On Fun With Fi And Jane And Why the Internet Revives The Best English Language Radio Station Ever

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

I have noticed a subtle change in my radio habits. Other than background when I'm doing something else on a workday (Classical King FM / RTE Lyric FM) or when West Ham is playing or Test Match Special is on I'm finding that I'm no longer listening to an English language radio station.

(On a non workday I do listen to a station in a language I'm trying to learn. In fact after I've finished this I'll be listening to the Irish state broadcaster RTE's Gaelic station. Now don't be impressed I won't understand anything other than "Teresa May" "Brexit" and probably I'll find out what the Gaelic for "Idiot" is. But it will give me a sense of how it sounds)

Anyway back to English language listening. I find myself spending one day on podcasts and the other replicating the best English language station I've ever heard. I'll deal with the latter later. But let's start with podcasts.

I have previously chatted about the Backlisted podcast in this blog and the latest one I've stumbled upon is Fortunatlely...with Fi and Jane. This is a BBC podcast where Fi Glover and Jane Garvey chat about life, universe and everything with themselves and then a guest from the world of broadcasting  but always drawing itself back to these ladies' first true love I'd guess radio.

When I get find a podcast I always start from the first episode. Which means currently I'm on the world as it is on November 2017 (better than it is now on Brexit eve I can tell you!) but as the episode dated 10 November showed. the ladies don't need a guest really. They could entertainingly hold a conversation to the listener. They are also candid about everything. Not quite Caitlin Moran candid (if you hear Jane Garvey after episode one of the Radio 4 adaptation of How To Be A Woman I think you will hear what could only be described as a broadcasting blush) but still these are ladies who aren't afraid of anything.

Ms Garvey presented the drive time show on Radio 5 live with Peter Allen which was the only drive time show I could say I was a fan of. Ms Glover introduces The Listening Project where people discuss their lives for posterity. But more importantly that that she also wrote the best book about radio I've ever read  called Travels With My Radio I'm An Oil Tanker where she visits more unusual radio stations round the world. It's a great read.

They personify the thing that radio at it's best could achieve that TV has never seemed able to do. The feeling that the people you're listening to are friends even though you've never met them. I seem to remember having the same view of Terry Wogan and before I was aware of his writing skills just knew him from The News Quiz Alan Coren.

Apparently when I eventually reach the present day I would have to listen to Fortunately exclusively on BBC Sounds. Something which the BBC Iplayer radio App now incorporates. I'm still keeping the BBC Iplayer radio app mind you. Because I've been able to recreate the best English Language Radio Station I've ever heard.....the BBC World Service....in the seventies and eighties.

UK National radio stations have always been "themed" channels in my lifetime. But the BBC World service (where you could listen in the UK on your AM dial - now that really dates me) was different because it would have news, but also drama, music (all types) sports and programmes where for example a guest would pick his/her favourite book. I remember Arthur Scargill (kids google his name) picked The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists. It would also broadcast shows like Round The Horne or Just A Minute. All of this on just one channel.

And with the Iplayer radio App (and I hope with BBC Sounds) you can download most (not  it seems sport) programmes from all the different BBC radio stations and listen to them seamlessly as if creating your own little radio station catering to your own varied tastes (A note. Most downloads will expire 30 days from broadcasting)

New technology then. Taking me back.

Until the next time.

In Which I Learn That New Houses Are Like Chocolate Bars As We Go From Penarth To Barry With George

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

A Sunday where like the day before the grey sky threatened snow but thankfully chickened out. Still it was bitterly cold helped by the wind which swept up and wrapped you up in its icy embrace.

Perfect day then to go out.

Wife and I had decided to spend the day going out and doing some of those things that my short illness stopped us from doing the weekend before. First off was a trip to Penarth but not the Penarth by the water but the relatively new housing development called Penarth Heights. Which is basically housebuilder speak for you can see the sea but from a distance

Once upon a time this was known as the "Billy Banks". The area with, shall we say, the reputation. Now on this matter I'm not going any further simply because it wasn't long after I moved to Wales that things began to change and this development began (what I'm trying to say is that I've no personal experience of what it was beforehand). Clearly though things had changed. These new houses had this multi coloured building block look. As if constructed by Lego.

Going into the sales office we agreed to go and view two three bedroomed showhomes. Both as it happened were a waste of time. New homes we realised were just like chocolate bars as they were smaller than in the past despite the glossy exterior. Few of the bedrooms on show tellingly had wardrobes but you instantly knew they'd be too small.

The living rooms too made you wonder where would you put more than one sofa.

