Frustration.

30/06/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Sometimes, it is easy to want to kick back. To give up. To give in. Buckle under pressure. To push it all away and walk off. Head away from everything. The problem is that it matters. And, when it matters, it really matters.

You can’t switch off from it. There is no miraculous light switch, with an option to plunge away that which matters. Nor would you want it to be that simple. Although, a spot of simplification may make a huge difference. Frustrating as it is, burying your head in the sand just wastes time and brings about a tumbling cascade of further frustration.

No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy, or a decorator, or a trip away. The only certainty in life is death. Everything else is hung on tiny, easily disturbed strings. These variables throw up challenges, barriers, and realisations. They shape expectations and twist the optimistic to the realistic. Deep down the cinders of pessimism, ebb, and flow, waiting for their time to shine. The advice is almost always: don’t let it.

That exclusive advice may seem out of reach. That’s the beauty of pain and the distorted view of solutions: we feel it. Frustration can be overcome. It may not seem that way. Finding your channel out of a stormy ocean is key. Believe. A spot of resilience goes a long way.

Tan-y-Bwlch

25/06/202424/06/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

The roughness of stones.

Ouch.

The unsteady mound of gravel.

Crunch.

The slippery underwater pebbles.

Groan.

The sheer face of the nearby cliffs.

Creak.

Under the pass. The gap.

Blowing.

J.B. 0-1 J.V.

25/06/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Dear J.B.

Reliable sources sought.

Poorly stated media must be removed.

Libellous contentious materials need closure.

Citation and verification lacking.

See you in court.

J.V.

Vision.

24/06/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Through their eyes:

I see something new.

A vision so different:

It makes mine askew.

The Battle of Struggle 2024.

16/06/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Have you ever worked hard on a problem to find more problems? When do you stop the “keep going” attitude? How far is too far? It seems like every step forward costs an arm and a leg, emotionally and financially.

I feel like a letdown. Rent is too high. Outgoings leave less than 20% for disposable income. Decorating frantically, problematic historic piping, wiring, and plastering are amongst the catalogue of challenges. The list goes on and on. Dividing rooms by to-do-lists, coupling with preparations, or bits here and there, seem to be cutting some grass, but then new grasses grow.

Focusing on the bathroom, that’s in hand. Some floor tiling and wall tiling are needed. A panel beneath the bar and a few minor bits. In hand. Heating and piping ca. Be resolved later. And a new shower cubicle. An okay shower and bath are available. Separate toilet room, okay – again a few tiling and flooring bits. Skirting boards all need doing.

The kitchen. Argh! New cabinets and sink, with tiles, all in boxes. Legacy sink, hanging by a thread. Oven fitted. Fridge-freezer standing tall. Walls are a disaster. Ceiling, patchy. Loads to do. A major hurdle. Skirting boards all need doing.

Box bedroom, boxed off, less carpet and heating. Back bedroom, boxed off, less carpet and wardrobe, and, yes, the skirting boards all need doing. Front bedroom: no go zone – not a task for now. Forbidden to entry. Upstairs landing and attic completed, save skirting and door frames that need a lock of paint.

Stairway to heaven-ish? Needs full painting. Lobby and front door/porch: full attention needed. Lounge: skirting and window frames, with carpets needed. Garden: for another day. Greenhouse: overgrown, and certainly work for later. Hedges: is it Eve dry enough to cut them?!

So, little by little, slowly, slowly, and painfully, the improvements turn to movements, but it all seems impossible. It isn’t. I know that. It just feels like pissing into the wind. It’ll get there. Seemingly impossible tasks always do, if you don’t give up.

Shithousery.

10/06/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

The trouble with popular energy drinks, like Monster, is that you can no longer tell who the drunks are in the morning. Those 568ml (a pint) cans they use make the only visible sign of the drinker to be the rapid eye-movement and early signs of an incoming brain seizure. And so, we enter the season of General Election 2024.

“I have friends who are aristocrats, I have friends who are upper-class, I have friends who are, you know, working-class. Well, not working-class.” – Rishi Sunak, before he became Prime Minister

Mud is being slung, the Prime Minister has abandoned D-Day Commemorations, alongside global leaders. Perhaps the 81st Memorial next year is more important. That or he didn’t want to see his last one. Our pint-sized leader Sunak, the Wreck-it-Ralph of political debate, is floundering on the rocks as waves go down or up from a higher point. The debate itself was absolutely shambolic and an insult to viewers. Just like his recorded transgender jibes.

