Thursday 31 December 2009


"Barack Obama's approval rating at the end of 2009 marks an all-time low for him in the Economist/YouGov poll, and it is the first time more Americans disapprove than approve of the way he is handling his job. Mr Obama began his term with a 61% approval rating, while only 17% of Americans disapproved. As 2009 ends, only 45% approve of the way Mr Obama is handling his job, while 47% now disapprove." - The Economist

...Unfair? Not sure, he has done pretty much nothing, but maybe that's the problem. Conversely, I'd like to see the same for Brown and Sarkozy and plot them against each other.

We all know what christmas does to waistlines. Even for those who aren't that into food, you can't help tucking into endless supplies of alcohol that swill around over the festive period. Well, this hasn't gone unnoticed when it comes to wearing rather restrictive denim.

Unfortunately it doesn't stop there; having spent the majority of the last week reclined in some format, I am now fully rounded at the edges.

It's amazing how one week can cause so much damage. This calls for serious action in January; I'm talking nazi gym routines, zero-tolerance diet plans and a tee-total period extending well into February.

Tuesday 29 December 2009

State vs Private Education; Round 2

Another interesting article about Private education versus State education here.

Actually, the comments are just as interesting if you have the time, as the post itself is very one-sided.

It's a topic I'm really interested in because it's actually very complex. I'm biased as I believe in the private sector, however I'm hugely intrigued by the counter argument and, more importantly, what drives it.

Sometimes things happen close to you that you can't help get sucked into. The death of Myles Robinson shouldn't impact me directly, yet I've been gripped on the search for him through what I am shamed to say is an act of gruesome voyeurism. We have friends in common, and the fact he graduated from Newcastle the same time as I did has made things very close to home. I can't comment on him personally, but I was truly deflated to hear his body was found some hours ago.

Sunday 27 December 2009

This entry is shamelessly stolen from Toby Young's blog No Sacred Cows. I love it.

Shame has descended on the Young household this Christmas. When my wife picked up our four-year-old from school last week she was intercepted by his teacher who wanted a quiet word. “Oh no,” she thought. “What’s Ludo done now?” In fact, it was more a case of what I’d done -- or failed to do. The teacher explained that she’d asked the children to write “letters to Santa”, saying what they wanted for Christmas. At the top of his list Ludo had written: “Lite bulb.” When the teacher asked him why he’d chosen such an unusual present he told her that the bulb in his bedroom had stopped working months ago and his deadbeat dad still hadn’t replaced it. Ludo’s hope was that if Santa brought him a light bulb for Christmas his daddy might finally pull his finger out.

One of the reasons I’m so embarrassed by this story is that, for weeks now, I’ve been complaining about how greedy my kids are when it comes to Christmas presents. Ludo has never asked for anything as modest as a light bulb before. On the contrary, he has presented me with endless lists, some stretching to several sides of A4, nearly all of which contain items like “S Box” and “Wee” accompanied by detailed drawings in case he’s spelt them incorrectly. He spent the best part of an afternoon drawing a picture of a “Roket” and then painstakingly explained that it wasn’t supposed to be actual size. He wanted a real rocket, one that could take him to the moon.

The sheer ambition of Ludo’s requests is quite endearing. Clearly, he is still an innocent when it comes to money. Not so my six-year-old daughter. Sasha knows that if she asks for anything costing more than £25 she’s unlikely to get it. Where she goes wrong is in asking for more or less everything in this price bracket. She is so suggestible that she only has to see an advertisement for, say, Hot Wheels Shark Bite Bay (£24.99), and she wants it. And I mean, really, really wants it, as in runs down to my garden office and tells me she must have it. I often thank God that we’re not yet in the era when you can purchase something advertised on television with one click of a button on the remote control. If we were, the ground floor of our house would look like the mail order warehouse for Toys-R-Us.

Some parents don’t allow their children to watch commercial television for precisely this reason, but I’m not sure whether that would make much difference. Sasha would only get to hear about the same “must-have” toys in the playground. When she was four, she came home from school one day and announced she wanted a Nintendo DS for Christmas. My wife asked if she knew what it was since she hadn’t shown any interest in video games before. “Of course I do,” she said. “It’s this really cool machine for making sweets.” We managed to fob her off with a Pez Machine that year.

I’m a typically annoying dad in that I agree beforehand that my wife will be in charge of buying the children’s presents and, after she’s wrapped them up and attached labels saying they’re from both of us, I then go out and buy them additional gifts which I hand over on Christmas Day explaining that they’re “special presents from Dad”. This year, I’ve got Ludo a “Lollipop Factory” (£19.99) which has gone down like a cup of cold sick with Caroline. “There’s nothing I hate more in the world than lollipops,” she says.

