The mighty Tykes...
http://www.clubfanzine.com/ipswich_town/showNews.php?id=9388
Tuesday 11 March 2008
Thursday 28 February 2008
Latest TWTD article - Southampton
Click on the link for my latest article for Ipswich Town fanzine website TWTD.
http://www.clubfanzine.com/ipswich_town/showNews.php?id=9124
You just write a few jokes about God and then there's an earthquake.......
http://www.clubfanzine.com/ipswich_town/showNews.php?id=9124
You just write a few jokes about God and then there's an earthquake.......
Wednesday 20 February 2008
Blind Fate
Below is the beginning of a short story I have written for my creative writing class. We were set the task of introducing a very small nervous man to a woman who could barely speak any English. The setting was a blind date.......
Blind Fate
This was definitely going to be the last time that Valerie used the agency. She had forgiven them for the date they had arranged with Harvey, 36 with a foot fetish. He had been arrested on their first date by six armed police officers at Colchester Zoo after his children had found their mum in the garage freezer and her toes in the boot of the family Mondeo.
Then there had been Salad Cream Steve, Valerie’s stomach still turned at the memories.
Tonight they had promised her tall, dark and handsome but the man stood at the far end of the bar was just small, bald and lonesome. At only 3 foot 5 inches tall, and wearing a red jumper and yellow trousers Valerie hadn’t got her promise of Rupert Everett, the agency had sent her Rupert the Bear.
“He- he- hello, I’m Dennis” said the little bear-man holding out a sweaty paw he had just wiped on his trousers.
“Good evening” Valerie replied and took a seat on the stool he offered her at the bar.
Dennis struggled for a few moments to climb back onto his stool before being helped up by a passing glass collector. Their awkward silence was broken by music being put on the jukebox and Dennis took the opportunity to pour Valerie some red wine.
“Yo- yo- you, you like music?” Dennis ventured before swallowing hard.
“Yes. Music I like” Valerie replied, regretting that her English was still very limited.
It had been six months since Valerie had moved to England and despite her slow progress she was keen to learn the language. She imagined a relationship to be the perfect opportunity for some free tutoring and perhaps a bit of fun on the side.
For Dennis, whilst he was bewitched by Valerie’s beautiful bronze skin, deep brown eyes and very, very long legs, her presence reminded him of an unfortunate incident he had tried long and hard to forget.
Although a huge admirer of the culture and sophistication of the French the closest Dennis had ever got to their country was when a group of disobedient sixth formers had stuffed him into a suitcase on their day trip to Calais. Fortunately, Customs officers uncovered a squashed, breathless but otherwise unharmed Dennis at Dover and returned him safely home. He left his teaching position a week later.
Now perched opposite the breathtaking Valerie, Dennis decided the best history he could draw on was the French O level he had obtained during his own schooling.
“I- I- I like music too.” He started.
"J’aime les garcons de la plage”
Valerie’s eyebrows reached for the sky.
“You like small boys on ze beach?”
“Oh oh no, no, I like the Beach Boys” Dennis replied.
“I was trying to translate”.
A barman, who had been listening, turned his laughter into a cough and busied himself by wiping an already spotless section of the bar with a beer towel.
(to be continued)
Blind Fate
This was definitely going to be the last time that Valerie used the agency. She had forgiven them for the date they had arranged with Harvey, 36 with a foot fetish. He had been arrested on their first date by six armed police officers at Colchester Zoo after his children had found their mum in the garage freezer and her toes in the boot of the family Mondeo.
Then there had been Salad Cream Steve, Valerie’s stomach still turned at the memories.
Tonight they had promised her tall, dark and handsome but the man stood at the far end of the bar was just small, bald and lonesome. At only 3 foot 5 inches tall, and wearing a red jumper and yellow trousers Valerie hadn’t got her promise of Rupert Everett, the agency had sent her Rupert the Bear.
“He- he- hello, I’m Dennis” said the little bear-man holding out a sweaty paw he had just wiped on his trousers.
“Good evening” Valerie replied and took a seat on the stool he offered her at the bar.
Dennis struggled for a few moments to climb back onto his stool before being helped up by a passing glass collector. Their awkward silence was broken by music being put on the jukebox and Dennis took the opportunity to pour Valerie some red wine.
“Yo- yo- you, you like music?” Dennis ventured before swallowing hard.
“Yes. Music I like” Valerie replied, regretting that her English was still very limited.
It had been six months since Valerie had moved to England and despite her slow progress she was keen to learn the language. She imagined a relationship to be the perfect opportunity for some free tutoring and perhaps a bit of fun on the side.
