget how.

To her great credit my thoughtful, considerate and always well-meaning girlfriend has on several occasions tried to get me to get back on the saddle. Despite the calm, rural surroundings of her Cheshire village and the number of vehicles at my disposal in the garage I have managed to resist all but the shortest of trundles in her back garden.

But today was different. After my usual sulky refusal routine, for some reason, I softened, pondered and, swallowing my pride, mounted

After a shaky start I realised that this cycling lark isn't really as hard as I'd made out and before I knew it I had done two laps of the car park. Fast forward 20 minutes or so and I'd left my girlfriend behind and was exploring the cycle paths of Delamere Forest

Next on my list of things to rediscover after spending 10 years telling myself I couldn't do them: swimming.

A good night in with the husband

It's not that fact that Home Secretary Jacqui Smith's husband filed an expense claim for watching a couple of mucky films - it's the two viewings of Ocean's Thirteen that I'd be embarrassed about.

On a serious note, in the news coverage of the latest scandal involving MP's allowances, one member of this merry band of privileged individuals implied that if they were only paid a decent wage then they wouldn’t have to claim every little extra cost incurred in the course of their working lives.

My heart, it bleeds. As of April 1st 2008, the salary for a Member of Parliament was £63,291, with a London supplement of an additional £2,916.

On top of that they can claim up to £100,205 in "staffing allowance", £22,193 in the gloriously vague "Incidental Expenses Allowance (IEP)" (possibly the second home allowance – clearly given its own special acronym to lend just a soupcon of legitimacy), "additional costs allowance" of up to £24,006 and a "winding up allowance" of a maximum of £40,179 – whatever in God's name a "winding up allowance" is meant to be.

So, in addition to earning almost three times the average wage for a UK worker, they can claim in excess of £200,000 each year, which is before you factor in transport expenses and all manner of pension shenanigans.

Is it a huge assumption to say that this renders their entire net income as (excuse my cynicism) beer money?

In Parliament today, Gordon Brown proposed scrapping the second homes allowance for all members. If you genuinely believe this should be done, for the good of our economy and for the efficacy of the cockpit of our nation, contact your MP and urge him or her to support this move.

If I were you, I'd study their response carefully.

A sporting day to remember

Today started well, went rapidly and unavoidably downhill, before picking up again and finally reaching a jouyous finale by tea-time. Such is a day in the life of a sports fan.

The main focus of my Saturday was covering London Scottish vs Rugby Lions, a Division 3 fixture taking place in Richmond. My journey across the city seemed relatively straightforward but, this being London, I arrived at the ground some two hours late (don't ask). only reaching the press box when the match was an hour old. A few cobbled-together words and the gracious help of a couple of employees meant my match report (a term I use loosely) actually made some kind of sense by the time I phoned it in about half an hour after the final whistle.

I was actually very disappointed to have missed out on much of the afternoon, such was the party atmosphere at the Richmond Athletic Ground. In honour of the Calcutta Cup being contested just a short stroll away at Twickenham, the club has gone all out with the celebrations and a festival marquee, a Deuchars IPA-themed bar and a merry band of pipers and drummers all added to the spectacle of seeing the home side notch up a record victory of 85-3.

In other sporting news, my beloved Tottenham Hotspur defeated Chelsea at White Hart Lane in a hard-fought contest which sees us rise to the heady heights of 9th in the Premier League table. The optimist in me feels a UEFA Cup...sorry, Europea League spot could be ours come the end of the season. Elsewhere, Manchester United - clearly still reeling from their mauling against Liverpool - went down 2-0 against Fulham at Craven Cottage.

Andy Murray added to his already impressive record against Roger Federer with a win in three sets at the Indian Wells 1000 and England put together a pretty convincing performance to defeat Scotland 26-12 in the aforementioned Calcutta Cup, althought this was somewhat overshadowed by a thrilling Grand Slam-clinching win for Ireland against a dogged Welsh side. Rarely has the Six Nations ended with such high drama.
Here's hoping England's women can overcome New Zealand in the Cricket World Cup final to round off a pretty epic day of top-class sporting action.

A cider-soaked weekend in Bristol

When my friend Nick, at whose stunning harbourside apartment my friends and I lodged during our recent weekend of revelry in Bristol, described his adopted city as "cider-soaked" I took his words with a pinch of salt. With hindsight I feel the most enduring image of the soujourn is as follows:

Just look at the colour of it. I'm not even much of a cider drinker, but the rich variety of Bristolian brews on offer - best acquired from one of the city's 'cider boats' (quite literally a floating bar on the river) - are enough to convert even the most sceptical quaffer. While meandering our way drunkenly around the centre of town I was stunned to see a eyrar of swans (yes, that is the appropriate collective noun, I looked it up) as up-close-and-personal as I have ever witnessed. I now regret getting as close as I did to take this picture as I'm sure the pair of tasty bites I now sport on my right calf are the product of a fleeting encounter with some kind of airborne insect.