“They were 7.2 million, they’re now 7.5 million. He says they are coming down, and this is the guy who says he’s good at maths.” – Keir Starmer, Labour leader

Rishi “can’t use a bank card” Sunak has scandal in abundance. He loves numbers, and he lives for money. As he battled a debate like a schoolboy in a playground, refusing his challenger a stage to speak, it was clear, Sunak is like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming HGV. The former non-domicile tax-evader, holder of a US Green Card, occupant of Scottish Darlington doesn’t know people. His wife’s childcare firm does know his government’s budget, though.

An elitist that defecates on all beneath him is not fit to represent people. Sunak has boasted about taking from poorer regions to feed his more privileged regions. Those supporters may vote for him. Cash-strapped residents of once-okay towns and cities will explore other options. Or likely not abstain from voting. The mandatory identification provision before voting isn’t an ideal world. The Full Monty movie in 1997 tackled social issues that its sequel series in 2023 expanded upon. The latter of the two productions seemed to highlight the magnitude of education, health care, and employment problems faced by everyday people. It was human and touching. Unlike The Conservatives and their Terminator-style governments.

Truss: a woman in form but out-lasted by a lettuce; King of the CoViD epidemic Boris-wannabe-Churchill; Theresa bloody May; and David “where’s the pig?” Cameron have overseen the decline of the UK since 2016. We’ve exited Europe based on a hairline fracture of a public referendum. The Premier League football panel has higher voting standards. The House of Commons and House of Lords, relics of our times, equally need overhauling. People need people looking out for people. At least Rishi helped fill a supermarket employee’s car with fuel once. Once.

The opposition of Keir Starmer and Labour looks relatively bland. After years of ruin and increasingly-larger-than-reality doses of populism, many crave bland. A coalition of minor parties, making prooer decisions may be better. Remain UK and scrotal-face Nigel “Up the Rah” Farage can jerk their movements and jog on. Until July the 4th, U.S. Independence Day, we face weeks of faeces and detritus being tossed. Shithousery is guaranteed. Change is coming. I can feel it in the air.

Through The Leaves

30/05/202430/05/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Through the leaves, voices call out loud;

Beyond the tufted grasses wraps ivy thickly.

Through the greenery trees stand proud;

Along the jagged walls, bramble juts out prickly.

The murky Lancaster canal flows towards the sea;

A summer’s gentle breeze casts along its top.

Tits, swifts, and sparrow fly alongside bee;

Blackbirds hop along the mud and crop.

Feet slapping in the mud sinking slightly;

A fragrance of wild garlic hangs in the air.

Through the gaps and spaces, sun rays beam brightly;

Galloping dogs along the path they share.

Chattering and nattering creaks as trunks rub one another;

Regal flowers attract buzzing and zipping flight.

A ripple waves outwards from cygnets’ mother;

From Lancaster to Glasson Flight, a path wrapped in sights of delight.

This Means Bore.

28/05/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Fresh air, not armchair, is one phrase banded around. Football is a highly subjective topic. The marmite of sports. Break it down further and tainted bias slaps views across faces and backs angry frustration in media, socially and professionally. Some fans can’t even agree to disagree.

A supporter, a fanatic, a loyalty customer whatever you identify as, as a footy fan, you’re bound to have a preference. Whether it’s the famous black and white of Grimsby Town or the traditional gold of Wolverhampton, football fans stick by their club. Loyalty is tribal. Some fans hide away when the going gets tough. Gates dip. Who wants to watch poor football on a weekly basis? Well, that’s where the diehards sit and stand and roar.

Manchester Utd fan Terry Christian posted the same photo of City’s trophy parade, clearly taken hours before the parade, and about a year two. He mentioned Deansgate. It’s a photo outside the Royal Exchange Theatre. The famous tramlines are a clue. To paraphrase Jim Royle, “Deansgate, my arse!” It’s okay. It’s in jest. Just someone fishing for laughs using social media as a tool. Other blinder to the obvious fans repost it. They claim it. They celebrate it. The parasitic nature of social media captures a perceived truth and turns a silly post into the next Baby Reindeer. It stalks its intended audiences and bugs a few City fans. It is what it is. We do it to them with our Poznans, our chants, and our attitude. Why shouldn’t they wind us up?

The match-going fan goes for friends, family, and feelings that sitting in a pub or at home cannot replicate. The rainbow of emotions at a game, the creeping emotion, and the waves of euphoria or disappointment keep us going. Win, lose, or draw, the fanatic donned in whatever-they-wish-to-wear goes to cheer their club on their way. Few anticipate or expect results to go their way, even if they believe a team capable “on paper.” That’s not cricket. Whether you’re a 100-year-old at Wrescam watching a win or a baby pitch-invading past stewards, football brings people together. It also tears us apart.

