Coastalblog

It's hard work maintaining an interest in England Football (caps intentional). Please don't get me wrong, from the first world cup I can recall (Mexico 86) through the horrors of the 88 european championship, the zeitgeist shifting italia 90, the less said the better euro 92, the abortion of a qualifying campaign for USA 94, the worrying jingoism of euro 96, the drewery years, the keegan years (drop hand grenades!), cashgate, cripplegate, brollygate, I've been there. But really, in all honesty, I'm finding it hard to get worked up about this. I'll confess, I don't have half the emtional investment in the england football team that I do in the rugby side, and only a quarter of that which I have in the cricket team. But, I suspect, the crucial difference is those sides don't seem like a bunch of whinging, overpaid primadonna arseholes with a deep and overriding conviction that the world revolves around their limited talents. Terry's self-important pronounc...

Daily Mail readers rubbish in bed proven by science

Now it is of zero interest to me personally if Chris Huhne decides he wants to trade hid wife in for a younger model. Sunrise, sunset. However, his peremptorily bald twitter announcement did pique my interest slightly; for those unaware it read, simply: "I am in a serious relationship with Carina Trimingham and I am separating from my wife." Bully for you Chris. However it strikes me that it would be a touch more seemly to have included a smidgeon of contrition, no? I'm reminded of the magnificent performance of Beatrice Straight in the stupendous Network, who, confronting her cheating husband delivers the following speech Get out, go anywhere you want, go to a hotel, go live with her, and don't come back. Because, after 25 years of building a home and raising a family and all the senseless pain that we have inflicted on each other, I'm damned if I'm going to stand here and have you tell me you're in love with somebody else. Because this isn't a conven...

So anyhow, just in case the news had slipped your attention, as it turns out the two young men whose untimely deaths sparked the whole oh no surely the mephedrone will kill us all farrago's autopsy reports came in last week (meant to post before, too busy etc). No mephedrone in their systems. At all. Not a tiny drug-shaped sausage. Mystifyingly this wasn't widely reported. Cannot for the life of me think why.

Twice in one night! I Know! But I'm SO excited about eh labour party leadership contest I couldn't wait! To recap: 1) Middle class white bloke, awesome, strong candidate, who believes we need to talk to the grassroots 2) Middle class white bloke's middle class, white brother, who is different, yeah? Strongly believes we need to talk to the grass roots 3) Middle class white bloke, marginally less interesting than his wife, feels very strongly that we need to talk to the party's grass roots. 4) Middle class white bloke BUT possessed of a northern accent. Firmly believes we need to talk to the party's grass roots. These are all important, white, middle-class opinions, and in no sense is coastalblog suggesting that the the labour leadership constest is going to descend into a wearying blairalike roundelay in which a bunch of fucking arseholes who haven't grasped that it's THEIR FUCKING FAULT THAT I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH CAMERON'S FACE bang on agreeing with ea...

I have been, as is my wont, a trifle busy. Do not weep for me my children, for this is a good thing. When you own your own business, for reasons which become increasingly obscure, busy is good. I'm often amused by people coming in very early/late in an apologetic manner: "I'm sorry to bother you" they whisper, ashen-faced "No! Bother me!" I cry "Because bothering me will involve money! Which I can exchange for goods or services!" So said level of activity has left poor old coastalblog maundering, mouldering, skulking like a whipped cur, which of course, will not do. It's also left the old trying to do a spot of writing depressingly firmly on the back burner. I wouldn't mind, in all seriousness, were it not that much of my activity is that which I used to delegate to others, back in the day. I've done my years of pot-washing, floor-cleaning, extractor-fan grease removing. And now I'm doing them again. Because it means I don't hav...

Unfairly labelled as the weak track on OK Computer, I rather liked it. So I have refrained from commenting on the hullabaloo for the duration of the campaign, partially because I couldn't be arsed but mostly because, please, a blogger? Commenting about the election? Kind of declasse, non? But now that the jig is finally up I can breathe out and start with the usual flotsam again. Some final thoughts, however: It was entertaining to see the candidates addresses on the ballot, various streets and postcodes, mostly Skem and Liverpool addresses. The one who didn't have a house number? Because his house is massive? And on its own? Surrounded, I choose to believe, by a moat? Go on, guess. THEY HAVE NOT CHANGED, THEY WILL NOT CHANGE. In all seriousness, the day I see a Tory party candidate with a Digmoor address I'll be approx .5% more inclined to give a flying fuck about them. Osborne. Osborne. Osborne. Look at his fucking face. Look at his shiny face. Tell me that's not evil...