The most incredible part of the trip was when the wife enquired as to whether there was an attic in the second house. "Yes" came the reply from the sales lady. But because of the insulation if the developers discovered you had put stuff up there for storage then if there was a problem you had violated the terms of the new build guarantee. An attic without storage......daft really.

It had been a good learning experience even though in the end we didn't go further forward.

The second part of the day was to be spent visiting a friend in her new house in Barry Town. She actually moved last September following her divorce but that particular weekend I'd not been able to visit because of a preplanned trip to visit my mother in Essex so I had not visited the house before as other factors (mainly work) had stopped me.

From the outside the house was that classic Welsh terraced look which is not unattractive. However it gave no indication of the clean ,modern look inside. It was one of the most deceptive houses I had ever seen. It appeared that by having the wall between the dining and living rooms taken away open plan living had been achieved in an instant. Our friend it appeared had fallen her feet. We were pleased for her. The past few years had been tough.

And through all this time I had George Eliot's The Mill on the Floss with me to read when opportunity arose. It has become one of those books you are itching to read at every possible moment. Yes it's that good.

It's not the book I've finished today though. That's Welcome To Kington by Miles Kington. To be honest I didn't like it at all. It simply wasn't funny. Alan Coren is still king in my eyes.

Amongst the great e unread on the Kindle the next book selected is a book of poetry by Christina Rossetti. We'll see how that pans out.

Until the next time.

From Wales To Armenia In A Day. That's What Reading Can Do

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

It's three forty five pm yesterday. I'm in the car waiting for my daughter's school bus to arrive. The weather is cliché Welsh. Cold, grey and pouring down with rain. No matter that this band of rain is going to sweep across most of Britain it's obviously "Welsh" weather. To sprinkle the cliché off you remind yourself that it's a Monday. I want to go home and have a cup of tea.

For this day I'm abandoning my normal reading schedule. Having hardly read anything for the last few days from being unwell I decided to concentrate on finishing one book of the current four I've got on the go at the moment. And, as it's the one, closest to the end that was An Armenian Sketchbook by Vasily Grossman.

This book is an account of his time in Armenia helping to translate a work by an Armenian writer into Russian. It's in the nineteen sixties so, Armenia as an independent nation doesn't exist (part of the then USSR). Interestingly Grossman does refer to Armenia as a nation often in this book. I'd wondered whether at that time it was rather like what Wales, Scotland are like now.

I've no idea whether calling it a Sketchbook comes from the Russian, but it's really a perfect title. There seems to be an organised randomness where he would explain something that happened to him and then go off on a tangent on something else only to return to the original event. The point though is that it's done effortlessly, and you the reader are not lost as he does so.

It's exactly what Twilight In Italy by D H Lawrence should have been but wasn't.

You can guess from the above that not only did I finish this book but I loved it. A book about a country (now) that I know little about in a time I can barely remember and yet (early days I know) it's the best book I've read this year so far. When I eventually move towards his novel Life and Fate it will encourage me.

Would it also encourage me to visit Armenia? No. Simply because I'd suspect that most of "the Armenia" that's in the book has long since gone. A few years ago I'd decided to visit the village of Gilfach Goch as it was apparently where Richard Llewellyn based his novel How Green Was My Valley. I knew that the coal mine was no more (interestingly there's now a wind farm there - quiet as well) but the building that the Inn/hotel was based on in the book was a ruin bordering on rubble.

One final point that I've mentioned in an earlier post. Not exactly a spoiler but the introduction might mention a fact about Grossman that will affect how you read the text. I can't go into any further details but you have been warned and not read it until you've finished the rest of it.

So the next book amongst the great eunread is Welcome To Kington by Miles Kington. A collection of this humourist's columns. I got it as I was wondering who else to read in this vein aside from Alan Coren and he came to mind.

From Wales To Armenia in a day.....that's what reading can do.

Until the next time.

In Parallel Universes I Had An Interesting Saturday Going Out And Doing Things....Not This One

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

What was I going to do Saturday? Well after going out for breakfast as there was a viewing for our house at the unearthly hour of nine thirty I actually had various ideas.

Bore Coffi Porthcawl: On the first Saturday of the month in the local tabernacle church there is a Bore Coffi  (Coffee morning) between ten and twelve where over hot beverages people chat in Welsh. I'd not been there for years. Partly due to when I'd stopped learning Welsh and now because I always seemed to be working on that particular Saturday. Not this Saturday though.