As Manchester Utd lifted the 2024 F.A. Cup, suddenly I found reconnection with a few old mates, who felt that day more appropriate to drop passive aggressive messages, jokes, or soft commiserations. It is what it is. City weren’t good enough. As painful as it is to lose to a bitter rival, you take it. We’ve had far worse days. Far worse. I’m more perturbed by price rises at both our club and many Premier League clubs. Tottenham Hotspur’s latest money-grab involves scrapping pensioner prices. That’s not on.

Football desperately needs to stop hiding in social media shadows, gripping well-earned cash from supporter bases that have been there for their clubs through thick-and-thin. The whole success of football lies in community. From grassroots teams like Wythenshawe A.F.C. to Girona F.C., clubs need fans. Their fans. Not just the new money and gloryseekers who latch to player or club. We need more fans like Haguey, Daz, the Oldham Groundhopper, and the West Ham lot.

For now, the posts are lifted up. Savour the past. Look forward to the season ahead. There’s always hope. You won’t catch me saying 5-in-a-row, even if it is “a dream in my heart.”

P.s. Welcome to Wrexham, season 3 is well worth a watch.

Everything is Temporary

27/05/202427/05/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

No joy lasts forever. Nor any pain. Everything is temporary. Football is the same. The joys of Manchester City winning the Premier League for the fourth time, or the highs of singing along to Black Keys at a rescheduled gig in the Coop Live arena. Just some examples of highs. Lows: losing the F.A. Cup final, especially to Manchester Utd. Feelings come and go.

The Liquor Station, not far from Wembley, was a pub with a bouncing atmosphere. Despite losing to Utd, our fanbase remained in good spirits. Win, lose, or draw, loyalty is a fine thing. Many of us chatted, sang, and memories shared. The spirit of football drives away pain through positivity. City had lost their 5th game of the 2023/24, two less than the Treble trophy win of 2022/23. We have been spoiled under manager Pep Guardiola. To feel wonderful one minute may lead to lower spells.

The news today and tomorrow note that Pep is on his way out. Social media hints City will be charged with 115 alleged infringements. The usual crap that has haunted City since the Premier League made their charges known. Whilst Everton, Nottingham Forest and others faced charges and punishment for different reasons, City have strenuously denied the allegations as being a matter of guilt. Frustration can be annoying. Things twist and turn.

Drinks with Kellie, her son Ben, Ian, and partner ‘Elton’ Gayle (from Watford) made good company. A good breakfast, a great evening, and company sandwiching a poor result. City will be City. Typical City. Following that great evening, a car drive back led to just me attending the City trophy parade with a few thousand Mancunians. F.A. Cup defeat and bad weather didn’t dampen the atmosphere. A day. A moment. Temporary.

Nothing is ever permanent. Everything is temporary.

The Beautiful Game.

06/05/202412/05/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Where do I begin? Half and half scarves.

Following a player just for their win. Or Jack Grealish’s calves.

When had it all changed? Facebook, Twitter, X or whatever.

A platform to say anything, deranged. Modern supporters whatever the weather.

Except no. Not the rain. Not even what they call a small game.

Being begged for final tickets, which makes me insane. Fulham, Madrid, Stalybridge Celtic treat all the same.

King of the Kippax, not anymore. Game pin badges rare as rocking-horse dung.

Paper programmes up-priced to four. Your team wins, “It must be a bung.”

Image right charges, sponsors inflated. The big four, five, six, twenty.

Listen for facts, stop being deflated. No Cup replays, goodbye to plenty.

Entitlement and bitter disappointment. Park football understanding sacrifice.

The faded smells of changing room ointment. Out with the old, no room for advice.

Fields and pitches become housing estates. Bitter chants about empty seats.

Number 47 after traditional 8s. There is no room for crisis, cost of living: no eats.

The modern game for the working class. Prices go up and up and up and up.

Saturday? No. Sunday afternoon? No. Monday night? Pass. Dare you to question what is up?!

Toe the line, stand in line, pay the fine. Point deductions bring into disrepute.

Games from July to June, from Plymouth to Tyne. From five to nine, another substitute.

Automatically offside by the skin of a toe. Away, third and fourth kits in all varieties.

Again, VAR is stealing the show. Dates chugging along as corrections in diaries.

Loyalty bonus? Leaves in a year. Win, lose or draw, never gifted a process freeze.

Question their passion? Falls on deaf ear. Captive audience prices that cause you to wheeze.