The depressing thing about buying your children toys is how little pleasure they get from them. On Christmas Day, they tear off the wrapping paper, glance at the present with barely-concealed disappointment, then immediately move on to the next one. When they finally get round to playing with them, that involves opening the boxes, emptying their contents on to the carpet, and then mixing up all the little bits into a potpourri of multi-coloured plastic. After they’ve gone to bed, I spend several hours on my hands and knees sifting through this pile, trying to put the right bits into the right boxes. As a general rule, you lose about 10 per cent of the detachable parts every time a toy is “played” with.

The worst offender in this respect is Playmobil. Last year, one of Ludo’s godparents bought him the Playmobil Large Pirate Ship (£77.24), a build-it-yourself scale model that consists of over 100 separate parts. Within minutes of Ludo opening it, some of these parts had fallen through the floorboards, others had been kicked under the fridge, while still others were in our one-year-old’s tummy. By the time we’d finished building it, even a bunch of Somali bandits would have turned up their noses at this “pirate ship”. It looked as if it had been stripped bare by Hurricane Katrina.

To date, the most successful present I’ve ever bought is a Thomas the Tank Engine train set. While Magnetix and Moon Sand are still sitting in their boxes, having been played with once and forgotten, the train set is constantly being broken up and reassembled. Ludo has now lost interest in it, but two-year-old Freddie has been gripped by Thomas mania and, in time, I daresay one-year-old Charlie will be, too. My only caveat is to advise against buying battery-operated engines. All three of my sons love nothing more than switching them on, leaving them on their side so the wheels spin round endlessly, and then abandoning them.

My three least favourite words at Christmastime are “Batteries Not Included”. I’m sure if I actually sat down and calculated what my greatest expense was in 2009 the answer would be batteries. If I had half a brain I’d give up journalism entirely in 2010 and start selling the damn things door-to-door. Earlier this year, we rented a cottage from a retired couple living very comfortably in Cornwall. As they were off to the local yacht club one day, pulling a sailboat behind a 4 x 4, I asked them how they’d made their money. “Batteries,” was the reply.

Saturday 26 December 2009

Times Person of the Year

“Even if a bullet goes through my heart it’s not important. What we’re fighting for is more important. When it comes to taking our stolen rights back we should not hesitate. Everyone is responsible. Each person leaves a footprint in this world.”
- Neda Soltan


Thursday 24 December 2009


Having seen St Trinians 2 this afternoon (stay with me on this one), and naturally developed an unhealthy interest in Tamsin Egerton, I've found out via the ever reliable Wikipedia she lives with her co-star Tallulah Riley in London. I'm looking at becoming their very very friendly neighbour at some stage of my life.

Merry Xmas...


It wouldn't be xmas without Nigella's soft-core cooking.

This Evening I...

1. Nearly broke my leg on the ice rink that is Glisson Road in Cambridge
2. Went for a curry with the boys and ordered the first Korma I've ever seen spelt Kuruma
3. Had too much to drink
4. Talked myself out of getting my head kicked in
5. Saw the fittest girl I've seen in ages *
6. Saw my mate pull said girl
7. Laughed til I cried at a slag with lipstick all over her face
8. Decided the girl in the kebab queue had the best legs in the world *
9. Got shouted at for chasing a pigeon *
10. Came back home and happily watched an episode of The Hills *

* Almost certainly related to point 3.

Saturday 19 December 2009


Don't take Jeff Stelling on in a football arguement, not only does he know everything, he'll make you look like a fool:

Jeff Stelling: Awful challenge from Javier Mascherano

Phil Thompson: It wasn't that bad

JS: Was it a red card?

PT: Yes, on second look it was a red

JS: So it was bad

PT: No but as usual you went over the top

JS: Well it wasn't me that went over the top, it was Mascherano...

Friday 18 December 2009


Oh...I never knew Rihanna was Bajan, why do I like her a bit more now? Weird but cool!

Thursday 17 December 2009


It's 10:35am on platform 11 at Kings Cross, the December air has a cutting feel to the face and commuters restlessly wait for refuse in the Kings Lynn train. A small, smartly dressed grey-haired woman steps on to the platform to join the queue, chatting to a younger man carrying her bag.

It's Her Majesty the Queen. Today she travelled to Sandringham like a relative pauper (in first class), where she will enjoy christmas with the rest of the royal family. This only a day after police released footage of terror suspects recording tube stations on mobile phones. The Queen and her minder, and a bunch of flowers given to her by a passerby, took the 90 minute journey unscathed, stepping off with a renewed common touch and a reduced carbon footprint. So the next time you pace past a sluggish pensioner at the station, take a minute to check you've not sworn at the Queen under your breath.

Tuesday 15 December 2009


Mount Mayon on the cusp of eruption.

Cool Advert


The British Airways strike reminded me of the awesome advert they ran when I was a kid.

