Alex Higgins: RIP...

It was in the early 1980s that I first picked up a snooker cue and I instantly fell in love with cue sports of all descriptions. And it's a passion that's stayed with me...

It was English eightball pool that I eventually decided to focus on but I also played snooker and was an avid fan of the game in the period throughout the 1980s when Steve Davis was in his pomp, and then in the 1990s when Stephen Hendry firmly established himself as the best player to ever play the game. Even now if a tournament is on TV it takes all my will power not to sit down and watch it and forget about anything else. Like my wife. Or eating.

The man largely responsible for this ongoing love affair was a player from Belfast who won his first world title in 1972 then won his second amid emotional scenes where he was joined on stage at The Crucilble in Sheffield by his wife and child in 1982. The man was Alex 'Hurricane' Higgins and to this day I have to see a player with such natural ability or vision in cue sports of any discipline.

Living as a Higgins fan was sometimes a tough existence. Just as he was capable of shots and breaks of breath-taking brilliance, he was also capable of missing the easiest of shots or self-destructing through a combination of booze and a fiery temper. Higgins lived life on a knife edge and that's also how he played his snooker.

And existing as a Higgins fan was also never a good experience if you were a betting man. He did win tournaments but he was also capable of throwing away winning leads by taking on shots of such audacity that even veteran commentators were baffled.

To be a Higgins fan was to put yourself firmly in the camp of the outsider fighting against the snooker establishment - an establishment, ironically, Higgins' popularity had helped turn into a huge money-making industry.

The nemesis of Higgins, of course, was Steve 'Interesting' Davis and he was everything that Higgins wasn't. If Higgins easily bored of the practice table, Davis lived for it; if Higgins could be found drunk in a nightclub at 2am the day before a big match, you could be sure Davis was tucked up in bed with his cocoa by 10pm. And Davis was virtually unbeatable.

But the fact that Higgins was the outsider and the bad boy and the underdog just made his victories all the sweeter. His 1982 World Championship Final victory against Ray Reardon was one of the sporting highlights of my youth, especially considering it followed his epic semi-final against Jimmy 'Whirlwind' White, a match still considered to be one of the all-time greats among snooker doyens.

My favourite Higgins match, however, was the 1983 UK Championship Final when he faced Davis. I remember watching the afternoon session in patches through several TV shop windows when I was out shopping with the family. And it wasn't pleasant viewing: Davis battered Higgins with a humiliating 7-0 first-session booting.

But then came the evening sessions and the street fighter in Higgins woke up and over the next three sessions he fought back to win the final and the title 16-15. It was a stunning performance and perhaps his finest moment. It was also one of his last great moments on the table as future form proved intermittent and disciplinary problems lead to an eventual suspension.

Higgins then began to feature only on the front pages for drunken behaviour, various personal and relationship problems, one assault and for health-related issues such as the throat cancer that he developed in his later years. It made painful viewing.

But recently Higgins had started playing again and was doing the odd exhbition and his cancer seemed beaten and his health improving. But it was only a brief respite and he died today aged 61.

Davis once described Higgins as 'the only true genius that the game of snooker has ever produced' and, while that may not be strictly true, his ability to see shots and the vision of his break-building, plus a very under-rated safety game, was a stunning thing to behold when in full flight.

An old mate of mine became quite good friends with Higgins for a while in the late 1990s and I had the chance to meet him. But I turned it down. Higgins was one of my heroes but I was also aware that he was a troubled man who could sometimes be very unpleasant and I didn't want to meet that man. I wanted the hero and for me that's always what Higgins was and will remain.

Rest in peace, Alex.

Guilfest

Me and the Missus, plus our Yorkshire Chums From St Albans and their We-Get-Him-If-They-Die-Kid, ventured over to Guilfest at the weekend. This was a largish music festival at Stoke Park in Guildford and headlining on the day we went were Ndubz and the Human League.

The Missus is an old punk and gig-goer of many years experience and when we were first going out we compared notes on the gigs we'd been to. She reeled off the Clash, the Jam and a veritable who's who of all the important punk, new wave and ska bands of the late Seventies and early Eighties... while my rather paltry offerings included the Housemartins, the Mission and the Waterboys. If our share-and-compare was a boxing match it would have been ruled a no-contest.

