The Work Programme

I'm reclining in my seat at the end of a busy week. It's been a tough few months but things at long last seem to be on track. From a slow start compounded by a general lack of understanding of what we're supposed to be doing things are slowly starting to come together. I sit back with more than a hint of self satisfactory smugness not entirely unconnected to the 5 job starts I've managed to bag this  month.The phone goes;

" The KPI 3 list is unacceptable " barks the caller. " Why have you not managed to attach these customers ?"

I ask for the customer numbers and go and check the files. Customer 1 is on long term sick, they are not currently looking for work. I read the notes on the screen. " Tried to phone customer, no answer. Text and Letter sent. "

I read this verbatim over the phone. She wants me to check the other 2 customers which I do and the same conclusion is reached , again customer is on long term sick and has not responded to letters, texts or phone calls.

" Right " she continues " Have you filled in the sanction paperwork ?"

" No , not yet " I reply

" Why not ? " She counters

" We've been tying up loose ends , we managed to secure a deal with a local recruiter who agreed to visit the centre and interview some of our clients. If he liked any of them he would then register them and offer them work. Thankfully he was happy to take 5 customers off our hands and they start work Monday. "

There's a brief silence from the other end. It doesn't last long.

" Do we know if they'll last 6 months? We don't get paid till 26 weeks you know  " 


She knows I know this but wants to press me


" The agency said it's temporary to permanent."


" What does that mean ?"  she says  continuing to  press 


" Well if they work well they'll be offered more work and hopefully they'll get to the 26 week mark. " 


"  Hopefully? That's not much of a guarantee is it ?"


" No but there's not much more we can do at the moment other than put people forward for any job that arises. 


" Doesn't sound like you have much of a plan to get people into work?"


I calm myself before saying anything that I might regret


" We have a plan but that plan would work better if we had an employment liaison co-ordinator to go out into the field and approach employers and sell our services. Without creating these opportunities we are left fighting it out with everyone else for every advertised job that comes up."


" Why have you not got an employment liaison co-ordinator ?"


" Because we were told there isn't the budget for one and the only way we can get one is if we get more job starts which kind of contradicts the purpose of having a employment liaison co-ordinator in the first place " 


There's a silence, during which I'm wondering if she's detected the sarcasm in my last comment

" Right , well that's correct,  but I still haven't received an explanation as to why the KPI's were missed ? "


I thought I  had.


" I mean it  doesn't take a whole team to get 5 people into work " she adds


" No but it takes time to sort Birth Certificates out for  those clients who cannot provide I.D, plus each adviser has a 150 customers that they have to manage as well as support those who are in the centre and don't know how to complete an application form ."


" What about Steve ? He's your trainer isn't he ? Why wasn't he running an application awareness workshop "


" Well under normal circumstances he would but there didn't seem much point doing a 90  minute class when the recruiter is here and he wants the applicants to complete an application form in 10 minutes so he can be on the road back to Cardiff" 


I think  I might be starting to get a foothold here.

" So going back to the KPI's you've missed , I note the last date they can be attached to the programme is Monday, you'll need to get them in by Monday "


" Er no can do , Steve is on annual leave and myself and Debbie have no slots in our diaries, we have back to back appointments from 9.00 till 5.00 , we just can't physically get them for Monday" 


" You'll have to do home visits then ." 


" I'm not sure Health and Safety would allow that , we need 2 people to go together and we can't  really leave Susan alone on reception. Besides, I  don't think I'd be too happy banging on the door of someone suffering from long term depression and forcing them into an interview in their home. Especially as their notes suggest they are on long term sick and from the look of it, it appears they aren't looking for work any time soon " 


" Well you'll have to come up with something, have you considered frog marching them from their home into the centre?"


" Err, not really, isn't that a bit unethical ? I mean these people are not criminals."


No answer.

The above transcript is fictional but is based on the kind of approaches that are bring taken by many prime providers on the government's Work Programme. A programme which after all was instigated to support the hardest to reach members of society into long term sustainable employment. However the customers on this programme are not been given the level of support they require or deserve  as this piece will attempt to highlight

When the preferred providers were announced and the sums of money were talked about to make the programme work it didn’t take a professor of economics to work out that providers would struggle to make ends meet. With a basic payment of around £200-300 for attaching the job seeker (i.e getting them on the programme) the provider would have to wait a full 26 weeks before they could get a real return for their labour. On previous welfare to work programmes you got paid from day one of them successfully starting work. The incentive for many providers was  always to get people signed up and into work as soon as possible. On previous contracts, clients currently on another contract (e.g Flexible New Deal) could be signed up by an adviser in the same building onto their contract (e.g  Flexible Routeways ) in order to cash in on their success with finding work. It  wasn't illegal but  you might questions the ethics behind it considering that the company is going to get  another payment simply for the act of the adviser getting the customer to sign some paperwork. But this act would also allow the customer to access funding if they needed clothing,  tools for the job or even to subsidise travel and food until the customer got their first wage packet. And even if the job fell through and they came back on the programme they could still access funding to support a quick return to employment. It gave both the adviser and the customers options, something which is sadly lacking with the current Work Programme.

Welfare to work has always trod the fine line between attempting to find the best possible job for the individual and the need to get people into work (any work) as soon as possible. I’d love to sit with clients and work with them to nurture their burgeoning talent but the reality is if they’re offered work (and more importantly are financially better off compared to benefits)  they have to take it. And under the terms of the Work Programme, partly due to the 26 week rule, sustainability is even more in focus.  Sustainability is always going to be difficult particularly when the type of work the typical client base is looking for (i.e warehouse/driving/labouring) is controlled by recruitment agencies who are in almost all cases not prepared to offer anything other than temporary work. And the type of jobs that carry sustainability – welding, HGV driving, gas fitting – the training for which cannot be bought for £50- £100 (generally the maximum of training allowance allowed per customer on the WP). Case in point is a client I see regularly who lives in small town with very little industry  and makes the 20 mile train journey each week to see me because he dosen’t drive. His background is scaffolding, however as is common with a large amount of people who learnt their trade on the job he dosen’t have the certified training which is now required to work in that sector. With no real transferable skills suitable for retail, care or admin he is left to apply for manual work working in production or warehousing. And as previously stated, with recruitment agencies only offering one or two months work maximum and no means to travel to work outside of his town (plus the hugely restricted bus and train services ) he is going to struggle to find work. And this man is only 46 years old, considerably too young for retirement or pension credits. 

Some might argue if there is very little industry on  your door step and public transport is unreliable and too expensive then doesn't it seem logical to move to a bigger town. Indeed it is a logical solution were it not for the fact that the average JSA claimant doesn't have the required deposit to rent privately and if they do go the route of the housing association, with very few new social housing projects nationwide  and a waiting list as long as your arm comprising higher priority clients , a solution is not exactly within reach. Plus moving to a bigger town, which in itself has  a larger  pool of Job Seekers claimants and skill sets , may not even improve your chances of finding work. 

In  cases such as these  training is hugely vital. For £500 that individual could have an SIA licence which opens up security work opportunities in pubs, retail, business premises and sporting/ musical events. Even if there is nothing on his door step he can travel to neighbouring towns and as much of the work is at night he is not curtailed by the train and bus times which is the norm if he takes shift work starting at 6.00 in the morning. It’s not a prefect result but it‘s a hell of  a lot better than his previous situation. Unfortunately £500 is ten times too much what providers are prepared to invest even though it may achieve sustainability and maybe just maybe make that individual feel like he has a stake in society again. 

Sustainability for both the customer and the provider is an incredibly tough ask in the current circumstances but it’s not the only reason why the Work Programme is un-workable. Because the Work Programme operates on a shoe string the average provincial town welfare to work centre probably has only about 2-3 advisers. The Department of  Work and Pensions has recommended that each adviser has a caseload of between 40-60 customers. Myself , I am approaching 150 and I know of advisers with other W2W providers who have case loads of 150. I asked an ex- colleague who still works in W2W for another provider  how they can justify such a high caseload in light of the fact that a condition of the programme is that you see a customer for one “face to face” appointment within a 14 day period.