Sunday 13 December 2009

Berlusconi Watch


I've said a few things regarding certain leadership over the months - and as an impartial onlooker, Silvio's office seems to be more like a soap opera (a great one at that) - but what's happened this evening is totally unacceptable.

When John Prescott was egged that day, and responded with a pinpoint left jab, I thought "you know what, fair enough". Nobody, prince, pauper or politician deserves to be assaulted, egged or personally abused for doing their job - however poorly.

There is one thing protesting and another crossing the line into abuse. If spokespeople for the majority (or even the minority) cannot appear in public for fear of attack, it undermines the point of democracy.


You know how I said I'd be smiling again this week? Well I am. I've had a good week at work followed by an awesome weekend. This isn't particularly interesting, but I just wanted to prove how quickly things turn around.

This pic was taken of us at our party a couple of months ago. Note my extremely poor effort regarding dress up.

Thursday 10 December 2009


I've started going to the gym in the mornings again. I don't want to turn into one of those irritating health freaks that talk about how great they feel all the time, but I really do feel awesome.

Gone are the days of turning up to work still half asleep and nights spent tossing and turning. Gone (soon) are the days of fat backs and muffin-tops in those slightly bullish jeans. Hopefully, gone are the days of slight 'moob' definition in t-shirts.

So, now I embark on another ferocious journey into pinching those inches.

Monday 7 December 2009


Copenhagen is booked for Feb. I can't actually wait.

Sunday 6 December 2009

I've just txt AQA for some answers. This is the first question:

"I'm 13 stone 11 pounds, and 5ft 11inches tall. I'm single. How much weight do I need to lose to get a girlfriend?"

...I'm still waiting for the answer.


Update: Answer in!:

"The average weight for a 5 foot 11 inch male with a medium frame is 154-166 pounds. By this standard, you would have to lose at least 27 pounds."

I think it was the 'at least' that stung the most, but I'll take this on board. Thanks AQA (you total and utter bastard)!

Saturday 5 December 2009

"She writes these catchy, feel-good electro-pop tunes that go down a storm in clubs, but then talks a load of impenetrable art bollocks in interviews. Her heroes are the utterly predictable Andy Warhol, David Bowie, Madonna, Grace Jones, and of course she claims to be a “performance artist” rather than a singer. Don’t they all?"
- Lynn Barber on Lady Gaga

Friday 4 December 2009


This is the draw for Englands World Cup campaign unless you haven't seen it. I don't want to tempt fate, but if we can't beat these chumps we don't deserve to be there. The only danger is, people may play for a vital draw against us, which could cause all sorts of trouble. Anyway, too much analysis.

I apologise for not being very active this week, I've had, for my sins, the worst week on record; professionally and privately, things seem to have gone from bad to worse. Now, flat on my back, I've gestured to the heavens with a resounding 'T'...timeout needed boss, big man upstairs...oh sacred creator.

And so to Cambridge, where anyone should go seeking some form of respite from the bust, boom and ultimate ills of London. Here the air is welcomingly fresh, with an end-of-the-line warmth about the place that sets it aside from other commuter towns.

This is, essentially, home. A place where I can hide in streets I know like the back of my hand, and a place that has been kind to me when it owes me nothing. Don't get me wrong, London offers a unique life, where I can stretch my career limbs in all directions and never touch the walls. It's easy to get caught in a gluttonous wind that will take you high, seeing life from a new perspective, feeling a giddy rush on the ride, which will, occasionally, take you to a sorry fall.

I'm not going to turn this into a fairytale; sometimes you don't win, your friends aren't there for you and you have to stagger to a halt and swallow it. Tough shit. This is life. I'm a lucky man in many respects - I live in a nice house, have nice things and work in a job that changes the world. What's awesome is, next week I know I'll be back on top with a massive grin on my face.

Monday 30 November 2009


This doesn't need any commentary

Sunday 29 November 2009


Andy Murray has split with his girlfriend.

Error.

Friday 27 November 2009



The British empire brought many great things to the world. One of those things was a world of international sport. Unfortunately, we're not the best anymore, especially not at rugby. If I hadn't won the lottery of life and been born English, I would've wanted to be Kiwi, pretty much just because of the All Blacks and their Haka war dance.

Wednesday 25 November 2009

It's the 89th minute at Elland Road, it's 0-0 and the home fans sense something in the air when young Max Gradel steps off the bench in search of a late, late winner...


What makes a good education?

More often than not I see kids who learn their textbooks off by heart and churn them out onto an exam script, achieving A-grades left, right and centre. Not until university (if they ever get there) are they provided the opportunity to actually think. This isn't intelligence.

Unfortunately, even worse, there are plenty of kids who fall through the gaps having not had the opportunity or drive to even learn and churn. That is possibly the greatest failing of the education system in many developed countries. In pockets of the country schools consistently deliver poor results, only contributing to sunken social problems and writing children's future for them. For many, it becomes a post code lottery.