Rather brilliantly, though, one of her first gigs was the Human League in their Being Boiled and pre-girl backing singers days so it was quite a sweet moment when they came back on stage for one of the encores and performed... Being Boiled. She was happy.

Other highlights included Hazel O'Connor doing a version of the Snow Patrol song, Chasing Cars, and Kid Creole and the Coconuts.

My only concern here was that the Kid is now 60 and still allowed to be the Kid but the Coconuts are obviously not the originals and were replacement Coconuts. I imagined the Kid has to sit down with the Coconuts every so often and tell them they're going to be replaced.
Kid: 'Girls... I've got some bad news for you. I need to send you to the Coconut retirement home and get some younger models.'
Coconut 1: 'We're still good for another, Kid. Honestly...'
Coconut 2: 'We're young at heart. We're still Coconuts!'
Coconut 3: 'Come on. You're 60 and you still call yourself the Kid!'

Another highlight of the day was taking our friends' We-Get-Him-If-They-Die-Kid to his first grunge gig in the Indie tent. The band was a group called Japanese Voyeurs and they're quite rocky and they have real potential. They're very tight musicians who also manage to get that raw and growly grunge sound and they have a single out on iTunes. Four songs into their set I turn to ask the We-Get-Him-If-They-Die-Kid what he thinks.
'They're very loud, aren't they?'

Comedy moment of the day, however, was walking past the Kidszone area to hear some wag had put a Gary Glitter song on. Now that's pretty funny.

But Guilfest was great. A really friendly and fun day out.

Quiz Question...

Q. Which English castle suffered badly from smoke damage in the Eighties?
A. Roy.

Home Rule...

The new From Beer To Paternity Towers is quite wonderful. The Missus is happy, I am happy, even the Boy is quite impressed when he visits from university... although I suspect he still hasn't forgiven us for moving away from London and all his mates.

The cats, however, are having territory issues.

Our new neighbours (who are very nice) have two older, bigger cats who apparently used to be regular visitors in our new home as they were on friendly with the previous owners' cats. But now they are persona pussy non grata and they are having trouble getting the message.

What they are getting, however, is right on our bloody nerves by pouncing on our cats every time they venture into the garden, so much so that they now only venture out when me or the Missus go into the garden with them.

This is slowly starting to annoy me as I am increasingly acting cat bouncer in our garden so I am considering marking territory in the only way cats understand. I initially thought about spraying the places the neighbours' cats sit with lemon as cats hate citrus. But the Missus thought that wouldn't be strong enough. So I asked her if I should mark territory the way cats mark territory.

'So you want to wee on the wall where the neighbours' cats sit?'
'It's an idea...'

The Missus shakes her head then stops and smiles.
'Actually that's a really good idea. You should do it when the school that our garden backs onto is open and all the school children are on the playing field too. That will help the process...'

Sometimes she’s just not supportive.

Chris Sievey: RIP...

Comedian Chris Sievey (aka Frank Sidebottom) died last week.

With his outsized, cartoon, papier mache head and his whimsical flights of fancy, Chris's creation Frank Sidebottom was a real one-off. Frank was a showman and singer who never hit the big time but believed he sort of had; think of a slightly angrier and more ridiculous and frustrated John Shuttleworth and you're sort of there.

It was a truly fantastic comic creation.

Author Jon Ronson, who in the early days used to play keyboards in Frank's backing band, was on the radio at the weekend lamenting the passing of his former mate and told a great story.

Apparently Chris (with full Sidebottom head on) and Ronson were touring and driving down Edgware Road in London on the way to a gig when Chris demanded that he pull the van over and briefly park up. Ronson duly obliged and Chris in Frank persona and head rolled down the window and buttonholed one bemused passerby.
'Excuse me, mate. Is this London?'
'Yes,' replied the slightly confused fella.
'Well can you tell me where you want this wood?' asked Chris in Sidebottom mode.

I don't think I've heard anything more ridiculous or funnier. Ever.