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Can we take a joke? (apparently not)

Len: ‘We should write a comedy one day’
Bob: ‘Nah, no one would air it.’

So the Daily Mail brigade is trying to derail another comedian’s career. Jack Whitehall‘s recent performance on The End of the Year Quiz Show was close to the mark at points but ultimately very funny. Which is the point…isn’t it? Comedy (like any art form) is intent on invoking an emotion (hopefully laughter) the more people that react the more popular the comedian. Jake Whitehall was crowned King of Comedy by viewers of the 2012 Comedy Awards. I’ve seen his DVD and its fucking hilarious. It’s therefore a fair assumption to make, that he’s good at his job and that people like what he does. I found his performance on The End of the Year Quiz Show entertaining and had to really rack my brains to see where he may have crossed any lines. I was definitely not ‘shocked’ by any of the jokes.

Personally just because I feel something is distasteful or perhaps just not funny I don’t feel compelled to complain. Perhaps this is an age thing? Like most men, I don’t like complaining at the best of times. Perhaps when you get old this pent-up complaining comes out in streams.

Agnes: ‘Albert are you ready with the email’
Albert: ‘Yes Agnes’
Agnes: ‘OK, it’s coming on now’

They wait for the programme to start

Agnes: ‘OK, Albert the introduction montage is too bright’
Albert: ‘Disgraceful. How dare the BBC offend my intelligence as well as my delicate eyesight. From the opening sequence of over-illuminated flickering lights, I knew I was in for a torrid time’

Albert awaits further direction from Agnes

I haven’t watched the series Miranda because I just know I won’t find it funny. Does that mean I should complain? It’s a typical ‘BBC funded by the taxpayer so better not push the envelope’ sort of comedy. I pay the same amount for the TV license as the next man so can I make a complaint about the niceness of these shows? Course not. I understand it’s a simple matter of taste. That’s the wonder of the remote control. I don’t have to watch Miranda or My Family. I simply turn it over. So what has The End of the Year Quiz done that’s wrong? It was after the watershed and its guests included the edgiest comedians around. It’s as far as I can gather quite ad-libbed so you can expect some close-to-the-marks gags. The format doesn’t even allow for things to be cut as it’s a quiz and you have to see all of the answers. A point made even clearer when Jack Whitehall attempted to hide a particularly risque answer. If the answers were that offensive turn over and never watch anything Jack Whitehall does again. Problem solved.

Frankie Boyle is another example of boundaries being pushed. He’s even said things that make me blush! So what do I do about it? I accept that’s what you get with him and decide not to watch him or follow him on Twitter (by the way I do watch him and follow him on Twitter). Celebrity juice is another show where it’s completely crass and in bad taste. This is the point of it though. I’d hate to think the number of complaints it would get if it were to air on the BBC.

So I have a solution. Anyone who reads the Daily Mail will get their TV for free but will only get 1 channel for comedies. Before the watershed, it plays endless re-runs of Last of the Summer Wine and after the watershed, it plays Allo Allo. This will allow the rest of us to enjoy the comedy that we enjoy.

January 18, 2013
My Full English Launched!

Last Saturday was a momentous day. It marked the launch of My Full English. The site aimed at the connoisseurs of the decent fry up.

The idea came about after a recent away trip to Southampton where we needed a greasy hang over cure. We had to actually interact with a human being to find out where we could get one! Can you believe that!

This is a joint venture between myself and Shane Exley. It uses Google maps to allow users to add their venues which can be anything from a restaurant to your local Cafe. Once a venue is added people can add their personal breakfast reviews along with uploading a photo. The mobile version of the site even allows users to find directions to a venue of their choice.

We are hoping to get a 100 reviews by the end of next year so please get eating.

Please let us know your thoughts by adding a comment on the site. Enjoy!

July 23, 2012
Starring Nick Bennett

So there I was at work and I see a Tweet from the Housing Association asking if anyone would mind talking to Sky News regarding the latest struggles for first-time buyers. Slightly apprehensively I respond saying I wouldn’t mind doing it. I had assumed it would be over the phone or a street-side Vox Pox. Wrong! Cut to me sitting in the Sky London offices having had full make-up applied.