Penarth Heights: Since the sale of the house had fallen through it had been pointless to go and view other houses. This though was an exception as it was a new development (as you can tell by the name - "Heights" - along with "village" names developers like to use) should we like it part exchange was an option.

It was unlikely. What we could see online suggested that the rooms, rather like chocolate bars these days, were going to be too small. Still there would be no harm in having a look.

Visiting a friend in Barry: Regular readers of this blog may remember that I mentioned a friend of my wife who moved from Cardiff to Barry in September following her divorce. I'd not been able to help with the moving as it coincided with my trip to London on the twenty fifth anniversary of my father's death.

Well I've still not visited the house. Mainly because it clashed with work. Not that I was particularly bothered. There may come a moment of I'll have to view many houses but going round one just because somebody's moved there holds no interest for me whatsoever. Even so, though I was disinterested there was no real excuse not to go and also it did link with.....

Football: The house was apparently close to Jenner Park, the home of Barry Town FC. I'd done my research ("research" meaning I went online) "Let's visit W" I'd say to my wife "Just make sure it's before two o'clock so I can watch the game". Can't say she appreciated that.

If that proved impossible I could have gone to watch Penybont FC. Ton Pentre though were playing away. One day I'll be able to become part owner (annual fee of £20) of that club.....just not this Saturday.

There we are. All those things to do. And didn't do any of them.

Let's come back to this universe. Returning to the house after having breakfast. I had to immediately go to the toilet. I will spare you full details, suffice it to say that it was graphic and I needed to take anti diarrhoea pills afterwards.

The point is that I suffer from time to time with vasovagal attacks. The thing I know about these attacks is that they occur if I'm physically weak (not necessarily ill, just weak) because of something else causing me to faint. I'd no idea whether this was going to be just such an attack but I couldn't take the risk of fainting outside of home and all the problems that would cause. So stay in we did.

The wife didn't object. She'd seen me faint often enough to know that discretion was the better part of valour. So the rest of my day was spent propped up on the settee with water and later toast to build me up.

Tried to read. Finished The Cricklewood Tapestry by Alan Coren. Can't say I liked it as much as the first two but then again wasn't really in full reading mode. Similarly tried a few pages of the Vasily Grossman, which I do like, but really wasn't up to it.

Watched about four to five episodes of The Gilmore Girls on Netfllix with the wife. I'm really into the show. Much to my (and wife/daughter's) surprise. Just Netflix you understand. Really was in no mood to chill.

So on a Saturday was the first one that went to bed, even though I would have normally stayed up to watch Match of The Day given that West Ham won. That will wait until the Sunday morning repeat which as I'm writing this is less than half an hour away.

I feel better now. Not one hundred percent but well enough to say with confidence to the wife that she can go out to watch Italy Wales play rugby at a friend's house with the girls later today.

So apologies that readers in parallel universes had a more varied post than you've got today. Let's hope the roles are reversed soon.

Until the next time,

The State Of The Bookshop

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Well have read the short essay The Bookshop Strikes Back by Ann Patchett , bought as I explained yesterday in a bookshop near West Ham's old ground in Upton Park in which she explained how she set up a bookshop in Nashville.

Let me say from the outset that I have absolutely no idea about the state of the bookshop in America. But in terms of Britain I can't really say I was convinced by her optimistic tone.

Now bare in mind that I'm chatting about new books. If you're talking about preowned then the situation is slightly different.

The point is this. You don't judge the state of bookshops in Britain from the vantage point of places like London or Cardiff but in small towns like Bridgend or Porthcawl. So far, I can only see decline.

If you exclude supermarkets then in the Bridgend area there is, with the specialised exceptions of the Welsh language and Christian shops just two places that sell books to any significant degree. The first is W H Smith. It's branch in Ilford (now part of a shopping centre but then just a tiny store) was one of the first providers of my reading education. It was a British shop in the sense that it provided a refined service that you would automatically rely upon. Now though, it will sell anything it can in a manner of a desperate used car salesman .

Slowly but surely the number of books it sells has declined. Part of this is understandable given the advances of such things as DVDs but, as I've explained in an earlier post. Soon the basement floor of the Bridgend branch is going to be turned into the town post office. Consequently what was there will be moved to the ground floor with an obvious consequence that the number and range of books sold will be cut.

The other place is The Works in the Macarthur Glen outlet store. That was a place that used to sell discounted books only. No more. Now books jostles with stationary, sweets, gifts, calendars and games for your attention (As an aside all these non city versions of Monopoly, from The Simpsons through to Doctor Who. Apart from rabid fans are there people who actually think this is more preferable than the classic version?)

