So Long Leonard Cohen...

There will be more moving and coherent tributes paid to Leonard Cohen than these ramblings, but the news of his death earlier this week genuinely moved me.

I was a late convert to Cohen, thanks to a former girlfriend, and his music, lyrics and wry sense of self-deprecating humour have offered me peace, wisdom and entertainment for nearly two decades. His career has obviously lasted much longer than that, but the great thing about coming to any fanboy party late is that there is more material to enjoy.

Various Positions and I'm Your Man were my entrees to Cohen's music, then I started listening to his earlier work. His last CD, You Want it Darker, is a pleasure I have yet to enjoy but it's purchased and is ready to go.

I plan to wait until I have a quiet hour with just me, the cat and a glass of wine before pressing play, though. I want to savour the moment.

As you'd expect from a great lyricist and an acclaimed poet and novelist, Cohen was also a great story-teller. My favourite Cohen story related to his meeting with Janis Joplin and the story was often told as a prelude to the song, Chelsea Hotel.

In Cohen's own words:

'This is a story that I tell every time I sing this song and I'm going to keep on telling it as long as I'm singing. It's a story about a young woman that I met in an elevator in a hotel in New York City. One of the greatest singers that I ever heard. I was wandering around all night. That was a great elevator, you know. It was only about four feet wide. It was the very hub of my social activity. I didn't get around very much, but sometimes I'd meet somebody in that elevator. Around three in the morning, I used to see this other dismal person in this elevator. And I looked into her eyes. She avoided my eyes and it became clear to me that she wasn't looking for me. She was looking for Kris Kristofferson. I said, 'I am Kris Kristofferson.' She said, 'I thought you were a lot taller.' I said, 'I am a lot taller but it's just photography.' And the truth be told, I wasn't looking for her; she was a kind of sad-looking girl with knotty, curling hair and a very bad complexion. I wasn't looking for her. I said, 'Well, the truth be told, I'm looking for the granddaughter of Mae West.' She didn't even exist. And one thing lead to another. Well, we found ourselves together. And it was a long time later after she died that I wrote this song for her. Her name was Janis Joplin. It was at the Chelsea Hotel.'

Thanks Leonard. You are Kris Kristofferson. And remain so much more.

Bad Husband Points...

Work is unbearable at the moment: a new editorial system that is not fit for purpose and a heavier workload are creating a huge amount of increased stress. I am unhappy and tired and it is not good.

On the plus side, I have the Missus. She went through a similar thing several years ago and she's been ace. I am aware, though, that I have been an absent husband for a few weeks now. Even worse, I have not been a particularly present one when not absent.

So this weekend, I got my shit together and engaged: two cooked breakfasts and two cooked meals later and I have earnt some Good Husband Points to balance out all the Bad Husband Points I'd been steadily amassing.

I am confident my marriage will survive many worse and more serious tests than this current corporate non-lubed arse-fuckery. I'm just not sure my sanity will.

Funeral Rites: Part I...

The Missus' stepfather died a few weeks ago, so we headed to Aylesbury for the funeral. 

The service was very moving and the church was packed, then we headed to the cemetery for the burial. 

Merrick, the stepfather, was Jamaican and he arrived in the UK in the late 1940s on the second boat after the Windrush. So there was a filling-in at the graveside, which means that friends and family complete the burial after the coffin is lowered into the grave and they shovel the earth into the hole, then decorate the grave. 

I'd never seen this before and it was both alien and very moving. My brother-in-law, who was very close to Merrick, joined in with this process. 

Then it was off to the wake and a joyous night listening to reggae, roots, dancehall and ska because Merrick was not only a DJ but also a major music fan and record-buyer. 

It was a moving day and a fabulous goodbye party. Merrick was a lovely fella and he'll be missed. I'll be listening to Joe Turner this week and thinking of you. Rest in peace.

Things Young People Say: Part I...

I have learnt a new phrase. This is 'Facepalms'. It's apparently something that people say when they are exasperated and it represents a person holding his head in his hands. 

I've decided I can do young people's words, too. So here is my first entry:
Anklebum: This applies when you've put your foot in it and it's worse than a little embarrassing. It means you've put your foot in it and you're nearly in the shit. 

