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If Michael Howard is the answer, what the hell is the question?

It doesn't take long for a deluded, dead and dumbfuck party to reach for that collective smug Tory smile - less than twenty four hours. With the blood still fresh in the Bald One's back as the daggers are withdrawn, the Tories believe that all is well on Daily Mail Island.

What salvation is required for a party that has more splits than a banana milk shake? Doh! Michael Howard of course. The answer has been staring us right in the face. What the Tories need right now is a failed Thatcherite who has managed to produce Ann Widdecombe's sole comedy moment in a political career that has been about as amusing as an invite to a poolside party hosted by Michael Barrymore.

Let us remind ourselves of some of the high points in Howard's 'leading from the centre' political career to date:

He reminds us why no one voted Tory in '97

Less than twelve months ago Howard declared: 'I will never stand again for the leadership of the Conservative Party' - off to a good start on the trust factor then Michael.
As President of the Cambridge Union, Howard was recognized as the leading light in the self-styled 'Cambridge Mafia' - an odious group of little shitheads that went on to inflict Thatcherite right wing policy during the late 80's. Just what we like in our politicians, someone who can speak for the nation.

A firm believer that 'prison works,' as Home Secretary Howard advocated that female prisoners be clamped in shackles during childbirth. When he wasn't busy formulating medieval style punishment policies, Howard attempted to privatise the prison service; Prisons for Profit, proving that crime does indeed pay. For City institutions that is.

He is a self-confessed baseball fan. Not a lot wrong with that, except that when you attempt to deliver social policy around baseball rules, then it's a sure sign that you are losing the plot; Howard was behind the 'three strikes and you're out' Tory attempt to rid our High Streets of the evil and highly dangerous gangs of chewing gum droppers.

As Home Secretary Howard managed to increase unemployment by over one million in under a year - and that's saying something given the Tories record on massaging the figures.

Howard is either deaf or just plain ignorant. Witness him failing to answer a question posed by Jeremy Paxman on Newsnight FOURTEEN times. The question WASN'T 'do you genuinely think that you will one day be Prime Minister or are you just taking the piss?'

Norman 'The Badger' Lamont is backing Howard's campaign.

This is the man that was defeated in a previous leadership election contest by Wee Willie Hague, who later went on to steer the hapless Tories to their biggest General Election defeat in living memory. If Howard was the wrong choice by a country mile for the Tories back in 1997 AND 2001, what the hell has happened in the past two years to make him the new messiah for the blue rinse masses?

He reminds us why no one voted Conservative back in 1997.

With less than seven days to go until the nominations close, PLEASE can we have another candidate to throw their Tory dandruff infested hat into the ring? Ideally a wet liberal like Cuddly Ken who will just split the party even further.

Failing that then a bonkers end of the pier right wing loon such as Bill Cash or John Redwood would increase the comedy stakes, and hopefully expose Howard for the true Thatcherite that he is.

The coronation of one of the most unpopular members of the most unpopular government of all time is evidence that the problem isn't WHO should lead the party, but the problem IS the party.

Where's the wicked witch when you need her the most?

different day, same shit...

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It's difficult to find sympathy for a PLC football club that reports a 50 million pounds loss to the Stock Exchange and then continues to pay Seth Johnson 37,000 pounds a week. But at the heart of the Leeds United financial fiasco are the Elland Road fans who face the possibility of their club going out of business.

You wouldn't wish relegation on your worst enemy (except Leicester City), but if Leeds do go down, it may just be the slap in the face to bring an end to the never never football economy.

Relegation for Leeds would almost certainly result in administration, swiftly followed by an automatic ten point deduction from the Football League; under such circumstances you can't see a professional future of the club.

He who dares wins - tell that to a Leeds fan

The superstar players will manage to walk straight into new clubs, probably with a fat 'loyalty' bonus to bank. As Peter Ridsdale has proved at Barnsley, even the most financially incompetent chairman get a second chance as well.

