Coastalblog

For reasons too tedious to go into the pub sale went a bit tits up. So the licensed trade industry's loss is blogging's gain. Or something. Semi-normal service to be resumed just as soon as I get hold of a copy of this week's Advertiser so I've got something to laugh at.

Yes, those updates have been a trifle infrequent of late, haven't they? There is a reason. Fond as I am of blogging I am currently in the middle of the single most hectic period of mu life to date. Not only am I working hard on sorting out my phd proposal but over the next six weeks I'm going to be (deep breath) setting up a business, buying a pub, moving house, getting married. So you'll just have to bear with me for a bit, I'm afraid.

So as I was navigating my way across the BBC radio player I chanced upon an advert for radio 1's ""Bare all this summer" safe sex campaign. Bloody hell, I thought. Never had anything like that when I were a lad. I almost started harrumphing before it occurred to me that well, yes, when I was their target audience I was up to all sorts also. And then it hit me, I'm in my late twenties, and as such still relatively youngish (though by radio 1's standards past it), and as such young enough to realise that the problem with young people is that you suspect that they're having more fun than you did , I just hope that I remember this.

Random grab bag of thoughts and what have you from the last week or so. Anthony Worrall Thompson. Anthony Worrall Thompson. Anthony. Worrall. Thompson. I'm writing his name three times in order to fix his horrible orc-like face in my memory, and what has the troll-featured cuntbubble done to attracts my ire? Why, suggesting that the minimum wage by abolished. And why should the minimum wage, that succour to nameless millions balancing precariously above the poverty line, be abolished? Because it would make waiting on staff work harder for tips. Anthony Worrall Thompson. Drink it in. Anthony. Worrall. Thompson (this, incidentally, is the same man who suggests turning up to a fully booked restaurant and insisting that you booked, because they'll have to let you in, he is a pox on humanity, a boil on the face of sweet mother earth, an enormous worm ridden shit in your chardonnay, to paraphrase the tone-deaf man's Tasmin Archer, Alanis Morrissette). Ormskirk's getting more ...

So say you were a local journalist writing a story about a schism in the committee at the local cricket club, and say you were looking for a simple, easily recognisable phrase which the vast majority of the population would understand as meaning "a lack of fair play" which, handily, includes the word cricket. Would you, as the Advertiser's boards outside Somerfield proudly do, proclaim said shenanigans to be "not just cricket"? Well would you? In further news from our "Oh for the love of Benji" desk german cyclist Hans Stucke has been pedalling his old sit up and beg bike around the world since 1962. He is officially the world's most travelled man, and, by extension it seems likely that this is the world's most travelled bike. His constant faithful companion on his travels across the globe, across every continent, across deserts, tundra, through war zones without mishap. Until he got a ferry to Portsmouth, and it was nicked by the local scallie...

Further intrepid investigation was, as promised, undergone. It turns out that Ormskirk's crime of the week was a beating inflicted upon a pub singer by a bloke who objected to his singing, heckled him repeatedly and then, when the singer objected to said heckling, dragged him outside and beat the tar out of him. Now, I am temperamentally in favour of criticism being vigorous when necessary, but this is perhaps taking matters too far; the fact that the tune in question was Mr B White's "My First, My Last, My Everything" as inflicted upon your correspondent by countless godawful cabaret artists and sung along to by horrible women who've had too much wine over the years, however, is a mitigating circumstance, and I retain an open mind. The scene of this debate, it will come as no surprise to the Stalybridge contingent to learn, was none other than The Plough, where one clearly can't get the clientele these days. In football news, disappointing to see the Fort ret...

The date, first of May, 2006. The Place, Claggan Park, nestling at the foot of mighty ben Nevis. The Scoreline... Fort William FC 3 Cove Rangers 2. Some bloke who lives in Cove Bay, can you hear me? Some other bloke who lives in Cove Bay, can you hear me? The fishing community that sailed from Cover Harbour in the 1830s supporting around 20 families. Most of them living in the planned hamlet of Cove at the head of the track from the harbour can you hear me? Your boys took a hell of a beating! And not just any old victory this, for Cove lie a dizzying eighth in the league. The scoreline takes The Fort to within nine points of second bottom Brora, and reduces the goal difference to a trifling -80. Total goals conceded 99, which, with a scant handful of games to go leaves this correspondents bet of under 115 shipped total looking distinctly likelier than Jimmy's wildly pessimistic 120+. Jimmy Parker can you hear me? In other news this week's super soaraway Ormskirk Champion has s...