Apparently, I’m on at 6…it’s now 6.03. Maybe they’ve forgotten and I can just sneak out? ‘Bring in the guest’ comes a voice over the PA system from the office behind me. Too late. An old gentleman comes and leads me through the office. Trendy media types busily edit together all sorts of footage. I’m led to a room at the back and told to take a seat. The room is dark and in front of me there’s a square bit of card and beneath which is a monitor showing a live feed of the Sky News output. A voice comes out of the walls.

Voice: ‘Hi Nick, thanks for agreeing to do this. The anchor is just going to ask you some questions so just repeat what you told our researcher’

Me: ‘Erm ok’

Voice: ‘Don’t look at the monitor, when you’re on look directly into the square in front of you. We will give you a 1 minute’s warning’

So I guess that’s the media training then! I watch the monitor praying for a breaking news story. ‘World war 3 has broken out!’, ‘Katie Price has been suffocated by her own overinflated tits’ or ‘Roman Abramovich is bored of Chelsea so has bought Southend United‘. Unfortunately no such luck. My palms go to truly Oceanic levels when I hear ‘OK Nick 1 minute’. The VT on the monitor is showing a bird I recognise from the TV. I’m so nervous. I look at the door. The old guy didn’t lock it. I could make a run for it. I try to recall how many have-a-go heroes I passed who would try to rugby tackle me should I make a run for it. I bet they all either Row or play Rugby. Chances of success? Slim! Too late anyway, I’m on. I’m also looking at the monitor. Rule 1 of my training broke in an instant.

Voice: ‘Erm…thanks Nick’

And I’m left to gather my things and leave. The old man isn’t there to see me out. I walk on my own back to the make-up room where I’m met by a solitary pack of baby wipes. As I clean the thick make-up off of my face I consider nicking the wet wipes as a memento and then come to terms with how terrible that idea is.

After this performance, they changed the old adage to never work with children, animals or Nick Bennett. The nervous laugh and impromptu tick ruined my TV career before it had a chance to blossom. The second time they came back to me I realised that I hadn’t been paying any attention to the housing expert or the anchor. Luckily my personal charm and ability to cope under pressure got me out of that tight corner.

So you’d think that I’d be on some media blacklist. Apparently not, I was what the industry refers to as ‘hot shit’. I was offered the chance to take part in an empty home documentary on Channel 4. Which I had to decline as the Mrs has enough of a problem being seen with me out in public let alone on national television. More recently we were offered an interview for The Independant. I felt an article about first-time buyers struggling to get on the rung would be inappropriate a week before a lavish trip to LA and Las Vegas.

So I guess that my fifteen minutes of fame is up, although if by chance you are an agent and fancy a challenge we need to talk. If Nick Knowles can make a career out of this then there is hope for us all.

May 24, 2012
Happy New Year

I found a document called ‘Year’s Goals’ the other day. Having opened it up I discovered that the header read ‘Goals for 2011’. This should be interesting!

There were 3 headings music, development and life. I scanned the list of aims for the year and disappointedly changed the year to 2012 and saved the document. I remember my new year’s resolution last year too. It was to be more outgoing and lively. Another underachievement for 2011. Despite these rather depressing thoughts, 2011 has been a great year. Why? because of Joshua.

Sometimes you have the blinkers on in life and you think that silly things are important when really they aren’t. It takes something truly amazing to happen before you realise it. Fatherhood has taught me this.

So I’m removing some of the goals. Learning the piano can wait, as can creating the next Facebook and as for eating healthily that’s the first thing to come off. So here’s the new list…

1. Make time for those important in your life
2. Try to have fun
3. Be a good dad
4. Don’t try to be someone you are not

If I can’t even manage this then the goals document may be permanently deleted. I hope you have a great 2012. Before the apocalypse that is!

December 31, 2011
The trouble with that Generation

Sadly we are losing a whole generation of cool old people. The ones that fought in WW2 and automatically earned my utmost respect and admiration. Instead, they’re being replaced with a bunch of embittered Daily Mail readers who are rude and obnoxious. Perhaps I’m being a little over dramatic? I thought this so I started making a conscious decision to prove myself wrong.