Porthcawl did have an independent bookshop but it closed down a few years ago to be replaced by a chemist. In a relatively small area it has three chemists but no bookshops.

The nearest independent bookshop is a small place in the nearby town of Cowbridge . Trouble is it's fifteen minutes roughly from where I live and am not travelling there on the off chance there's a book I might like to buy. (It also incidentally has competition from - when it's opened,another story- a second hand bookshop that sells vintage Penguin paperbacks which of course I collect).

The nearest after that are in the big cities of Cardiff and Swansea about forty minutes away. But again you're not going to travel those distances when there's the comfort of the internet to fall back on.

The situation is exactly like the issue of bank branches. People might do e banking or use a cashpoint but they would want the branch to be there as well and miss it when the bank closes it down. Similarly people might order books online and via the e reader (guilty) but a bookshop would be appreciated as well. Whether it would be economically viable is of course the million dollar question.

So I wish I could be as optimistic as Ms Patchett about the state of the bookshop. But for the moment all I see is the dawning of a new grey.

The new book to read (bought online) is:

Alan Coren - The Cricklewood Tapestry

This is the third part of his humorous essays. Am looking forward to reading it and having my mood lightened by a master of his craft.

Until the next time.

Pondering Pirlo,Coronating Coren and The Novel That Might Make Post Office Employees Cry

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Well have finished three books today clearly my reading habits are following the bus principle of finishing more than one on the same day after a wait.

Let's start with I Think Therefore I Play, the autobiography of Italian footballing legend Andrea Pirlo. I say "autobiography" because that's how it seemed to have started.

However a few chapters in I get confused. The timeline makes no sense to me whatsoever. Only as I go into this book deeper does it suddenly make sense. It's a collection of essays with biographical anecdotes and opinions put on them. So for example he could chat about referees, racism or playing for Italy.

Once you understand that the book is readable. Although a rough knowledge of his career would help the unwary.

Alan Coren's Toujours Cricklewood was a welcome reminder of the amiable man who would always be your friend even though you never knew him. Every piece was a comic gem that left a smile on my face.

For the moment I'm going to fire up the Kindle and use that when waiting fore people in the car.....until the copy of the third book in the trilogy, The Cricklewood Tapestry arrives.

Michael Palin has done something rare in my experience. Not since Kingsley Amis has my opinion of a writer changed radically from one book to the next. From the disappointment of volume  two of these diaries to my admiration for Hemingway's Chair, his 1995 "comic" novel.

It's the story of Martin Sproale. assistant postmaster in a small town and Hemingway addict, when he faces "progress" in the form of the new postmaster of the Post Office. Written when the Post Office and the Royal Mail was one organisation (though he does predict the privatised spilt) Palin cleverly shows the slow but insidious effects on an organisation when it's taken over by people know the price of everything and the value of nothing. The sort of people who are obsessed by efficiency savings , branding and gloss but at the same time ignoring what made the organisation respected in the first place and not caring about its effects

(Now of course there is a lot more to the plot than that but I try my best not to spoil things for the new reader)

The thing is if you work/worked in the Post Office and remember how things were you will get bittersweet reading this. You might even shed a tear at memories of things past.

It's the sort of book that I've always admired. Something to say about Britain today (even though it was written over twenty years ago) but done in a way that could appeal to everyone who read it whatever their background. Reminded me of Sue Townsend in that regard.

There are a few similarities between what happens to the Post Office in the novel and the one in Bridgend Town (though not to spoil things I'm not going to list them - just understand that you cannot assume that when I'm talking about some similarities I'm implying everything). I was tempted to send my copy to them but then saw sense. It would have been an action at best pointless and at worse patronising and condescending. Still it made the book even more topical to me than it was already.

It has an all too human hero, it has villains and it has Hemingway (though don't let that put you off. You can enjoy this even if you've never heard/read of him before).

If you can get your hands on this do so. You won't regret it.

The next book on the pile of the great unread is this:

Dave Edmonds & John Eidinow - Bobby Fischer Goes To War

This is the account of the chess world championship series between Bobby Fischer and Boris Spassky. The only chess match ever that could justifiably be described as legendary. Should be interesting.

Until the next time.

In Which For Two Weeks I've Become Old Dad

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

For the past week, and for the remaining part of this one,I have found myself at three fifteen on an afternoon along a lines of cars on a busy road outside my daughter's school waiting to pick her up there.