Football reformation and regulation without invitation. Bills for teams, fans, agents, and players.

Time to question the rule makers’ instigation. What game will be left for the naysayers?

The beautiful game? The beautiful game. Our beautiful game? Our beautiful game.

Your beautiful game? Your beautiful game. My beautiful game? My beautiful game.

Tomorrow’s Hope.

04/05/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Lovingly made by Mother,
for Son and Father,
the dedicated signs of a future shared,
and each image is an inspiration for the days ahead.

Alicante

26/04/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Alicante (or Alicant in Valencian) struck me as a surprisingly historic and quiet place for an April wander. Good food, great sights, and a spot of relaxation.

Arriving by train into Alicante port, I crossed the road and followed a few memorised simple directions. Ole Hostel wasn’t too far. Checking in was swift. Within a few minutes, I was back out and heading up to San Fernando Castle and wandering around the great structure. A good view of Alicante and North towards Benidorm gave me an idea of what to do the next day. The rustic sandy coloured castle wasn’t too impressive, but a free entrance wander into a former fortress filled time and provided a place to read a chapter or two of Kill Shot, my latest chapter in Vince Flynn’s Mitch Rapp series.

Following the first castle, I strolled down the town to the marina and followed the promenade northwards for an hour or so. A quick and simple dinner and a sit down by the marina helped power a good night’s sleep. The following morning, after a good breakfast of salmon and avocado omelette, I headed to Castell de Santa Barbara. The walk upwards wasn’t too exciting. Basilica de Santa Maria d’Alicant was a pleasant Gothic church built in the 1500s, but Parc de l’Etreta was closer to an ill-planned concrete monstrosity. It was the kind of park lacking character and constructed in the kind of speedy way that lacks an understanding of erosion and weather conditions.

Once the park made way for the Castell de Santa Barbara lower walls, a road and gated entrance became visible. Soon after that, the grandeur and dramatic fortress opened up. Hereon, the castle allowed for ample exploration, great galleries, fantastic sweeping views, and reading opportunities. The free entrance and the provision of water sales helped keep my attention in the Valencian stronghold. Standing atop Mount Benacantil (169m/554′), the castle has Muslim origins, from when they controlled the Iberian Peninsula, around 711AD to 1296AD. Roman, Iberian, and bronze age artefacts had also been found. Many inhabitants followed, and reinforcements were built.

Much like the Ole Hostel, the scene was warm, friendly, and international. Brazilian and Cuban tourists mixed with local people, and the historic battles of olden times were distant memories. Cosy places to rest your feet and community has long been the norm.

Beneath the castle, the golden sands, and clear waters of Postiguet Beach shone under bright sunlight. To the north, Sierra Grossa stood like a carved hill, edged by roads and tramlines. A ruined petroleum plant stood out amongst the dried lands of the tufted grass top of the hills. From the beach to the castle, the top can be done via an underground lift. I didn’t know that, and to be honest, the walk up and down was part of a casual exploration. On the way down, I strolled by Hércules Football Club’s concrete José Rico Pérez stadium and the historically cruel bullring. The twin of Brighton and Hove, England, U.K. and Wenzhou (China) is a relaxed place, but I couldn’t spend too long there. Two nights was enough. The flight back to England from the nearby Aeropuerto de Alicante-Elche Miguel Hernández arrived. Before long, I’d swapped 22°C sunshine for 12°C and cloud.

Sitting in shorts, on Friday, watching City Elite Development Squad beat West Bromwich Albion 2-0 as the temperature dropped wasn’t my wisest decision. Micah Hamilton‘s great strike following Kane Taylor’s opener concluded a good 2-0 win and a great week with 5 nights in Spain.

April 26th.

26/04/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Icy morning, no wind blowing.
Bright sunlight, calm delight.
Dew under leaves, sparrows foraging.
Sky pure blue, clouds ever so slight.
Radiant colours, tall grasses.
Young soft flowers, joy reflective.
Branches reach out, squirrel passes.
Spring to summer, natural selective.

¡Hala Manchester!

20/04/202420/04/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Madrid, capital of Spain, longtime artistic city and short-term filmset of La casa de Papel. As much as I wanted to see the Spanish National Research Council (CSIC), I didn’t have time. Madrid was to be an in-and-out job, much like City’s thrilling three-all draw at the Estadi Santiago Bernabeu. Or, more appropriately, how my bank account is on pay day. In. Out. Done.

With that in mind, I met a few Blues for octopus on bread, alongside Callos a la Madrileña (a stewed tripe dish, cooked slowly for hours). With scrumptious food and a decent pint (or half litre) of Alhambra in the belly, I went for a wander. On the map, a temple had caught my eye.