Who is that person not letting me cross on a zebra crossing?

Oh, it’s an old person.

Who is that person pushing in the queue?

Oh, it’s an old person.

Who is that person not acknowledging the fact I’ve let them have right of way when I’m driving?

Oh look it’s an old person.

I used to let this shit slide when I was younger. When I thought older people just warranted respect and it didn’t need to be earned. As I get older though I’m beginning to change my opinion. What have these dithering old gits done to warrant such an attitude problem?

I’m currently based in Southend so being by the seaside we have our fair share of octogenarians. The particular spot I’m based is one of the nicer parts so you could even suggest the oldies in my neck of the woods are quite affluent. Still no excuse though!

We’ve recently moved flats where we had no end of trouble. One particular old misery made our lives very difficult. What was our crime? Having a child!

Here’s the part where I try (and fail) to rationalise the reasoning behind our torment. Our flat was quite small and as such the noise travelled easily. Joshua was a tricky baby and was up most nights. This I’m sure pissed off all of the neighbours. People like their peace and quiet so I can totally understand any frustrations. It would piss me off. That said I’m sure what I’m about to tell you will shock you.

Jan, our neighbour was head of the residents association. I guess mid 60s, no longer working for a living. At first, she seemed fine, if not a little intense. During our previous 2 and a half years we had some minor run-ins with her but nothing too bad. As head of the association, she took it upon herself to personally police the car park from her flat. We just accepted this as part of the package, I mean there are worst neighbours out there. My other half spoke to her just before she gave birth and informed her that we wouldn’t be renewing our tenancy and would be moving out a few months after Joshua was born.

6 weeks after Joshua was born we received an anonymous letter threatening us with eviction if we didn’t stop ‘the nuisance’. We knew instantly who had sent it and were shocked that she hadn’t even bothered to knock to discuss the problem. Hannah upon receiving the letter knocked on her door only to hear her hide behind her door. After some legal advice and further research, we confirmed what we thought. This was absolute nonsense. Joshua would not be arrested for crying.

While researching this we even found the template online of the letter that was posted. She couldn’t even be bothered to write something original. We decided to send a letter to all the residents in our block asking for their patience and if they had any problems come and talk to us about it. The next day we found one resident had torn the letter up and posted it back through our letterbox and Jan had written ‘no one cares about your problems’ on hers and had posted it back. The boiling point was reached!

We spoke to our landlord who hinted at previous problems he had had with Jan. A couple of the residents knocked for us and told us of the problems they had also encountered with her. We decided to call the police for advice. They sent a really nice community officer around who said he would have a word with her as he had spoken to her on a previous occasion. On coming back he looked visibly shocked by his encounter. He said she just kept screaming at him that she wasn’t going to talk to him and her solicitors were getting involved. Just what you need to hear when you’re a new parent trying to raise a newborn.

Things came to a head one Sunday morning when she began banging on our walls and screaming that we will soon be evicted. ‘Good she’s opening the lines of communication’ I remember thinking. ‘Time to up your medication you mad old trout’ I shouted back. Another call to the police was made and she was handed a harassment order which if broken meant she would get arrested. She kind of got the message after this. She still tried her pathetic tactics like putting her music on really loud, staring at us intently through our bay doors and even whispering ‘psycho bitch’ to Hannah when she collected the post. All stuff I’m sure we could have pursued but couldn’t be hassled. She had all the time in the world where we had none.

Well, we saw out our tenancy term and we’re now somewhere really nice. Our new neighbour is lovely and has made me give oldies a second chance. I should be judging people by what they do and not how old they are. When I went back to tidy the old place up Jan was there staring at me from her flat in her dressing gown. It was like a scene from Psycho. A week or so after we had moved out completely our landlord asked if we would speak to his new tenants about how to sort out the heating. While having a conversation about heating it turned to Jan quite quickly.

‘Did you have any problems with the neighbour?’