This blurry shot of the light of the adjacent drinking establishments reflected in the water is a good representation of my vision at any given point after 10pm that night.
While stumbling through the newly-regenerated part of town between our base and the city centre we witnessed all manner of impressive sights, not least this huge chrome structure which our host informed us - in complete deadpan - was the actual spaceship used in Flight of the Navigator. For a moment, in our apple-fermented haze, we almost believed him.
The next day, flagging somewhat, we took a leisurely drive to the outskirts of Bristol. While some might find the landscape a little bleak, I felt it was oddly beautiful with its soft, sweeping lines and rolling hills.
The urban landscape is just as striking. Aside from the numerous works by a certain Banksy dotted around, there is a wealth of other examples of local graffiti artists. Something about the roughened, slightly world-worn nature of the former industrial hub creates the ideal backdrop to this colourful, idiosyncratic art form.
On our last day in Bristol we felt it was high time to take a trip on our local river ferry service. At 60p each way it was as cheap as chips and is actually incredibly handy as the only other means of crossing the river lie a good few miles in either direction.
We tried to sneak onto this boat without paying. We were, much to our chagrin, caught red-handed.
Shortly before packing up and heading home we sat with one last pint to contemplate the revelry of the weekend and the memories we had shared (not to mention the unwelcome sight of my good friend Kirks walking towards us with blood spattered on his cream jacket, the result of an encounter with a local pikey outside a nightclub).
Despite this sole incident of wanton violence, there's no doubt that Bristol + copious amounts of cider = good times.

Champions League Tuesday

Liverpool looked absolutely rampant tonight as they dispatched Real Madrid 4-0 at Anfield, securing their passage to the quarter-finals with a 5-0 aggregate win. Gerrard was once again his side's engine and tonight saw the midfielder give as comprehensive a display as you'll see in a European match, with exceptional movement, awareness, incisive passing and a well-deserved brace in the form of a beautifully-taken (if erroneously-awarded) penalty and a crisp half-volley shortly after the break. His team's domestic form may vary pretty wildly but Rafa Benitez now has even greater credentials in continential competition.

Before the match the Liverpool coach had suggested his side's surrendering of their early season pace-setting in the Premier League had threatened his overall reputation at the club. "We have the best record in Europe over the last five years, yet some messages coming my way are not the best," he said. "The facts are there to see. Anyone can see what I have done here." After tonight's result, his detractors should, for now at least, be rendered silent.

Meanwhile, Chelsea drew 2-2 (agg. 3-2) against Juventus in a thriller in Turin to move into the quarters and Bayern Munich consolidated their 5-0 away win in the first leg of their tie against Sporting Lisbon with a 7-1 home win. That's 12-1 on aggregate. Ouch.

A week in Valmorel

I recently spent a fantastic week in the French ski resort of Valmorel, as the guest of my girlfriend Anna's aunt and uncle. Regular readers (a term I use optimistically) will understand that since coming home from Whistler last summer I've been pining to get my skis on and come down a snow-covered hill a bit fast. Stoked as I already was to be going anywhere near a mountain, the stunning view from the plane left me even more excited and I was grateful for the good fortune of landing at the perfect time to watch the sun set over the incredible landscape below.On the first morning we awoke to grey overcast skies – an unwanted sight on virtually every other kind of holiday but just what I had hoped for on this occasion. Fresh snow abounded and, despite the low visibility, our hosts gave us a whistlestop tour of the area.
That evening we dined out in honour of the last night of some of my good lady's relatives and were taken to a local watering hole which is probably the most lively in the village – Jimbo Lolo's.

What follows is a video of the bar's main attraction, called the Harry Potter. For €5 the barman will pour a shot of black sambucca into a beer chalice, light it, and chuck cinnamon into the flames to create a small-scale pyrotechnic display. Then you drink it and inhale the trapped fumes – commonly known among students as a 'gas chamber'. It's worth pointing out that the barman really earns his keep, donning as he does a cape and pair of ludicrous spectacles for the duration.