Forty thousand plus Leeds fans however will be left with a spare Saturday afternoon (or Sunday, or Monday evening...) and a feeling of gross betrayal.

Ahh, but football is a business and so the club owes the fans nothing. Loyalty is not an issue that the free market understands. But what of the endless years of season ticket sales, buying crap merchandise, financial and emotional investment on away trips? Notice the contradiction in trying to run a club on the Stock Exchange?

Football is not about free market choice; it's about loyalty; it's about developing community awareness; it should be about fun. All concepts that City institutions have no grasp of.

Groups such as Reclaim the Game and the Football Supporters Association predicted the separation of football from its community roots over a decade ago. Sky TV and Gazza's tears were just around the corner and the doom mongers were dismissed as dinosaurs who weren't prepared to take the game forward. Forward to exactly where though?

We now have a Premiership hyped up beyond all proportions (Spurs Vs 'Boro anyone? Zzzzz,) which only three clubs can win, leaving the rest scrapping it out for Sky TV money. It is a truly sorry state when the Wimbledon rags to riches story has been reduced to chasing a pot of gold rather than football honour.

With the Chelsea experiment continuing to bloom, there is always going to be a short term strategy dreamer such as Ridsdale foolish enough to run a club under a false economy and live the dream. He who dares wins.

Try telling that to a Leeds fan this morning.

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London Towers 85 Sheffield Sharks 95, 25/10/03

Managed to avoid the London Towers dolly bird dancers who thought they could fool me with a flutter of the eyes into submission and fleece me 50p for a raffle ticket. Sorry girls, but the lure of a 'Crispy Creamy Doughnut exclusive to Harrods' will require a little more in the sexual stakes for me to part with my loose change. Towers looked good against a clearly talented Sharks side who have now won six on the bounce. The pace of the high scoring first and second quarters couldn't be matched in the second half of the game. Despite the scoreline, the game was never really out of reach for the Towers.



Crap Match Report Compendium

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Dulwich Hamlet 3 Epsom & Ewell 1, 25/10/03

An appalling game for the football purist with the ball being hoofed high in the air rather than being passed along the ground. Felt sorry for the Epsom & Ewell rotund midfield player; as any budding Trinny and Susannah 'ook at me, I'm gorgeous' shit celeb style guru could have told the poor chap, hoops and a 14 stone girth are a non-league football catwalk disaster waiting to happen. A late penalty from the Hamlet finished off the hapless away team. Highlight: the floodlights being turned on for the time this season. It really was that bad.



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London Racers 4 Coventry Blaze 4 (OT), 24/10/03

Racers took the lead early in the first with Coventry soon equalising. An explosive second period which saw the scores go from 1-1 to 4-3 to the Racers; a fantastic solo goal, a fluke rebound off the boards and a cheating Coventry netminder. What more could you want from a mid-period? It all clamed down in the third with Coventry taking the game to overtime with three minutes left on the clock. Fourteen games into the schedule, W0, D1, L13. Could be worse - imagine supporting Leicester City...



Crap Match Report Compendium

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Money talks, bullshit walks. So put on yer best hiking boots Iain and stroll off into that forgotten land of company directorships where all failed Tory leaders end up. Oh joy, JOY JOY!!!!. The free market and the 'Invisible Hand' is a wonderful economic concept indeed; Iain Duncan Smith is looking more and more flaky by the hour as various captains of industry (filthy rich men wearing shit pin stripe suits) queue up to take pot shots at the Tory's glorious leader.

Something reeks of shit to me

Such irony that the party that promotes a capitalist ideology as the starting point for delivering social policy is about to be given a severe kicking by the money men who provide the financial backing. Bite the hand that feeds indeed.

You live by the sword, you die by the sword and so it is only fair and proper that Duncan Smith is delivered a fatal blow by the very same 'gents' he was courting not so long ago. Seems like the brown nosed balding Tory has been poking his hooter where it wasn't welcome. Something reeks of shit to me, but then the Tories always did know how to look out for their own.