‘Erm, why do you ask’

‘Well, we knocked to introduce ourselves and the next thing we know we’ve received a letter accusing us of harassment’

I CLOSE MY CASE, MY LORD! Complete and utter nut-nut who unfortunately ruined what should have been the happiest time of our lives.

I believe in Karma and really hope I’m there to witness her comeuppance.

December 14, 2011
Super Mega Soccer League

After Ian Ayre‘s comments about Liverpool FC monopolising the foreign TV rights, it also came out that foreign ownership could force there to be no relegation/promotion from the Premier League. This got my blood boiling to truly molten levels. It inspired my new sci-fi novel…enjoy!

The year is 2045 and I’m sitting with the grandkids at 7am for the live football. It was decided that everyone using GMT would have to get up at this God-forsaken hour just to accommodate the rest of the World’s need for live action! The 100-inch 4D TV blurts out in a strong American accent ‘Live from Dubai, Barcelona Bears vs Munich Monarchs! That’s right folks it’s day 4 of the Super Soccer League’ I look up to see my eldest grandson wearing a Munich jersey. I tut loudly in his direction.

‘What?’ he asks.
‘You do realise that Bayern Munich is German?’.
‘Not anymore you old fool’ he beams back.

The TV is showing the league table with only 8 teams still in existence. The London Lions are the only team left that I feel any sort of affiliation with. Especially since international football was cancelled because the players just ‘couldn’t be bovered’ anymore. Once every 4 years, the Lions come to London to play a game. There’s a lottery draw to decide which lucky 4000 non-corporate supporters can go.

‘You do realise we used to have a stadium just down the road don’t you’ I mention when the commentary cuts for yet another ad break.
‘Really grandad? Did the Madrid Matadors ever play there?’
‘erm no, we had our very own team called Southend United’
‘What a stupid name! Doesn’t have any threatening nouns in it’

I decide not to mention the shrimp association.

‘Back then of course the names just represented the geological location of the team. They also played 50% of their games at their own stadium!’
‘Wow, how on earth did we manage to get enough prawns in for all of those spectators?’
‘Back then we used to call them fans and prawn sandwiches weren’t high on the menu. Football was a working-class thing’.

The kids both look at me as if I’m completely mad. I continue regardless ‘you could buy a ticket watch some football and enjoy a burger, and a beer and still have enough for the bus fare home’. At this point, the ad break finishes and their attention is instantly pulled back to the large screen. The game kicks off and almost instantly there’s a challenge in the area that looks like a penalty. The game stops and the TV screen flashes ‘penalty?’. The two boys fight for the remote control to select their preferred outcome. Meanwhile, the channel cuts to another advert to give the general public time to decide on the penalty claim. I delicately place both barrels of the shotgun into my mouth and cock the hammer…

I know what you’re thinking ‘surely shotguns won’t exist that far in the future’ but it’s a working progress.

If we keep heading in this direction and allow foreign businessmen to have their way this bleak future will become a reality. You have been warned!

October 19, 2011
Parenthood is HARD

I had always laughed when I heard that parenthood is ‘the hardest job in the world’. Had they forgotten about crab fishermen? About the guy that cleans the dog shit bins? Or the Playboy bunny girls? Servicing a man of that age on a regular basis must be truly gruelling! Well, I’m now seeing the point they were trying to make. It’s HARD!

My back hurts, I’m constantly tired and my memory has hit true goldfish levels. Before Joshua, my nightly routine would be …

1. Get off the train

2. Remove trousers and shirt and replace them with shorts and a T-Shirt (irrespective of the weather outside)

3. Sit on the sofa until bedtime

Strenuous I know!

Things are different nowadays, oh yes. When I walk in the door at home it’s like I’ve been dropped into a war-torn country and given no information. First of all, I find cover, normally in the hallway while I assess the situation. The natives (in this case the Mrs) look like they haven’t slept in months and look extremely PISSED OFF. I try to establish a degree of communication but it’s useless. I eventually manage to establish that some kind of stranger that cannot be appeased has been making excruciating ear-piercing shrieks all day. Despite the native’s best efforts, the stranger hasn’t slept a wink and seems intent on causing ear aches and excessive neighbour anger (that’s for another post). I go in! I find the culprit immediately. He’s holding a rubber giraffe hostage and chewing the head off of a fury hippo. He must be some kind of monster!