 “ It’s basically done in groups. They come in and job search and show the adviser what they ‘ve applied for and go home. “  

I then asked if at any time does the adviser sit with them and manage the quality and quantity of these applications

" There really isn't time to do that, to be honest a lot of job searching is based on trust"


Trust is one thing but allowing dozens of clients to submit sub-standard job applications is something else. You can have 30 years experience of managing a company under your belt but if you don't know how to structure an application or know where and when to use key words that employers are looking for you're going to continue to struggle.

Under the Work Programme a large proportion of those referred will be on sickness benefit (either Employment Support Allowance or formerly Incapacity Benefit).  Most of them will have had their Work Capability Assessment and been told that although , in the eyes of the DWP they are genuinely sick, they should still attend a programme which is designed to help people find work even though they are not currently looking for work because they are ill. I’m very much in favour of programmes like Pathways to Work which supported those with long term health conditions into employment when they are ready but this isn’t it. For one reason alone and that is that advisers are not trained in advising clients as to their rights if they are looking for work. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had someone in front of me shake their head and say – “ No one told me about Permitted Work. “ But this is only things I have picked up through observing contracts like Pathways to Work. As ESA clients are not the main focus of the Work Programme then it naturally follows that advisers are not given guidance on how to deal with the long term sick. As far as I can see if you accept ESA claimants then you should make sure advisers know how to help them.  The worst indictment of this is that in benefit terms ESA are the lowest of the low , whereas before they were given centre stage now it’s an admission by the government  that we don’t know what to do with you and don't have the means to support your needs.

One thing I've learnt observing those on Employment Support Allowance is that the prospect of managing their condition within the context of a 40 hour, 9-5 working week is terrifying. The fear that they may be able to struggle to get through one day  at work and then have to do it day after day is a real issue for many. For those with a long term varying conditions such as Fibromyalgia, M.E or even depression there is a real intent to work but they are concerned at the responsibility and obligation that comes with it. Self-employment offers the long term sick the option of real work, of being able to partially come  off benefits and more importantly being  able to work around their condition. Typical self employment ideas include massage, reflexology or offering gardening services going door to door. Naturally,  not everyone has the required skills in these areas and self employment is not without risk, but at least it offers light at the end of the tunnel and gives those on ESA something to ponder whilst they recover. Indeed the Department of Work Pensions offers the chance for people to secure  funding and get support from trained business advisers to get their idea off the ground and whilst they are getting their idea off the ground the DWP will pay a self-employment credit for the first few months, similar in value to JSA. However, when you read the small print you find out this scheme is not for those on the Work Programme. So anyone , whether you are on JSA or ESA, who is on the Work Programme will not be allowed any support with going self-employed. This is bad news for those on JSA, particularly lone parents who have to work within school hours and struggle to find jobs to fit, but even worse for the long term sick who like everyone else have to scour the local papers hoping for an opening that they can realistically cope with. 

For many established charities and welfare to work providers  who have built up a reputation on empowerment and supporting the hardest to reach job seekers this new approach must stick in their claw. One charity acting as a sub- contractor has on their “intranet” the latest news which highlights the company’s recent achievements in getting people into work and further down the page has a link to a newspaper article criticising the Work Programme. No one could ever accuse them of having a jaundiced view.

This I believe is an example of how companies feel  let down by a contract  which in all honesty  they had to take on if they want to continue their philosophy of helping people and remain competitive. It’s incredible that in nearly 12 months on the Work Programme I’ve not had one sit down meeting with the prime contractor as to how we can better establish links with the local council, employers and recruitment agencies to seamlessly move some of our customers into employment. When you do go off on your own bat and get a foot in with a recruiter who will come into the  centre and interview anyone interested in cleaning work, the response is usually – “ that’s great but we still have 5 people we really need to get on the programme by Friday.”  Whereas on other contracts the emphasis was always on getting jobs the emphasis is now completely on getting people attached (i.e started on  the programme). It's staggering how much emphasis is placed on getting customers through the doors, if only they had the means and I have to say desire to get them out the door.  I read a recent newspaper article on the Work Programme where an advisor at a W2W centre was asked what they did if they continually failed to get a customer engaged on the programme. “ We send letters, texts and phone calls but if they fail to turn up to an induction on 3 occasions we refer the case back to the prime. “  Where I work , you, the office , retain responsibility and on top of trying to arrange inductions for new referrals you have to continue to chase serial non –attenders.

The record currently at my centre is 19 induction/welcome sessions  booked for one customer which they have failed to attend. And still it is expected that you take the time to phone, text and send letters booking yet another induction session. I’d go round to their house to do the paperwork but you need a companion with you and there isn’t the budget for that. Because everything is centred around getting a client attached to the programme if the customer arrives at 4.30 in the evening someone has to make time to see them. This often means having to cut short an appointment with another customer to accommodate. With continually booked up diaries you only need this to happen a few times a day for the whole diary system of 30 minute face to face appointments to be made a mockery of. In the end the other customers suffer. I wholeheartedly endorse the right of job seekers to get help with finding work but a longer view by the DWP and government should be taken. If an individual continues to fail to attend, even after several sanctions, it’s questionable if that person is suitable for this programme. The time and effort spent chasing these people could be better spent assisting those who do wish to engage and do want to work. If providers are that desperate to get every single person attached to the programme then that raises huge questions about the way this contract is funded.

 Before long there will be a two tear system involving the cream of the crop having all the attention and the “non -job readies” or “reds (as they are known in W2W circles )” being dumped on a computer terminal for 30 minutes every 2 weeks and left to see out the two year contract. This of course assumes that they can actually use a computer, a high proportion of which over 50 years old cannot. There’s always going to be unemployable people, some  people have too many barriers to overcome but what worries me is those who have barriers that could be overcome will be left behind simply because one look at their notes will read ex-offender, lone parent or non driver in a remote, rural  area and they’ll be placed in the one meeting every 2 weeks pile. " Parked" I believe is the expression.

You cannot place a higher value on local employer knowledge. It can take months to even get an employer to talk to you. It takes one employee to walk out of a job to dirty the name of your company and it takes even longer to regain a foothold with them. With respected, established W2W providers in the local community it makes perfect sense to refer clients to them, to make use of their local labour market knowledge. Un fortunately this is not the case. The town of Ludlow in Shropshire is equi-distant between the two larger cities/towns of Hereford south on the A49 and Shrewsbury to the north. One of the largest providers in Shropshire, County Training already has an office in Ludlow and naturally has a strong grasp on local employment in that area. However, depending on luck you can either end up attending a W2W provider on your doorstep in Ludlow or travelling 30 minutes on a train to a completely different town and county to get support (i.e Hereford). Although this dosen’t sound like much, in employment knowledge terms this is huge. The average advisor in Hereford is not going to know the industrial lay out of a town 30 miles away. Would a Recruitment Consultant  in Stoke know which employers are hiring in Birmingham? Doubtful.

Of course the level of support varies from adviser to adviser and whereas some will not there’s always one adviser who will go the extra yard and phone employers in Ludlow or drive round the town looking for companies with potential for recruitment . But most will not and with 90% of your caseload looking for jobs on your door step why should they. It wouldn’t be as bad if there was an abundance of industry in Ludlow but there isn’t so it makes even more sense to refer customers to providers in their local area who can impart the local knowledge they need.

Paying travel expenses has always been part and parcel of welfare to work contracts even if the odd customer changes the 8 to 80 pounds on the petty cash slip on the way to pick up their money from reception. But to expect those on Job Seekers Allowance to pay 10-15 quid every week to get a train to me is at the limit of acceptability. I have to state though that some providers operate an outreach policy whereby the adviser comes to them rather than the other way round. But again the level of support given is wildly different if you compare the experience of being in a busy, vibrant centre in the heart of the town compared to an advisor in a cold, dank church hall with a dongle that dosen’t always work and no printer. And one company in particular operates an outreach centre out of a small office with no job search computers for the customers to use so each 2 week mandatory  appointment is purely a tick box exercise to confirm who has or hasn't turned up. Which begs the question,  isn't this what the Job Centre is for?