The fear of course is that the Tories may be left with a credible figure that may just be able to kick start the extremely long process to make them a credible force once again. Well, credible to middle age women called Hannah who live in thatched cottages in Hertfordshire and think that Simon Heffer is a jolly fine read on a Saturday morning.

Ken Clarke is a fine career politician, as is Michael Portillo. It's just such a shame they both have such crap policies. In terms of delivery however, they may just be what the Tories need right now to put their message across.

In the meantime, roll up, roll up, take your best ringside seat and marvel at the sight of a squirming Tory losing the support and respect from the plotting backstabbers within.

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The majestic sight of Concorde roaring its dominant presence all over London will be experienced for the last time on Friday. This magnificent feat of Anglo-French engineering has become a victim of market forces and will now be reduced to nothing but a museum piece. A classic case of early retirement, proving that even science has a price.

Whereas employees that are given a premature golden handshake make way for fresh young blood with less experience and lighter wage demands, what is waiting in the wings to replace Concorde? No one ever claimed that Concorde is capable of time travel, but what we're left with is a step backwards. A return to old style jumbo flying, taking twice as long to complete a journey with half the style and elegance offered by Concorde. Can you really erase technical history?

But Concorde represents far more than simply a means for getting from A to B. It has become a symbol of pride, the manifestation of Anglo-French co-operation and the rejection of US interventionism. It is the last great invention of the twentieth century.

When it flies over the Lido late in the afternoon, heads still gaze upwards. Minutes later when it passes over The Oval during a Test match, Concorde receives one of the loudest cheers of the day. Despite being on the scene for over thirty years, Concorde is still an eye catcher.

We shouldn't give the Americans the pleasure of seeing such a prestigious project fail, much in the same way their own supersonic ambitions died over thirty years ago before they were even air born.

Concorde was originally built for the jet set and its downfall has been its failure to predict the way that the market would turn. Low cost airlines have rendered Concorde an extravagence, but is it really time to put the old girl to bed?

The symbolic act of grounding Concorde will be too much for any kind of resurrection. Once she is down, she will stay down and will be become nothing but a tourist attraction, similar to a Spinning Jenny, Stephenson's Rocket or HMS Belfast.

Marvels of engineering were not designed to be trampled over by the day tripper crowd. They need to be active and are living, breathing mechanical structures. Is there really no other role for Concorde to play? Ten years in the building, grounded overnight.

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Democracy exists in Baghdad (yeah, right...) but not in Glasgow. George Galloway, the suspended MP for Glasgow Kelvin is facing a Labour Party disciplinary panel on Wednesday (a bit like an FA kangaroo court but instead of an irrational hatred of Arsenal, anyone who dares to think out of the party line is forced to sleep with a Tony Blair duvet cover).

Whatever verdict the men in suits deliver, Smiling George is not granted a right of appeal. Chances are that he will be thrown out of the party as the allegations made against him are just the excuse that the New Labour machine has been waiting for to finally nail him.

If Galloway is driven outside of the party apparatus, he will become more of a threat to the government than if he is contained within; the spectre of Ken Livingstone looms large with Galloway receiving solid support from within his constituency. Donchta just love Glaswegians ;-)

Following the great party purge of '85 when Kinnock took on the left, a robust and outspoken figure such as Galloway is surly a voice that the party should be proud of? At least the Tories don't move to censor every word from a loon such as Bill Cash.

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Dulwich Hamlet 1 Metropolitan Police 1, 22/10/03

Either the Met Police team has done away with its old Corinthians 'not a cop, you aint playing' style values, or her Majesty's finest are now allowing non-English speaking Portuguese coppers on the beat, not to mention kids with silly Beckham type haircuts. Must play havoc having to wear a helmet on top. What the hell does a bona fide policeman need a football agent for anyway? Get my drift? Poor game, poor crowd - probably under 100. Hamlet took the lead early on and then threw it away allowing the Met to get an equaliser in the final few minutes. Ref was crap as well. The first official winter match down at Champion Hill. Bloody freezing. Should have stayed in and watched Arsenal.