The next day, with a depleted sense of balance and cracking headache, we were greeted by beautiful blue skies and bright sunshine. These were the perfect conditions for the local topography to really show itself off, with dramatic contrasts between the jagged rock ridges and smooth lines of the snow-laden slopes.
After a good, ooh, 20 minutes or so we stopped to enjoy some well-earned hair of the dog. I can confirm that beer (in this case, Leffe blonde) does taste better if a) it's enjoyed from a proper glass b) costs the equivalent of £6 per pint. The one cowering behind his hand is my girlfriend's brother Daniel – giving as a good a demonstration as any I've seen that it's always worth keeping your sunglasses or ski goggles on when posing for photos in the intense sunshine.
While it was disappointing not to get more snow for the rest of the week ,the variety of terrain kept me well occupied and the intensity of the sun ensured conditions underfoot remained pleasantly soft. I felt, given the intense shade of blue and awe-inspiring scenes all around, this was as good a time as any to switch to panoramic mode on my camera.
Clearly I was by this point the only one to remember to keep my eyes sufficiently protected when facing skywards.
On our last night, I remarked at how lovely our little corner of this picturesque village is by night. After cursing not reading the manual that came with my camera I managed to twiddle with it sufficiently to capture this, one of my better attempts at night photography.
Having left my old job the day before flying out – enough of a weight off my shoulders under any circumstances – the week in this charming and friendly town was the perfect mix of relaxation and exhilaration before starting the next stage of my life as a graduate (but more of that in the very near future).

Poor little sod

The BBC (my favourite source of news, dontcha know) reported today on a study which appears to have uncovered a means of curing nut allergies

Pity the poor wee fella, "Peanut allergy sufferer Carl Morris" who gave the reporter this choice soundbite after he was given back the ability to consume nuts:

"I hadn't had a Mars Bar in nine years"

Awww. No-one should have to suffer that.

"Cold showers... scaffolding... Ann Widdecombe"

My congratulations go to British cyclist Mark Cavendish for winning a stage at the Tour of California. I enjoyed learning about his two-wheeled exploits from a report on the BBC website but I was most intrigued by the accompanying picture, showing him in receipt of pecks on the cheek from a couple of rather cracking-looking women.

Note the distinct grimace and steely look of concentration on his face. Is it me, or does he look for all the world like a man trying really hard not to get an erection while wearing cycling shorts in front of a crowd?

Another new look

Like a celebrity-obsessed 16-year-old with low self-esteem, this blog has given itself another new look. It is now officially blue.

Please let me know what you think. And if you're looking at the marvellous graphic at the top, then yes - I did take those pictures.

Football club chairman, they are fickle mistresses

Although they seem to happen all the time, the occurence of not one but two Premier League managerial sackings within 24 hours of one another is a rare thing.

The circumstances surrounding each were rather different and each has been met with contrasting reactions: Adams's sacking, seemingly looming for a number of days, has elicited a great deal of sympathy; Scolari's, meanwhile, has apparently shocked a fair number of onlookers (which I found very surprising given how unhappy that particular captain's ship has looked in recent weeks, culminating with their disconsolate performance against Hull City on Saturday).

But without question the most bizarre thing the convergence of these seemingly unrelated situations could bring about is that, if certain reports are to be believed, the coming days and weeks will see a most unlikely bidding war ensue for the managerial services of one Mr Avram Grant.

I shit you not.

Obamasation

Dedicated readers (there are almost certainly none beyond my own mother) might remember that, back in August 2007, I Simpsonised and South Park-ised myself - in both cases a wee while after the rest of the world had cottoned on. In trademark tardy fashion, I've now discovered you can Barack Obama-ise yourself, in deference to Shepard Fairey's iconic Hope poster which spread like wildfire during the Democratic nomination race.

I am an Obamicon. Not bad for a first attempt, I think, and I may or may not do a few more if the mood strikes.
On a serious note - just the fact that people think to create these websites and that others have responded to them in their thousands, if not millions, really means something, doesn't it?

I won't harp on about the significance of Barack Obama's achievement (not that I believe in it any less but I just don't want to re-tread any ground) but I'm struck but just how a single part of the man's iconography can have such a widespread impact.

That's how much he has captured people's imagination. I really feel that to live to witness something like that is truly remarkable. Bandwagon-jumping for a great part, certainly, but remarkable nonetheless.

Funniest vegetable-related phrase of the week, maybe the year

Here's one you'll like. This story was funny enough already: a man was caught trying to smuggle two pigeons into Australia. Inside his trousers.

Even better is the picture captured at the scene, depicting a pair of rather hairy legs and some knobbly knees, with avian-concealing tights (worn under his trousers, evidently) around his ankles, pigeon-parcels still in position. Priceless.

But here comes the deal-breaker. Police also found what the BBC reporter covering the story described as an "undeclared aubergine".

Utter cock, as usual

So, here's the thing. I was just writing the post below when I discovered that the gist of it had, in fact, been debunked.

It turns out what happened to the Daily Express story in question can actually be done by anyone to any content on their or the Daily Telegraph's websites. Slightly disappointing, given that I'd invested a good - oh, I don't know - 3 minutes of my life on coming up with something to say about it, but fun nonetheless.

See Dr Ben Goldacre's Bad Science blog post on the matter a-here.

And now the story of a man who truly deserves a performance-related bonus and a fat expense account.