What has inspired me is the work of Toby Young. You may be familiar with Toby's work as a journalist, novelist and producer. He's written successful and very funny books as well as worked for Conde Nast tremendously unsuccessfully. Now, he's turning his attentions to politics, following in the steps of his father in (as Tony Blair would say) the pursuit of noble causes by setting up the West London Free School.

The school will be the product of a board of parents, all unhappy with the education provided in Acton, West London. They aim to build a school for highly motivated individuals who live in the area and are interested in achieving. I wrote to Toby about his ideas and shared my experiences of switching from a public school to a state system - discussing how to set the correct environment (I don't have answers, I was merely interested in his views). He agreed in the concept that a sense of elitism is required to deliver a focus, which is lucky, as if he'd disagreed I wouldn't be posting about it!

Their vision is to provide a new learning environment. Before this sounds very liberal and 'arts college', the basis of the education will be pinned on the rigorous curriculum of a public school - including Latin.

Anyway, the project is admirable, and if you're interested you should check out the website here.

Monday 23 November 2009


I'm a purist when it comes to a lot of things, and when it comes to covering songs, rarely do the covers do them justice. It annoys me when people don't attribute the original artist (don't even get me started on the rap version of Elton John's Tiny Dancer).

Having seen Susan "SuBo" Boyle murder Wild Horses by the Rolling Stones, I have to give them their space to show her up.

Pure genuis.

Sunday 22 November 2009

I adore the internet. Without it my life would be totally different and, probably, a lot harder. I know this because of the amount of time I spend using it and the frequency I quickly use my iPhone or laptop to check something out. Each to their own - some people aren't fussed, which is fair. However, you're missing out on the following websites which can enrich your life.

1. Walk Jog Run

Using Walk Jog Run, you can map your running route before or after you've done it and precisely map your distances. Not only that, you can see suggested routes from other members in your area taking into account the terrain and ease of the run. Knowing where you need to go before setting out can make your run painless. Fair enough if you know your patch like the back of your had, but if you're like me and move every couple of years this site can really help.

2. TED

TED was introduced to me through a friend, and it is totally amazing for the inner-geek in you. If you're interested in innovation, the scope of the human race, the advancement of intellectual ideas or generally what's going on at the cutting edge of global research...click on the link immediately. The format is basically a library of short talks, ranging from 5 minutes to half an hour on a broad range of topics. Some are bound to bore you, and I don't pretend to have browsed every area, but I would be shocked if nothing appeals to you.

3. BBC iPlayer

OK, hardly the world's best kept secret, but a great website that most of the other channels have copied in some form. You can watch anything from the last two weeks that you've missed or forgotten to record. Winner.

4. Jamie Oliver Online

I'm not Jamie Oliver's biggest fan, but I like the format of his online recipes. They seem pretty easy to follow and they don't use ridiculous ingredients that some people like to show off with. If I have to go further than my local supermarket for most of them I just won't bother. My search for tahini the first time I made houmous was absurd. Ironically, it was actually stocked at my local supermarket, but I couldn't find it. Nevertheless, Jamie's website is pretty good and has some interactive features to liven up the idea of cooking rather just a list of vague instructions.

5. TimesOnline

Not the most rapid when it comes to breaking news, but TimesOnline does offer a nice commentary you wouldn't find on the more tabloid Sky News. Every morning I log on at work and check the FT online and various trade websites for headlines, before logging on to TimesOnline to get some genuine content. I like papers, and will always buy a Sunday Paper, but they essentially are telling me yesterdays news when I want to know what's happening today. TimesOnline beats its paper counterpart hands down.

Saturday 21 November 2009



Whatever your political persuasion, people should always respect effort and commitment. The decade Mr Blair had in power was obviously challenging. This montage of his final day is not only funny but emotional. It's difficult not to feel a warm sensation at 5.15 with his final, slightly wobbly words. Enjoy.

Thursday 19 November 2009


Every day, I take the tube to work. As you might imagine of a routine, there are various constants, from the bus drivers smoking outside the depot to the cat perched on the garden wall. We are creatures of habit, and more or less everyday I meet the same people on the tube platform, in our same spots waiting for the same train. We have a mute community. Nobody dares break the silence but we recognise each other, share knowing smirks at abnormalities and for the first time today I saw an act of samaritan proportion.

A regular (obviously nameless, yet he looks like a Steve) left the carriage - and his umbrella - at South Kensington. The rain in London has been unusually absent in recent weeks, which is perhaps why Steve forgot that, today, he was accompanied by his umbrella.

Without second thought, a fellow regular darted out of the carriage with Steve's umbrella, knowing full well he'd forfeit his prized seat and, no doubt, his efforts and getting to the office early. The doors hissed closed as they are accustomed to. Everyone smiled.