I knew from the very outset, pretty much from day one when I was told the maximum spend on each customer was around the £50 mark that it was going to be a very tough, very challenging contract but this is something you anticipate. It goes with the territory. You can have all the training budget in the world but if that person refuses to get out of bed for less than 30 pounds an hour you’re always going to be in a battle of wits to get them into work. But what shocked me is the disintegration of the very soul of what this industry is about which is support and assistance. I’ve never fancied working for the Job Centre simply because I didn’t fancy the job of bollocking single parents because they missed a signing appointment because they had to rush to the school because their son with ADHD had been bullied and they had forgotten to phone the Job Centre before hand. The role of the advisor is to challenge, argue, debate even to throw people out of appointments if they single handedly refuse to play ball. But at least with W2W you get a fuller picture of the customer than the Job Centre who just see numbers on a page. 

One week  a customer may well kick off because they have been denied access to their kids but the next week they might come in and put in 6 quality applications for jobs. You take the rough with the smooth and unfortunately the Job Centre has never seen that and now it seems W2W dosen’t.  As an advisor you need to know your clients, you need to know those who are genuinely making an effort, those who aren’t quite there yet because there’s barriers to overcome and those who are making no effort at all. And like wise when it comes to sanctioning (i.e stopping a customer’s benefits) the same rule should apply. Although sadly not under the Work Programme.

The rule is, and this may well vary from provider to provider, that if an appointment is missed and no prior reason for failure to attend is given a doubt is raised and paperwork confirming why they were being sanctioned is sent to the decision maker. The customer is then informed that a sanction has been raised for a specific appointment and they have a time frame with which to justify the reasons why they missed the appointment. Based on their information a decision is made on whether or not to carry out the sanction. Whereas I accept that there should be a system to monitor people’s attendance and penalise if they are not adhering to the programme this is not the answer. For instance, take the example of a customer who always normally attends and fulfils their commitment to apply for jobs. If they miss an appointment simply because they forgot , by the letter of the law a sanction should be raised. Even though you know they’re good for it, paperwork, which I might add requires a certain amount of time and thought process to accurately complete, has to be completed by advisers who are already stretched with managing their caseloads. Thankfully (although I can guarantee 90% of customers on the Work Programme are blissfully unaware of ) the customer has 4 incidents where they are given benefit of the doubt for failing to attend.  If they have never missed a Job Centre or W2W appointment previously the likelihood is the decision to sanction will be over turned. However if they had missed 4 previous appointments with either  Job Centre Plus or W2W then this sanction would  be applied irrespective of the reason why they missed the appointment in the first place . To give someone 4 chances seems fair but over the course of 2 years it's hardly anything, simply missing an "add on" appointment like a Confidence and Motivation Workshop would illicit a sanction doubt being raised even though the customer had attended their  mandatory 2 week one to one appointment several days before. If I was to raise a doubt against everyone that missed an appointment without giving a prior reason, I'd be asking for two thirds of my customers to have their money stopped. I know for a fact that isn't a  true or fair barometer by which to measure their commitment to find work.

The biggest problem is that it can potentially undo all the good work you may be doing with that individual. As a colleague of mine says “ a good advisor shouldn’t need to sanction.” Whether that is right or not I don't know but I do understand what he means. A good adviser chastises but also shows empathy and restraint and most of all exercises judgement. 

Not only is the system of sanctioning too rigid but it also has far reaching social implications. If you work in London or any other major city  as an employment adviser the chances are you will probably  live some distance from your place of work. As I work in a small provincial city I don’t, in fact you can see my chimney from the front door way of the office. So if you’re going to sanction so frequently it invariably increases the chances of the sanctionee bumping into you outside of work hours. They may not be willing to conduct a conversation with the same level of professionalism and constraint they would show if the conversation took place in a busy W2W centre. In fact such an incident occurred recently to a colleague of mine who had a customer who repeatedly failed to attend appointments. And when he did attend appointments his tone of voice was aggressive and his overall manner was one of “ no one tells me what to do”. The customer was duly sanctioned. Unfortunately the advisor in all of this lives in the same small  town as the customer and as soon as the customer was sanctioned it was only a matter of time before they met in the street. Unfortunately words were exchanged and threats made by the customer. Although the customer apologised and was moved to another provider (not as a result of this incident) it still made the advisor question  their current role and for a while after this incident the advisor began to dread completing any future paperwork that may lead to a sanction. Whereas volatile flash points can occur in any job, because of the heavy handed policy of raising a doubt against anyone who fails to attend without a prior excuse it’s only going to create more volatile appointments when those doubts are turned into sanctions. Not necessarily to the extent of physical  threats but how is enthusiasm for the job of adviser going to be maintained when everyday you’re going into work knowing that you’re going to have a show down with a customer whose money was stopped simply because they didn't feel comfortable telling you they'd failed to attend because their partner had just had a miscarriage. Everyone, no matter how busy they are can forget an appointment (or 4 over the course of 2 years)  and by the letter of the current law that means raising a doubt against the customer  irrespective of whether they'd had an impeccable attendance record up till that point.  It's one thing to sit in a news studio advising the country how you're going to crack down on those not looking for work but it's quite another when your job is now essentially a series of stand up arguments with the emphasis on saving the treasury a few quid. It's arguable that you wouldn't need to sanction if you created jobs in the first place, but that's a debate for another time.

What worries me is that the system of "doubt" takes all the decision making out of your hands, whereas it should be you as their personal adviser calling the shots as to whether they should be sanctioned , unfortunately all you are instructed to do is raise the doubt , forward the paperwork and let some faceless administrator make a decision concerning someone they've never met. Maybe I’m laying it on a bit thick but the fact remains that you might be engaging with these customers  for up to 2 years. That’s an awful long time if you’re sanctioning a customer every time they turn up late or fail to phone in. I don’t raise a doubt unless I feel it is necessary and by necessary I mean someone who  continually fails to apply for jobs or misses appointments and generally sticks  two fingers up at the system.  For most part I don’t sanction simply because I don’t feel comfortable instigating a punishment without being party to all the facts. Particularly if someone is genuinely making an effort to find work but has problems remembering when their appointments are. A number of my clients have learning difficulties and often need their support worker or parents  to remind them of their next appointment. 

Some will argue that sanctioning is the only way for people to buck their ideas up and only by hitting them in their pocket will they turn over a new leaf. My argument is that my role has and always will be one of getting people into work. That should always be the focus. By forcing advisers to be involved in the sanctioning process you're asking them to get involved in areas of work normally reserved for doctors, drug counsellors, bereavement counsellors, social workers, police, child protection officers. Not only are advisers not experienced or trained to comment on these issues affecting their clients  but it diverts their  attention away from the chief aim of finding work and this cannot be a smart move. 

Quent of a Woman

It used to be just the preserve of universities but now it seems they are everywhere. They live in shared houses with usually 4 other women but haven’t slept with any of them, their opinions are safe and measured not to offend anyone and worst of all they use collective terms like “guys “ and “people” and when they occasionally get in a bad mood they might summon up the hatred to utter –“oh for sure”

I don’t know what you call them, a friend of mine who first spotted them  in the early 90’s calls them Quents. And the mere mention of the word conjures up goatee beards, rizzlas and a staunchly macrobiotic diet. The Quent in essence is a heterosexual man who latches on to one or more attractive women for the sole purpose of trying to one day, although in most cases fruitlessly, get into her pants. And yet when questioned they strenuously deny this.  

Now there is nothing wrong in this course of action  were it not for the fact that they totally relinquish all vestiges  of who they once were.  At some stage in their teenage years they must have stood for something but the one year spent living in a stoodent house has turned them into the worst kind of lap dog. Think Tony Blair with a roll necked sweater and James Blunt CD.

It’s not always obvious from the start when a quent will rear his head.  The catalyst is normally a filthy joke.  Years ago they probably would have belly laughed or at least nodded in agreement but now they shake their heads for all to see – “That's disgusting ” they cry as if their whole sensitive disposition  has been violently destroyed  by a mild joke about penises.  It’s one thing to feel cold, it’s another openly critiscise. He’s playing the sensitive card and he wants her to see it. However this move has back fired as she is now on the floor crying with laughter in to her snake bite. Sensing this he joins in , completely forgetting the po-faced stance he had taken. It’s ok, she is not offended I must therefore join in.

There’s nothing wrong in standing up for or displaying chivalry but the quent does it purely for brownie points rather than based on principle. Some people, believe it or not grow tired of the football team they have supported since childhood and change allegiances, the quent would do it after 5 minutes but first checking with their friends which team they support.