Crap Match Report Compendium

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Norman Jay MBE is scheduled to appear on Question Time this Thursday, that bastion of conservative thinking and general all round televised live gibbering event, featuring white middle aged men wearing tweed, with the occasional mad as a wet hen right wing extremist Daily Mail female (squint to make sure) columnist randomly thrown in demonstrate an accurate cross sample of progressive UK thinking.

Don't think they will be too impressed with your knowledge of Rare Groove, Norman.

So what can everyone's favourite Good Times disc spinner expect from his Question Time experience? Here's the onionbagblog survival guide for dissing Dimbleby:

When a question is asked on your specialist area, expect to be the first panellist that Dimbleby will turn to for a snapshot response. Avoid cliches like the plague, but Dimbleby is nothing but predictable.

'What does the panel think of the latest Timberland Mary J Blige mix?' Don't expect to hear: 'Simon Heffer, over to you first.'

One member of the panel will completely lose the plot and will descend into a Vanessa Feltz style 'infamy' infamy, they've all got it in for me' rant during the broadcast. Answers will become more and more random as the audience moves in for the kill. Traits such as continually banging on about a badly made point during the first question which is then somehow slipped into every subsequent answer in an effort to cover up your spaz like debating skills are a dead giveaway. Wonder if Germaine Greer will be on this week?

Like pictures of policeman dancing at Carnival, it is a 100% banker that there will be some planted question in the audience asking 'the panel' (i.e. Norms) about the escalation of UK gun crime (tabloid copyright) and urban music. This one's gonna blow, etc etc.

The final random question (yeah right) is guaranteed to generate guffaws and is likely to be themed around:

The poor standard of the England football / cricket / marbles team, or...

the invention of a new form of contraception for men / ducks which is then debated without any reference to the act of fucking but is certain to lead to the conclusion that all gays should be hung, or even...

Anne Widdecombe's latest kiss and tell diary. A very rounded novel indeed.

After fifty minutes of incoherent debate ranging from high brow Guardian existentialist theories about McDonalds cartons being dropped in the street, to barely legible gruntings from some cattle farmer bigging up the BNP, the golden rule of Question Time is that at the end, everyone is a winner. Once Dimbleby has winked to the camera and the credits start to roll, past differences are put aside and the entire studio audience congratulates itself with a smug smile and warm applause, safe in the knowledge that the problems of Little England can now be put to bed.

Don't have nightmares Norman.

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London Towers 91 Brighton bears 86, 18/10/03

Ended up sitting with the mongs from Essex Leopards yet again, who since the demise of their club, have taken to attending Towers matches, only to continually slag off the home team. Seems a bit pointless to me. Good to see ex-Towers player Kendrick Warren once again after he switched to the Bears over the summer. Almost made a dick of himself when he tried an easy dunk and lost his footing. A good close game which was only decided right in the final minute of the fourth with Randy Duck (still raises a smile) failing to sink an easy two pointer. After a shaky start, the Towers season in underway.



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London Racers 1 Nottm Panthers 3, 17/10/03

Face off was late. Still managed to thankfully miss the National Anthem. Tried out the new terracing - a good view but fell over more than once. Racers powerplay has less thrust than a second hand space shuttle. Looked very dodgy behind their own net, almost afraid to advance. Tea during the period breaks was a saviour. Thermos flasks are without a doubt one of the top three inventions known to man. Late push by the Racers in the third with goon Craighead (the ugliest player in the EIHL) throwing his weight around for Panthers. Healthy head count of mullets amongst the visiting Panthers fans. Didn't hang around for Man of the Match, legged it back down the hill to catch the train. That first win WILL come...