I have had companions. It had been dull D H Lawrence, now the more amiable Alan Coren to pass the time whilst I'm there. But it was only yesterday did I realise that I was, temporarily, old dad. The man who would pick up his daughter regularly from primary school and drive her straight home with rarely any dramas (" How was school?" "Fine").

Since the move up to secondary school this changed, as had she. Being now a teenager the old parents collecting her cramped her style. And as the place was a half hours drive away from where we lived, she wanted to take the school bus instead.

But for a short while my daughter's knee injury has brought us all back to the future. Given that unlike the bus she could put the seat back on the car seat to stretch her leg out. there would be a car taking and picking her up.

Thankfully now better than she was. But at the beginning her pain was such that when she looked at me I didn't see the questioning everything teenager but as a child seeking help. And in the reverse I wasn't the boring stick in the mud who nagged at her to do her homework and tidy her room. Or the man who deliberately limited her time online simply by changing the passwords on her laptop or Ipad. No I became old dad.

So three fifteen. Deliberately early so that I can get a reasonable space. (Impossible to actually get into the school at this time as it's packed with buses). I stay in the car, daughter knows roughly where I'll be parking so I won't wait by the school gates to pick her up. No parent (I'm not the only one) stays by the gates, it's just not done. The Sixth formers get out first and eventually the rest. Daughter throws her coat at the back of the car and her school bag at the front.

It won't last. Next week she'll be well enough to go by bus and already she's back to picking up on faults both real and imagined of her old parents. To be honest, I was exactly the same at her age. Indeed my mother often recounts the story of when she accused me of lacking a sense of humour. "Well I eat your cooking don't I?" came the reply.

Until the next time.

In Which D H Lawrence Is Used As A Sleeping Pill,Bridgend Town News And The Return Of Alan Coren

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

I woke up around two o'clock on Sunday morning and went down to watch some Welsh language TV programmes I'd recorded. Today (Monday) morning I found myself awake at one twenty five am.

But I had a plan.

The Kindle was fired up. The plan was simple. Despite what I'd said in my previous post I was to read one chapter of the current book, then would try and go back to sleep.

Well I read the chapter, got back to my pillow.....and slept like a baby.

Which only goes to show that under experimental conditions D H Lawrence is as good an alternative as a sleeping pill.

Eventually today I'd finished that book. Twilight In Italy. An account of his time there. It was a book solely remarkable in that D H Lawrence was able to perform the amazing feat of making Italy and Italians dull. It was gibberish boxed in boredom wrapped in pretension.

Lawrence could not resist the cliché of the simple, primitive Italians being observed by him, the sophisticated inglese. Having Italian blood in me would have riled me to have accused him of racism....if I hadn't been bored into submission in the meantime.

The next book on the great e unread is The Man Who Knew Too Much By G K Chesterton. I've never read a Chesterton book before so am looking forward to it.

Had to go to Bridgend Town today. Another shop in the town, a ladies clothing shop is closing down.

Another sad closure

Now a shop has opened in the town. One that sells pre owned tablets, DVDs and the such like. I don't think this means the revival of the town though. Far from it. Indeed although there are out of town stores it's telling that there are four shops where you could get pre owned stores in Bridgend but only one that would sell new television sets without an instalment payment plan attached to it. Says everything you need to know about the town really.

Final piece of Christmas news. The body that is the Christmas tree has been boxed up and is back in the attic.

A masterpiece of wrapping

Wife was unimpressed. Said that her friend W could fit her tree back in the box completely shut "and it was bigger". My response? " Give W an award then".

Snow is apparently forecast for the later this week (cannot tell you how much I want it to avoid us). In the meantime though as I waiting for daughter to get out of school I realised it was getting lighter. Which meant I could return to the "car book" Toujours Cricklewood by Alan Coren. Already I feel myself smiling as I'm reading it.

Alan Coren would never make me sleepy.

Until the next time.

In Which Palin Is At Last Finished And England/Scotland Is Halted For My Daughter

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Well at last it's finished. Volume two of Michael Palin's diaries. Bought in the summer fete at Laleston where I came from the tip smelling of grass and wearing ripped jeans (sorry about that people of Laleston again)

It was, you may remember, my "car" book that I read when waiting for daughter from school etc. Because I'd started it in the summer as well it's length (609 pages) the volume has taken me a long time to complete.

So after climbing this literary mountain I wish I could say it was worth the effort but to be honest it's like reaching the top of a montain, looking round at the view and then saying "Is that all there is?"

It's not an awful book, just unsatisfying. No real humour in it. A lot of Python and/or broadcasting politics and a bit of family life. It was worth the one pound I paid for it but it's gone straight into a carrier bag for when I donate it to a charity shop so that someone else will spend the same amount for a good cause next time.