When  you have a man who is perpetually joined to the hip of a woman and they are not dating, the initial reaction might be – “ Is he gay”. The problem is with this is that it works on the assumption that gay men do not have opinions of their own, that they do not answer back or chastise their  friends.  I’m sure even Elton John bollocks David Furnish now and then.

And therein lies the problem. The quent is neither a work colleague or mate neither is he a boy friend so he is stranded perpetually in a buffer zone of a muted voice.  As he is neither he is not free to vent his frustrations or anger as he does not have the solid ground of love or true friendship to fall back on or at least he is not prepared to find out.  His role is very much akin to the chef who refuses to tell unruly customers to fuck off because he needs their money. And so she has him on a string but share no pity because he loves it there.

The quent’s true colours are shown when he feels threatened by another man  who might be making inroads on the object of his desires. Even worse if she actually enjoys  the advances.

“ Listen, fancy coming to Cream this weekend, there’s an all nighter on “ says the young man trying his luck. Before she has a chance to respond the quent is in  “  Yeah I wouldn’t bother ,  Laura and I went to the real Cream at Amnesia in Ibiza this summer , it was banging, no chavs or anything like that just proper good looking, intelligent clubbers .. the pills were amazing, not like the weak one’s you get in the UK.”

Before Mixmag reaches the end of the runway, Laura speaks-

“ I’d love to go “

“ But we were going to go shopping in Manchester this weekend?”

“ Oh we can re-arrange that for another week”

And lo and behold they never do re-arrange as she has now found a boyfriend. And so the quent steps up his game to win her back. He’s in the same pub when they go out and just has to go over and share the stressful day of one lecture he has had , he’s  watching telly downstairs when they come back from the nightclub and refuses to make himself scarce and plans nights out knowing she won’t say no -

“ I got tickets for Dirty Dancing being shown in the Student’s Union, I know it’s your favourite “ . He says beeming like a Cheshire cat.

The poor boyfriend hasn’t had a chance to work these things out yet. Why ask direct questions about the hobbies and interests of your girlfriend when you have her world’s biggest fan sitting on a bean bag.

When the issue of the quent’s interference is raised it is normally met with – “ oh he’s ok “ , “ he means well “ or even worse  “ he’s  a mate , mate’s look out for each other.” Just not in the same fucking bed.

And so her inability to tell  “ Si “ to fuck off results in another relationship casualty. And so the status quo is resumed.  He continues to massage her ego – “ Smoking is so passé unless of course you like it “ and she continues to retain the upper hand which he is happy to revel in. On this basis who needs honesty.

Get up, stand up........and stay standing

A friend of mine hates American sports, partly because they don’t play “proper” sports like football, cricket and snooker but mostly because as he puts it they “can’t sit down for 5 minutes without wanting to get up and stuff their faces”. And I have to admit growing up watching American movies the crowd at  baseball or basketball games  always seemed more interested in what was going on around the stadium rather than on the pitch. But then again when you have James Bond dressed as a clown trying to defuse a bomb it can admittedly be distracting.

Whether this is a true reflection of the recreational habits of the average American remains to be seen but from my own recent experience of watching cricket these worrying habits seem to have penetrated international cricket in this country, particularly within the realms of 20/20 where you are from the moment they open the gates seemingly against the clock in terms of gluttony.

From the moment you arrive at the ground there is very little desire to actually strap yourself into your designated seat and spectate. Like a school boy avoiding homework the average 20/20 cricket fan will do anything to avoid watching the action. And maybe there is a valid reason behind this ambivalence as once you are comfortably seated and a level piece of tarmac has been found to rest your beers you are then having to rise from your newly acquired seat every 30 seconds  to let the whole townsfolk through.  Instead of following the easy to read signs on the end of each row to find their seats they stop mid row and chat – you wouldn’t mind if it was cricket related. “ Hang on there Dave, Bill is just bringing  the beers, Mary is getting the Cornish pasties , June is taking a wee and Brian is buying some programmes, if we sit now they’ll never find us “

Hard reading a ticket stub isn’t it? So they stand obscuring everyone's view. That is until a juiced local who can stand this bourgeois flower show shit no more shouts- “Find a seat and sit down”. So they find the nearest seat. But this isn’t good enough as now that the group is fractured they are worried that Bill, Mary, June and Brian will not find them, so they begin to locate, like looking for a patch of sand on a pebble beach, a group of seats so they can all sit together. And guess what, they don’t do this sitting down or between overs. England by this stage have lost 2 wickets and barely anyone has noticed. 

By overs 7 and 8 spectators become like newly born babies demanding their next feed. If you are a part of a stag do, a gopher is normally despatched to bring back quantities of beer an octopus would struggle to handle.

“Get a dozen fish and chips “shouts Mad Brian “and more beers “. More beers? On top of the 50 you’ve just ordered?  It’s thirsty work missing cricket. When you do get to see the action the general response is one of goading, constantly daring the batsman in the middle to hit the ball out of the park as it gives them another chance to rise to their feet. " Do it again KP" shouts a man who thinks trying to hit a tight line and length spinner for a six is like trying to do that trick when you pop your shoulder out. And then a hush descends and everything settles down, no one needs the toilet , no one needs refreshment and suddenly like the sermont on the mount everyone is paying attention. " This is shit " shouts one and suddenly it's over. Normal service resumed. 

Don’t for a minute get me wrong, sporting atmospheres are built on crowd participation and when you are paying £45 for a ticket you want to get the most enjoyment out of it as possible. However, when one’s enjoyment comes at a price of stopping others from enjoying the action out in the middle then it is to the detriment of people who are there first and foremost to enjoy the game 

 

Logan's Fun

Pick up any celebrity magazine and they'll be a cover shot of a celebrity looking pensive with the caption - " Since turning 30 it's time to grow up." Now I wasn't aware there was an age when you had to grow up, in fact I'm fairly sure it just happens. You don't hit 15 and go - " it's time for my balls to drop" or at 50 - " right it's time to get fat" so why is 30 so significant? Part of it is I believe due to this compartmentalised and pigeon holed society which orders you to do things by a certain age and yet they never give a date by which time you should become a decent human being. I was talking to someone recently and we were talking about plans for the weekend and I explained that I was probably going to hit the town on Saturday night , " What about you?" I enquired,  " Oh God! I don't go out these days, I'm way beyond that." Way beyond what? Having fun? Generally enjoying oneself away from the drudgery of every day life?  I wasn't for a minute suggesting she anadon all her principles and have a one night stand (although granted she was attractive and probably wouldn't fail in that department) so why this fulsome reaction? Stating that you are beyond going on a night out is like saying you're beyond sleeping or walking in a straight line. I can fully understand someone who says they can't be bothered with nights out as in the last few years nights out have had  a tendancy to be very samey and in truth they prefer to stay at home with their partner and kids, but when did going out become a phase rather than a part of everyday living ? The implication is that if you're still drinking at 30 then you're stuck in the dark ages. You could argue that being in the dark ages is more fun and it's society that needs to get on the bus to enlightenment,  not you. The worst part of the opening statment is the notion that people who enjoy nights out beyond 30 are somehow immature, that they don't exude the same level of responsibility as the stay at home adults. But how do you measure maturity? Whether they pay their mortgage on time or remember to pick their kids up from school? At least with cheese you can stick your finger in it. Can one not be a responsible citizen and still get rat arsed in the process?  I would argue that having the freedom to escape life for a few hours actually galvanises individuals in action. Carrying out those actions beyond walking home singing Maggie May eating a deep pan Hawaian might be awkward but at least the intent is there. Would you get the same motivation to write a song or a sonnet watching the Vicar of Dibley? I doubt it.
Granted drinking has it's casualties but it's arguable that if it wasn't drink it would be something else and if they are of the mind to run away from their responsibilities then they will irrespective of the catalyst. Some of the smartest brains on the planet have been drinkers, as God hater and all round wit Christopher Hitchens once said- " I drink because I don't want to be boring." Or words to that effect. Some people deserve to be boring, when you're spending an hour in TK Maxx looking for a pink frying pan to go with your pink toaster you know that fun dosen't really figure on their radar.  But just because you party  that dosen't make you any less of a bore, bizarrely i've met people who become even more boring the more they drink. Me included. Conversely I've also met people who never go out because they simply don't like it and they are some of the most entertaining people I've ever met, the difference is that they  base their actions on a personal preference rather than because they are not 19 any more. So until you can find a reason better than because you've got a stack of washing and ironing to do because that's what adults do, then don't. After all you never see Jack Nicholson with an iron.