Please do not use these in my hearing, I have but one life to live, and I'd prefer not to spend it drowning you forcibly. "Game Changer" "Game Face" "Cleggstacy" "Broken Britain" "Big Society" "The Old Parties" (from the leader of the Whigs, as far as I can gather) "Tactical voting" (or, "voting" as it used to be called) doubtless more to follow, as the whole sorry farrago reaches its dreary apotheosis.

Hello! Been quiet round here of late for work-related, and then holiday related, reasons. Of these I shall divulge little. Suffice to say, should you find yourself in the staffordshire village of Cotton, bugger off for a bite to eat at the Star Inn sharpish, and you will be a happy person. Conversely, should you find yourself in the otherwise blameless town of Leek, avoid the Foxlowe at all costs. Trust me. So, what news? Well, medialess as I have been in the blessedy mobile-signal free, shopless retreat that yours truly has been holed up in for the last few days I only found out about the giant cloud of volcanic ash covering the country yesterday. I had suspected something was up when strolling down to the aforementioned Star for a (really quite good) beer and the sun was a frankly jaw-dropping shade of pink, but only got filled in n the details when I got back to the world of news access (I hear young Clegg did rather well, good for him). And the point of this post is this: whilst I ...

Hysterical (in at least two senses of the word) report on C4 news this evening. The (apparent)rise of mephedrone (which will surely Kill Us All) was tackled with all the head nodding, chin stroking gravitas of a Very Serious Subject. M-Cat, or meow-meow, as absolutely nobody calls it, is killing our kids at a rate of knots. And is now to be banned so fast its little feet, made of drugs, won't touch the ground. Now, fond as I am of a media scare story (oh MMR, come back, we miss you, oh SARS, when will you return my love?) this is a doozy. No toxicology reports are back on the cases. Not a single inquest has, as yet been held, but this menace Must Be Stopped. Because, as C4 earnestly reported from a school on the Isle of Wight (in no sense the sort of back-assward place where goons will hoover up the contents of anyting remotely resembling a pill bottle in a desperate hope to stop being so very, very bored) half, that's HALF, 50%, one in every two yrs 10-11 were getting the ...

In all honesty i have very little of intersst to say, very little of interest has occurred, or ,if it has, I'v been too knackered to notice. So, in the absence of anything interesting to say, have a list of things. Originally this paragraph concluded "which, given that the universe is slowing, are, in the grand scheme of things of very little consequence indeed". As the post went on and I got slightly drunker editing that particular line out suddenly seemed the correct thing to do. 1)TOO MANY COMMAS I'd murder a student for the sentence above, really, I would, hold their head under the water until the irritating, trilby wearing little trustie fuckpig died, which leads me neatly onto 2) IRRITATING TRILBY-WEARING LITTLE TRUSTIE FUCKPIGS I'm sure they're on the fucking rise this cunt ensured that I'm never paying actual money for the observer again, in fact, I'll go to the trouble of emailing them each week to tell them that I'm not buying their sudd...

Now, I'm as fond of a drink as the next man, unless the next man happens to be (insert recent drunk celebrity here for instant smug yucks) but I'm starting to get a little uneasy about the up and up of the booze-tastic trade in dear ol' ormy of late. Please do not misunderstand me, part of my living comes from the sale of alcohol, though I very much doubt that any criticism of the binge-drinking britain sort could be directed at my eminent and tasteful customers, what with the average purchase being a couple of bottles of beer, meant for the savouring, rather than necking. Plus, if you want to try and get drunk on our stuff then you're probably coping better with these recession-hit times than most. This is in no sense a complaint by somone witha slice of the pie wanting to stop others geting stuck in, I'm talking about a different market altogether. Now, should one wish to get out of one's head in the skirk, there are currently about thirty options within fifte...

In no sense as long a post as the one crowning Asley Cole world's least self aware person, but, to be fair this is more a of a niche category. And just a little too involved to be a facebook status update. what's the award? You rightly cry. Well, it's not so much an award as an attempt to spread the misery, so, without further ado the prize for this week's most pretentious, self-aggrandising punchable indie wankbag lyric goes to... Frankie and the Heartstrings, for the deathless "We watch naked by Mike Leigh/Because Johnny reminded you of me" Awful, just awful.

