Ok Then, Just One More…

Charidy

Big thanks to Mr Baines for getting the ball rolling on my Sport Relief sponsor form…

I suppose I have to go through with it now!

Just a quick update on what is happening there:

I am signed up to run a mile round Lister Park, on March 16th, kick off at 10.00am.  I know I said I was going to attempt to run 3 miles, but I got a bit confused when signing myself up.  And on reflection, given that my current stamina levels are on a par with a newly born kitten, and up to now the most strenuous thing I do is turn the ignition on my car, and given the short space of time I have realistically got to get in shape, I think the mile is enough for now.  I will attempt to run 3 miles, but as far as sponsorhip is concerned, I will run a mile.

I spoke to Andy, landlord of the Kings on Tuesday night, and he expressed interest in joining ‘Team Heatonian’.  So if you are still interested Andy, let me know and we can set the sponsorship page up as a team effort.

Current training schedule is as follows:

1. Go to gym on Friday 1st February for induction, and discuss training programme to get me up to ‘match fitness’.
2. Straight after gym, go on farewell pub crawl round Heaton and get absolutely stoated.  This is to mark the fact that, special occasions aside, not a drop of alcohol will pass my lips until around 11.00am on March 16th.  Pub crawl will begin in the Delvers, have a couple in the Kings before the band starts, then finish up in the Fountain till they kick me out.  Anyone wishing to join me for all or part of this event is welcome, as are free pints of lovely lovely Stella.
3. Sunday morning – GYM!  This will comprise of whatever I agree with my advisor.

In other news, I ran into History Tom in the Kings last night…

Amongst the quite highbrow discussion we had about the Bronze Age (when was it, was it the same period of time the world over, revised dating based on Egyptian chronology etc.), it came out in discussion that he was currently eating out a lot at the Mucky Duck.  I pointed out that since his new female neighbours moved in to Herbies old pad, he had been in regular receipt of plated meals from said neighbours.  I’ve even witnessed meals being delivered to him in the Kings!  Alas though, the novelty appears to have worn off, and for the past week the poor soul has had to fend for himself.

So, I’d like to launch an appeal:

Feed Tom!  He can’t afford to eat at the Mucky Duck EVERY night you know!

Commenting

Last weeks posts to this site elicited some comment, which was nice…

At least one regular reader complimented me on my tale of woe about getting caught short on my bus ride home from Leeds, saying I appeared to be back on form.

At least one regular reader mentioned that he enjoyed my story about my ongoing war with my rapidly disintegrating automobile.

At least one regular reader, in a fit of rampant paranoia, rang me at 8:30am one morning to check that I wasn’t ‘having a dig’ at him in my article about viruses.

The Plastic Taff, while no doubt dreaming of his next trip to Morrisons, mentioned that he was disgusted at my use of the ‘F’ word in the joke about Widdle Wabbits. However, it doesn’t quite have the same impact if the python ‘didn’t give a flip’, so I stand by my editorial decision to let it be in that respect.

And at least one other person congratulated me on the sheer hilarity of said joke.

So, you can’t win ‘em all.

I was also approached by a member of the bar team at one of the local hostelries in the village, who pointed out that a discussion going on in the comments section of the article ‘I Don’t Normally Post On A Saturday But…’, contained a slight inaccuracy. The inaccuracy related to the fact that I failed to mention that ‘no purchase over the bar’ is necessary to take advantage of the (increasingly reasonable seeming) cash back deal at the Kings.

Consider the blunder fixed and accounted for, and apologies to anyone who may have been inconvenienced by this.

I did mention to the person in question that he/she is more than welcome to post such comments on the website. However, they then mentioned that they were reluctant to do so, as ‘you don’t always allow comments to appear if you don’t agree with them’.

At this, I was perplexed. Aside from the odd occasion when I have deleted comments en masse – having given up any attempt at fair moderation in the face of overwhelming amounts of Spam – which I have nevertheless always apologised for, I have always allowed any comments to appear, with the exception of the following:

1. In response to posting a picture of Steve Gerrard, which portrayed him as just having stolen some football trophy or other, I was literally inundated with death threats – well, 3 – from disgruntled scousers who made liberal use of badly spelled anglo saxon swearwords. I thought that as the comments in question were off topic, offensive and not related to matters ‘Heaton’, I took the decision to attempt to preserve the family feel of the website and delete them.

2. In response to my article about Mr H and Mr K’s recent ‘dispute’ in the Kings, a local reader posted a comment hinting that Mr K was now known as ‘Biffa Bacon’, complete with a link to a picture of said Viz comic character. I chose not to allow this comment, as I felt the flames had been fanned enough on that topic, and to add fuel to that fire was not a road I personally wished to travel on, if you will allow me to mix my metaphors.

As far as I am concerned, anything goes in the comments, within reasonable parameters which would be expected in any civilized group. Swearing should automatically cause the comment to be flagged for moderation, but I will allow it unless it is gratuitous – I just need to check it first.