Casa de Toledo isn’t in Toledo. It is in the Madrid area of Torrelodones. Sadly, a tad too far. The protected park by the Guadarrama River was too far out. Instead of planning a Bank robbery, I wandered to the Temple of Debod, which sounded quite mysterious. On arriving, with no information, I found a brick-by-brick relocated Egyptian tomb gifted by the Egyptian government to Madrid. Not a bad result of the Aswan Dam needing new space. This bizarre relocation overlooks the city of Madrid and a panoramic view of the majestic Palace area. Other bits are on view. On this occasion, the Simpsons, a panda, and a gorilla were nearby.

After this, a train from nearby sped towards Nuevos Ministerios metro station, followed by a stroll up to the football stadium. The Santiago Bernabeu is iconic and has been around since 1947. Maine Road, City’s mainstay for the 20th century, was built in 1923. Named after a former player and a benefactor, Santiago Bernabéu de Yeste once served under Francisco Franco’s Nationalists. The stadium had only a few years before bearing his name in 1955. Gone was the Nuevo Chamartín, and along came an iconic stadium. A recent refurbishment hadn’t been completed by the time Manchester City kicked off against Real Madrid in the 2023/24 quarter-finals of the UEFA Champions League.

The game itself was perilous at times, with moments of madness in defence for both teams sandwiching a handful of great goals. Phil Foden, J G, and Valvedare amongst the action. Bernardo Silva’s sublime freekick started the proceedings. The expected enclosure of the away stand was far from complete with a pre-match temporary power cut, taking the concourse lighting down. The alcohol-free offerings and limited snacks were overpriced and low in quality. Much like the tonnes of concrete dust around the “polished turd” of the Santiago Bernabeu stadium. The exterior is cased to look like an air-fryer or some such metallic pebble. Perhaps all the shopping trolley supply of Madrid was melted down for this external case. The steepness of the 4 (or 7 or 8) tiered away end allowed for a good view of pigeons landing below. Even their visit to the top two tiers needed supplementary oxygen.

The interior bowl of the Air Fryer Bernabeu looks impressive. It’s almost like a giant basketball-arena with a slightly bigger playing surface. The exterior lacks character and will no doubt reflect well under sunlight, but a metallic pebble broken by slats looks to me like a license to overheat. The dusty staircase, incomplete toilet and snack facilities, and decorations will no doubt look and feel better when complete. Until then, it’s a building site.

The four towers known as Paseo de la Castellana, near Madrid Chamartin railway station, does feature in the Spanish money heist series La casa de Papel. From here, I made my withdrawal. Bound for Alicante. Little did I know that City would be taken to extra time and eliminated from the Champions League in the following week. It is what it is.

Barca Off.

09/04/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)3 Comments

“The wind is a gentle breeze
Ooh, él me habló de ti, aah
The bells are ringing…” – Freddie Mercury & Montserrat Caballé’s song Barcelona.

Ever since the Barcelona 1992 Olympic Games, Barcelona has gripped my soul with the words and haunting operatic sounds of Montserrat Caballé. The autumn before saw the death of its legendary singer and writer Freddie Mercury, which accentuated the voices of a stunning musical piece. The city is also famous for a football team and is synonymous with art and gastronomy. Whether it’s Gaudi or Messi, chances are most people on Earth have a Barcelona connection.

“In Barcelona, I learnt things I thought I knew when I actually knew nothing at all.” – Roberto Bolaño, writer

Landed late at night, even the grimness of a late night subway and train journey didn’t gloss over the vibe of the city. Walking down from Plaça de Catalunya to the Sun and Moon hostel, the splendour and the darkness could easily be seen. Hand in hand. All the drugs in the world on offer, ladies of the night and classical theatre. La Rambla cuts a direct tree-lined route to the sea, Christopher Columbus on a column and Barcelona’s equivalent of the Liver Building. Before reaching there, I darted left to the fringe of the Gothic quarter. The mixture of Irish bars, tapas dealerships, and dated facades were mostly quiet. It was 1am. Checked in. Bed.

“The great book, always open and which we should make an effort to read, is that of Nature.” – Antonio Gaudi

Waking up, I wandered out. Turning left from Carrer de Ferran, I headed to the harbour and seaside. The smell of freshly warmed pastries, coffee, and dogshit came in wafts. Having got to the beach, the crap of the streets dissipated to a fresher sea air. A long wander to see El Petó de la Mort (“The Kiss of Death“) at Poblenou Cemetery also allowed sights such as a water tower, a converted gas-holder, and various beaches. Following this, the construction site of the new Nou Camp and various spires followed. The unfinished design of Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família stands out across the city. It was rude not to visit Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí’s masterpiece. He died in 1926. It is due for completion in 2034. An incredible long-term commitment by the Catholic Church.