It's probably not my best work. But others will be.

Sentences I Never Thought I'd Hear: Part VI...

'I'd like to fist you like a human glove puppet. While wearing a gauntlet from a suit of armour. With a lance still in its hand.'

Sentences I Never Thought I'd Hear: Part V...

'I'd like to shit in your mouth, then sew your lips shut.'

Sentences I Never Thought I"d Hear: Part IV...

'You look so old. You're even wearing MC Hammer pants.'

Sentences I Never Thought I'd Hear: Part III...

'It's a complete shambles organised by cunts!'

Sentences I Never Thought I'd Hear: Part II...

'The difference is that in my current job I've never had a sweaty 60-year-old man strip me naked and ejaculate all over me. But the way things are going, it could happen...'

On Leaving Europe: Part II...

So... two days after the EU Referendum result and there's a strange thing happening. The Brexit campaign have got exactly what it wanted with the Leave vote winning and Cameron destabilised. But many Tory MPs are desperate for the now departing Prime Minister, who lead the Remain campaign, to stay on as PM and sort out the mess that their hectoring victory has brought.

Cameron's likely replacement, Boris Johnson, meanwhile, is advising caution on kicking off official divorce proceedings from Europe because he realises the economic, administrative and legislative carnage such a move will unleash.

Leading figures in the Leave campaign are now distancing themselves from one of the boldest claims they made, too, that their estimated figure of £350million per week that it costs to be a member of the EU will be spent on the National Health Service. This £350million figure was always a lie. The Independent Institute for Fiscal Studies said this figure was closer to £175million per week and that didn’t take into account the benefits this secured. But the £350million still lie stuck.

Now both Brexit leading lights Nigel Farage and Iain Duncan-Smith are distancing themselves from the claim that this £350million per week will go to the NHS. Both are denying they ever even made it, despite evidence to the contrary... like standing next to a massive bus with that very thing written on the side and constantly talking about it.

The Labour Party, meanwhile, are taking advantage of the political maelstrom to oust their leader, Jeremy Corbyn. It’s no secret that Corbyn’s elevation was never popular within the hierarchy of the party, and it seems the knives are now out for him. Yet again…

Even more tragic is the dawning realisation among many people who supported the Leave campaign that if the UK wants to trade with Europe, then one of the likely conditions will be free movement of labour… the very thing they thought they’d voted against. D'oh!

The EU, meanwhile, is refusing to hold informal talks until official exit proceedings begin. If this was a game of poker, the EU would be holding all the cards and most of the chips and also own the casino.

Cameron gambled on holding a referendum to silence critics who goaded him over the EU and to quell rebels and critical voices within his own party, and he lost. Now the UK is about to lose big time as the economy and pretty much every other administrative and legislative structure has to be redrawn, and the UK is plunged into mass uncertainty.

More worryingly, there’s also the start of a very vocal and vicious streak of racism being unleashed on immigrants. The architects of this victory, meanwhile, are trying to cover their lies and hoping somebody else will eventually step in to clear up this mess. 

On Leaving Europe: Part I...

A bad thing happened in the early hours of this morning. Some 52 per cent of a voting turnout of nearly 30million Britons voted to leave the EU. The immediate effect is that some £140billion has been wiped off the value of sterling. And there could be worse to come... 

I've always suspected part of England's national make-up is that of the Little Englander, who'll say things such as: 'I'm not racist, but...' then say something very racist. I've also always suspected there are simply a large number of racists and xenophobes in the UK. There's certainly a strong tradition of far-right politics in England. 

But those factors alone can't account for the fact that more than 15million people voted to leave the EU. So what happened? 

The fear-mongering and lies-presented-as-facts of the Leave campaign certainly played a huge role. Some people will have fallen for that in the same way that some people fall for Nigel Farage's 'normal-geezer-who-speaks-plain-truths' shtick. In this campaign, he's clearly lied and spread fear based on those lies. He is dangerous and should not be trusted, yet he has been.