As in the case of comments posted by the (now defunct) New Heatonian, I will even correct glaringly obvious grammatical errors and spelling mistakes!

MOT!

My car went in for it’s MOT today…

Given the recent catalogue of mishaps that have ocurred recently, I wasn’t expecting particularly good news when the nice man from the garage rang me with the ‘damage’. However, surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad – having failed only on headlights out of alignment, rear indicators need painting(?) and my numberplates apparently have deteriorated so much they are barely legible.

Which was surprising.

After all, the sneaky police officers manning the mobile camera on Manningham Lane the other Saturday didn’t have much trouble reading them!

In other news, eagle eyed readers may have already noticed the sudden appearance of my official ‘Sport Relief’ widget, which will show how much sponsorship has been pledged on my special ‘Sport Relief Sponsorship Page‘, which can be found here.

So, I’m officially signed up now – it only remains for you, dear reader, to hop over there and sponsor me.

Thank you.

Measuring Up

There was much mirth in evidence this weekend as I revealed Mrs Funks latest masterplan to reduce my belly inches…

Not content with inflicting ‘fat free chips’ on my unsuspecting palate, she has finally gone the whole hog and enrolled me in the gym.  Purveyors of ales and fine foods the village over are currently gnashing their teeth in despair as the prospect of my not insignificant contribution to their weekly takings being withdrawn, as Mrs Funks strict regime begins to bite.

Herbie, resplendent (for some obscure reason), in his mexican sombrero in the Kings on Sunday, suggested that we have an offical ‘measuring session’ at some point, followed by regular updates on the website of how many belly inches I am losing over the course of my (hopefully) shortlived career at the Heaton Squash and Tennis club gym.  While I feel that his suggestion was made in an effort to cause me humiliation, it’s not really far from an idea I had in mind anyway.

2008 is Sport Relief year.  In an effort to raise money for worthy causes the world over, the challenge this time round is to run (or walk) either 1, 3 or 6 miles.  When I heard about it, I did make a promise to myself that I would attempt to do this, as it would give me some incentive to ‘buck my ideas up’ with regard to my health and general fitness.  So, I would like to announce the following:

I am going to train as hard as I can, and on the day I am going to attempt to run 3 miles.  6 miles would probably be a bit ambitious, given that the event is sometime in March, and 1 mile is for wimps.  I will get some sponsor forms sorted out, and I would appreciate it if everyone would dig deep and sponsor me for this worthy cause.  If nothing else, the sight of me wheezing home about 2 hours after I start should be good for a laugh.  I tell you , only Bob Hope would do more for charity!

Things like this are always more fun if there are a few of you involved, so I would also like to invite anyone who is inspired to have a go to join me in this endeavour – get in touch via the usual channels if you fancy it! I may even get T-Shirts printed…

I will announce an official weigh in, followed by a final booze up for old times sake by the end of the week, then we’re off.

Or I’m off, if noone else is man enough to give it a go…

Sage Advice

Following on from my recent car related debacle, where I went to KwikFit on a Sunday afternoon to get my wheels balanced – a decision I took based on excessive vibration when my speed exceeded erm… reasonable levels – and walked out with a bill for just short of £400 to replace all four tyres and the springs in my front suspension array (one of which had actually snapped) – my Fiat ‘dream machine’ decided to inflict further misery on me the other day…

With a meeting in Hull scheduled for 9.30am the following morning, my trip to visit a local plumber to remove a serious key logging virus from his laptop was curtailed sharply on Highgate when the engine began to lurch quite violently. Accompanied by a constant litany of individual ‘engine warning tones’ and flashing lights on my dash. Fearful of the immediate onset of ‘vibration white finger’ if I gripped the steering wheel for any length of time, I pulled into the car park of the local Health Centre, and considered my options.

I had seen these symptoms before. On all three occasions, a quick call to the AA resulted in the swift replacement of the errant ignition coil (which was failing, causing the engine to misfire on the particular cylinder involved). On each occasion that this happened, I was advised that ‘once one goes, the others won’t be far behind, so it may be worth carrying a spare in the boot’. Sage advice, which, being the arrogant ‘it won’t happen to me’ kind of person that I am, I chose to ignore. Three times.

So, I rang the AA. The nice lady on the end took my details and location and informed me that due to excessive callouts, they would be sending a contractor rather than an actual AA patrol, and they would be with me shortly.

It was cold in my car. I hardly dare run the engine to keep warm, as the excessive vibration was exacerbating my encroaching need to relieve my bladder. (Note: I ended up getting out and peeing against the back of my car). An hour and a half later, the patrol finally arrived, asked me to start the engine, give it some revs etc.

‘One of your ignition coils has gone’

‘Right. Can you fix it?’

‘Sorry mate, we don’t carry spares. When you get one though, you might be best getting a couple of spares. Once one goes, the others tend to follow’.