Weigh Out

Of all the diets my favourite is the one like the vegetarian diet where you chose to throw all your morals in the bin, you know the one, the “ I’m vegetarian but I eat chicken and fish for the protein.”  My favourite diet involves watching carbohydrate and fat intake for 6 days, taking regular exercise to burn off excess fat and then on day 7 you can eat what you want. Sounds a good diet no? Well that is until you review one’s choice of meal on pushing the boat out day, no slightly larger salad for them. No, it’s ringside seats at the arena of kebab meat and chips.
Of course it’s never the dieters fault, the scales were too big, the floor was too shiny, my hair was too thick. Excuse after excuse and all for £5 each week to stand in a cold, dank church hall and clap for Deborah who can now see her feet after 17 years.
But they love it and what they love more than talking about it is talking to people who really don’t give a flying fuck. Remarks such as “Careless “ are forbidden when congratulating Sandra on losing  her pound and not maintaining for that week. Jenny thought she’d never lose her baby weight but eating a stick of celery every day followed by a period of incarceration caused for assaulting her husband who dared to eat a KFC in front of her, got her to the target weight
Of course the simple answer to dieting is to go and live in the jungle, but such suggestions are met with fierce rebuttal. “ Where am I going to find a blender to make my macrobiotic shake in the jungle?” Brenda wants to know as she has parted with £300 for 8 sachets of NASA dung and a paste which goes under the arm pits and is suppose to generate “diet energy”. Presumably this is the energy that replaces the need to run around the block a  few times.
Of course, the mere mention of going for a run is met with the kind of look that Bob Dylan once gave to one of his backing singers who suggested he should try an electric guitar to jazz it up a bit. Its gyms now, gone is physical, heart pumping aerobic exercise, guaranteed to result in weight loss , instead we’ve replaced it with exercise which causes the fat to harden and sit on top , a bit like left over curry.
“ Have you lost weight?”  No I’ve just firmed it up and pushed it through it through my ankles. “ You look great though”.  Thanks.
Like the reformed smoker and the reformed drinker there is naturally the reformed dieters. So indoctrinated into the way of the fat fighter that to even suggest half a vol au vent is an undoing of everything they live for. So they sit, waiting to pass judgment on the nearest passer by who is unfortunate to pop their Marks and Spencer ready meal into the staff canteen microwave
“ Do you know how many calories there are in that ?” they ask if it is some sort of quiz. You ask if they can give some options but in the end  it would just be a guess. “ There’s 400 calories in that one meal” said with the kind of authoritative tone normally reserved for Historical Documentary presenters. But this isn’t Iron Bridge, this is lunch and I’m starving. She continues - “ You’ve eaten one 6th of you daily dietary intake of calories in just that one meal”. I see a flaw in her argument - “ So I can eat 6 of them?”
“ Well yes if you want to get big and fat.” But if I did I could go to fat club with her and eat her diet and she can be my mentor. Never has over weight seemed such a desirable option.
She on the other hand sits and eats lettuce, iceberg to be precise, once described by  film director John Waters as the “ polyester of greens”, contained as it is in Tupperware. Tupperware is not the vessel of choice of someone who is having regular intercourse. They then proceed to get out the rest of their calorie counted condiments, the thimble of butter, the atom of mayonnaise (low fat ) and proceed to paste it on like they’re doing a water colour. I’ve seen diabetics throw more caution to the wind.
Once they’re prepared their low calorie, low carb, low fat, low enjoyment ryvita they are ready to begin eating. That is until their colleague  from “ It’s the World’s Fault Not Ours slimming club” comes in to give some support and at the same time share with the rest of the diners the pain and torture they have been  experiencing over the last week. “ I couldn’t believe when my husband replaced my shovel with a tea spoon last week.” complained one  “ The scales always vary from Tuesday night weigh in to Wednesday  night, so you can take off at least half a stone “ reassured another. |And the world continues to revolve.

Who the fucking Mel are you....?

Who the fucking Mel are you....?

I think back to the 1980's it seems that 3 things always happened. Liverpool FC always won the league championship, Steve Davis always won the World Snooker Championships and Mel Gibson was always an Aussie. The truth is that during this decade Liverpool only won the league championships 6 times , Steve Davis only won 6 World Championships and Mel, well , Mel still seems to me to be Aussie Mel. Even all these years on I can still sSometimes when

ee Mel, clad in leather , chasing the Toe Cutter through the ravaged wastes of the outback in the movie Mad Max. You couldn't get anyone more Australian than Mel Gibson, unless you spliced the DNA of a kangaroo with Paul Hogan's craggy face. If he told you he was born in the back of his father's utlity truck you wouldn't doubt it. Ask a contestant on Family Fortunes to name a famous Aussie and they wouldn't say Merv Hughes or Rod Laver or Dame Edna. Pound to a penny they would say Mel. He was as Australian as Alice Springs, sheep shearing and short term memory. Whenever a newspaper ran a story on Mel it always included a caption; " Aussie hunk Mel Gibson", unless of course it was The Sun when it would read "Ayres Cock". To the average Brit in the 80's Mel and Australia were as inextricably linked as Max Clifford and making money is today. And then he went to the United States of America to film Mad Max 3 and it spelt the beginning of the end. The transformation of Mel wasn't sudden but built up over time. At first he made references to his upbringing in New York, something that was news to about 99% of world's population. Remember these were the days before wikipedia. Then he began slowly diluting his aussie twang. Now supporters of Mel would contest that anyone who lived in the States as long as Mel had would start to talk with an American brogue. It was only a matter of time before his voice changed. But I didnt buy it one bit, to me it seemed too convenient. And when I saw him in the Lethal Weapon films sporting a mullett I knew the conversion was complete. Mel had defected to the other side.
I didn't resent Mel chasing fame and fortune in the bright lights of Tinsletown but the way in which he became a different person seemingly overnight I found odd. I don't recall, during his time as Aussie Mel, him ever making references to his upbringing in New York (he only moved to Australia at 12 years old) . I don't remember him ever giving a shout out to the New York Knicks or Yankees or complaning how much he missed Taco Bell whilst someone shoved another shrimp down his gullet. Likewise when he became an American hero, I dont remember him ever commenting on the policies of Paul Keating, the music of Inxs or even looking out for the score in the Ashes. Even the most fairweather of Aussies (if there is such a thing) would look out for the score in the Ashes. It was as if the road he took from 12 years old to super stardom never existed. It's natural for people to be ambivalent about their home town if they endured a tortuous upbringing but there seems to be no clear reason for Mel's reticence. Particularly when we are talking about Australia, a nation that would get it's flags out if they found out one of their natives was taking part in a tiddley winks contest. I don't dislike Mel, I don't necessarily agree with his views although I admire him for speaking out amongst the banal liberalism that pervades Hollywood. I just find it intresting how he seemed to surgically remove any reference to his Australian life as if it never existed.