For Dennis, whilst he was bewitched by Valerie’s beautiful bronze skin, deep brown eyes and very, very long legs, her presence reminded him of an unfortunate incident he had tried long and hard to forget.
Although a huge admirer of the culture and sophistication of the French the closest Dennis had ever got to their country was when a group of disobedient sixth formers had stuffed him into a suitcase on their day trip to Calais. Fortunately, Customs officers uncovered a squashed, breathless but otherwise unharmed Dennis at Dover and returned him safely home. He left his teaching position a week later.
Now perched opposite the breathtaking Valerie, Dennis decided the best history he could draw on was the French O level he had obtained during his own schooling.
“I- I- I like music too.” He started.
"J’aime les garcons de la plage”
Valerie’s eyebrows reached for the sky.
“You like small boys on ze beach?”
“Oh oh no, no, I like the Beach Boys” Dennis replied.
“I was trying to translate”.
A barman, who had been listening, turned his laughter into a cough and busied himself by wiping an already spotless section of the bar with a beer towel.
(to be continued)
Monday 11 February 2008
Glad All Over
The latest TWTD article goes down well with the Crystal Palace fans.
http://www.clubfanzine.com/ipswich_town/showNews.php?id=8618
Everyone loves a fairy tale.......
http://www.cpfc.org/forums/showthread.php?s=8566c65ef4d8d65b03769fb54d8b93aa&threadid=165710
and.......
http://www.holmesdale.net/page.php?id=106&tid=75609
http://www.clubfanzine.com/ipswich_town/showNews.php?id=8618
Everyone loves a fairy tale.......
http://www.cpfc.org/forums/showthread.php?s=8566c65ef4d8d65b03769fb54d8b93aa&threadid=165710
and.......
http://www.holmesdale.net/page.php?id=106&tid=75609
Friday 1 February 2008
Latest TWTD article
Here's my latest piece for Ipswich Town fanzine Those Were The Days.
http://www.clubfanzine.com/ipswich_town/showNews.php?id=8265
http://www.clubfanzine.com/ipswich_town/showNews.php?id=8265
Wednesday 23 January 2008
1973 - a very good year for babies
When I was born in 1973 the number 1 in the UK charts was 'Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree'. If you haven't heard it.....don't.
The poem below is made up of the titles of other number 1's in 1973.
1973: The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia
If you want me to stay
Here I am (come and take me)
Behind closed doors
Let’s get it on
Wildflower
Give me love
Get down
Stir it up
Keep on truckin’
Long train running
Yes we can can
Funny Face
Shambala!
Jambalaya!
Natural high
Superfly
Drift Away
The morning after
Me and Mrs Jones
Pillow talk
"Could it be I’m falling in love?"
That lady
Loves me like a rock
Right place, wrong time
So very hard to go
Neither one of us (wants to be the first to say goodbye)
"Do it again?"
The Artists.
The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia – Vicki Lawrence
If you want me to stay – Sly and The Family Stone
Here I am (come and take me) – Al Green
Behind closed doors – Charlie Rich
Let’s get it on – Marvin Gaye
Wildflower - Skylark
Give me love – George Harrison
Get down – Gilbert O’Sullivan
Stir it up – Johnny Nash
Keep on truckin’ – Eddie Kendricks
Long train running – Doobie Brothers
Yes we can can – Pointer Sisters
Funny Face – Donna Fargo
Shambala! – Three Dog Night
Jambalaya! – Blue Ridge Rangers
Natural high – Bloodstone
Superfly – Curtis Mayfield
Drift Away – Dobie Gray
Space Oddity – David Bowie
Playground in my mind – Clint Holmes
The morning after – Maureen McGovern
Me and Mrs Jones – Billy Paul
Pillow talk - Slyvia
Could it be I’m falling in love? - Spinners
That lady – Isley Bros.
Loves me like a rock – Paul Simon
Right place, wrong time –Dr John
So very hard to go – Tower of Power
Neither one of us (wants to be the first to say goodbye) – Gladys Knight & The Pips
Do it again? – Steely Dan
The poem below is made up of the titles of other number 1's in 1973.
1973: The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia
If you want me to stay
Here I am (come and take me)
Behind closed doors
Let’s get it on
Wildflower
Give me love
Get down
Stir it up
Keep on truckin’
Long train running
Yes we can can
Funny Face
Shambala!
Jambalaya!
Natural high
Superfly
Drift Away
The morning after
Me and Mrs Jones
Pillow talk
"Could it be I’m falling in love?"
That lady
Loves me like a rock
Right place, wrong time
So very hard to go
Neither one of us (wants to be the first to say goodbye)
"Do it again?"