Ok, so I may have overly dramatised the situation somewhat but at times Joshua is very much like the T800.

It can’t be bargained with. It can’t be reasoned with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead

….or just really exhausted.

Seriously though, Joshua is absolutely perfect bar for 2 minor things. He resists sleep like someone on A Nightmare on Elm Street and gets bored incredibly easily. The pair of us are continually looking for ways to entertain him. We’ll try the following in the hope we won’t hear the dreaded monotonous grizzle or even worse.

1. Read to him
2. Play the guitar for him
3. Work through an extensive list of silly voices
4. Juggle for him
5. Play with him and his toys
6. Go for a walk
7. Bath him
8. Please provide options here

Already, despite our best intentions, he’s noticed the big 40″ colourful thing in the corner of the room. I’ve always said ‘my kids won’t watch television’ but already we’re using it to give us some sort of rest bite.

Now for the gay part (Bob you may wish to move on to Lobster Tube). Despite all of this he’ll give you something. Just a little something that will absolutely melt your heart. He’s got such a cheeky little grin that whenever he pulls it you turn to jelly. You could be on his 4th change of clothes after a particularly traumatic piss, shit and vomit incident. Yet the smile would come out and all is forgotten!

We’ve even got a little act going. So far we’ve pulled the woman in Tescos, the florist and a barmaid at our local. The play involves shoving Joshua under the nose of the intended victim. He always smiles at people he doesn’t know. ‘Wow, he just smiled at me’ she would say as her legs go bandy. ‘Really? he doesn’t normally smile at anyone. He must really like you!’ Bosh!! Putty in my hands!! If only his mother wasn’t standing right next to me.

The smile has more recently extended to a giggle which has cranked things up even further.

Being a father has opened up all sorts of emotions I never knew I had. I love the Mrs to bits but the love for a child is something that’s impossible to put into words. Nothing’s about you or her anymore, it’s about him. And it feels right. It feels natural. It feels like the thing that’s been missing from your life.

August 18, 2011
The winner is Sepp Blatter

No, not the competition to find the world’s biggest numpty. No, unfortunately, this competition is for who will be in charge of running the greatest sport. He opposes technology which our beloved game is crying out for. He belittles women by stating that the women’s game could benefit ‘if they wore shorter shorts’. And thinks homosexuals should ‘refrain from sexual activity’ while in Qatar. What century are we living in?

Like everything in life, I try to look at things from a neutral perspective. I’m sure a lot of people believe the English are now coming across as sour grapes due to our disastrous world cup bid. But hang on, if Qatar had bribed their way to victory then why even allow us to enter? What a waste of time, money and Bryl Cream (remember David Beckham was involved). It’s good to see Australia (another stung nation) is demanding the money it spent on its bid back.

I watched the poor FA representative say his bit in front of the baying wolves amongst the FIFA delegates. Then countries like Cyprus started sticking the knife in. I assume this is revenge for us tearing up Ayia Napa since the 90s. I can’t wait to give all these nations the bird when Sepp Blatter and his Forth Reich movement comes sweeping into their nation. OK probably gone a bit too far there, but there are some cultural points to be raised. Our nation has a live by the sword die by the sword approach to what we deem to be fair. Maybe a guilt trip since our empirical past but at the end of the day a good attitude to adopt. This is why we seem to commit so many troops to campaigns around the world to liberate them from tyranny (nothing to do with oil, purely coincidence)

To bring fairness to the World Cup process it should do a cycle globally so that everyone gets a chance to host. FIFA should set out the requirements to be considered to host the thing. This would include stadiums, travel networks, hotels and policing. The globe should be divided into 4 sections and all of the eligible countries for each section should be put into a hat. A nation from each section of the globe is pulled out at random. The 1st section winner will be the next world cup host, the 2nd section winner will be the host of the world cup in 8 years’ time and so on and so forth. These nations are then excluded in the next round of World Cup draws. If you make a complete hash of the tournament then you miss a go. I’m not at all upset that Russia and Qatar have the World Cup gig. They’ve never had it before so that’s fair. The process to get to this result has to change though.