Crap Match Report Compendium

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Trust Hefner to make an electropop record two years too late. Whilst the fins of Shoreditch leach for another scene to attach themselves to and Fischerspooner join Sigue Sigue Sputnik on the cabaret circuit, half of Hefner have made the perfect pop record throwing down their guitars and adopting the synth. Better late than never.

Hefner haven't split as such, but much in the same way as Pulp, five albums in and the band members are 'considering other options.' Thankfully one of these is The French, a hastily assembled project involving John Morrison and Darren Hayman from the band.

The French may be a shit (and misleading) name but the album title, Local Information, sets the scene. Essentially this is an album made for people living in London, by people living in London, and all the boredom that this can often lead to.

No Disney style West End tourist trap hell on offer here; The French paint a murky picture of the capital's seedy underbelly with an unhealthy fascination for life stuck out in Zone 3-4.

Scene watchers may be disappointed to find out that Wu-Tang Clan is not a homage to limey Staten Island wanabees, but instead, a sad tale of curtains drawn during the daytime in exotic Walthamstow and Ol Dirty Bastard pumping out of the crap hi-fi to try and pass away the endless hours of boredom.

When She Leaves name checks everyday London experiences such as the pitfalls of a crap Northern Line while Canada Water fantasises about just what might be possible in such a slag heap.

Whereas the Hoxton crowd were always trying just a little too hard to display all the right references, you get the impression with The French that it all just comes naturally. They love Abba purely for the music, so it makes sense for the Day You Arrive to lend heavily from The Day Before You Came, sounding not a million miles away from original 80s electro pop kids Blancmange and their Abba cover.

Gabriel in the Airport documents the grim Heathrow existence for the kids out in the suburbs who actually have to work in such a shit hole, with Peter Gabriel, Phil Collins and Sting regularly passing through. And all for the minimum wage.

The best music always comes out of boredom: Think the Pistols, The Specials and Pulp. The electroclash scene made the mistake of celebrating decadence around a musical style that begs for a stripped down no thrills approach. The French seemed to have stumbled on the magic formula.

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I can't remember exactly when I gave up on daytime Radio 1, but I think it must have been around the same time that Chris Moyles was wheelbarrowed in as the 'saviour' of Big Fun 1FM. The man that John Peel once described as 'DLT waiting to happen' has now landed the breakfast show, replacing another loutish northerner, no doubt with similar ideas that the nation's yoof want to be motivated to get out of bed with tales of all night benders, C list celeb spotting and puerile football banter, all delivered with little or no understanding.

Does my head in at 7am to be honest.

In an age of digital radio, online streaming and mp3s, it's difficult to find a reason for the existence of Radio 1. The very definition of a national broadcaster, operating out of London, was always going to be open to accusations of a South East bias. But how can a London-centric station now speak for such a fractured regional audience?

Blandness and Moyles seems to be the answer.

Sure the BBC licence fee is still worth the money, even if BBC TV seems to be adopting the same polish a turd ethos as Moyles and co. The BBC online operations alone have no comparison, and that argument alone should justify their funding through the licence fee, despite monopoly concerns from nothing but jealous (and crap) rivals.

Look outside of the fun and games of daytime Radio 1 though and there are still some wonders to be found on BBC radio; The Breezeblock, Gilles Peterson, Fabio and Grooverider on nightime R1, R3's embrace of world music, 5Live's commitment to sport, and dear old John Peel still doing what he does best - searching for new music and presenting it without any ego, simply a labour of love.

And what of Moyles? A Channel 5 chat show that pulls in fewer viewers than a repeat of Come Dancing awaits. Whoops, been there, done that.

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Ten reasons why Oliver Letwin is a Norman Tebbit waiting to happen:

He wears blue and white striped pyjamas (like all good public school boys).

He went to Eton, following in the foot steps of the majority of Cabinet Ministers. Shame wacky Olly will prove to be the exception for the second part of this deal.

He cites Thatcher as his political mentor and heroine.

As a smug twenty-something, Letwin was the brainchild behind the Poll Tax, the final nail in the coffin of the evil witch. Not all bad news then.