With that, he stepped back into the warm, inviting looking cab of his breakdown truck and drove off.

So my fiendish plot to get the AA to fix my car had failed, and I was left to my own devices.

Needless to say, the following morning I borrowed Mrs Funks toolkit and set off to the excellent GGB Motor Factors on Rutland Street to purchase a replacement part. Which I fitted myself! All by myself!!

As he was handing it over, the man behind the counter said:

‘Are you sure you only want one? Once ones gone, the others won’t be far behind you know?’

I snorted with derision and stormed out.

(Note: Inspired by my success with fitting my own ignition coil, I’m seriously considering stripping the engine down on Saturday and giving it a good clean. Somebody, please, stop me…)

Mapping (2)

Predictably I suppose, the map link has disappeared from the Kings Arms ‘Where Are We’ page…

Unfortunately, the people concerned have not seen fit to thank me for pointing out the minor faux pas.

Mapping

While re-aquainting myself with the Kings Arms website this morning, I noticed something a wee bit strange…

One of the pages is a ‘Where Are We’ page, giving directions on how to get to the pub, and also a link to an online map, showing the pubs in the local area.

Check it out here, then tell me – Where is the Kings Arms again?

Press (off to finish)

When I was about 5 years old, I had the dubious honour of being pageboy to my schools May Queen – the lovely Sandra Atkinson…

Duties included carrying her crown on a satin pillow while she walked to her throne. I wore a white shirt with a red tie, black short trousers, my black shoes buffed to a mirror like shine.

I remember that day as if it were yesterday, primarily because my school at the time (Reevy Hill Infants School), keen to warp tomorrows adults by giving parents ammunition for future humiliation, had a habit of inviting the Telegraph & Argus along to photograph events such as this for future publication. A photograph which my parents and grandparents revealed with toecurling regularity every time my girlfriend de jour popped along for tea.

That, to my recollection, was my first mention in the local press. The first point in a short lived celebrity arc which encompassed many of my finer acting roles at school (including my infamous portrayal of the Plum Pudding Flea in the musical ‘The Owl and the Pussycat Went To Sea’, for which I was bestowed the title ‘Loudest Schoolboy in Bradford’ by the then incumbent Lord Mayor of Bradford), and culminating (to date) in the headline ‘Crash Four In Near Death Tumble’.

So why am I revealing this?

It’s all about being in the news. Regular people rarely enjoy their exploits revealed in the press, whether that be the newspaper, television, or, in this age of rampant amateur reportage, on a website.

Writing for the Old Heatonian has involved a steep learning curve for me. In it’s earlier days, under the stewardship of Mr Baines, Old Heatonian was positively scandalous, relating the exploits of certain characters in the village in excrutiating detail. When I took over, conscious that its readership enjoyed reading said articles, I sought to emulate what had gone before, while casting my net further to encompass a broader range of characters.

However, lessons have been learned over the years. One or two articles have been pulled because I overstepped the mark and elicited comment/outrage. And gladly – it is only with the constant vigilance of ones peers that one learns where the lines lie, and thereafter not to step over them.

But Old Heatonian is not meant to be a serious news organ. It’s a bit of fun (I seem to be constantly reminding people of this). It’s a gentle leg pull.

It’s about gossip.

I reported a bit of gossip on Saturday which, although I went to great pains to be obscure, has nevertheless got someones knickers in a twist. Someone who constantly encourages me to ‘have a go at Herbie’on the website. This person never says, ‘Hey!, That was a nice comment you posted the other day about me or my business’, but is always keen to express his outrage to third parties if I so much as hint (with tongue firmly planted in my chubby little cheek) that all may not be well in Dodge. Even though Old Heatonian is a 2 way road – there’s always the comments box or my e-mail address, which carries more weight with me than tittle tattle in the pub.

So, with a heart heavy with the weight of disillusionment, I have made a slight edit to the article in question in a (no doubt vain) bid to further obfuscate the issue…

In order for the Old Heatonian to continue in any shape or form, I hereby launch an appeal for a new writer. Preferably one who will write safe things – the ability to entertain is no longer a pre-requisite for the increasingly pedestrian path down which we are travelling.

I enjoy writing though, so I’ll probably do something else somewhere else.

Victim of a Hoax!

Epicures across the county wring their hands in frustration…

…as it is revealed that the long awaited website, authored by our own Dribbly Baines and examining the delights of food available in our own corner of the country, turned out to be no more than ‘an elaborate windup’, as the comments against my Saturday article reveal.

Quite who the windup was aimed at, what it’s purpose was, and just… well… WHY?, will no doubt remain a mystery.

Plastic Taff for one will be disappointed, as he was looking forward to following in the footsteps of the dribbling one and sampling the objects of his in depth reviews.

Unconfirmed accounts suggest that he’s already been to Morrisons to stock up on Sutherlands Beef & Tomato spread to slather all over his toast!