Kevin's Blog

So there we have it, it´s all over for another four years then eh! (should we qualify for Brazil 2014). More tears, more gut wrenching disappointment, more horror, more ineptitude and on this occasion – humiliation, – which is a new one.
Are the players overpaid? Yes, do they care as much as the fans? No. Are they happy to look themselves in the mirror today? Yes, probably. Do we need a manager who can actually communicate to his players in their own language? Yes (can you imagine an Englishman managing Italy? – though it might not be a bad call at the moment). Do we need a manager who is willing to change formation once it is apparent that we are getting murdered? Yes. The questions go on and on. And YES we need goal line technology, good God, we score few enough goals as it is without getting em chalked off because the linesman is looking the other way!
I´ve always taken my football very very seriously, – I don´t know why, I just feel ridiculously passionate about it and take every defeat personally. Yesterday was like coming home and finding somebody that you don´t like at work tucked up in bed with your wife. I once heard Rod Stewart say that once you get married and have kids you realize that the football results aren´t the most important thing in the world, – well, I never bothered with all that so it looks like I´m stuck with it.
When Frank Lampard´s “goal” was disallowed yesterday I admit to getting a tad disgruntled, there was the odd tantrum, a bit of “industrial language” and a bit of finger pointing at the big screen, I was a broken man, and when I eventually slumped down again into my seat, I was the owner of a broken heart – and watch strap.
Come on England cricket team!!!

Best story of the last couple of weeks here in Benidorm was relayed to me by  girlfriend´s mum Dorette recently. She has worked at the airport in Alicante for years and part of her duties is to inform irate British holidaymakers that their luggage is in fact overweight, and if they´re not prepared to cough up the excess charge they have to unload enough unwanted items so as to satisfy the check-in-gate scales. So, as is usual there is a pile of dirty laundry, half empty shower gels and semi squirted, shaving foams toothpaste tubes and shampoos. As she is poking about in this stinking pile of unwanted household castoffs with pointed finger and turned up nose, she comes across – per chance under a lonesome sweaty sock – one of my books!! – “Chasing the cheese – a year in the life of a Benidorm class B celebrity” to be exact. Hey-ho.

As I write this am listening to one of the local English language radio stations, it´s a Sunday morning religious sort of thing and one of the presenters has just said, “Now, this is a difficult subject, – but some people don´t know what to do over here when you die”. – Would have thought opting for lying down and turning blue is the favourite, no matter what country you´re in?

Well done to “Telefonica” once more, who have once again brought me to boiling point for the umpteenth time since I moved here. Not content with arsing me around for days on end when I first got the phone line connected (so´s I could have broadband). They have now inexplicably been round and changed my phone number, – I haven´t got the slightest inkling why they did this, everything was working fine as it was. But now of course, my internet connection has gone south and when I got in touch with the local paper who provide my connection package they sounded as baffled as me. After some thought they said that I could either try and phone them and try and get my old number back, or to keep the new number and start all over again – 5 to 10 days waiting time. I plumped for the latter, as the first option would include having one of those useless, incompetent, bumbling toe rags round here again, and frankly, if I catch sight of one of their vans outside my gaff again I´ll simply pull the curtains, hide under the sink and per chance lob a grenade out of the window.

On a lighter note I recently read Paul Daniels autobiography, which was a surprise, not least because it isn´t called “You´ll like this – but not a lot”. He´s got some good working men´s club stories in there, of which this is one –

“It was also time to change my name, Ted Daniels as it was often mis pronounced by concert secretaries as Ted-d-d Daniels (with a stutter) or it became one word – Tedaniels. A very good act called “Les Pollux” I once heard being pronounced as “Lez Bollocks” (as if it were a man´s name). When the concert secretary had his attention attracted by the band, they tried to tell him that it was in fact the French pronunciation  “Lay”, and that there was two of them. – He turned back to the microphone, apologised and then announced them as “The two bollocks”.

The quiet week leading up to Easter and resultant sparse work commitments meant me going back to Blackpool and being acquainted with my girlfriend´s new dog – he´s the biggest pup I´ve ever laid eyes on – a sort of Pit Pony/hearth rug cross called Rigsby. He´s quite an endearing chap actually and fairly agile for his size has he proved when managing to scoop out the leftover half of my cheese and onion flan off the top of the oven when I wasn´t looking.