Sadly, for every act of kindness there must go one hundred lost items. I've always wondered where all these items go when collected. I had visions of endless warehouses of bizarre things stacked 20ft high, like something from Raiders of the Lost Ark. I saw this list of staff favourites today, from TFL:


1.Two and half hundredweight of sultanas

2.Breast Implants

3.Theatrical coffin

4.Stuffed eagle

5.14-foot long boat

6.Garden Slide

7.Jar of bull's sperm

8.Urn of ashes

9.Vasectomy kit

10.Two human skulls in a bag

Wednesday 18 November 2009

A few years ago I became obsessed with the Ricky Gervais podcasts, primarily because of Karl Pilkington. Karl's twisted view of the world and weekly slots (Karl's Diary, Monkey News, etc.) became fans favourites, as well as mine. Now, I've started re-listening to them on iTunes. Trouble is, they're too funny to go to sleep to, and I'm having restless nights laughing at things like this.

If you get the chance - download them all, but don't listen in a public place or your suppressed explosions of laughter will just make you look like you have cramp.

Tuesday 17 November 2009


Cooking and Claudia Winkleman? Channel 4 always know how to hit the jackpot...

Monday 16 November 2009


"I've just got a text from Malcolm, it says he wants you there a.s.a.f.p."

"I presume the F is for feasibly"

The Thick of It is probably one of the funniest shows on TV. I demand you to watch it.


Saturday 14 November 2009

Hi. I'm back.

For a variety of reasons it was wise for me to stop blogging for a while, it's also been nice to refresh my enthusiasm for writing and realise how I missed posting.

Anyway, business as usual...

Sunday 25 October 2009

Cool

Sydney is probably my favourite city in the world. This is just one of the reasons why.

Monday 19 October 2009



Winner of the UK landscape photography competition (yeah, that auspicious award). In all seriousness, if I picture heaven, this is what I think it looks like. Gods own country.

Who says we don't have a God of the Gaps philosophy?

Oh, here's something we can't explain, and until we can...we'll say God did it.

Sunday 11 October 2009

My temporary home can get stuffy of an evening (the owner described it as 'bijoux') so I often find myself sat on the balcony taking in the views and fresh air. I sit here overlooking a portion of London I'm not familiar with, nor do I want to be because of it's ominous council blocks. I sit here in expectation of something brilliant happening; a constant disappointment. I feel like this balcony owes me a view, but constantly fails to deliver. So, I sit as a modern day Lowry, reflecting on the ordinary people - the matchstick men with matchstick dogs. It's not pretty but it's true.

This is England.

Monday 5 October 2009

Some potentially bad news. I might be without Internet for a couple of weeks. I'll update when I can.

Thursday 1 October 2009


I love my Massimo Dutti shirt. I bought it last week and have washed and worn it three times since. If I had to chose one word to describe it, that word would simply be 'sex'.

I got sick and tired of turning round to the mirror in the gents and seeing my "classic fit" shirt (read: box-fit rag) all over the place stuffing out of my trousers, ballooning up everywhere like one of those fucking imitation sumo suits. Is it so much to ask that a shirt should actually fit to my back in that nice clean V-shape?

Well, it appears only Massimo Dutti (from the same company as Zara) have figured it out properly and aren't going to charge you £100 for it either. You probably won't find them anywhere but London (although I haven't researched that at all) but they are well worth the journey. Just as an example, when I was queueing the guy in front of me had brought a coffin-sized bag to put his £2500 shopping spree in. Granted, I got bored of watching every piece of the menswear line get folded and wrapped in tissue, so I sat down for a while, checked a few emails, rang a friend and puffed my cheeks a fair bit; but it is testament to how awesome the place is.

THIS is one of the best shows I've seen about the global recession. I'm hugely biased though, having seen a fair chunk of chaos from the inside, and now clearing up after it working for the government.

(The pic is of Lehman staff hearing it's game over in the London office - 30 mins later some were either taking the short walk to the Canary Wharf tube station next door or handing out CVs in the bars over the wharf)


I'm off to Elland Road on Saturday to watch the boys crush Charlton and send us clear at the top of League One (hopefully). I totally missed last season and didn't see a game at all, which I feel pretty poor about, but then again I went nearly 7 months without seeing any family so I guess I had my priorities in the right order. This season's different though, and not only am I ready to re-pledge my true fan status with a handful of home games, but I genuinely feel a real buzz about the club that I reckon will culminate in promotion to the Championship. It's been a long hard slog and turning the club round from the freefalling debt days has been like turning the proverbial oil tanker - slow.

So, fingers crossed for this Saturday; keep them crossed until May.