I do not as a matter of course tend to include matters of a personal nature on here when they involve others, not only is it unfair to said others but it detracts from vital updates on the progress of the Ormskirk model boating lake, the progress of Fort William FC and the like (which will be resumed shortly). Nevertheless, this is fairly important. Coastalblog will shortly be making an honest woman of Mrs Coastalblog. Crikey. That is all.

The world's most expensive sandwich is not that overblown monstrosity on sale at Selfridges but is in fact the creation of none other than our very own super soaraway Ormskirk Advertiser's celeb chef Tom Bridge who sniffily points out that his cost £885 (as opposed to the mere £85 that London povvos are prepared to shell out, the measly bastards). It seems to feature an awful lot of caviar, and only a churl would point out that it sounds absolutely revolting (champagne mayonnaise?). Also I refuse to take anyone who lists one of his ingredients as "Exotic Salad" seriously. I furthermore suspect that the price may be inflated slightly by the final instruction to "garnish with a glass of champagne". We import £3,500 worth of chocolate covered waffles from Ireland each year! We export £3,500 worth of chocolate covered waffles to Ireland each year! I think I see a way out of this! (Thanks, The Guardian). It is possible to use the word "and" five times ...

You may remember me. Once upon a time I used to post here fairly regularly. Then came a perod when, well, I just never found myself on the computer at all, what with one thing and another. There's no particular reason for the hiatus, apart from the standard obligations of stuff and things. I've read a bunch of books, done a bunch of marking and got royally trashed at the GMEX, and yet not been near a computer the entire time for some reason. And now I am near a computer, and likely to be so fairly regularly. Still, it was nice out there in the sunshine and showers whilst it lasted. Nothing else to report really, the frenzied debate over a model boating lake for Ormskirk continues to rise to an increasingly feverish pitch, and Coastalblog is gearing up for an extended letter writing campaign to the Champion on behalf of those of us who frankly couldn't give a monkeys (the draft I have saved refers to the Champion's "Rabidly pro-lake stance"). Which should be fu...

In the not too distant past there was an advertising campaign for a brand of yoghurt. the conceit of this campaign was that the yoghurt was tasty, but good for you, thus having pleasure without the pain. The joke being that some other sucker was getting the pain. Hail of nails, rabid dogs etc. They referred to this gag as the "pleasure/pain principle", of which I, yesterday, was a one man example. My final student loan repayment has been made this month, so I had only my outstanding credit card bill to go before being effectively debt free. In a spirit of clearing the decks, bracing fiscal prudence and what have, I decided to get rid of it in one hit. It was not a small cheque that I wrote, and the creamy yoghurty joy of being WITHOUT DEBT FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 1996 (mmmm) was counterbalanced somehwta by the sharp stinging pain in my wallet (ow ow ow) Elsewhere, a bumper crop of entertainment in ths week's super soaraway Ormskirk Champion (which, rather sweetly, is boa...

As is often the way when you're on a creative roll the static becomes defeaning. Where, only a few scant weeks ago you were screaming for the next idea to come from anywhere, it didn't even have to be a particularly good idea, just something to work with. Pah, those arid days seem long ago, just as the complacent slimmer looks at a photograph of his earlier fat self (most likely clad in a bright shirt and wearing the sort of smile that only fat holidaying goons can muster) and tuts indulgently so I regard my inspiration-free alter ego of not so long ago with a particularly smug and annoying brand of pity. But where was I? oh yes, static. There are now that many ideas churning around that I am forced to regard some with suspicion and the old stern eye. I must learn not to get wildly excited when yet another thought pops into my rapidly overheating head, I must learn to fix it with a clear and steady gaze and inquire whether it is a bona fide idea or an imposter, likely to turn i...

Today is March the twelfth. There is a blizzard outside. Snow is piling up in drifts. Today is March the twelfth. This doesn't make any sense. Surely these are the End Times.

Because today, for the first time ever, I completed the Guardian crossword (cryptic, that is, I'm not that easily pleased). It may seem like small beer to some but hey, I'm just learning. Other reasons today has been a good day include: more concrete ideas forming for phd chicken in yoghurt and mustard sauce with PURPLE SPROUTING BROCCOLI for dinner discovering that the last Fort William home game was graced by none other than celebrity alcoholic CHARLES KENNEDY, his presence galvanising the lads to a rousing 3-1 defeat. Come on the Fort! All in all, not bad.