er existed. It's natural for people to be ambivalent about their home town if they endured a tortuous upbringing but there seems to be no clear reason for Mel's reticence. Particularly when we are talking about Australia, a nation that would get it's flags out if they found out one of their natives was taking part in a tiddley winks contest. I don't dislike Mel, I don't necessarily agree with his views although I admire him for speaking out amongst the banal liberalism that pervades Hollywood. I just find it intresting how he seemed to surgically remove any reference to his Australian life as if it never existed.n. Remember these were the days before wikipedia. Then he began slowly diluting his aussie twang. Now supporters of Mel would contest that anyone who lived in the States as long as Mel had would start to talk with an American brogue. It was only a matter of time before his voice changed. But I didnt buy it one bit, to me it seemed too convenient. And when I saw him in the Lethal Weapon films sporting a mullett I knew the conversion was complete. Mel had defected to the other side.
I didn't resent Mel chasing fame and fortune in the bright lights of Tinsletown but the way in which he became a different person seemingly overnight I found odd. I don't recall, during his time as Aussie Mel, him ever making references to his upbringing in New York (he only moved to Australia at 12 years old) . I don't remember him ever giving a shout out to the New York Knicks or Yankees or complaning how much he missed Taco Bell whilst someone shoved another shrimp down his gullet. Likewise when he became an American hero, I dont remember him ever commenting on the policies of Paul Keating, the music of Inxs or even looking out for the score in the Ashes. Even the most fairweather of Aussies (if there is such a thing) would look out for the score in the Ashes. It was as if the road he took from 12 years old to super stardom never existed. It's natural for people to be ambivalent about their home town if they endured a tortuous upbringing but there seems to be no clear reason for Mel's reticence. Particularly when we are talking about Australia, a nation that would get it's flags out if they found out one of their natives was taking part in a tiddley winks contest. I don't dislike Mel, I don't necessarily agree with his views although I admire him for speaking out amongst the banal liberalism that pervades Hollywood. I just find it intresting how he seemed to surgically remove any reference to his Australian life as if it never existed.dn't resent Mel chasing fame and fortune in the bright lights of Tinsletown but the way in which he became a different person seemingly overnight I found odd. I don't recall, during his time as Aussie Mel, him ever making references to his upbringing in New York (he only moved to Australia at 12 years old) . I don't remember him ever giving a shout out to the New York Knicks or Yankees or complaning how much he missed Taco Bell whilst someone shoved another shrimp down his gullet. Likewise when he became an American hero, I dont remember him ever commenting on the policies of Paul Keating, the music of Inxs or even looking out for the score in the Ashes. Even the most fairweather of Aussies (if there is such a thing) would look out for the score in the Ashes. It was as if the road he took from 12 years old to super stardom never existed. It's natural for people to be ambivalent about their home town if they endured a tortuous upbringing but there seems to be no clear reason for Mel's reticence. Particularly when we are talking about Australia, a nation that would get it's flags out if they found out one of their natives was taking part in a tiddley winks contest. I don't dislike Mel, I don't necessarily agree with his views although I admire him for speaking out amongst the banal liberalism that pervades Hollywood. I just find it intresting how he seemed to surgically remove any reference to his Australian life as if it never existed.

Don't call us we won't call you

Don't call us we won't call you

A few months back I happened to switch over to Channel Five's Wright Stuff with the conveniently name Matthew Wright. During the course of the show one of thepanellistslaunched into a tirade concerning cold callers and tele-marketers constantly blocking up their phone. They then proceeded to read from the newspaper in front of them a list of tips to avoid such nuisance calls. Unfortunately, this wasn't a topic up for wider discussion. Had it have been then I would have been first on the phone advising that if you wish to stop the phone from ever ringing then simply register with a Recruitment Agency. They'll never ring back.
Recruiters in such agencies are the best bosses, the best life coaches you've never met. They are like a teacher who invites you into their office to give you words of comfort shortly before an exam. They are Mickey to your Rocky. Brierley to your Botham. And yet unlike these father figures once you leave the room they want nothing more to do with you.
You spend one hour filling in a form in a drafty reception area, another hour sitting in a small room with a ZX Spectrum in front of you being asked if the "Glass is Half Full" or alternatively asking you whether you agree, strongly agree or are just not sure that "finishing second is the same as failure". By this stage your brain is so shot that you just want to write " well it depends , if someone had a gun to your wife and kids head then I guess finishing second would be construed as failure but if it was the olympics then at least you get a silver medal."
After the form filling and the aptitude test you are then welcomed into a suite to go through your application. They will then read from the form "I note you don't drive and you have a phobia of chickens. Let me just check. Ok a job has just come up at a KFC in Edinburgh. It's a 300 mile round trip but we will pay a 16th of your expenses. " That tedious job you wanted so desperately to leave doesn't look so bad now.
You point out a job you saw in the window that you might be suited for and they immediately try to skirt over it as if they've reserved it for a friend.
" A vacancy has come up for a washer up, any thoughts?" Yes, plenty, but in terms of work I was looking for something more permanent.
" Well they might take you on full time." You ask if they have anything in the field of office work.
" Well we might have something come in next week but they go quite quick."
It's not the bloody Next sale. Isn't there a priority system for these things? Surely once a job comes in that matches my skills my name will be put forward. And just as you are about to give up the ghost a nugget of salvation is thrown forth. " As regards references " she says as you move eagerly forward in your chair " do you think you'll have a problem getting references from your employer in China".
You put down your pen, your clipboard and move closely before whispering in their ear;
"I said fucking Cheltenham."

It's double points if you go on the floor

It's double points if you go on the floor

Schools love to show off their achievements. They love to wax lyrical about the time the school came third in the National Schools Choir contest and that summer many moons ago when the first XI Cricket team went a whole season unbeaten. They'll even point you to a headline about it from the local newspaper stuck above the head master's office. History, teachers will tell you, is what schools are built on. Each pupil passing through the front gate, each academic or sporting success is only adding to the history of the school. But this is only the history that is documented. A lot of a school's history goes un-recorded and the only proof is in the memories and testimonies of those who were there when it happened. Every school has a sub culture, an underworld where achievement is measured not in how many people pass their Wood Work GCSE (or Wood and it's Environment AppreciationStudies GCSE as it is probably called these days) but in how many 1st years Biffo Wilkins kicked the shit out of in one day or how many up skirt shot of Frau Renard one was able to get during german conversation. These are the achievements that galvanise the pupils.
At our school it was the infamous Dump League of 1992 that did it.The Dump League wasn't a conscious teacher/pupil initiative to eradicate the litter problem around school or take a keener interest in the welfare of the planet. No, the Dump League involved a pupil taking a shit and getting it marked. The concept was simple. The participant excused them selves from their lesson, completed the deed in as long a time possible without arousing suspicion and then returned to the class only for the appointed "Judge" (i.e any pupil willing to stick their head down a toilet) to then excuse themselves to do some marking. The results were then passed onto the official recorder and then presented in the form of league table, kept at all times in the safe keeping of Martin Dirkin. Dirks, as he was known, was too street smart to be accosted by bullies so there was no danger of the results being leaked.
The league started in February 1992. It was made up of 8 competitors; of which some volunteered freely but others had to be persuaded. They approached me because as they put it I was a " fat bastard and my shits are bound to be massive". I was reluctant at first but after some verbal harassment and a threat of a dead leg I agreed. The rules were set out on day one. The "attempt" would be judged on size, smell, texture and how many flushes it took to wash away. Any "attempt", big or small that disappears up the U Bend is exempt from full marking. Should any section still be visible after it has disappeared up the U Bend then that section alone will be marked. You could go as often and little as you liked and there was no law against what you ate or drank before hand. Like a chef in a Michelin star restaurant it didn't matter what ingredients you used so long as you produced the goods. Oh and if you dropped the kids off on the toilet floor you got double points.
Despite the interest shown towards me taking part I wasn't one of the pre-race favourites. Simon Barker was head and shoulders above the rest. His pedigree was well known way before the tournament; which was surprising as he seemed to exist solely on a diet of Super Crunchies and chewing gum.
After week one I was in 4th place, respectable I thought. By week 2, I was in 7th. And by week 3, I was last. Dirks' sole words of consolation were always ; "remember it's double points if you go on the floor. " Taking a dump whilst semi - bunking off lessons and getting some one to mark it had a sense of danger to it but taking a blatant crap on the floor was just wrong. I mentioned this to him and all he would say was " Well you won't get into Europe with that attitude" . After 4 weeks the competition was going global, well Europe anyway. It wasn't just Europe that was taking notice. Girls who have never even paid us time of day in the past would stop us on the way to the geography block. " Is it true you're in some sort of turd league?" To which you'd nonchalantly agree before preparing yourself for the inevitable snog. But of course it never happened, but at least people were talking. Unfortunately it wasn't just the pupils who were talking. I had a habit of being quite regular. Which was quite handy when you're participating in a Dump League but it always meant that my toilet trips coincided with double Maths, more precisely around 11.45 on a Monday morning . As per normal I put my hand up to be excused and normally the teacher Mr Johnson would say " be quick" but for some reason on this occasion he put his foot down. " No! You know it's come to my attention that you and Parsons ( John Parsons, committee member and lying in 3rd place) always seem to go to the loo on the same day. I don't know what's going on, I'm not entirely sure I want to but I'm keeping my eye on you." Someone at the back of the class shouted "nonce" but I didn't laugh. All I could think was that we'd been rumbled. That lunch time we organised a meeting. I was adamant we should stop so were 2 others but all the rest were eager to carry on. The eager beavers it should be noted weren't exactly propping the league up. They had good reason for carrying on. And so in the light of the majority decision, even though they wouldn't agree with us if we had the majority, we continued onwards. Shortly after this decision I became aware that there always seemed to be school maintenance men in the vacinity of the toilet every time we went. It wasn't unusual to see them around school it just seemed a bit of conincidence that they should be there every time I went for a bowel movement. But there was no knock at the door, we were not frog marched there and then to the headmasters office to spill the beans so I put it all down to my paranoia. And then everything went quiet until one lunch beak everyone was milling around the yard when Simon Barker emerged from the lavatory, arms aloft, nodding his head shouting "Double Points". The unthinkable had been done. A parka clad first year lept out in front of Barker nearly retching. Within minutes word had got round and pupils flocked to see this 7th wonder of the world. As the dust settled and the lunch bell rang, I saw 2 workman in deep conversation with the deputy head. This time I was sure it wasn't paranoia. That afternoon in French I expressed my feelings to Dirks and all he could say like a true humanitarian, was: " You're talking out of your arse, if you shat out of it once in a while you wouldn't be bottom of the league."
I felt vindicated when they came for us the next day. Parsons and I were dragged out of Maths and interviewed separately. I was first in. But no one had de-briefed me on what to say. There was no point in lying, especially when you've been under surveillance by maintenance men ( one of which was ex-Army) . Should I name names or just take the rap myself? I had visions of me sitting there stoney faced, muttering "no comment " whilst the charge sheet was read out. The minute I got back into class Parsons or maybe even Dirks would put their arm around me and say; "You learnt a valuable lesson today, you never rat on your friends". As it was I owned up to my side of it, didn't mention any other names and signed the confession in the presence of the deputy head and left. I returned to Maths and nothing more was said. When Parsons came in, he sat at the back: " Did you say anything?"he said. " No " I answered with a certain amount of gangster pride. " I did " he replied " I ain't getting kicked out of school for those numpties" So much for loyalty. Until then I hadn't even thought about the punishment. I was so relieved to get my story straight and not drop anyone in too much shit that I hadn't dwelt on the repercussions. Had they all fingered me after all?
I spent an uneasy night contemplating my fate. To get kicked out of school for fighting or cheating was one thing. At least you could argue that it was a moment of weakness or in the case of fighting that you were defending someone's honour. But to be involved in an operation whereby you examine each others poo and then grade it in terms of smell, colour and whether or not it disappears up the U bend. I'd never be able to hold my head up high again.
The next day we were marched into the Head Master''s office like squaddies facing a court martial. The Head gave a speech on being young and the exuberance of youth. I felt at one stage that he was about to allow us into some secret that he had from his school days. Had he himself partaken in some such activity? As it was he said no further action would be taken and more importantly our parents would not be informed. Probably more out of wishing to spare the school secretary's blushes than our own.
For the next couple of weeks random pupils would come up to us to call us twats or make them laugh by regaling some of the stories. I later found out that I was only one who hadn't named names during the interrogation process. I may have finished rock bottom with possible relegation to the second division if Dirks' plan for resurrection came off ( his proposal was that we do it in our own time and in public loos) but I learnt that in the face of overwhelming pressure I didn't buckle and more importantly I didn't rat on my mates. Something that in the 17 years since I have taken absolutely no comfort from what so ever.