Letwin wants to send asylum seekers to 'faraway' and 'poor' places such as Papua New Guinea and St Helena. Unfortunately the latter doesn't yet house an airport, but where there's a will, there's way, eh Olly?

Letwin and his family live on Daily Mail Island.

When not formulating touchy, feely Tory social policies, Letwin spends his spare time as a Director of the investment bank N S Rothschild. Clearly a man of the people, and not a merchant banker, as in the street sense.

'In Lambeth, where I live, I would give my right arm to send my children to a fee-paying school. If necessary I would go out on the streets and beg rather than send them to the school where I live.'

That's assuming that the wonderful local school would actually want your brats Olly.

Amazingly Letwin appears to be a supporter of Reclaim the Streets, the direct action network for global, local and ecological revolution. His speech to the blue rinse Tory party conference this year declared:

'This is our pledge to the nation, our challenge in Government.

Your police.

On your streets.

Reclaiming your streets for the honest citizen.' ;-))))))))

He looks like he failed the audition to join Wham!

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Having just watched the England press conference ahead of the Turkey game, I'm left thinking what the hell was that all about? The 'dialogue' between Eriksson and the journos was more stage managed than a New Labour party conference.

The press pack were told beforehand to show some constraint by the FA's Chief Clipboard Carrier, requesting that only questions relating to the actual game would be tolerated.

With so many other fundamental issues knocking around at the moment, nothing new has been added to what is already a very confused and uncertain arena; have the players and the FA made their peace? Does the manager support the stance made by the players? Is Eriksson going to wait until the final whistle in Istanbul before making his way direct to Stamford Bridge?

The press conference was a very English farce, up there with the best of them. The FA might as well have written its own questions to be fielded. Pretending that the strike threat at the start of the week never existed is like talking to George Best about his life but omitting to mention the word alcohol.

You have to ask who exactly is restraining who? Is the FA forcing its own agenda, clearly embarrassed as they are after the player's revolt? Is Eriksson simply trying to hide his own future plans?

I think we would have quite literally got more sense if Beckham had been pushed forward onto the podium.

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My music consumption has probably increased by 100% over the past few years thanks to the availability of finding albums online. It sometimes does feel like 'consumption' though rather than appreciation with an ever increasing pile of CDRs piled up ready to be given a chance.

Some albums however just refuse to die and put up a daily fight, resisting movement to the 'to be filed away' stack.

Looking back over the summer months, CDRs that have seen off a host of new comers include:

Gillian Welch - Soul Survivor
Paddy McAloon - I Trawl the Megahurtz
Eliza Carthy - Anglicana
Roddy Frame - Surf
Kate Rusby - Underneath the Stars

All of them have an autumnal feel to them, making it increasingly difficult to prise them away and move on to something new.

The endless P2P argument has now been played out in full and it's difficult not to get away from the fundamental question of 'are musicians being ripped off?' Of course they are, but my conversations with artists have always led to the conclusion that they just want to get their music out there and HEARD.

Isn't that the essence of P2P?

My musical habits may have now become consumption rather than genuine excitement over finding something new, but P2P has certainly meant that I am now listening to many forms of music that I simply wouldn't have taken a chance with in the bad old days of chain store record shop rip offs.

Who is actually STILL propping up the majors and forking out 15 pounds for a new release from HMV?

P2P has demonstrated to me precisely what the majors role is in the 'production' of music - marketing and nothing else; it makes no difference to me if I get to hear an album on CDR or through a legitimate CD with all the useless add ons of sleeve notes and endless backslapping notes.

Marketing always ends up turning genuine new ideas to shit anyway.

And what of theft? Oh, downloading is nothing but theft from a record store. Well, that's OK then, as long as you don't get caught...

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Is it actually possible for a player pulling in 75 thousand pounds plus a week to 'strike' and withdraw their labour? I'm all for union rights and representation in the work place, but isn't the threat from the England team to refuse to play in Turkey just a symptom of a wider power struggle within the English game?