Also in Blackpool were Nigel and Yvonne from the Cumberland Bar and we met up for a livener in the British Legion on Friday afternoon, this short liaison was stretched to a walk down the road to the “Catholic Club” on Queens Street where a delightfully grumpy Glaswegian bloke kept us entertained as he battled the drunken locals who were coerced by him into a game of “Hoy” which is a sort of playing card bingo with no rules (or so it seemed to us). Whilst on our travels we bumped into a couple of our members from the Cumberland Ex-Servicemen´s Club –“ Jimmy kneecaps” and “Jukebox” Johnny. – Much laughter and jollity ensued and we just sort of lost track of time.

Unfortunately for me the day after was set aside for a house removal of Nikki´s gear from a flat in the town centre to a house on an estate in Bispham and, as I´d woken up feeling awful and gradually deteriorated from there, I was eventually reduced to a shambling (and retching) wreck and she was lucky that the new sofa bed arrived in the same colour that it was when it set off.

The wonderful array if characters in England´s premier tourist spot constantly amuse me, and apart from the eccentric oddballs found in the clubs, I bumped into a chap ambling down the street with a ferret on his shoulder. And do you know what, – I´m not certain that he knew it was there.

Back in Benidorm now where tomorrow night I look forward to trying to entertain the backs of necks of the massed ranks in “Sinatras” as they crane their heads towards the Manchester United Bayern Munich champions league quarter final being played out on the widescreen television to stage left. I can´t wait.

Had an action packed night at “Sinatras” the other night, an otherwise wonderfully attentive and suitably engrossed audience of senior citizens were shaken to their core every few minutes by a vociferous Manchester United fan watching the widescreen television near the stage. I was warned before hand by the act that preceded me that he was in fact mentally handicapped which made it next to impossible for me to shout him down. So I, along with the audience had to grin and bear it as a series of joyous expletives echoed around the shocked arena every time they scored (they won 4-0). The first one was a shrill “Get in there you f×××××g beauty” followed by a bellowing “Oooooh you t××t!! – presumably aimed at the referee. I did my best to ignore him, but my god it was difficult.
At the end of my show I come out as Eric Morecambe and mime to “Bring me sunshine”, I immediately see a bloke sat in the front row with a haircut not unlike that of Ernie Wise only darker. I thought it would be a wheeze to lift up the front of his fringe as Eric would do with Ernie pretending he was wearing a wig. The only problem was that it really was a wig! – and although it didn´t come away in my hand exactly it definitely moved a bit, and I at once realized my error as the texture between my forefinger and thumb felt something akin to horse hair and the look of sheer terror on the bloke´s face rendered me rigid for a split second. I could see a look of complete helplessness in his eyes and a plea deep in his pupils which said “Please don´t do this” – I felt awful, – especially when it transpired he was Belgian and wouldn´t have had a clue who Eric Morecambe was, and thus rendering the hair tweaking meaningless to him. He must have just thought I´d spotted the fact that he was wearing a rug and gone for it to take the piss. – Sorry mate.
Meanwhile at the “Cumberland Bar” keyboard player Andy Davies has been packing em in on Wednesday nights. Only problem is some of the “Singers” need a small step ladder to climb down from their own arse, and one such elderly gent fitted snugly into this pigeon hole. When he started to advertise that his friend did a spot in a bar on the beach front and that everybody was welcome, Nigel – the owner politely requested him to refrain as we have our own karaoke of an afternoon and he didn´t want his customers coaxing away thank you very much. Our superstar friend didn´t take kindly to this and shouted something along the lines that karaoke is for lesser mortals who probably couldn´t sing properly in the first place and are a somewhat inferior breed of person altogether. This view was not universally accepted and resulted in much muttering in the ranks from our loyal members and when one of our regulars, Terry from Leeds got up to sing he gave a small speech. With piercing eyes and flared nostrils he directed his gaze directly at the irksome little turd. “Can I just say that my kids and grand kids come in here singing karaoke, they are made to feel welcome and have a great time. Also,I happen to know that Joe Longthorne one of the great singers of our time, spends hours on the karaoke, he loves it, says it brings singers of all types together……………………..and I, er… don´t like your trousers neither!!” – ( he was sporting a pair of those comical creme slacks, the belt of which hangs snugly somewhere just below the nipples). – His response to this outburst was “Well, we should discuss this outside” and our hero Terry countered – “Yes, we can go outside – but we won´t be discussing it!!” – And we go on about the youth of today!
I must stress that I wasn´t present during all of this and Nigel recounted the events to me this afternoon as I started my shift – the “And I don´t like your trousers neither” line had me in convulsions.