Anyone for Tennis? So long as it's British

Anyone for Tennis? So long as it's British

If ever I was famous to be invited to go on T.V's Room 101, one of the things I would have consigned to the nightmarish room, apart from Piers Morgan, would be Wimbledon. Not the area in London or the re-born football team but the annual Tennis extravaganza.
I am not against Tennis. I can appreciate the sporting endeavour, the history, I can even just about stomach the endless cavalcade of middle aged women called Jan who constantly shout "Come on Tim" whilst emptying the contents of a tub of face paint.
No, what really raises my ire is the way in which the BBC seem hell bent on getting as many positive references to British Tennis in as possible, whether it is relevant or not. Anyone visiting the Earth to take in a day's viewing on the BBC would naturally assume Great Britain to be some fallen super power in the sport. Longing for a return to the days when everyone had a tennis court in their garden and trophies were won on great regularity.
Don't believe it. Anyone who can remember tennis, P.T.H (pre-Tim Henman) will remember just how shit we were and to some extent still are at this sport. You only need to look at who fills the seats in the BBC's commentary booth for that. Chris Bailey's major claim to fame, apart from having nice hair, was that he once took a set off Goran Ivanisevic. Andrew Castle is there I understand because he once won a game of Swingball in 1987.
The BBC seem compelled to sell the sport of Tennis at any cost. If the BBC production team cannot get a positive sound bite they practically go into convulsions. But it just doesn't make any sense. The lean years of the 1980's and early 1990's was the time to sell the sport not now when you have a crowd who can still remember the heroic runs of Tim Henman and occasionally Greg Rusedski. And yet they still try to shoe horn in as many positive references they can.
For example the BBC will dispatch a reporter to do an interview, probably Gary Richardson (the Richard and Judy of investigative journalism), with an unranked Croatian player who has not only won their first match ever at Wimbledon but had never even played at Wimbledon or even been to England before. Instead of wrapping up the interview with the customary - " Do you know much about your opponent? Have you had a chance to see them play yet?" No, instead of that they will say " Andy Murray's got a great chance this year? What do you think?"
What ? I'm sorry ? Is the purpose of the interview not supposed to be about me and my game?
Now there's a strong chance that this player has never played Murray or is ever likely to , so how can he possibly comment. In terms of a relevant question it is like asking a recently released detainee from Guantanamo Bay whether he thinks Gran Canaria is a good holiday resort. And yet the Croatian player will stand for a few moments trying to politely mask his admonishment before saying - " Well he's got a great chance." To anyone else this is a fairly non - commital admission. I don't really know the answer but I don't want to look dull on national telly. But the reaction in the studio is something approaching fever pitch, with Sue Barker positively grinning like a Cheshire cat - " Well Mario seems to think Andy's going to win."
And yet at the back of all this hyperbole is poor Andy Murray who has yet to open his bag of balls let alone play a match. They sit discussing crumbs of comfort as one player is left in the women's draw on the opening morning whilst on court 14 Marat Safin has just completed a ten hour epic which scarcely raises a mention. When Roger Federer equalled Bjorn Borg's achievements of five Wimbledon singles titles, instead of the viewer being allowed to bask in the enormity of what had just happened, all you could hear in the background was the BBC commentator talking about an upcoming British Davis Cup tie against the Sandwich islands. The one's I really feel sorry for are Boris Becker and John McEnroe who are brought in to provide a perspective of what its really like to win at Wimbledon, to elaborate on how the pressure on you grows as the tournament progresses and how you deal with it as an athlete. And yet these great figures in the game are reduced to providing expert analysis on Lilly Butterworth's chances in the forthcoming challenger match in Newport Pagnell. You know when you are on a sticky wicket when the commentator has to resort to finding any opening they can to prevent the viewer from switching channels to watch Bargain Hunt. " Well she won her first service game in the opening set, let's see how she gets on in this one." She went on to lose 6-1, 6-0.

