I watch football on the internet sometimes. You can get dodgy live feeds from all over the world. I only do it as a last resort - when a game isn't on British television. It's a great form of cultural enrichment, though. So far I've seen Manchester United play on Saudi Arabian, Spanish, Greek, Iranian, Japanese, Norwegian and Canadian TV.
The best part is half-time. Each country has its own version of Des Lynham presenting. In most places he wears a jacket and jeans and strolls around the studio, very casually informing his fellow countrymen of how Stoke are getting on against Hull.
The Norwegian Des Lynham has a big head-set to prove he means business.
The Greek channel doesn't have a live studio link. It just shows scores from other matches at half-time. There is an angry man talking loudly over the top of them. He is my favourite. I like to think he's a wearing jacket and jeans too; just in case a camera should ever capture him.
The real fun starts with the adverts. You're going to think I've embellished this next story a bit but I swear it's the truth. I saw an advert on Spanish TV which started with a close up of a model's shapely legs. The camera slowly panned up her body, as far as her chest. She gave a little groan of pleasure. The next thing you see is three twenty-something men (the Spanish equivalent of those dicks on Carling adverts) watching football on the tele in the next room. They put the volume on mute when they hear the girl groan. They look at one another and run in a supposedly comedic fashion to the door, all trying trying to get through at the same time. You get another glimpse of the model's body. Then her face. Her eyes are closed and she has a cheeky smile. She puts her index finger in her mouth and sucks it. 'Mmmm.' She can hear the boys trying to get in.
Eventually, they all manage to break into the room to see what all the excitement is about. She looks at the boys suggestively. The next shot reveals what it is that's making her feel sensuous.
I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw what it was. I didn't know one even existed beyond the borders of this sceptred isle we call home. I've never known one make a woman feel like that, either.
It was a bourbon biscuit.
And it looked exactly, absolutely exactly the same as the ones over here. It even had the slight sprinkling of sugar granules on top.
Don't let anyone tell you that football is not an enlightening sport. I feel a closer bond to the people of Spain now than I have at any other time in my life.
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I've always been aware of John Lennon's tendency to do impressions of disabled people. Over the years I've seen countless clips of him sticking his tongue into his chin and screwing up his face. Basically doing the same impression most of us regrettably did in school playgrounds. I've even seen a slow-motion clip of him doing it during a supposedly heart-rendering montage of his career (with 'In My Life' playing over the top!). Yet I've always given him the benefit of the doubt. He had an unusual life. People who are thrust into the spotlight in their early years generally take a bit longer to grow up. There are very few young stars who have matured gracefully (except 'Tucker' Jenkins who now, I think you'll agree, does an admirable job keeping the criminals at bay on The Bill).
I have been watching the excellent Beatles Anthology series on Youtube over the last fortnight. The footage and interviews are superb. I can't recommend it highly enough. Even if you don't even like The Beatles. However, there is one clip I saw last week which I can't get out of my mind.
It is a clip of a concert from the mid-sixties. The Beatles are on stage looking very Beatle-esque. The concert hall is packed with girls, all of whom felt the best way to enjoy the greatest band ever was to screeeeeeeam from the moment they got through the doors until the moment they got out again (I'd like to think that the screaming continued in the venue's toilet too. A busy toilet full of people acting very normally but screaming as they do so. Screaming manically to themselves as they use the hand-dryer.) As the band finish one of their songs, McCartney asks for some audience participation (beyond screaming) and says 'Clap your hands.'
Lennon responds by sticking his tongue into the side of his mouth and contorting his face. He shapes his hands into twisted claws and utters 'Clap hands,' whilst clumsily slapping them together.
The crowd scream.
'And stamp your feet,' says McCartney.
'Stampey feet,' replies Lennon, the working class hero. He stomps around the stage like he has severe Down's -sydrome. He is still clapping.
More screams and laughter.
It's hideous.
He ends his routine with a comedy jig, too. To show us that he's fine really and we needn't worry...
Lennon may very well have repented of his repeated mocking of the afflicted in later years. Although I have never read of him doing so. Yet it is moments like this which make me particularly annoyed with the hallowed 'great philosopher' status he enjoys. He is often quoted on posters, tee-shirts, postcards and in books as though he is on a par with the Dalai Lama or Ghandi. If you read into his life story you will possibly find a man you don't particularly like. Unlike the truly great heroes of philosophy, Lennon did not practice what he preached. That is key. That is the difference. Lennon may have said some clever things, but, as far as I know, Ghandi very rarely cracked out the old Down's impression at one of his protests.
I sometimes get annoyed just thinking about Lennon in his New York penthouse, imagining no possessions.
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We're very, very close to finishing the recording. It's exciting. After all this time we're nearly there. I really think you'll like it. The eighteen songs are all but finished. We're just fannying about now, playing with things and mixing.
We will maybe put a track up on this site later this week. We'll keep you posted. Can you bear the suspense? If not, I recommend you have a Bourbon or two to tide you over.
Have a good week,
Ryan
p.s. Apologies for the use of the word 'fannying.'