“There is no nightlife in Spain. They stay up late, but they get up late. That is not nightlife. That is delaying the day.” – Ernest Hemingway, Novelist

Throughout the city, the Catholic Church’s influence and presence are visible to the extent that it makes me feel England is a Godless nation. Not that I’m religious. I just feel the further a nation moves from a central belief, the deeper a lack of respect and manners shatter from society. Multiculturalism has the power to embed basic values, but let’s be fair, the U.K. is not fully integrated or interested in such a way. As can also be seen in parts of Barcelona, through homelessness, wandering refugees canvassing dodgy goods, and slum-like neighbourhoods far removed from equality. It could be a much prettier world.

“If we get up early and have a think, believe me, we are an unstoppable country. Thank you and Long Live Catalonia.” – Pep Guardiola’s speech at the Parliament of Catalonia after receiving its Medal of Honour in 2011.

The world comes to Barcelona, but not for long. Cruise ships stop. Ferries and shipping dock. Many come to see the sights and head elsewhere. The city is overcrowded. Like many cities. Visiting Castell de Montjuïc, I was presented with the opportunity to learn the word castle in Catalan. I can’t recall how to say it. Castell de Montjuïc castle has been central to the history of Barcelona since the 1600s. This infamous site was the last breathing place of Lluís Companys i Jover. Here, like thousands of others, executions awaited. The democratically-elected 123rd President of the Government of Catalonia was the first and only European leader to be executed. Nazi Germany’s Gestapo packed him off from exile in France to General Francisco Franco.

“We crossed spacious streets, with buildings resembling palaces, in La Rambla promenade; the shops were well illuminated, and there was movement and life…” – Hans Christian Andersen, author.

The former Francisco Franco and his legacy remain controversial and unpopular in Generalitat de Catalunya, an area of self-governance and autonomy. Barcelona, its capital city, sprawls across valleys and Serra de Collserola mountains. The Mediterranean coast and all the city could be seen from the fortified Castell de Montjuïc. A man fired an arrow from a bow along the moat of the in an area known for its executions. Leisure and pleasure have long replaced torture and death. Descending the 177.72m (583ft) Montjuïc hill, the winding roads swept over the Estadi Olímpic Lluís Companys, which is the home of F.C. Barcelona during their 2023/24 campaign. The La Liga ground is where İlkay Gündoğan plays football now. The former City player wasn’t available to be smuggled back to Manchester. João Cancelo wouldn’t be invited back.

“Tomorrow we will do beautiful things.” – Antonio Gaudi, artist, architect, and dreamer.

Wandering the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona, some quiet and relaxing spots made me think about why many people love Barcelona and why quite a few people dislike the city. It’s almost like Marmite. You either love it or hate it? I didn’t dislike it, but I wouldn’t call again. A day is enough. I found myself more swayed by the places within two hours. Girona looks gorgeous. That is a trip for another day. For now, next stop: Madrid.

Never Mind The Bike Shops

08/04/202407/04/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

As a kid, I was never given a top end bike. What I was given was a bike. That was enough. A pair of wheelers, after the stabilisers were removed, working horseshoe brakes. A seat. Handlebars and no gears. I’d be a teenager before I discovered gears and front suspension via our Asa’s Raleigh Activator mountain bike. In my secondary school days, Mum worked hard to give me a brand new Falcon mountain bike.

I don’t remember the Falcon’s model name, but I quickly nicknamed it the Millennium Falcon. This Star Wars-inspired nickname was apt as the year 2000 would soon be upon us. Not that I cared, Dan, Pete, and I were off riding our chicken chasers wherever they’d take us. We’d ride Stockport Town centre, rich for empty hills, Lyme Park for the mud and glory, or the High Peak Canal to Buxworth because it was all there.

Over time, a succession of bikes came and went. Gerry Sheilds in Failsworth, as a friend of Grandad, and later Gerry’s son helped regularly. I had long ago learned that Evans and Hal-frauds were not the impassioned maintenance experts needed to keep a bicycle on track. Chris Shields provided a lovely Speeder hybrid by Merida, and its £1500 price tag in 2008-ish was not particularly comforting on the pocket. It served me well, exploring Essex, Norfolk, and the North West of England. A good bike enables confidence and exploration.