The Power Five and the Glory

The Power Five and the Glory

liked Deal or No Deal when it first started. After years of throwing any item I could find at the telly during shows like The Late Late Breakfast Show and Noel's House Party, I was actually quite pleased to see Noel back on the TV. The intervening years had been kind. He still had the beard, the jovial demeanour and didn't appear to have gained any weight. Although wearing shirts a few sizes too small may have contributed to that. He had it seemed taken on the appearance of a trendy, older, university lecturer. The sort of man who would gladly crack open a bottle of wine if you paid a visit to enquire about a time extension for your essay.I liked the unfamiliarity of the format. A seemingly disparate group of people standing behind a hat box waiting for Noel to bring them into the game. These weren't veteran quiz players, chomping at the bit to answer a question on The Carry on... films but people who had by the look of them just come straight from work with a chance of winning money.
The quirkiness of the banker and in particular the phone itself seemed to work. The Spanish version of the show, despite winning huge ratings, involved the contestant in the hot seat speaking into a bog standard Nokia mobile phone. It therefore lacked the theatrics of Noel teasing the audience as he spoke into a prop from an episode of Miss Marple. Even the ever burgeoning catch phrases such as "East Wing" and "West Wing" , although a little cheesy at first, did eventually add to the drama.
It was refreshing that there was absolutely no skill involved, although some contestants would try to convince us that they had a pre-prepared fool proof system based on the number of houses in their street times the number of cats they owned. This they promised would lead to untold glory. The contestants would add to the tension by revealing insights into their make up. Were they a gambler by nature or overtly cautious? Information freely volunteered under the gaze of the studio lights. Before long, Noel became a local confidant, held in higher trust than a G.P or a Justice of the Peace.
But the biggest draw was the scale of money involved for comparatively little work.Millionairehad some years previously set the standard for prize winning but the participantsstill had to have some quiz knowledge, they still reserved the right to stop if the questions got too tricky. There was no disgrace to walk away with £32,000 in your back pocket. But with Deal, faced with accepting the sort of offer that would make a tramp blush or ploughing onwards towards a potentially life changing sum, the tension was unbearable. And all this rested not on knowing when Cliff Richard came second on the Eurovision song contest but on the toss of a coin or in this case the flip of a box.
So where did it all go wrong? Where did this seemingly indestructible format start to show chinks in it's armour? Well, it wasn't the format that became tiresome, more the way it was presented. Like a rock star, high on the continual flush of success, it became aware of it's self importance. The people standing, patiently waiting in the wings to offer advice when called upon were suddenly plucked from the shadows and given a leading part in the play. The short pre-ambles suddenly became confessionals. Husbands, wives, brothers and sisters were invited down from the audience to join in with the re-telling of woe and strife. The back story became more important than the story being told on stage. And before long the flood gates opened.
The people on the wings started to get nick names, David became Big Dave, unassuming Stuart from the North East became Geordie Stu, like some larger than life caricature from that corner of England. Sometimes the nicknames were slightly abstract, Sue in the hot seat would ask advice from "Armitage", so called because he fell asleep drunk in the hotel bath. The banker would then ring up to say he approved, like an office winding down on a Friday afternoon and all the while the subtlety and distance that made the show what it was, was quickly evaporating. It was being humanised when it didn't need to be. Like a punch line to a joke having to be explained over and over again, each time losing less and less of it's impact.
The hot seat, so sinister on shows like Mastermind became overnight The Crazy Chair,making it beguiling rather than terrifying. The high end sums of money - £30,000, £50,000, £75,000
became the Power Five, making it sound like a political movement intent oneradicatingpoverty and famine. I'm sure if you asked Noel he would have said it was next on his agenda.
The banker, so long a mysterious figure who no one would dare oppose suddenly became a figure of ridicule. His aura seemingly stamped out. Humbling reverence that had normally been displayed when being offered the equivalent of a years salary in Venezuela was tossed aside with disdain. Trepidation had now given way to cockiness. I stopped tuning in way before the East Wing and West Wing started to link arms like women at a C.N.D protest. My stomach just couldn't take it any more.
And for months and months I didn't watch it and then last year in the run up to Xmas , full of booze and Xmas spirit I tuned in for one last fling. I reasoned that if liked it again I might start watching it more often and just before it started I began to wonder if maybe I wasn't a little bit too harsh , maybe I had grown too cynical in my old age and after all 5 million viewers can't be wrong can they? But no sooner had Noel arrived wearing a Xmas tree imploring people to join the Dream Factory that i realised that my initial instincts were right.

Charity begins at home.. so why not stay there

Charity begins at home.. so why not stay there

I can just about deal with someone bursting into the office at one minute to lunch. So long as I give the burstee some fragment of assurance that I will chase up whatever it is i haven't done after lunch they don't mind. But when you come up again a force so powerful that any reasoning or act of excusing oneself is gobbled up faster than left overs at Rick Waller's house, it becomes a far more unsettling matter. I'm talking of course about the street nazis or as they are better known.." people in kagools collecting for charity." I just don't get it, what happened to the kind ladies of the salvation army who used to stand outside shop fronts on cold saturday mornings handing out pin badges or the man who sold the poppies who understood if you were having a busy day and didn't bat an eyelid if you didn't have time to stop. When did charities start adopting the hard sell? You will listen to me and i don't care that you're running late for picking your kids up from school.

"It's all about raising awareness" a spokesman for the charity will say. Is it ? I mean aren't we already living in an age where we are constantly bombarded with so much information that even before Brian from West Bromwich is arrested for burglary we know his name, where he lives and what his favourite meal is (pasta and chips with muller yoghurt to follow). With Facebook, Twitter, Mobile phones, plus the old stagers like newspapers and television it is almost impossible to know nothing about any given topic. Living on the moon is no longer a valid excuse.

And yet with all this information it is still not acceptable to suggest that you'll have a look later.

If someone holds a subject close to their heart and wishes to campaign on it's behalf then they should have the right to do so. But that dosen't mean that someone who literally has to be back in the office in 15 minutes and still has to go to the bank and get a sandwich from Boots should be made to feel guilty. And no one does guilt like the kagool wearing charity collectors. At least with Jehovah's Witnesses you can shut the door.

Part of the reason for disliking this form of press ganging is due to the fact that they have an uncanny knack for stopping people at the worst possible moment. I went to a funeral once and they were flocking outside the church with their free pin badges. The deceased was the lucky one. They always stop you on your lunch hour or straight after work, if they approached you on a saturday afternoon when you've just had a liquid lunch then you would probably be more prepared to pour over and digest the information in front of you. You might even sign up for a year in order to get the free T -Shirt. It's partly that but it's also the feeling you get that by 3 o'clock that afternoon, after standing around in the sun all day, they're going to be in the pub singing Maggie May on the karaoke whilst you're in the office taking flack for sending out the wrong insurance document for the 50th time.

I got stopped once , whilst i was walking home from work and and I was having guests that evening so my mind was firmly fixed on what frozen pre -cooked nibbles I could bung in the oven. As I entered the high street, I was attacked. Well it was more of a skip, that skip they do with their clip board and insincere smile seldom seen outside a sales conference.

" Hi mate " I ignored this bit- " How has you day been?" No need to look up, default setting already set to " sorry I'm in a rush."

" That wasn't what I asked?" she said. Fuck! I wasn't prepared for that. I stopped and turned towards her and tried to not to fix her glare. I made a stab at humour, " I have to be in the house by six o'clock, doctor's orders." She gave me a look that suggested that I explain that to the starving kids in Africa. " It will only take 10 minutes, what's 10 minutes out of a whole day?" A lot when you have 4 dinner guests and you haven't even got to Iceland yet. " Just 20 pounds can pay for a mosquito net, we can even spread the payments". She showed me a financial breakdown of how those monthly instalments. When I saw in big bold letters " the equivalent of £1.66 per month " I thought I was going to explode with guilt. I should have heeded the advice of my colleague at work who said " I just ignore them, annoying twats" but now I was digging myself into a hole. I'd finished reading the propaganda but she wasn't paying attention as she was now talking to her colleague. She carried on as if I wasn't there. I wanted so much to get away but by ignoring me i felt like someone in a bar just before closing time who has made a stab at chatting someone up. Just as the conversation is dying on it's arse a male "freind" she knows turns up and they start chatting. You know full well that she's probably going to leave with him but you stay in the picture to see what happens. So you stand, shit faced, propping yourself up against a wall, muttering to yourself until you think there might be an opening. Oh for an opening now.

" I won't be long " she said to her departing friend. She swung round to me and for some reason I looked again at the dialogue in front of me even though I'd just spent 5 minutes before reading ti from top to bottom. This vexed her, " Tell you what I'll leave it with you." And with that she left. Hold on, don't get arsey with me. I'm not the one who pestered someone who was in a hurry to get home. For someone who was looking for an escape route I wasn't very grateful.My ordeal wasn't over. I still had to make it from one end of the high street to the other and that involved walking straight into the heart of their lair. I bowed my head to avoid fixing eye contact, any one making goose steps towards me was quickly halted as I walked the other way. A white man with dreadlocks probably called Spider or Ebola raced at me bellowing in a scottish accent - " Hey Big Man"- like I was some long lost relative. I didn't stop. Sensing my annoyance he escalated it further by shouting after me - " You have a nice day now eh?".