The Remain campaign didn't exactly cover itself in glory either and spectacularly failed to move the argument onto the grounds it should have been fought on: namely that EU membership strengthens our economy and our place in the world, that it ensures basic rights for workers, and that it brings all manner of other benefits, both financial and cultural.

There's a strong argument this was largely a protest vote against a political class who many voters feel increasingly alienated from and disenfranchised by. But this seems perverse. 

The EU have not run down the education system or the National Health Service. The EU also haven't created austerity economics and forced the most vulnerable to swallow cut after cut while telling them it's good medicine that will eventually make them better. Yet, somehow, the EU and our apparent immigration crisis is the scapegoat the voting public have blamed for this. 

Our current economic problems are part of a global landscape and about decisions made within the UK. Austerity economics is one factor and successive UK governments consistently failing to tackle tax-avoiding multi-nationals is another. The EU has nothing to do with how much most people in the UK are suffering from various deprivations. Yet they have been blamed.

Leaving is a perverse logic and I think it's something deep within the national psyche that makes people lash out without thinking, then ask questions later. It's the attitude of the Saturday-night drunk getting wired and belting somebody. The key problem with doing this when the future of the country is at stake, though, is that it has bigger implications than bruised knuckles or a black eye. The UK economy is now on very dangerous ground, and the tremors have already started.

With Cameron now stepping down, further financial uncertainty is also predicted. The UK's triple A credit rating is in danger, too, and, as we have a huge national debt, this could mean even more austerity measures in the pipeline.

And it won't be the wealthy leading lights of the Leave campaign like Farage or Boris Johnson who'll have to worry about riding this out. It will be the vulnerable and the poor, whose fears and prejudices may well have provided a large number of voters for the Leave campaign in the first place.

I've been searching for an analogy to sum this up and the best one I have so far is: The UK's decision to leave the EU is like a self-harmer in the grip of a mania picking up the knife to cut themselves, then blaming the French neighbour and the Polish nurse across the road for the pain they're suffering. 

Well done, UK. You punched yourselves in the face by voting in austerity economics in the last election. Now you've managed to repeat the trick on an even bigger scale by voting us out of a body that at least gave us a fighting chance of retaining some economic stability. Because, to quote Bill Clinton, 'it's all about the economy, stupid!' 

Nice work!

Midlife Crisis...

Today, I bought the above CD by popular thrash metal combo, Slipknot. I may be extending my musical reach. Or I may be having a midlife crisis. I genuinely have no idea...

Racing Certainty...

A man I have loved for many years is back on social media. Please say hello to pool league chairman, local businessman and ace racing tipster, Malcolm Drudge. 

Find him on @MalcolmDrudge on the Twitter.

How Not to Be Old...

As I've mentioned before, I'm planning on making a return to playing proper competitive pool next year and I'm keeping my hand in by playing interleague pool for my local league. This essentially means the best players from a local league form a team and play against a representative team of the best players for other local leagues. 

This involves us playing at the national finals in Great Yarmouth a couple of times every year, where a few thousand players gather at a caravan park and compete over a weekend. I've been playing in these events for about 25 years and it was good to be back again. Our team did pretty well, but one of the highlights of the weekend was an altercation with an old woman who's infamous for her foul mouth and bullying behaviour. 

Playing in a packed room, she came over to our team to demand we move and make extra space for her side. This was impossible and, when a polite explanation of this failed, we either opted to ignore her or argue with her. She eventually left us alone, but she's essentially a bitter woman who seems to get her kicks from spouting bile and insulting anyone she can insult. You get the impression that there's not a lot of joy in her life. 

About an hour later, I was stood in the queue for the on-site chip shop when I heard the tap-tap of her cane behind me. She then spent the next 10 minutes complaining about the length of the queue and how she feared there may not be one of her favourite pies left. 

She tried to engage me in conversation about this, but I decided not to engage. I suspected she only one comment away from criticising the beleaguered server in the chip shop for being from Poland and coming over here and stealing chip shop jobs from local people. And I wasn't going to be racist out of politeness.