The Artists.
The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia – Vicki Lawrence
If you want me to stay – Sly and The Family Stone
Here I am (come and take me) – Al Green
Behind closed doors – Charlie Rich
Let’s get it on – Marvin Gaye
Wildflower - Skylark
Give me love – George Harrison
Get down – Gilbert O’Sullivan
Stir it up – Johnny Nash
Keep on truckin’ – Eddie Kendricks
Long train running – Doobie Brothers
Yes we can can – Pointer Sisters
Funny Face – Donna Fargo
Shambala! – Three Dog Night
Jambalaya! – Blue Ridge Rangers
Natural high – Bloodstone
Superfly – Curtis Mayfield
Drift Away – Dobie Gray
Space Oddity – David Bowie
Playground in my mind – Clint Holmes
The morning after – Maureen McGovern
Me and Mrs Jones – Billy Paul
Pillow talk - Slyvia
Could it be I’m falling in love? - Spinners
That lady – Isley Bros.
Loves me like a rock – Paul Simon
Right place, wrong time –Dr John
So very hard to go – Tower of Power
Neither one of us (wants to be the first to say goodbye) – Gladys Knight & The Pips
Do it again? – Steely Dan
Saturday 19 January 2008
Head Over Heels
She was late, but that didn’t matter, it wasn’t planned.
Over the top of the boxes, under my chin, she gave me
a half smile, pushing her hair behind small delicate ears.
The curb caught my feet, the pavement my fall. I sucked
my cut lip, saw my thumb displaced off at a right-angle.
In soft focus, she leant over, mopping my bloodied head
with a scented cloth, before disappearing into the crowd.
My femme fatale and Florence Nightingale. So beautiful.
He was there again, maybe late, probably lying in wait.
Desperate awkwardness clinging to a tower of swaying
cardboard. His being there made me do that stupid thing
with my hair. I regained composure. But over his hopeless
lolling tongue, he fell at my feet, awoke and then fainted;
coming round when I cleaned his face with a baby wipe.
Over the top of the boxes, under my chin, she gave me
a half smile, pushing her hair behind small delicate ears.
The curb caught my feet, the pavement my fall. I sucked
my cut lip, saw my thumb displaced off at a right-angle.
In soft focus, she leant over, mopping my bloodied head
with a scented cloth, before disappearing into the crowd.
My femme fatale and Florence Nightingale. So beautiful.
He was there again, maybe late, probably lying in wait.
Desperate awkwardness clinging to a tower of swaying
cardboard. His being there made me do that stupid thing
with my hair. I regained composure. But over his hopeless
lolling tongue, he fell at my feet, awoke and then fainted;
coming round when I cleaned his face with a baby wipe.
Latest TWTD article - Blackpool
Here's my latest article for the Ipswich Town fanzine 'TWTD'.
http://www.clubfanzine.com/ipswich_town/showNews.php?id=7705
A poster on the TWTD message board gave me some nice feedback and a good story to go with it (link below).
http://www.clubfanzine.com/ipswich_town/forum.posts.php?id_t=21513#2
However, over in Blackpool..............
http://fansonline.net/blackpool/mb/view.php?id=14316
But it's not the insults made by Dave_Eyres on the Blackpool fanzine (link above) that bother me, it's his readiness to defend Syd Little that I find upsetting.
http://www.clubfanzine.com/ipswich_town/showNews.php?id=7705
A poster on the TWTD message board gave me some nice feedback and a good story to go with it (link below).
http://www.clubfanzine.com/ipswich_town/forum.posts.php?id_t=21513#2
However, over in Blackpool..............
http://fansonline.net/blackpool/mb/view.php?id=14316
But it's not the insults made by Dave_Eyres on the Blackpool fanzine (link above) that bother me, it's his readiness to defend Syd Little that I find upsetting.
Sunday 13 January 2008
TWTD article
Here's an article I wrote for Ipswich Town fanzine 'Those Were The Days'. You'll find a new one of my articles appearing on their website a few days before each of Ipswich's away games.
Norwich City
My first visit to Norwich was a school trip when I was twelve years old. I didn’t know anything about the place other than I was going to hate every stupid person in the whole stupid city. It was four months after the 1985 League Cup semi-final.
During the two-hour bus journey my mate Colin tried to cheer me up by telling me that everyone in Norfolk had ginger hair. We even played ‘spot the banjo’ along the A140, but that didn’t work either. There was no way I was going to crack a smile on our last day of term. I wasn’t even a teenager but had the weight of the world on my shoulders and this time it was more than just the duffel coat my mum had me wearing in July.