How can the current system of schmoozing overly corrupt bureaucrats into voting for you be the process we currently adopt? FIFA is an organisation that apparently is built on ‘fair play‘?!? I guess ballot papers with 1 fucking name on it is also fair. Even if everyone abstained from voting I’m fairly certain Sepp would have voted and ‘Yeh! I won again!’ would be the scream at the end. Sepp Blatter is a complete hypocrite that we are now stuck with until the next FIFA elections. Given the choice of standing up against Sepp and his cronies or toeing the line I know which one I’m in favour of!

June 4, 2011
The Birth

I’ve given myself a month to get over the initial shock of the birth. Even now though the horrors of it all still haunt my dreams! I feel guilty for writing this as I was only a mere witness to the episode, while Hannah will show physical scars for some time.

It all started as I settled down for the Champions League encounter between Man U and Chelsea…typical! I downloaded a free contraction app to log the contractions. Bringing labour into the 21st century! Hannah would shout ‘now’ and I would start the app. A few dirty phone call impersonations later Hannah would say ‘stop‘. The contraction was logged and I could return to the game. However, these contractions were becoming closer and closer. Time to pack the bags. PSP? Check! Mars Bars? Check! my phone charger? Check..oh I almost forgot your overnight bag. This process was carried out in quite a calm manner. Another contraction was logged. My app tells me ‘This free app only allows 10 saved logs’ WHAT! Hannah and I have a little dispute and I inform her we haven’t got time to discuss my thriftiness. In the car and we were off. The match is still 0-0.

Hannah’s biggest fear was being sent home, for me there was another half of football to be watched so every cloud and all that. From here on in things snowballed. There was no chance of being sent home. Hannah was 5cm dilated, halfway there already. Her opening gambit was ‘GIVE ME EVERYTHING’ as she waddled into the maternity ward. Her pains seemed to be mainly in the back and for me, it was mainly in my ears. Then for the worst hour of my life, worse than when we lost at home to Wrexham on the last day of one of our relegation seasons. They hooked up Joshua to a monitor to check his heart rate. As they laid Hannah on her back I could see the rate on the monitor dropping dramatically. The midwife pressed a big red button on the wall. From experience, I know that big red buttons are rarely pressed to inform everyone that everything is ‘hunky dory’. A swarm of doctors and midwives rushed into the room. The doctor broke her waters with what looked like a crochet needle. They raised Hannah’s bed and I could see his heart rate start to raise again. By this point, the colour had drained out of my face. ‘Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m ok’ Hannah kindly said. I didn’t have the heart to say it was Joshua that concerned me. I think the Dr gave one of the midwives’s a Gary Lineker ‘have a word with him’ look. She informed me that his chord could have been wrapped around his neck so when Hannah had a contraction in that position it was choking him. At this point, we decided to call in her Mum. Man U 2 Chelsea 0 grrrrr!

The mother-in-law got there in quick time. We tagged team rubbing Hannah’s back and reassuring her. Apparently, the quicker you dilate the more painful it is. The average time is 1 cm per hour. Hannah did 5 in that time! The possibility of an emergency c-section meant they could only give Hannah gas and air for the pain. The pain must have been immense and I can concur that gas and air is useless. A few tokes on it caused me no decent side effects! When the Dr confirmed she was fully dilated he asked Hannah to push. She was happy to comply to hurry the process and in her words ‘get him out of me!’ Unfortunately, after several attempts, Joshua’s head wasn’t budging and his heart rate was up and down like the suspension on a prison’s nuptial caravan. It was decided the only option was a c-section and Hannah was told to stop pushing. Apparently, this was easier said than done. I can only imagine the urge must have been like the time I had some dodgy scampi and was stuck on the motorway.