Of course this means I'll need a new "car" book which is:

Alan Coren - Toujours Cricklewood?

This was the sequal to A Year In Cricklewood which I couldn't praise highly enough so I'm looking forward to this.

When I was a child in the seventies England/Scotland was a bittersweet affair. They would play each other every year as part of the "Home International" tornament along with Wales and Northern Ireland. On the one hand these matches would be shown live on television, rare at the time. On the other it was at the end of the season, which meant if there were no Euros/World Cup to look forward then for me football was about to close down for the summer.

But the Home International tournament is no more and the England/Scotland matches are now few and far between. The rivalry is however just as strong which brings me to the imporant World Cup Qualifying game between the two. Live on free to air television on a Friday night.

But....

My daughter's piano lesson was postponed from Wednesday to Friday. It was only a few blocks away from where we live but it was night and the wife was out I had to walk with her to the tutor. The lesson started at seven thirty for half an hour. The match started at seven forty five. She is old enough now to understand,if not agree, as to why Dad was rushing her to the lesson.

So daughter with tutor I raced back to watch the start of the game. Was just in time to see the national anthems being played with the Scottish, then English tunes being booed at by opposing fans with a venom I'd never heard before, even for a game like this. I'll say now that Scottish independence seems a question of when rather than if and that moment,not Brexit,was the point of no return.

The other point to note before the match started as that Scotland were playing in pink. Now apart from Palermo I can't think of any other team that plays in pink, or perhaps how it was sold to them Salmon, Personally unless it's for breast cancer awareness it doesn't work.And besides there was no reason why they couldn't just wear the traditional dark blue strip.

And so the match began, and to be honest for the first twenty minutes or so it was rather dull. England in particular seemed to be playing as if they were frightened of losing. Then suddenly the match was paused...whilst I went out to pick my daughter from piano lessons. She tells me that she's learning to play jingle bells, I tell her in full Ebenezer Scrooge mode that I don't want to hear it until Decmber

On our return I continued to watch the game and it contined to be dull until Daniel Sturridge scored with an impressive header. One nil England with the only interesting bit of the entire half. The second half started well for Scotland where they missed a couple of clear cut chances but then England scored a second where Adam Lallana had so much space to place his header he could have started a farm.

Gary Cahill a few minutes later scored a third with another header which made it jackpot for England and Scotland losing all their chips. It all just petered out from that moment, I've never watched a football match ever where even the TV commentators sounded bored and willing the final whistle to be blown. In truth, both teams were not very good but England could finish better and that is of course the point (or rather the three points) of it all.

Until the next time.

The Writer As Chatty Friend And Vanity Would Like Me To Think I Made Tesco Act

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Sometimes you read a book not to make you inspired, put you on a different level or even make you entertained. Sometimes you just want to be reading a book because the writer is the sort of person you consider a friend even though you've never met. Sue Townsend is that sort of writer and so is the humorist Alan Coren.

I didn't have the greatest of Christmases last year for reasons that are too personal and complex to explain. So on Christmas Day I'd decided to download a book that would make smile. How I got to Chocolate and Cuckoo Clocks:The Essential Alan Coren from his many articles chosen by his children I don't know but it was downloaded immdiately onto my Kindle (yes I know a Kindle but be fair it was Christmas Day)

(A quick digression I thought that one of the advantages of the Kindle was that an author's entire canon is put up immediately online but apparently not. There is only one other Alan Coren book you can get via the E Reader. And he's not the only one).

Anyway I loved Chocolate and Cuckoo Clocks if only because it made me smile.

Fast forward a few months ago and BBC Radio 4 Extra were broadcasting a selection of programmes about arguably Britain's greatest humorist. And it made me stalk through the literary rainforest of the Amazon where I bought A Year In Cricklewood.

This book, modelled on the bestseller at the the time A Year In Provence by Peter Mayle (a sort of "aren't foreigners funny but I love them really" thing only a certain sort of Englishman could write) basically goes through the events that occur to him during the year. Cricklewood is obviously the star, but there are moments when France is centre stage. Apparently he was a Francophile whilst still being resolutely English. A skill that should be applauded in the little Englander dark ages we live in now.

As I read. The picture I got was Alan Coren in your house chatting over a cuppa and biscuits about the events of the day. You are The Listener (also the name of a magazine he edited) to tales such as a French beauty contest to difficulties in getting medicine for his unwell daughter late at night. When you close the book it's as if you've waved him goodnight as he drives home.