Classic Comedy

Wednesday 30 September 2009

Everyday I go to work in my new executive English-made shoes wearing a carefully selected shirt and tie combination, aiming to exude a distinct level of worth. What ruins the look, is my nasty £6.99 black polyester 'briefcase'. I've decided that the essential acquisition is going to be this rather fetching Mulberry briefcase; I'm a mere mortgage away from style.

Monday 28 September 2009



...And if you're interested (like I'm fascinated) by social media playing a role in politics, this 3 minute clip pretty much sums up the foundations. The 'Twinge' meets are fast becoming popular and well supported by UK politicians and now ministers, this webpage gives an insight to the whole idea which will no doubt form an interesting role for itself when the general election is called in the coming months.

Sunday 27 September 2009

Another good thing about living in London is the G-List celebrity spotting that will suddenly take you by surprise, like I was when shopping on Regent Street last week. Minding my own business looking for a fitted white shirt I stepped across an absolute zinger - Gaby Roslin.

All this sophistication of summer sport has left me with a void in aggressive all action sport. Of course, by that I mean I've been looking forward to the rugby season for the first time in about 4 or 5 years. Having played a lot of rugby when I was younger, I always enjoyed watching England play on the international stage without really feeling much attachment (obviously disregarding the 1999 World Cup win - I was there in Trafalgar Square amongst the million-strong crowd of Englishmen, to welcome the players home and present us the trophy).

What I realise now is, take as much from this great game as you can, because in a few decades, perhaps even years, I'm almost certain it will be watered down into a game about as dangerous as musical chairs. I for one had to stop playing the game after a tackle left my spine twisted and only nearly a year's physiotherapy would fix that. Another teammate had his eye gouged out and it was a minor miracle he wasn't blinded. Broken bones are expected and you regularly hear of schoolboy deaths that are, tragically, close to home. It won't be long before the Fun Police, possibly rightly, debate how constructive all this aggression actually is.

There are decent arguments on both sides, but one thing I would say is that decisions like that should be made by rugby people. It is, obviously, an optional recreation that people enjoy being wrapped up in. The team spirit is unrivalled, often overzealously displayed by hoards of young men of all shapes and sizes descending onto a bar after a game, some sporting injuries that should almost certainly be seen by a medical professional immediately, but the social aspect always far out-weighs their welfare. Rarely in any sport do you so heavily rely on your surrounding team mates as you do in rugby, the lessons learnt about trust, reliance and pushing your own physical boundaries - individually and as a group - are second to none. Getting smashed in the face, breaking your nose, having your head raked by metal studs and being trampled by the opposition and sometimes your own teammates teaches you about getting up and starting again. You face the very real threat of being hurt, and you face it with 14 others who are willing to put themselves in harms way just to celebrate with you. It is an intense feeling of camaraderie that would only by taken away from us by making it "safer"; for me, it would be a totally different game.

So make the most of it while it lasts. Soon every player will be made to wear padding, maybe even helmets and you'll be that grandfather who always chirps up mid-game saying "in my day we didn't have helmets, if you got concussion you played on, and we taped our ears down to stop them getting ripped off".

Saturday 26 September 2009


There are some things in London you just can't get anywhere else. Shot is probably one of them, but the pros heavily outweigh the cons when it comes to culture, places to be, places to eat and people to see. It gets a bad press with regard to being a busy, rude and dirty city, but that tends to be from people who go for the day, spend their time on Oxford Street meandering around tourists before crushing themselves on a packed tube to get ripped off in a Leicester Square restaurant. I can fully understand the disappointment, but don't go there.

I've lived here before and just moved down again, there are still somethings that make me stop in awe. Last night I was walking from work to Waterloo (just over Westminster Bridge for dinner on the Southbank). It was dusky and the evening and begun to creep in with an air of bustle. As I turned my head to look back where I'd come from I'd totally failed to notice how majestic Big Ben looks in the evening. "Fuck me that's awesome" I said to myself vowing not to take it for granted in future (although I certainly will, as most people do). When I was making the return trip over the water to Embankment station, I passed a saxophone player on the bridge, playing under the lights of the London Eye and setting an awesome Friday night mood. It reminded me that it's such a great place to not only live but have a life.

I feel pretty lucky to have started back here. It's vibrant and never stale and I love it.

Thursday 24 September 2009


Today's Arthur's Day, 250 years after the lease on the Guinness brewery in Dublin was taken out. That, of course meant going for several pints of the black stuff after work today, which has resulted in a horrible aftermath any Guinness drinker will be aware of, and one I won't go into detail over.

Still, well done Arthur.

Saturday 19 September 2009

"You're a big man but you're out of shape, and for me it's a full time job, so behave yourself"
- Michael Caine (Get Carter, 1971)


Easily one of the coolest quotes from any movie.