I eventually order, then the woman in question eventually gets to the front of the queue.
'That took bloody long enough!' 
'How can I help you, madam?' 
'You got any mince beef and onion pies?' 
'Sorry. We've sold out!' 
'I fucking knew it. What you got left?' 
'Chicken and mushroom...'
'Don't want that muck!'
'Cornish pastie?' 
'You can stick your Cornish pastie up your arse...' 
'We have chips left.'
'I'll better fucking have them then.'

Rude, cantankerous and full of anger... with no good reason that I could see. That's probably not how to grow old.

How to Be Old...

I recently turned 47 and, with work rapidly becoming a constant source of anxiety, I've made a real commitment to train whenever I can to assuage the worst excesses of work-related stress. Sadly, my hapkido class schedule has recently changed, which means I'm struggling to make regular classes at that, so I'm throwing myself into my BJJ training.

BJJ is ridiculously hard and, after four and a bit years, it hasn't really got an awful lot easier. The only way to learn how to eventually win is to constantly lose and to figure out how not to lose quite so badly the next time.

It's also by some considerable way the most physically demanding thing I've ever done, and I genuinely understand why wrestling training is considered one of the most brutal things anyone can do. It's very tough. It's designed to make people quit.

But I'm hanging in there and sometimes that's the real wisdom that age and doing another martial art for a long time brings. You know how to hang on in and ride the difficult times, whether it's work or training or anything else. 

Because bad times do pass. It's a just matter of getting through them.

Snooker: The Players Championship...

ITV4 is rapidly becoming one of the most regularly watched channels at Brooks Towers. It features several darts tournaments and it also televises three or four snooker events throughout the year, too. 

My favourite bit about the ITV4 snooker coverage is that Clive Everton, the voice of the game and by some considerable degree its most knowledgeable journalist, is in the commentary box. 

Everton worked for the BBC for decades, until he was criminally marginalised then dumped when he was at the height of his powers. Rumours at the time suggested this was a political move because Everton was a vocal critic of the WPSBA.

With Everton gone, the BBC elevated the moronic pairing of John Virgo and Willie Thorne, perhaps the worst 'experts' to ever pass comment or judgement on any professional sportsmen, as its key voices. It was like replacing Shergar with two Blackpool donkeys and expecting either of the donkeys to secure a win at the Derby.

It's great to hear Everton back on TV. It was poor of the BBC to 'lose' its most authoritative voice on one of its flagship sports and replace him with 'colour' commentators.

Tattoo Fixers...

I love Tattoo Fixers on Channel 4. It's car crash TV where a steady stream of ink-on-skin calamities get their disaster designs covered up by a trio of ace artists.

In the latest episode, however, it may have transcended from guilty pleasure into poetic art. This is because when one young woman was asked to describe her favourite tattoo, she came out with the following words.

’It’s two nuns lezzing it up on my arm.’

It may be the best sentence ever spoken on TV anywhere....

Old Age...

A good friend of mine recently told me a very sad story.

He explained how he and his wife were getting jiggy and they tried a bit of bedroom acrobatics, but his knee gave way. Then, ten minutes later, they were doing something else a little bit ambitious for a pair of olds and her knee gave way.

He lamented how this has never happened before and how it made him a bit sad. It made him realise that old age was probably starting to arrive in ever-accelerating increments.

My thoughts are with him and he deserves your sympathy, too. In fact, buy him a beer. Or just give him money… 

He would prefer money.

FBTP End of Year Awards: Part I...

Fuck the Oscars, the Brits or Sports Personality of the Year. It's time for the From to Paternity 2015 Awards!


Best Thing Always on Telly 

Emmerdale is a peak-time soap opera set in rural Yorkshire. It screens six 30-minute episodes every week and it's been the best thing on TV by an absolute mile this year. The storylines all hang together and are utterly credible, the ensemble cast is excellent, and it's delivered cracking plot after cracking plot again and again. Its executive producer, Kate Oates, takes over the helm at Coronation Street next year so it will be interesting to see if this loss affects the overall quality of the show. I hope not. It's been excellent this year. 


The runner-up prize goes to Coronation Street. It may not always be brilliant but it never drops below pretty excellent.


Best Thing Not Always on Telly 

I've written about series three of The Bridge recently and it still totally wows me. It has been the best thing on TV this year. By some considerable way.