I think you get the message that I loved it. So much so that the Amazon literary rainforest has been raided again and I've ordered Toujours Cricklewood. I'll get the tea ready when it comes.

If you're a regular reader of this blog you will be aware of my bugbear of official England football team toy figures being sold in Tesco,Bridgend South WALES. Well today I can tell you they're gone. Hopefully not moved somewhere else but actually gone. I'd tweeted Tesco about this stupid state of affairs and I'm not modest enough to hope that I was the one that caused it to be taken off Tesco stores (along with apparently Marmite and Pot Noodle but not claiming responsibility for that!). Perhaps in the future firms should treat their customers with respect not mockery.

Until the next time.

Going Even More Continental,Carlo Ancelotti And A Few More Words On Leyton Orient

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

I know this sounds odd. But ever since the EU Referendum I've acted more continental than I ever did before. It is I'm sure a reaction against the Little England that the Brexiteers want all of us to become. Now it's affected what I have for breakfast.

Previously Breakfast would be toast (lightly done,cremation is for my death),cereal or in the winter months porridge with the risque edge of a dollop of jam.

But not now.

For I have discovered, no stumbled on more like, the joys of the Continental Breakfast.

C'est Magnifique

Now let's be clear about this. Any French person seeing this picture will be wetting themselves with laughter at the description of this as a continental breakfast but this is Bridgend not Bordeaux so you have to allow me leeway on this. The jam,orange and croissants are from Lidls. The coffee is Carte Noire.

(The mug incidentally is a very old West Ham one. The character being,wait for it, Harry Hammer or perhaps even 'arry 'ammer.....even the internet couldn't help me on that.)

Anyway the point is that it's tasty and filling and the drink washes it down. I'm hooked. Possibly in the depths of winter I might go back to Porridge (an ad in the seventies described it as "Central Heating For Kids") but don't really want to .

I've finished Quiet Leadership by Carlo Ancelotti (with others) one of these sort of books for business managers where someone explains "the art of leadership". I've never read these type of books before given that a) I'm not interested b) everyone seems to follow the style of a "leader" be they football managers, Chinese Warlords or even Star Trek captains. There are as many ways to lead as there are leaders. Leadership I'd argue is not something that can be taught, it's instinctive.

Even allowing for that you do wonder whether Ancelotti should've brought out a book like this. After all if you compare him with Sir Alex Ferguson he comes out worse when you consider that Ferguson broke the stranglehold of a top division with Aberdeen and took a club at a low ebb and made it a European powerhouse with Manchester United.

And if you compare him with Brian Clough well, drop the mic there.

The football bits in the book are interesting and if he ever writes a proper autobiography I will read it. The rest is just common sense mixed with business speak twaddle.

Work means I won't be able to go to the library until Monday at the earliest. So the non Penguin book picked from the great unread that I'm going to read is.

Alan Coren - A Year In Cricklewood

I've been reminded of Alan Coren in the past few weeks by programmes on the radio. So I am looking forward to this.

You may remember last Saturday I chatted about seeing Leyton Orient for the first time in decades getting defeated one nil by Yeovil Town. Well I've been listening to Orient Outlook podcast out of curiosity and although I'd an idea as to the discontent of the fans following their defeat directed to their Roman Emperor of an owner I had no knowledge until later of it's extent.

Quickly to digress. The Orient Outlook podcast is worth a listen. Presented by ordinary fans who show you can be passionate for your team without shouting it from the rooftops. Rooting for their side whilst treating other supporters with respect it is the best one team football podcast I know.

So we have a Roman Emperor owner who seemingly treats the fans like peasants,without a manager at time of writing (though a man who knows how to save clubs from relegation has suddenly become available) and a team apparently playing without heart (which could explain why they failed to know what to do with the ball when they approached the Yeovil goal in the game I saw). In their last match, (which let me stress I didn't see because I was at work and,well,in Wales) they lose by two nil and are reduced to nine men in a fifteen minute period.

And I am upset (though in a manly East End way you understand) because as I've explained before Leyton Orient is like an old friend who now I discover has fallen on hard times. For although Orient always lived in the shadow of bigger London teams it had an identity all of it's own and if things continue to decline this is the biggest thing that might be threatened.

They play Newport County on March 4 next year (a team which has had it's own off the field problems in the past) and I definitely intend to go and see that game.

Until the next time.