Fast forward to China, and after trying a crap Giant bike, I switched to a Merida 500 Duke and then a Merida Challenger, number not recalled. The latter was too short, but in China, frames were rarely available in large. I needed extra large. It did a job. The two Merida shops in Changping and Dalingshan did their absolute best to make the Dongguan Express its greatest available cycling experience. So much so that I even exported the ill-fitting bike back to the U.K. in 2022. Yesterday, it was donated via a bike shop to a better home.

That bike shop is, Never Mind The Bike Shops, and to be honest at first, the dated website looked cack. Bright but framed in the hypertext equivalent of antiquity. The colour scheme was eye-catching. The name definitely had my attention. I read on. I decided to investigate further. Before long, in summer 2023, I’d replaced one rupture machine for an Orro grit bike with some customisation. Inevitably, the 100 miles of weekly commutes necessitated a full service. That and shearing a pedal off. Later, it was upgraded to feature Burgtec pedals, made in Macclesfield. The quirky bike shop ran by Martin Dallaghan and Hutch is one of the very best community and independent bike suppliers I’ve ever encountered.

I’d use this bike shop over others for their dedication, experience, and expertise. And still, the ride goes on. So, where to ride next?

We Can Be Heroes

07/04/202407/04/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Brian Horton wasn’t the glamour signing many wanted. One thing he was, and you can’t take that away from me, was the manager that caught my eye and attention. I was barely into double digits of age when this suited smart beaming smile of a man appeared on the Maine Road scene. The gravelly Scouse-voice of Peter Reid was suddenly replaced with an outsider from the familiar northern tones. An outsider he would not remain. Capturing fans’ hearts and imagination, he retained Steve Lomas, brought in the excitement of David Rocastle, Paul Walsh, Ian Beagrie, and the cult hero Herr signing Uwe Rösler. A relegation battle saw City go on a great run and excitement bubbled.

Niall Quinn, Richard Edghill, Garry Flitcroft, and others made for progressive football in 1994/95 with a weak league finish, keeping the threat of relegation in touching distance. As is Typical City, Chairman Swales made room for the great bogroll King Francis “One Pen” Lee. With that change, Brian Horton was sacked, and City would move for former England player Alan Ball. The rest is history, although many argue Manchester City has no history. We all know otherwise.

Over many years, I’ve bumped into former City players and current stars and gathered a collection of autographs. Having chances to speak a few words with one or two has been rare but worthwhile. Ian Brightwell signed my Manchester City v QPR programme on that fateful day in May 2012. I also nattered to the ever-approachable Tommy Booth. Mike Summerbee epitomises the fan-footballer relationship, stopping home and away, and all places between autographs and photos. These moments bring magic to Manchester City fans and others. Meeting Ken Barnes, Bert Trautmann, Peter Barnes, and Gerry Gow wouldn’t be a big thing to a Liverpool fan, nor a Manchester U****d fan, but for me anyone who has donned the legendary blue and white of Manchester, gets my attention. Even Ged Brennan.

Another star on the night at The Vale in Gorton was 6’4″ (193cm) goalkeeper Alex Williams. 125 appearances over 6 years, alongside England youth caps, and a prolific career at City In The Community has done Alex well. A well-spoken and welcoming individual who recognises the importance of social responsibility and equality has been deeply ingrained in City folklore since the 1980s. A fellow ex-resident of Levenshulme, Alex Williams, received an MBE in 2002. To his credit, he battled racism and it’s hard-to-believe-now that he was the first black goalkeeper in English professional football. Wayne Hennessey and Kasper Schmeichel were amongst his tutees during his coaching days. Like Brian Horton, Alex flogged his autobiography, You Saw Me Standing Alone. Both made it to my bookshelves that evening.

The evening of course featured 5 trophies, including the 2022/23 treble. The UEFA Champions League trophy sat next to the FA Cup and Premier League polished trophies. The UEFA Super Cup and FIFA Club World Cup were equally positioned on the evening. Gorton Official Supporters Club held a great night for its members and guests.

After questions and answers with Brian Horton and ex-City keeper Alex Williams, a warm feeling of connection to a club that has grown into a gargantuan behemoth remained. Keeping in touch with memories and pride is important. City ’til I die, indeed.

Hand in hand

02/04/202401/04/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

I want to walk hand in hand with you

towards the storms.

I want to ride the roads with you

higher and further.

I want to sing and dance only with you

with no worries.

I want to share and show and tell and know

anything and everything.

Just with you.

Dream/Nightmare

01/04/202401/04/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

What are dreams?

Broken shards of unfulfilled hope?

A dealer with an empty bag of dope?