Finally, we were prepped and readied and led to the theatre. The anaesthetist turned her onto her side and applied the spinal. Hannah literally turned from the snarling girl from The Exorcist into her normal self. ‘Aaarrrgggghhhh…Who sang this song?’ I made a mental note of the positive effects of the spinal, I wonder if you can get one on prescription? After that everything else was fairly smooth sailing. I peeked over the curtain to see our little grey screaming boy. I caught a glimpse of Hannah’s c-section opening and quickly sat down again. I was given Joshua to hold and at that point Take That’s The Greatest Day came on the radio. Perfectly set up for tears-Ville yet nothing came. I put it purely down to the stress. The only emotion running through me was relief. The Dr informed us there was a clot behind the baby that prevented Joshua from being delivered naturally. They wheeled Hannah out to Push It by Salt and Pepper…grrrr!

7lb 13oz 00:30 13th April 2011

A few days later a tour of expectant Mums and Dads came to Hannah’s bed in the post-maternity ward. The tour guide stupidly asked ‘would you do it again?’ Hannah and I both gave the same short sharp response of ‘NO!’. The smiles on the mum’s faces had suddenly turned south. The tour guide gave us a look and quickly led everyone away.

We’re now all at home trying to get a routine going. Joshua is adorable and predictably the cutest baby ever. He was born 7lb 13oz and is now an incredible 10lb 15oz. He’s already growing too quickly! We look forward to every little development. The latest is a gurgle that sounds like the early signs of speech and smiles that aren’t purely wind-based. In the words of Bob Dylan, The times are a changing!

May 14, 2011
Follow Up

In my last post I mentioned someone whose season card was confiscated. That person wishes to remain anonymous but here is Bob’s update.

Chaps,

To save me explaining it 10 times later, see below.

I had a letter from Nigel the Finance Director of SUFC on my doorstep when I got in last night. It said that I owe them £305, that they did not know why I hadn’t paid and that if I didn’t pay within 7 days then I would be taken to court. It also said “The club depends on debts being paid on time” (which is presumably why they didn’t set up the direct debit as instructed and never pay the government when they owe them).

Spoke to Nigel who apologised for threatening to take me to court and said that the ticket office hadn’t done the handover properly (shocker). I told him that I’m not paying because it’s their mistake and the whole way this matter has been handled has been (at best) amateur. Nigel didn’t like this. Nigel said that the club has acknowledged that it made a mistake and that I was “screwing them into the ground” over it. I explained to Nigel that if I make a big mistake at work then I get the sack. I got the impression that Nigel’s arris is on the line over this balls up. Nigel said that he couldn’t let me off because it would be unfair on the other 3449 season ticket holders. I told him that I was told that I wasn’t the only one this had happened to and that the only way the club would learn was to be hit in the pocket. Apparently there are ‘about half a dozen’ others that are also doing the same as me and Nigel is sending the bailiffs round to get the money. What utter nonsense.

I told Nigel that he had a decision to make – he can dig his heels in and take me to court and, in all honesty, probably win the £305 and lose me and Fred as fans – or – they can put this down to experience and not ask Doris the tea lady to do the direct debits set-ups next year when I renew my season ticket and continue to take Fred for the rest of his/my lives.

About 10 minutes later he called to say that he had referred it up to Tara Brady and that I’d be getting a call some time that evening.

Tara called – “Ello issat Robert?”…… “I think you mean Robin?”…….. “Oh yeah, sh*t, sorry Robin it’s Tara here”. Basically, Nigel hadn’t ‘referred it to Tara’ – he had ‘Blacklisted’ me so that I was not able to go to any more games and that gets referred immediately to Tara with no explanation so I had to explain the whole thing again.

He followed up his opening gambit with the revelation that the club had indeed “F**ked up big time” and that he “had to have something to go back to the boys with” and could I spread £120 over 12 months? I said that it is now not about the money but about the principle of the way I’ve been treated and he could do one for his £120. Apparently I’ll hear from “the boys” soon. I also told him that I thought I’d had fair value for money so far. How we laughed.

Apologies for the essay, but hey, what else have you got to do on a Friday?

April 4, 2011