A quick perusal of the logs informs me that your super soaraway coastalblog is #4 on google for " john terry ashley cole vernon kay scum". Well, strictly speaking the searcher was looking for scun, rather than scum, but kindly google in its infinite wisdom chose to interpret the search as scum, thus sparing awkward moments all round. Well done chaps, good luck with the global domination, I've a fiver on you meeting Tesco in the semis. Anyhoo, a small achievement, but mine nonethless. #4 for "Vernon Kay scum", that's something to tell the grandkids.

Breaking news from our stating the bleeding obvious desk. A spokesman for Sanguine Hospitality, owners of the Swan has reiterated that any hotel accomodation would not be in any way a budget hotel, what with it being attached to a restaurant fronted by Marco Pierre White and all. Reports that he went on, whilst audibly scratching his head to state "who the fuck are these bozos anyway?" are, as yet, unconfirmed. Champ headline of the week, referring to a stirring performance by Skem Utd FC: "Skem players prove they are men", which must have come as some relief to them, presumably.

Because if you can't do it on your own damn blog, where can you? Musn't..gush...or...get...overexcited.... Anyhow, for those who are interested, my first poetry collection, L39, is available for sale now here . Not only is it the single most important thing to happen to poetry since the invention of daffodils possessing it will make you smell nicer, grow taller and become better-looking, too. What's not to like for a fiver? C'mon, help a starving poet out here.

Been a while since the super, soaraway Ormskirk Champion has served up such a treat, but this one is wonderful. So anyhow, Marco Pierre White attaches his name to the Swan Inn in Aughton, relaunching it under his aegis. So far so so. Some locals are surprised to learn that he's not cooking there himself, but as they are clearly dolts we shall not allow them to detain us further. Coastalblog is midly intrigued, and will probably toddle along for a spot of dinner in a few months or so, when it's all calmed down a bit. It then emerges that the parent company (no people, not Marco himself, he is a name attached to said company, do keep up) have applied for planning permission to add some accomodation to said restaurant. You know, the restaurant which is under the aegis of multi award winning, one of the kickers off of the late eighties british food revolution, resolutely top end Marco Pierre White. That restaurant. That restaurant to have some accomodation attached. Lets be absolut...

I've had to unban you for this, it's too good. Oh Ashley Ashley, Oh Ashley Ashley Ashley Cole. You genius, you little fucking genius, amidst a world of pygmies you bestride the land like a colossus. Truly we have never seen your like. It started, of course, with your autobiography, and with your hard hitting revelation that tightwad Arsenal wouldn't give you your due, in your own words: When I heard Jonathan repeat the figure of £55k, I nearly swerved off the road. “He is taking the piss, Jonathan!” I yelled down the phone. I was so incensed. Not only did you think that figure of 55K a week insultingly low, you chose to share it with the world, because no-one would see anything wrong with that. At all. We'll gloss over the lottery advert, shall we? And now, now you are "incensed" (there's that word again)that Chelsea plan to punish you in the wake of your perfectly reasonable dalliances with a series of doubtless thoroughly pleasant young ladies. It's ...

Big review seems like a good idea, then they go and stuff it full of awful charts telling us what some bookshop in fucking brighton or something sells. Or downloads. Or sits in a coffee shop and dreams about whilst they use their twatting iphone to like arrange a meetup yeah at that hot new popup joint which does, like, proper Vietnamese, yeah? I find it hard to care about review sections unless they have honest to goodness reviews in them. Thankfully this one's big enough to include that too, on balance, a plus. But I still can't shake the feeling that it's, I don't know, slightly thicker (in the IQ sense) than it used to be? Possibly? Hmm. Sport, ugly fonts, kudos on the fergie interview though. Nearly had a heart attack when I thought they'd ditched said and done, mightily relieved to find it it though. News, as you were. Something hatable about the magazine, can't quite put my finger on it. Scandalous relegation of Atkin, poor show (but then like, yeah, mayb...

Some notes for your diary, the following words and phrases are banned in my hearing until further notice. "In real terms" "Contextualised" "Knocking it out of the park" "That's old-school" "That's what I bring to the table/party (delete as applicable)" "Punch and Judy politics" Any figure over 100% is banned should it succeed the words "giving it" in a verb clause, all other usages are acceptable. Any mention of MP's expenses is banned should you yourself have an expense account/petty cash tin/access to a stationery cupboard. Discussion of the BNP voting for non-whites to be allowed to join is banned, likewise anything which could be deemed a liberal hot button du jour. John Terry is banned, likewise Ashley Cole. Vernon Kay's ban is not be rescinded under any circumstances. George Lamb will remain banned until such time as his accent ascends to its correct social class. And he fucks off. Florence and ...