Into the depths of the winter season now, and although work isn´t as plentiful as it once was the stuff that I´ve got left is hugely enjoyable. The Cumberland Ex-Servicemen´s Club throws up the usual array of characters, the latest being a slightly portly gentleman who wanted to jump the singers queue for the karaoke. When the Concert Chairman told him that this was not at all possible he produced a battered old black and white photograph of Sylvester Stallone insisting that it was one of him taken at an earlier date. This was no joke and he did indeed believe he WAS the Hollywood film star, and when he took his turn, he refused to sing until we played “Eye Of The Tiger” as his intro, he loved this and shadow boxed his way on to the stage uttering an expletive with every wayward punch. (He sang a bit like Sylvester Stallone come to think of it).
Whilst sharing a “dressing room” with the girls who do the Abba tribute show in “Sinatras” the other week, one of them asked how the audience were, as I had just come off, – I said they were fine. “Yes, I was told off by standing in the way of someone whilst you were on” said one. Whilst her mate chipped in, and without a hint of malice “No, they were complaining cos they couldn´t see the football on the tele”. Showbiz eh.
The latest venture is a Saturday sports radio show on FabFm Spain that I do with Nigel from the “Cumberland Bar”, this is a joy to do, and the 2 hour show is rounded off in the company of “The Voice Of Reason” – The Concert Chairman, spouting off and proving once and for all he knows absolutely everything about nothing. This available on the internet on www.fabfmspain.com

Had my first “White Christmas” since I was a lad, went back home for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, with flight delays and cancellations to the left and to the right of me, somehow managed to land on to the ice cap otherwise known as “Leeds Bradford Airport” the same day I set off. True we had to circle above the thing for a good half hour wondering if we dare plummet down through the clouds and take a chance but we made it the end, and I was only about half an hour late getting to the pre arranged rendezvous down the pub. Night time was a glorious throwback in time at “The Club” playing snooker with the boys, went for a return stint next day before dinner then the usual “Turkey with all the trimmings” – (why do we say that when the trimmings are on the wall?), before slumping on the sofa to the tried and trusted method of playing charades with my nearest and dearest whilst squinting at the box at the same time. (A bit of return to form for the “Royle Family” I thought).
Boxing Day had to dash back to Benidorm for my afternoon shift down the “Cumberland Ex-Servicemen´s Club” which was packed with many a familiar face and a good knees up was had by all. New years Eve was another sell out and yet another liver savaging until about 6am meant I´d reached the end of me tether. Just when I was about to hit the de-tox button Leeds United only go to Old Trafford and knock Man United out of the FA Cup, so damn it all I had to start all over again!
Another new venture, as on Saturday me and Nigel from the “Cumberland” embark on our brand new sports show on “FabFM Spain” radio station,(available on tinternet). Think we´re gonna enjoy this, – should be a giggle, as it´s right up our street, – well, not exactly – it´s in Alfaz Del Pi, but you know what I mean.

Just back from a very enjoyable trip back home, firstly to London, where, in order to keep within budget we stayed in a disabled room in the Holiday Lodge near Covent Garden. To be fair, we didn´t request the disabled room, it´s all they had left, but save for the very low sink and the window that opened with a winding handle on the wall we didn´t notice much difference. Only problem was that the window didn´t shut properly and so I was shunted over to the other side of the bed to dutifully sleep in the icy draft for the duration.

Girlfriend Nikki and I seldom argue, but when we do it tends to be about getting lost, or arriving late somewhere (usually because we´ve got lost). We´d previously located the “Duchess Theatre” TWICE earlier in the day to make sure we knew where it was, but as we exited the coffee shop in the early evening we still headed in the wrong direction by about 180 degrees. – Or we would have done if we had followed her instincts, earlier I had taken the flak for getting us lost trying to find it first time round ( we spent most of the day hunting in bewildered circles only to find out later that if we´d ambled 5 minutes from the hotel in the opposite direction we would have been in the foyer of the theatre). The play itself “Morecambe” is a one man affair starring Bob Golding who takes on the daunting role of one of our greatest ever comics Eric Morecambe, it was a sterling effort and he received a thunderous standing ovation on its completion. As we came out into night air we noticed an old fashioned bicycle tethered to a lamp post and thought how wonderful it would have been if Eric had shuffled through the stage door in long trench coat and carrier bag, donned a pair of cycle clips and pedalled off into the night shouting “We-he-hey!”