Friday 18 September 2009

I used to have really fat feet, and I've only just realised. Having slipped on an old pair of loafers I'm taking to London with me as reserves, they're virtually flopping off while I pad down the road. Normally I'd be annoyed as it would mean yet more added expenditure (piling on to an already heaped mountain of London relocation cost), but, quite frankly, I've always had freakishly wide feet and anything to reign in the oddity is a massive plus.

So it seems I've managed to steer away from having hams for feet and now need a new pair of loafers.

P.S. I looked for a picture of "Fat feet", "Obese Feet" and "Swollen Feet" in Google images to liven up the post, but they are all far too grotesque to include.

Thursday 17 September 2009


I've just learnt that in 1999, the then GQ editor James Brown was forced to resign for including Rommel and The Nazis in the century's top 200 most stylish men. I'm kind of thinking there must have been a moment when he thought, maybe this might upset a couple of people, then when he resigned being really annoyed with himself. Really though, I applaud his courage for sticking two fingers up at what is just a sacred cow of Nazi-hating. It's like whenever someone says Hitler was a great leader, they have to instantly follow it with "but totally insane" or "shamefully evil" (N.B. whenever someone tries to tell you you're out of line, remind them our apparent ally Stalin ruthlessly murdered 20m people compared to Hitler's 6m).

Rommel was stylish though; the whole ideology was stylish - that was kind of the plan. Really, it's fascinating whatever your belief. Look at the above picture taken in Cherbourg 1940. The British officers look like a sack of shit compared to Rommel. OK, it might be something to do with them having fought a bitter battle before having to surrender, and Rommel arriving fresh-faced to shake hands on the deal...but still. Evil or whatever, they looked good doing it, let's not be childish and argue that.

If you're going to have a go, spit at the disgraceful discrimination, 'solution' and rampant war crime. Just don't touch the tailoring.

Tuesday 15 September 2009

So I'm slowly finding out who's deleted me as a Facebook friend (which, I'm totally fine with, as I've culled others as well). But it's one of those things where you'll not know until you stumble across them and they've locked their profile down, or you ironically try and invite them to a reunion and you can't (mentioning no names Natalie Ashford-Hodges). It is quite entertaining when you find one, although I don't want to devote my life to the search like a Jewish Nazi-hunter.

Sunday 13 September 2009


This thing is not playing ball currently. I need more patience.

Saturday 12 September 2009


Lord Freddie Windsor and Sophie Winkleman (who plays Big Suze in the hilarious Peep Show - incidentally the new series is starting next Friday) have married.
The coolest part is that they turned down £600,000 from magazines to sell their pictures. That makes him seriously cool...and rich.

Cool Advert


Said this before, posted this before, but I just never get tired of this ad.

Friday 11 September 2009

Do you ever just burst out laughing in the street? Well today I did, remembering when my mum wrote a note to my teacher and addressed the envelope 'Mike Hunt'.

His name was Ian.

Thursday 10 September 2009


Stop Press. I've bought a Cardigan (mine's blue though). I know - fuck.

I just couldn't resist it when I walked into Reiss the other day. It's my weakness and I know it, I WILL buy things when I'm in there. Don't worry, this won't result in skinny jeans.

There seems to be some shock over someone questioning Obama in his Healthcare proposals. OK, he said, "You Lie", which is probably out of order in any government debate, but really it's a massive overreaction. Surely he's doing his job questioning and debating what the President is proposing, especially if it's not in the apparent interest of the people he represents. I'm actually a fan of Obama, but I'd like to see how long he'd last in PMQs or any debate over the dispatch box in the House of Commons. I think he could do it without doubt, but it does make this healthcare outburst look pathetic in comparison:

Wednesday 9 September 2009


Beauty or Beast?

England 5 - 1 Croatia

England are off to the World Cup next summer. Normally this wouldn't be big news, but considering we didn't make it to the Euros last year it's a giant relief. That night we were beaten by Croatia to deny us the tournament entry. This evening we took sweet revenge out on the same team to earn our place in South Africa 2010.

Sunday 6 September 2009

Saturday 5 September 2009


I love kids, and I think kids acting like adults is hilarious (unless they're pretentious, like a 4 year old ordering sorbet for dessert), but this guy takes it ten steps further.

Friday 4 September 2009



As an avid Diet Coke drinker, I have to agree with much of what this article says. I've had people I know to binge drink, smoke and take cocaine try to tell me I should try and give up Diet Coke. I can't help but feel the outrageous hypocracy shouldn't be tolerated.

"It’s a five-can day today,” my friend Naomi Stern tells me over the phone. We both know what she means — in fact I can almost hear the click-hiss of her first Diet Coke of the morning. And she’s not unique: last year Britons on average guzzled 97.3 litres of carbonated drinks each, a third of them sugar-free. According to the analysts Zenith International, Diet Coke is the bestseller in that market “by some margin”.