Remnants of longed for lifestyles?

The gap along unwanted aisles?

What exactly are dreams?

A blur of shattered imagination?

A squiggle of smudged reflection?

The wings of a squashed mosquito once fit for flight?

Between day and day is there no longer night?

Where are my dreams?

So, if a dream is supposed to be positive, why does a nightmare grow from good news?

Will joyous elation ready for skews?

Is good news a mask for darkness?

Are all answers but a wild guess?

What makes dreams?

Is the craved mountain peak eternally too far to reach?

Is the hourglass open like that of a beach?

Do dawn and dusk merge as one?

Which silent bell tolls for the gone?

So, what are dreams?

Mothering Sunday

10/03/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)1 Comment

Mother’s Day is every day.

Other parents are available.

The thing is: Mum is best.

Here’s a few more reasons:

Extremely reliable and supportive.

Really warm and loving.

Mum rocks our world.

Unfortunately Dad has smelly feet.

Mother, we love you.

Mam, Mom, Mummy, Ma, Mama…

Actually, you’re my hero.

Maybe even better than Erling Haaland.

Most Mums are brilliant.

Onomatopoeia are words you could teach us.

Mmmmmmmm.

Maybe in another generation

And one after that

Mum’s influence will shine on

As it did from my Mum’s Mum.

Happy Mothering Sunday!

Beryl Is Dead.

18/02/202418/02/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

A scuff along my left inner calf. Just beneath that a short slash of loose skin. A sore knee. The result of a power-assisted pedal down an ill-fitting road. What started as a simple ser if errands had quickly escalated into a farce. All in the name of public and green transport.

Many people that I know argue that the best car driving experiences involve hire cars. The same can’t be said for Manchester’s new-ish Beryl bikes. The bee-crested Bee Network bikes have been around the city for some time. Their yellow livery and solid frames, like bees, give off a sense of warning. Many hit accelerate in their hire cars, and some give little care to how they return them. I pride myself on treating all in my possession as my own. I aimed to take this hire bike back safely.

Departing a bus stop in Ardwick, I ran my first errand, and toyed with the idea of a bus back to town and then across to Openshaw. I passed a rack of yellow bikes. I decided to download the Beryl application. I followed the instructions and was quickly away. I slowed past the site of the former Daisy Mill in Longsight. I sped on, deciding to swing via Gorton and then Openshaw before heading for Newton Heath. That was my first error.

The second error was not locking the bike, despite using the screen to lock it. The screen kept flashing with a lock bike message. Then I slid the black rear lock in place. It said I could park for 15 minutes. I gave myself 5 minutes in the shop. Within minutes, 4 phone warnings flashed up. The reasonable minutes per bike riding were okay. The £25 out of zone parking was not. It had not paused the journey. It ended the journey. I soon contacted team Purple on the Beryl application. Displeased was an understatement.

After some careless negotiation, enraged, with sore cold hands on a phone that refused to steady my nerves, I had negotiated my charges back. Just the charges. Not the journey fee. I left it a few days, and even now, 6 days later, I feel angry at such a poor experience. Use more environmental transport? Hmm. No thanks.

I’d managed a loop and ended almost where I’d started. Racking and placing the two locks onto the bumbling Bee bike, I became infuriated by the complexity of a simple enough ride. I’ve used similar services in Germany, China, Japan, and Denmark, yet here in my hometown, hiring a bike seemed as complex as spliting the atom.

Plastic club.

18/02/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Plastic club with plastic fans and plastic empty seats.

You said we have no history.

I’m sure you have no bias.

You said we should be charged.

You’re a legal hotshot.

Empty colours and an atmosphere suited to a library.

Did you ever leave your armchair?

You questioned where we were when we “were shit”.

You edited photos and videos when you weren’t bothered.

The Red side toppled, wobbled and roof falling down.

The silent Anfield roar, a copy and paste rhetoric.

You said it wasn’t about us but it was about us, about you, about us.

No bias intended, no one offended.

All the while, your former players bleated and tweeted.

Not about the white American owners.

Just the Arabs, Asians and outsiders.

The Russian one first, then less, when shady became barred.

Through this, we sat back and celebrated.

We inhaled the fumes of boiling piss from Merseyside, Old Trafford, and the Daily Telegraph.

Modest jealousy in print, on video, and all over the Internet.

We look at you, smile, yawn…

And we play on.

Bag it up.

17/02/2024oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Dog shit twit

Too busy for it!

Dog shit fairy

Isn’t at all scary!

Dog shit messiah

No time for you liar.

Pick it up, put it away

And don’t be a dirty old stray!