The train journey back to Blackpool was a long and expensive one, costing about twice as much as the flight from Spain a couple of days before, we came to a juddering halt as the train in front broke down in Wakefield station. This ensured that we neatly missed our connection from Leeds by 3 minutes and had to wait another hour for the next one. We drank down our 100^th coffee of the trip in “Starbucks” and then had a nosey around the “Visitors Centre”. Visitors Centre? – in Leeds? We eventually made steady progress towards the west coast until a “Points Failure at Poulton-Le-Fylde” meant shifting between crawling along at about 4.5 miles per hour and stopping altogether at regular intervals. By the time we arrived it had been dark for about 4 hours and somehow we had lost an entire day somewhere. The two days in Blackpool were spent reading about the Queens visit for the Royal Variety Performance earlier in the week and fending off chilblains.  

Benidorm is as usual at this time of year quiet, very quiet. Went for a walk this afternoon and it was cold – very cold, wore my heavy boots to go shopping but was still knocked off my feet by a lump of tumbleweed. Bobbing back home on Christmas Eve for a quick sesh with the boys (how old do we have to get before we stop calling ourselves boys?), then back on Boxing Day for I have to don The Concert Chairman´s cap once more. – Will be blogging on here more often now that I´ve remembered my user name.

And God Said “Let There Be Light, And There Was Light, And Then There Was No Light, Then There Was A Bit of Of Light, – And Then The Water Went off”
It´s a hardy old annual I know but, electric and Spain simply don´t get on do they? Everybody knows this and it will be forever thus, but why for God´s sake? I remember in the 80´s working in the Canaries, which of course isn´t actually in Spain, but we had power cuts most days of the week then. Usually early evening when I was getting ready, and many´s the time I turned up for work wearing the wrong trousers, toothpaste all around my mouth and underpants on back to front.
Fast forward 20 years and what has changed? – well, bugger all really. It´s not just that we get regular power cuts for no apparent reason either, generally the standard of wiring to household appliances tends to be shambolic. Where I live now the light in the living room consists of 2 bulbs within the fitting, sometimes one comes on but not the other, other times the other one will come on at the expense of its partner, but hardly ever together. It´s a similar story in the bedroom, once turned on they make an eerie fizzing sound, which results in one bulb burning out after a couple of weeks whilst the other one intermittingly goes brighter then dim, goes off altogether, then might come on again 10 minutes later. This has got steadily worse, and being a late night reader this was driving me up the pole. So today I moved the Light standard from the enclosed balcony and placed it next to my bed, there are two lights on this, a big one at the top and a separate arm which will do as a reading light. The only problem with this is that the light at the top sometimes emits a bit of light – even when it´s turned off! but not always. I´d earlier tried an ancient looking 60´s bedside lamp that I´d found in the wardrobe, and that flashed rapidly, like a strobe light, very impressive, but not much good to read by.
In my last apartment, – which was beautifully decorated and very pleasing on the eye, when I turned the bedroom light off, it turned off every other light in the place. Also the living room light would turn itself on! This could happen any time, but usually between 6 and 6.30 in the morning for some indiscernible reason. Two nights ago I read by candlelight as the electric had gone off altogether, and I laid there resigned to my fete, being eaten alive by rampant mossies (my mosquito killer plugs in) and squinting at the flickering pages of cricketer Micheal Atherton´s autobiography whilst listening to the “plink plink” of my fridge freezer gently defrosting.

What´s happening to sport these days? What with racing drivers deliberately crashing cars, rugby players buying blood capsules from joke shops and tucking them in their socks, and footballers diving as soon as they glimpse the penalty area? Oh yes and that “woman” athlete from South Africa who won the 800 metres at the world championships sporting a pair of bollocks that would have frightened Katie price. It´s all gone tits up – last example excluded.
On the bad back front, I bumped into my old mate “Dozzer” the window cleaner from Sheffield yesterday who told of similar woes and said he had to see a chiropractor in Alfaz Del Pi to fix his and it cost him 600 euros. (my initial enthusiasm waned). “But is it right now though” I inquired.
“It´ll never be right” he replied with a wan smile. He continued. “Mind yer, me missus got run over a few month back, and now when she sneezes she just falls in a heap”. This rather put my problem into perspective and I left it at that. I´ve since gone along the self treatment route and have been performing a series of “Cat” stretches on the rug in the front room which have definitely made a difference . – Give me another couple of week and I reckon I´ll be able to sit on the fence whilst licking my genitals.