Diet Coke, which has been around since 1983, is our acceptable addiction. Its fans claim that it gives them a lift, seemingly without any downside.And it’s not as if it’s going to make you fat: each 330ml can has only half a calorie. What harm can it do?

Stern is meticulously healthy in every aspect of her life — scanning ingredients lists, buying only organic produce, visiting the gym five times a week without fail — and describes Diet Coke as her only vice: “I have no idea what’s in it. To be honest I’d rather not know. I just love the idea that it’s calorie-free. It’s my guilt-free treat.”

That “diet” word is clearly a key factor. We know that fizzy drinks aren’t good for us, yet the loyalty to Diet Coke is strong. What secret ingredient is it that keeps us hooked?

First up is carbonated water; nothing much to see there. Then we get to colour — caramel E150d; an E number, but not one of the ones deemed undesirable by the Food Standards Agency (FSA). The next items are the artificial sweeteners aspartame and acesulfame K. These are controversial, having been linked to everything from depression to brain tumours and other cancers.

But European Commission studies in 2001 and 2006 found no proof for this. And Coca-Cola GB insists: “The scientific evidence is overwhelming; aspartame is not linked to adverse health effects.” The FSA nonetheless recommends that the average adult drink no more than 14 cans of sugar-free drink a day.

“There may be no evidence that artificial sweeteners are harmful but they are the reason I avoid diet drinks,” Mark Porter, theTimes doctor, says. “They have lots of synthetic chemicals and taste awful. I would advise avoiding the caffeine in these drinks altogether, or limiting your intake to no more than four cans of diet cola, if you are pregnant or have underlying problems like anxiety, insomnia and palpitations.”

Ah yes, caffeine; I was wondering where our little 4pm friend was in this equation. Diet Coke hardly packs a punch with its meagre 43mg per can, less than half the amount you would find in a typical shot of espresso. “You get a bigger hit from a couple of squares of dark chocolate or a cup of green tea,” says Alison Duker, the founder of www.eatbetter.co.uk, “although the caffeine in Diet Coke is absorbed more quickly because it’s mixed with phosphoric and citric acids.” The high speed hit may well explain why so many feel reliant on it.

Acids: doesn’t sound good. “If we could grow new tooth enamel we’d have nothing to worry about,” says Mohit Khurana, who runs his own dental practice and lectures at Liverpool University: “But we need to be careful of anything that weakens tooth enamel. Don’t sip slowly, have them with food so your saliva can best cope with the acid attack and don’t brush within an hour of drinking, when enamel is at its weakest.”

But it’s not just our teeth that we need to protect from acid. “There’s a growing body of evidence that too much acid causes loss of bone density,” says Antonia Adeniji, a nutritionist at the British College of Osteopathic Medicine. “Our body balances the acid with alkali, from foods like fruit and vegetables. If you are not getting enough of those then the body will take calcium from your bones.” Food for thought when half of all women are affected by osteoporosis.

Clearly it’s not the caffeine-packed rocket fuel we thought. Nor is there anything specifically addictive in its ingredients. Yet it still exerts a pull over its legion of fans. “I just love my little can of chemicals,” says Stern. And she’s far from alone.

Daniel Finkelstein ’fesses up on fizz

My name is Daniel Finkelstein. And I am a Diet Coke addict. I adhere to the ten steps programme. The first nine steps involve getting you to mind your own business. The tenth is to open another can.

I am told that a Diet Coke habit is the last acceptable addiction. You could have fooled me.

I don’t drink alcohol, coffee or tea. I don’t smoke. And I have never taken an illegal drug. But I do like a cool refreshing can, just for the taste. Actually, a number of cans. Or even, in the right convivial setting, with the right food, a 2-litre bottle.

I am not bothering anybody else. Drinking doesn’t lead me to reel out into the street singing Football’s Coming Home.

I have never punched someone for staring at my bird. Nobody is going to die from passive Diet Coke drinking caused by me imbibing near by. The most that happens is that the caffeine makes me tap the floor with my right foot while another columnist is trying to concentrate.

So you would think that my Diet Coke and I were hardly ever mentioned. That I was allowed to drink in peace. I am sorry to disillusion you. My family bring it up. But that’s all right. They are allowed to.

They are worried that it might be harming me and I appreciate their concern. I do occasionally (ever so nicely, you know me) point out that it would be better if they produced evidence to back up their fear. But generally I put up with it. I even stock caffeine-free Diet Coke at home, to make everyone feel more comfortable.

What surprises me are the people who have no proprietorial interest in my health but hate fizzy drinks. If I ever write about Diet Coke these people write to me in droves. They tell me how awful my habit is, how it is bound to kill me. They urge different drinks upon me, send me scientific papers (which peter out without proving anything) and suggest that I go cold turkey. I have no idea why they care. I have decided to take it as a compliment.