Today the Guardian's brilliant Media Monkey reported on the carefully-chosen words of a certain Daily Express web editor who, in constructing the URL for a fairly preposterous story about how seven or more cups of your coffee a day could be bad for your health (hold the phone...a mere seven?), summed up the feelings of not only himself but probably a few million others out there.

Mr Monkey summed it up thusly - but for the impatient here's the Daily Express story right off the bat.

Keano is back...who saw that coming? Oh.

As so the White Hart Lane revolving door continues to spin. Following hot on the heels of Jermain Defoe and Pascal Chimbonda, Robbie Keane has returned to his rightful home in N17. Must be the Arry Effect.

Snow, snow...literally shed-loads of snow

Just as I thought I was getting over not being in the mountains, hurrah! It started snowing like nobody's business. Thank you, Mother Nature. I awoke at 6am to go to work and made it about as far as the bus stop. Here's the view from my front door:

By the time the sun had its hat on the back garden was looking like an ever-more tempting opportunity for a spot of 'urban skiing'.

Quite how I was going to build up any momentum on a surface that is about as flat as the Netherlands, I don't know. I never actually got as far as unlocking the back door.

Victory for Kaka, victory for football

I am both delighted and relieved that the ludicrous business of Kaka's proposed nine-figure transfer from AC Milan to Manchester City, and the astronomical wage packet he was reportedly offered, has fallen through.

It is a victory for the safety, even the sanity of the sport on a global level, but even more so it is a victory for the convictions and principles of a humble, quiet young man who scores goals for Jesus and wants to stay close to the people and the place he loves.

In a game so utterly dominated by money and run by an unaccountable group of incomprehensibly wealthy individuals who think it is possible to buy lasting success, every true football fan should be encouraged by the fact that a player of such obviously bankable talent should choose with his heart and not his wallet.

He's not exactly hard up at the San Siro and it may have been the case that the club simply refused to allow him to talk to the Eastland's money men. In any case, he is still a Milan player and the chequebook has been put away.

Will this news result in the toning down of the unsustainable financial movements which exist, in the top echelon of the world's most popular sport, on such a scale as to be truly crass in the face of such international economic turmoil? Almost certainly not.

But it has sent out a message that occasionally, to some people, some things are more important than money.

Inauguration Day

One last moment of inspiration before the hard work really begins. Read the speech.

Free speech gone mad

Before you assume I've come over all Daily Mail, fear not. I do, however, feel compelled to share with the world what is as fine a case as I think I've ever seen against allowing members of the public to post comments in response to news stories on the internet.

The news piece in question reports that a promising young drama student has been selected to front a government campaign aimed at reducing knife crime, self-harm and other such ills among young people.

The comment from 'Manny Mark' in Redbridge which follows isn't so offensive because of what he says – nuggets of cynical, narrow-minded and ill-informed rubbish are ten-a-penny all over the internet – but rather the manner in which he says it, so utterly bankrupt in its means of expression that I actually cast my eyes to the heavens and tutted like a grandmother.

Leave it out and do me a favor do you think this is going to solve the dreadful positions of kids carrying the knives? . What and they are going to pick up the knifes and then remember to log on and listen to two other kids saying dont do it? Just because this crazy governement dont spend any money on police for the streets they use the wishy washy tactics to clould the wool over peoples eyes like a smoke screen to veil off all whats really happing in the society that we are forced to living under the fear and terrible state we are put under by the kids who are out of control these days? We used to get a clip round the ear and when we got home if we got in any bother with police the parents would give you a few more clips also.

The spectacular use of mixed, confused and downright garbled metaphors actually left me speechless. Check out the middle sentence (all 3,000 words of it). Absolute gold.

Go and see Slumdog Millionaire

If you manage only a single trip to the cinema in 2009, the one film guaranteed to lift any lingering gloom or underlying feeling of pessimism about your life or the world around you is Danny Boyle's exceptional Slumdog Millionaire.

In it, the director's vision is so clearly formed that the story, told with what is actually a rather complex narrative, is perfectly observed.

It is a demonstration of Boyle's now, I would argue, fully-realised skill as a filmmaker that in telling a story set against the backdrop of one of the most chaotic cities on Earth he still manages to pick out every last detail, not missing so much as a single beat.

I cannot recall walking out of a cinema with such a wide, unapologetic smile on my face, having wept with joy only seconds before, or feeling more elated at the end of the film in my entire life.

This is a work of art which runs the whole gamut of emotions before ultimately finding an exquisitely beautiful finale. It is the romantic story of a man and a women. It is a a paean to a singular and awe-inspiring city.

And it is, above all, an enduring, uplifting and overwhelmingly convincing testament to the redemptive power of love.

Go and see Slumdog Millionaire.