Who is actually pulling the strings here?

The England manager? Although he sympathises with Ferdinand, Eriksson made it quite clear in his press conference yesterday that the show must go on.

Bust does he speak for his players? Apparently not. What would dear old Sir Alf think of this act of defiance? It appears that the 'senior' players that are negotiating on behalf of the squad has a strong Manchester United thread running through it. Gary Neville, Paul Scholes and Beckham with all his United baggage. Is the Ferdinand affair another example of the club Vs country row surfacing yet again?

And what of the role of Gordon Taylor, the highest paid trade union official in the country? Is he looking after his members, or just using this current crisis as another battering ram in his long-running power struggle with the FA?

I thought it was all about football and personally I'm looking forward to watching my non-league team play on Saturday. I may just find time to watch England later on, petulance permitting.

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Someone has just asked me 'what's the best thing about Ian Duncan Smith?'

Um... that he'll never become Prime Minister?

Thankfully the pitiful Tory party are in such a state that this ineffectual 'leader' will never get the chance to run the country. Sure, Blair has not driven through the type of policies that such a large majority makes it possible to do, but can you actually imagine what a frightening prospect it would be to have IDS as PM?

The biggest mistake that the Tories made was to lose faith in ideology when they kicked Thatcher out. This left a huge vacuum for New Labour to fill and the Tories have been trying to find a role for themselves ever since.

Twelve years on, three leaders down and what exactly does the nasty party stand for? The buffoon Letwin bangs on about liberal domestic policies and Asylum Seekers Island in the same sentence.

Given the political structure in this country, with the Tories dead and buried and the Lib Dems constantly having to fight an electoral system that makes it near impossible for them to make a substantial breakthrough, the likely outcome is yet another term from a Labour government that is more right wing that the last Tory administration.

Some choice.

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So the mighty Notts County have been drawn against the peasants of Stamford Bridge in the next round of the League Cup (and it will always be the LEAGUE Cup, just as the trophy that Manchester United seem so inept in is the EUROPEAN Cup).

Great I thought - I'll go and watch The Pies take on the European mercenaries, well, their fourth or even fifth team at least.

Being form the old school of turn up at 2.45 with your cash in hand at the turnstile, it's been sometime since I last bought a ticket for Notts, and believe me, they could certainly do with as many tickets being sold as they can right now.

I headed off to the official Notts County website for ticket details, happy to hand over my 25 - 30 pounds to see Chelsea rumbled (and in days gone by I may have a poor joke out of being rumbled in the Rumbelows).

Unfortunately it seems that even bottom of the table Second Division sides in administration have become victims of the hideous Premium TV web deal where in order to just access basic information about how to purchase tickets, you have to sign up to the site and pay for the privilege.

I can see why it's called Premium TV now.

Little known Notts County / Chelsea fact: Neil Warnock turned down the chance of becoming the Chelsea manager back in 1991 after taking Notts to the old First Division via the play offs. What odds for seeing Claudio in the dug out down at the Lane next year?

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Don't you just love re-discovering a long lost album? The Housemartins - London 0, Hull 4- how many years since I last played this? Probably at least fifteen. I'm not sure why, but the urge took me to get my hard drive acquainted with this long forgotten gem of power pop with a little help form Mr Soulseek.

I can remember buying the vinyl version back in '86, purely along the partisan line that the band were on Go Discs, the home of Billy Bragg at that time. Oh, and the video for Happy Hour with the worst case of 'dad dancing' ever seen was played non-stop on the Chart Show for what seemed like three months. Bet Norm loves that clip now.

Seventeen years on and the music is still great, if a little dated. The Housemartins were a wonderful politically driven, northern isolationist (and proud) band with little or no fashion sense. Bet that would go down well on Pop Idol.

How the hell did we get from Socialist perky pop to a bland band fronted by a Ron Dixon look a like and a balding E victim?