I listened to the semi-final second leg at Carrow Road on a radio under my duvet because I thought my heart would beat a bit quieter if I reduced the amount of fresh air reaching my bloodstream. It only made me feel sicker with nerves than I had felt in the two weeks following the first leg.
So in 1985, I kicked and scuffed my size eleven Clarks (I’m blessed with feet like canoes) around the stupid city’s pavements and I don’t think I lifted my chin off my chest until we got back to Suffolk. I didn’t learn much at school but I learnt absolutely nothing that day.
Twenty-two years on I’ve fortunately lost the duffel and Clarks, but I realised when writing this piece that I still didn’t know very much about Norwich. Apart from the fact I hate every stupid person in the whole stupid city.
I’ve lost count of the times I’ve leant backwards, filled my lungs and launched into "He’s only a poor little budgie" and not even given a thought as to how the Canaries got their nickname. Apparently it was all down to the 16th Century French Huguenot refugees who brought pet canaries with them when they came over to work in the Norfolk textile industry. [1] . I asked Oleg, my Polish postman, what he would like to give to the people of Norfolk today. Oleg said "scabies", I guess times must have changed.
Another thing I didn’t know was that there was once a film called "The Boy Who Turned Yellow" released by the Children’s Film Foundation about a little lad who was a Norwich City fan. [2] In the movie everything turns yellow after he’s paid a visit from a yellow alien called Nick. This reminded me of my Uncle Barry who used to make videos in a garage at the end of his road that my dad said were, "a little bit blue". None of the films my Uncle Barry produced ever made it onto the telly, but he did make a couple of appearances on Crimewatch.
Mind you, my Uncle Barry’s probably got more history than Norwich. Other than the 1985 League Cup final, their only other significant silverware was winning the same trophy 23 years previously. As well as winning the League Cup final twice, they’ve also lost the League Cup final twice: in 1973 against Spurs and 1975 against Aston Villa. Shame.
Other notable moments in the history of Norwich City include; relegation in 1985 to the Second Division, a third round UEFA Cup defeat to Inter Milan in 1994, relegation from the Premiership in 1995, a 5-0 defeat at Portman Road in 1998, 2002 play-off misery at the Millennium Stadium, and the 6-0 defeat on the final day of the 2004-2005 season ensuring relegation from the Premiership (again). And despite their 105-year-old history, they have NEVER won the UEFA Cup, the FA Cup or the First Division (now Premiership) title.
I’m glad I know all of that.
It’s not all bad for Norwich though; they’ve got an airport, a cathedral and Delia. And what have they all got in common? Well, they’ve all had a fair bit of wine that’s gone through them! Former Chelsea boss Mourinho made it a habit to take a bottle of plonk for the manager of the opposing club during his reign, but when he heard of Delia’s halftime "Lets be ‘aving you" ramble, he suggested taking a bottle for her as well.
Apparently Delia left school without a single ‘O’ level to her name; I did a little homework myself and found out that in April 1957, a few months before she would have sat her exams, Sir Alf Ramsey’s boys did the double over Norwich in the space of four days. Coincidence?
Those derby defeats can do terrible things to a kid…………..
Enjoy the game and have a safe journey!
Ken Ferris – Football Terms and Teams
Wikipedia – Norwich City Football Club
Norwich City
My first visit to Norwich was a school trip when I was twelve years old. I didn’t know anything about the place other than I was going to hate every stupid person in the whole stupid city. It was four months after the 1985 League Cup semi-final.
During the two-hour bus journey my mate Colin tried to cheer me up by telling me that everyone in Norfolk had ginger hair. We even played ‘spot the banjo’ along the A140, but that didn’t work either. There was no way I was going to crack a smile on our last day of term. I wasn’t even a teenager but had the weight of the world on my shoulders and this time it was more than just the duffel coat my mum had me wearing in July.
I listened to the semi-final second leg at Carrow Road on a radio under my duvet because I thought my heart would beat a bit quieter if I reduced the amount of fresh air reaching my bloodstream. It only made me feel sicker with nerves than I had felt in the two weeks following the first leg.
So in 1985, I kicked and scuffed my size eleven Clarks (I’m blessed with feet like canoes) around the stupid city’s pavements and I don’t think I lifted my chin off my chest until we got back to Suffolk. I didn’t learn much at school but I learnt absolutely nothing that day.
Twenty-two years on I’ve fortunately lost the duffel and Clarks, but I realised when writing this piece that I still didn’t know very much about Norwich. Apart from the fact I hate every stupid person in the whole stupid city.