Honourable mentions go to the last series of Peep Show, which was a real return to form; Game of Thrones, which was enjoyably violent and dirty nonsense; Netflix comic-book action adventure series, Jessica Jones and Daredevil; historical blood and bonk-fest Vikings on Amazon; and Gotham, which is a pretty splendid mix of superhero actioner and police procedural. Endeavour, ITV's Morse prequel, is also worth a look.


Worst Thing Always on Telly 

The paucity of the writing on EastEnders is a huge problem, but the key issue remains the smashing of Albert Square characters into totally unsuitable plotholes. There have been a couple of high points in Walford this year, notably the episodes dealing with Shabnam Masood's stillborn son, and the first meeting of Sharon Mitchell and the back-from-the-dead Kathy Beale. But it's largely been badly developed stories with one eye on grabbing headlines rather than building a long-term story that makes sense and is credible and stays true to the characters. 


If anything, I have massive sympathy for the writers, who are left to make sense and do their best job with the shabby and non-sensical storylines they are presented with. 


Worst Thing Not Always on Telly 

A seven-word review on the appalling sub-Love-Thy-Neighbour comedy that is Citizen Khan, which got its fourth series the year: How the fuck did this get recommissioned?

Best Gig 

The Unthanks, Newcastle's folk music wunderkids, held their own boutique festival, which they also headlined, and it was a wonderful. The venue was the Stevenson Boilerworks in Newcastle and it was a small-scale and intimate affair. The Unthanks' gig at London's Union Chapel was also ace. 


Honourable mentions go to Gaslight Anthem and Arcade Fire, who remain two of the best live acts out there, and former Supergrass singer Gaz Coombes, who produced a charming and utterly astonishing set.


Best Album 

My favourite album of the year may not have actually come out this year because I've been retro-buying as well as purchasing new releases. The two new albums that have wowed me have been: In Dreams by The Editors, which sees Birmingham's finest continue their delve into moody electronica; and Mount the Air by The Unthanks, which may be a more produced and polished album than their previous output but it still has much to treasure. 


Other things I've fallen in love with in 2015 include: One-Eyed Jacks and Outlands by Spear of Destiny; The Idiot by Iggy Pop; The Circus by Erasure; In Your Room by Yazoo; 12 Deadly Cyns by Cyndi Lauper; The Glare by Michael Nyman and David McAlmont. I've probably missed many more.

Favourite Fighter

Polish MMA fighter and UFC Women’s Straw-weight Champion Joanna Jedrzejczyk has utterly wowed me this year. Her striking is off-the-chart, in its volume, its power and its accuracy, and her grappling looks pretty solid, too. In a year dominated by the in-your-face publicity machine that is new UFC Featherweight Champion Conor McGregor, who can walk the walk and talk the talk, and the seemingly unstoppable rise then dramatic fall of the hardly shy and now dethroned UFC Bantamweight Champion, Rhonda Rousey, Jedrzejczyk has quietly gone about her business with under-stated and, at time, under-the-radar efficiency.


Twat of the Year 

I'm lucky. Apart from a couple of run-ins with largely inconsequential cloth-heads at work and a couple of other fuckwits outside of it, it's been a relatively twat-free year in both my professional and personal life.


Hero of the Year

Jeremy Corbyn's surprise elevation to Labour Leader has reminded everyone that politics should be about caring for people, not about kow-towing to multinationals or ensuring the rich stay rich and the poor get poorer. It's a timely victory and it's brought 380,000 back to the Labour Party.


Not Enough Bullets in the World Award 

Pretty much any member of the Tory Party. They are deplorable people and their lack of compassion should be a source of national shame. I genuinely have no idea how any of the fuckers sleep at night.

From Russia with Love...

I have attracted the attention of a new admirer. She has even sent me an email.

'How are you?? Im Aleksandra! I want a man. I enjoy fitness and drawing. I am 31 years old. I am from Russia. Bye bye, Aleksandra...'

It's genuinely heart-warming to know that I haven't lost it! I can only hope that it's not some sort of elaborate scam preying on my vanity and need for sexual validation.