I'm rather taking to this teaching malarkey. I have (as of this morning) just finished my first pile of marking. Now, at first this was a strange experience. Despite having been offered the job, despite all the assurances that I was competent enough for it I found the experience of being the man sitting in judgement on a pile of other people's work somewhat daunting, what with the obvious questions of who am I to judge them etc leaping merrily to the fore. This sensation lasted approximately ten minutes. You see, whilst I was very proud of my students creative efforts, indeed there was some breathtakingly impressive creative work the supplementary discourses (self-assessment, annotated bibliogaphy) were, with a couple of honourable exceptions, woeful. I'm making no great claims for myself here, but I am at the very least capable of constructing a reasonably cogent sentence. Repeatedly I was forced to ask myself the question, how the hell did you make it through to third yea...

Value x in an indeterminate sequence of y It's time to name and shame, people. It's time for me to use this forum to point fingers at the tight-arsed, pocket-patting bill-splitters of this world. You know the ones. The mean-featured "well I only had soup" utterers of this world who sneak guilty glances at the door even as they make damn sure that they're topping their glass up from the communal wine. And I'm arranging it by profession. Yes! It's Coastalblog's Top five worst tipping professions: NUMBER FIVE: The Banking industry. Yes, being around all that money all morning means clearly that when it comes to lunchtime they don't want to be seeing any more of the stuff than strictly necessary. Better yet, why not pay on the company card and look apologetically at the gap left for gratuities? We understand, it's okay, we're only on, like, a quarter of your wage. NUMBER FOUR: People on expense accounts. Oh my my my. What particularly galls ...

Ten things 1) Long poem sequences (for list of rules see 2) my new blog ) 3) Off to Liverpool Saturday for Jim's birthday, beer and SUSHI = what's not to like? 4) Elastica's version of Trio's Da Da Da 5) Amiri Baraka 6) Two hundred pounds worth of tax rebate OH YES 7) It's nearly spring so therefore justifying 8) Guilt-free crushes 9) Avocado salsa with lemon and chilli 10) Really fucking big cigars POSSIBLY ALL AT THE SAME TIME

Who needs kids? Coastalblog would like to take this opportunity to salute the latest(temporary) addition to our household; brought home for the hols by Roe, Herbert the Hamster, a diminutive creature who spends all day asleep. Naturally indigent occasional lodger, Treacle the Cat, is intrigued, but is not currently being allowe in, leading to plenty of hurt posturing on windowsills. In non Hamster related news Jim is back in the hunt for the great Fort William goals conceded spread, as despite a gallant battle Fort succumbed to Fraserburgh yesterday by the mere matter of seven goals to two. Poor show. I myself am considering withdrawing, ooh, about fifty quid, and heading north to "Do an Abramovich"

No fixture for the Fort this weekend, though intrepid digging does yield this frankly sordid tale . My hat would be off were it not that I don't wear hats. No presence of mine at last week's cut-throat derby in the Albert's quiz, so it would be unseemly to write a report up under the circs, suffice it to say the phrase "garden variety" would have appeared. Normal service to be resumed shortly. Otherwise? Otherwise it's all pretty good. Lecturing is very much fun, stroppy teenagers aside (my third years are lovely, on account of having had a crucial couple of years growing up behind them, the first years are mostly pleasant enough but...fech, well, I remember what an annoying bastard I was at that age). I'm learning a lot, and learning it fast. Rather exhilerating, actually. And, to conclude, enjoy Valentine's Day. I shall be celebrating it in the usual manner, by going to work and ignoring it entirely(though I am sorely tempted by the 8p Asda Cards, ma...

Now, we are a varied bunch of supporters here at Coastal Towers. I myself am Spurs born and bred, when Liverpool are winning Jim pretends to take an interest (that's not strictly fair, it just seems that whenever they register a loss I can't seem to find him for a couple of days) and Roe remains stoutly, if misguidedly, loyal to Grimsby Town. However there's one team which captured our hearts earlier this season, and to whom my loyalties, if I only I could, would switch. Step forward FOrt William FC . Now, the Scottish league is routinely derided here in England. I recall Gretna Green, when they played in the Unibond, getting absolutely twatted by Burscough, a village marginally smaller than my living room. Gretna switched leagues and are currently top of the Scottish division two, Burscough are two whole divisions away from playing league football. So it follows that the Highland league, scottish non-league, is perhaps not of the most forbidding standard. Unless you're...