I’ve lost count of the times I’ve leant backwards, filled my lungs and launched into "He’s only a poor little budgie" and not even given a thought as to how the Canaries got their nickname. Apparently it was all down to the 16th Century French Huguenot refugees who brought pet canaries with them when they came over to work in the Norfolk textile industry. [1] . I asked Oleg, my Polish postman, what he would like to give to the people of Norfolk today. Oleg said "scabies", I guess times must have changed.
Another thing I didn’t know was that there was once a film called "The Boy Who Turned Yellow" released by the Children’s Film Foundation about a little lad who was a Norwich City fan. [2] In the movie everything turns yellow after he’s paid a visit from a yellow alien called Nick. This reminded me of my Uncle Barry who used to make videos in a garage at the end of his road that my dad said were, "a little bit blue". None of the films my Uncle Barry produced ever made it onto the telly, but he did make a couple of appearances on Crimewatch.
Mind you, my Uncle Barry’s probably got more history than Norwich. Other than the 1985 League Cup final, their only other significant silverware was winning the same trophy 23 years previously. As well as winning the League Cup final twice, they’ve also lost the League Cup final twice: in 1973 against Spurs and 1975 against Aston Villa. Shame.
Other notable moments in the history of Norwich City include; relegation in 1985 to the Second Division, a third round UEFA Cup defeat to Inter Milan in 1994, relegation from the Premiership in 1995, a 5-0 defeat at Portman Road in 1998, 2002 play-off misery at the Millennium Stadium, and the 6-0 defeat on the final day of the 2004-2005 season ensuring relegation from the Premiership (again). And despite their 105-year-old history, they have NEVER won the UEFA Cup, the FA Cup or the First Division (now Premiership) title.
I’m glad I know all of that.
It’s not all bad for Norwich though; they’ve got an airport, a cathedral and Delia. And what have they all got in common? Well, they’ve all had a fair bit of wine that’s gone through them! Former Chelsea boss Mourinho made it a habit to take a bottle of plonk for the manager of the opposing club during his reign, but when he heard of Delia’s halftime "Lets be ‘aving you" ramble, he suggested taking a bottle for her as well.
Apparently Delia left school without a single ‘O’ level to her name; I did a little homework myself and found out that in April 1957, a few months before she would have sat her exams, Sir Alf Ramsey’s boys did the double over Norwich in the space of four days. Coincidence?
Those derby defeats can do terrible things to a kid…………..
Enjoy the game and have a safe journey!
Ken Ferris – Football Terms and Teams
Wikipedia – Norwich City Football Club
Saturday 12 January 2008
A Good Riddance
A Good Riddance
Monday she left me
Tuesday stayed in bed
Wednesday can’t remember
Thursday hurt my head
Friday cried a river
Saturday should’ve wed
Sunday I killed myself
Happy now I’m dead
Park Wife
Here's a poem I wrote after seeing a homeless lady checking her appearence in the reflection of a shop window.
Park Wife
She smells of a thousand cigarettes
She never cleans her teeth
She spits when she talks and limps when she walks
But she’s everything to me
She’s never used a hairbrush
She thinks bath’s a foreign word
She starts most fights, gets covered in bites
But she’s everything to me
She swears more than a sailor
She can burp the alphabet
She’s forever on bail or awaiting jail
But she’s everything to me
She drinks Stella in the morning
She sleeps in the afternoon
She don’t ‘alf stench, but shares my bench
Cos she’s everything to me
Park Wife
She smells of a thousand cigarettes
She never cleans her teeth
She spits when she talks and limps when she walks
But she’s everything to me
She’s never used a hairbrush
She thinks bath’s a foreign word
She starts most fights, gets covered in bites
But she’s everything to me
She swears more than a sailor
She can burp the alphabet
She’s forever on bail or awaiting jail
But she’s everything to me
She drinks Stella in the morning
She sleeps in the afternoon
She don’t ‘alf stench, but shares my bench
Cos she’s everything to me
Beat to Beat
Beat to Beat
It’s love that makes me write these words
No flowers, not harps or singing birds
It’s love in which I cannot hide
The feelings I should keep inside
It’s love that when I close the door
I do a dance and hope for more
It’s love in which I dream awake
A thousand versions of my fate
It’s love that sits me on the stair
Whilst others sleep without a care
It’s love in which I’m wrapped up tight
Corners tucked, so bugs won’t bite
It’s love that turns me upside down
My guts awash with tumbling clowns
It’s love in which I lose control
Go round the bend and up the pole
It’s love that comes without a warning
Then does not leave until the morning
It’s love in which I cannot eat
As I am empty till we meet
It’s love that smells of bonfire smoke
I shall inhale until I choke
It’s love in which I am complete
From day to day, and beat to beat.
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