Howard Jacobson's New Fans, Books Borrowed Read But Not Bought Plus Swansea,Mumbles and BHS

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Before the family day trip later on I had to make a quick visit to Porthcawl library as they were due and quickly to Poundland to get razors,shower gel and some toothpaste....oh and a book.

You may remember when I'd last visited there I was surprised that Poundland were selling some quality books amongst the expected dross. Although there was a tome by Howard Jacobson for more sentimental reasons I'd picked The American by Martin Booth (A decision incidentally that wasn't wrong in itself. Spoiler alert: So far it's very good). This time though I was going to get the Jacobson.

Or I would have.....if there were any there.

To my knowledge Poundland leave books on the shelves forever. My favourite of the "dross" books was one that celebrated Irish Olympic hopefuls. All very well in itself if it wasn't for the fact that we were in Wales. So that the Jacobson completely sold out is encouraging. I suspect most of the people who bought the book wouldn't have thought to have picked it up anywhere else and some of those might be further encouraged to read more of his work afterwards,

Poundland:Encouraging reading and literature, Who would have thought it but let's celebrate it anyway.

Afterwards I went to the library. Was tempted to get the autobiography of the ex West Ham and new England manager Sam Allardyce but ultimately went for this as my football book choice.

The Secret Footballer - Tales From The Secret Footballer

This is the sequel to the original "Secret Footballer" book which apparently lifts the lid on the football world. It has the reputation. Let's see whether deserved.

The intention was to just get that book. But as you know me by now and needless to say I was tempted to borrow another which was this.

Clare Balding - My Family and Other Rambles

I took this book because I'm toying with the idea of taking up rambling. Not the sort that wanders lonely as a cloud in green places but that explores towns and villages. Rather like the day I spent going round the Valleys in May.

I have the prequel to this. My Animals And Other Family amongst the great unread.

Must admit as well to have an admiration for the author. Capable of being a broadcasting "safe pair of hands" and yet can fight for her beliefs as well. A lioness in jolly hockey sticks clothing. She also has the ability, rather like the late Alan Coren and the comedienne Linda Smith of being the sort of person you consider a friend even though you've never met them.

When I'd got home the wife decided that we should go to Swansea for the day. Given the washout of her birthday the day before I wasn't going to argue. Still though we were out of the house the car hadn't left the drive for a further ten minutes whilst she and daughter chatted to the neighbour opposite. In that time I finished a book.

It was Not A Hazardous Sport by Nigel Barley. As I was reading this it reminded me of the sort of series started by James Herriot. Take an occupation and write about your experiences in a manner which suggested that life was basically comic with occasional sad episodes. Of course we all know that life is a constant battle between the amusing and the tragic. And if you don't have an occupation tragedy always wins.

The point is that Nigel Barley is not James Herriot, and as his occupation is anthropology his style is a mixture of bad writing and patronising condescension sprinkled with a fair degree of dullness. I don't mean dull as in academic dull, more dull as in the more I read it the more fed up and uninterested I got.

To fast forward a bit when we returned took the next book from the great unread. Which turned out to be this.

H E Bates - A Little Bit of What You Fancy

This was the last book in the Larkin series. I've read the first, The Darling Buds Of May years ago and I remember thinking that the TV series was better. Mind you I didn't like the television version after the first season. Got all too predictable. I don't hold much hope, though to be fair I understand that this novel was never filmed.We shall see.

So to Swansea then. Which in the beginning got a bit damp.

Early afternoon in Swansea

We went into BHS in Swansea before it becomes a part of retail history. To be honest it was more in curiosity than anything else. Needless to say it was very sad. Everything was for sale.

And I mean EVERYTHING

What was interesting was that even with the reductions prices seemed cheaper elsewhere. I mean I wouldn't pay just under five pounds for a cereal bowl whoever made it. Perhaps that explains part of the reason for the decline of the business.

After that I spilt up with wife and daughter to go to a charity shop that just sold books. Or rather that was the intention, but for the second time today I was thwarted in buying books as it was closed for refurbishment. Other charity shops I saw didn't have Penguin/Pelican paperbacks that I didn't already own. Thwarted again.

A quick digression the worst place for me was a stall in Swansea market. Only because I don't like the price of books being stamped on the top. 

Don't like this one bit

After the ladies finished buying clothes and I finished buying nothing we went further west to the Mumbles. It wasn't really summer coastal weather being cool and cloudy. Still it can still do the views. Here are a few pictures.

Still can do vivid colours on a cloudy day

The original fifty shades of grey

Despite how it looks it didn't rain

Warm enough to have some chips whilst viewing this

And so the trip ended. It had been pleasant.

Until the next time.