Reading Away – FA Cup 3rd Round 02/01/2010.

I’m lying there in bed, trying like fuck to sleep but it’s just not happening, New Years Eve has fucked me Body Clock up beyond recognition. I went to bed at 12:30am, it’s now 4:30am, Fuck it, may’s well get up and watch a bit of telly.

It gets to 7:30am and I’m starving so I decide to have a shuftee around the streets of Anfield to try and find someone who’ll make me a Sausage Sarnie. It is, after all, just a bog-standard Satdee morning now. Chrimbo is over. Alas, Fuck all is open. There's loads of Greasy Spoon Café type gaffs around, all wi’ the shutters down. Now I can think back to my 8:00am Satdee morning shift starts and I could deffo get a scran on me way to work. The world’s gone mad!

I come back home, sort me ale, clobber, ticket out and wait for me arl fella who’s givin’ me a lift to the pick up point . I’ve been really looking forward to today. Not only is it the 3rd Round of the FA Cup, but it’s also the first time the BOSSmag Editorial Team Trio have seen each other for months , so it’s a double cause for excitement.

Me hunger pangs were startin’ to get the better of me, just before we pulled into a Servies, and I saw the best sign one could ever wish for when in this predicament, “KFC”. Made up isn’t even in it. We usually stop off at the same servies which is absolutely Shite. The only scran to purchase in there is fucking Wimpy!!! Wimpy? It’s abar 8 nicker for a standard Burger Meal in there and it’s not up to much. Nowhere near as nice as this Wicked Zinger Box Meal which gets demolished in next to no time, and now, I just can’t wait to get back on the coach to attack my plethora of Peroni. I’ve been slightly lethargic to the lager so far, but I’m planning on making up for lost time as soon as I get back on. And I do.

We pull up in a beautifully picturesque town that I’m informed is called Henley. Our Tour Operator and Colonel of the LBU, John Garner, informs us that it is a town synonymous with Tory Support so the first chorus of “MAGGIE MAGGIE MAGGIE…DIE DIE DIE” is sent up into the bitingly cold icy air. It was a lovely looking place though. Right on the Thames, nice boats parked up, rowers going past, up and down the river givin’ it ten to the dozen. What the fuck the locals must’ve thought when about 50 scousers made an unannounced invasion to break the solitude of their sleepy Satdee afternoon stroll, I’ll never know.

First port of call was a boozer called The Angel where an extremely pretty girl with curly hair served us nice cold pints of Fosters. We chat to the locals, as is our style, going way way too far out of our way to be nice, intelligent and articulate in the vain hope that we may leave them with a different view of the inhabitants of that ghastly city in the north known as Liverpool. The three of us talking in that way that McManaman does when on TV Punditry duty.

Next stop was this empty pub which fuckin’ stunk of sweaty Labradors so we drank our bevvies fast and made our exit to meet every other lad off our coach…where? Like you need to ask? Wetherspoons of course. Decent one this though. The ale was flowing wildly and the banter was flowing loudly with the outrageously popular Gerry Shields holding court at the bar, having five conversations at once, trying his best to include every Kopite in the pub in these conversations. A better man you’ll never ever meet in your life. It was getting close to Offski Time so we ordered a few shorts, necked them quickly, and got on our toes.

It took us a while to realise that we’d walked past where the coach had been parked and it slowly dawned on us that they’d actually fucked off without us. Nico gets on the blower to Colonel Garner, who confirmed that they had indeed ‘fucked off’. They said they’d wait for us, and gave us instructions where they were positioned, which was an absolute ballache cos we had run, not even jog, proper run to get on the coach. We finally made it and I think I had a little kip at that point on the short journey from Henley to Reading.

Match report – We drew 1-1. It was freezing. We were shite. Again.

The return journey stop off could also be filed under the ‘interesting’ category, as it was Oxford. Another posh as fuck gaff for the scouse hordes to invade. We ended up in a pub called ‘Chequers’ Anyway, this ‘Chequers’ boozer was sound, we were all drained by this point so the lager was sipped slowly and conversation was at a premium, which suited me fine and left me to do a bit of ‘people watching’. Quite interesting these Oxford University types, they were all the type of cunts you would have seen on Bob Holness’ Blockbusters TV Show if it was still going, bad divvies in Smiths T-Shirts doing that stupid fuckin’ dance at the end. Blerts!

We had to run to make the coach again, this time with a crate of Stella and three 6-packs of Grolsch which was no easy thing, but we made it with plenty of time and settled down for a nice journey home with an adequate amount of lager to get us to The Rocket, keeping our throats lubricated.

We had a new driver for this trip, never really noticed him until the journey home. He looked like a Pirate and drove like a Primate. Absolute buffoon! Whilst bombin’ it down the motorway, he’d slam on, to try to make the lads standing in the aisle topple over like a shitload of skittles. The mad bastard was having his own game of ten-pin bowling using the LBU Lads for pins. “Steeee-rike” he’s probably shouting in his mind as he see’s another group of Kopites tumble to the lager drenched floor. He’d also go crazy on the steering wheel wildly sending the bus left to right which in turn sent the coach zig-zagging across the motorway. He did, however, get us home about an hour earlier than what we’d all thought due to his mad driving, so bonus points for that.

We got back The Rocket for about 1:00am, tired, weary and dreaming of a Delta cab. Another full day on the road watching our beloved Redmen. I’ve waffled on far too much in this report, when four words would suffice, in fact, the same four words that describe most LFC Away Days of the last couple of months – ‘Great day. Shit game’.

August Bank Holiday Weekend - Mathew Street Festival 2011.

I always describe the Friday night before the August Bank Holiday weekend as being “the calm before the storm” - not this year though...the storm had already arrived! As the thunder, lightning, and monsoon-esque rain hammered the windows of my girlfriends conservatory, I sat there tutting and gently shaking my head, thinking that this years festival was going to be a wash-out – ruined by this horrendous weather.

Saturday.

As soon as I woke up, I legged it to the window to see how the sky was looking. Just as bad, if not worse, than last night. A couple of Twitter-Rumour-Mongerers had already began planting the seeds of doubt in the minds of those fearing that today's Liverpool match versus Bolton would be called off.

By the time I had got to Calderstones Park to walk a dog (not, “the dog” who would be cosily laying on the couch in me Ma's house in the north end of Liverpool), no, this was the Missus' dog (A Beagle – as if you could walk a Beagle around a park in the north!)



...where was I?...oh yeh, it had stopped raining and the sky was looking half decent in all honesty. After we finished at the park, it was brekky time. A mate of mine had recently recommended a cafe on Aigburth Road called “Onion” so I thought we'd shoot along there on the way to town to sample the delights! As we pulled up, it was rammed. The 3 or 4 tables were being used and there was also a big queue snaking it's way towards the door. Another time maybe. (Maybe??? Definitely! Judging by the queue, it's a popular gaff which will be receiving my hungover-custom in the near
future).




We settled for Lark Lane. A gaff called “Pistachio” which served me a very nice and very large breakfast for the princely sum of £7.50 which seems a bit steep but seeing as though it took me a few seconds to find where my bacon was hidden, it gives you an understanding of how big it was.



This is the perfect way to start a long three days on the ale. The only food that would be passing my lips from now until Tuesday would be fast food grabbed along the way, and late night pizza's to be consumed whilst staggering around town looking for a taxi.

Me mate was getting into town for 3pm and I'd arranged to meet him up by the Tithebarn Street end of town, it was only 2pm now and I was close to town so I decided to have a few solo slurps in this new boozer I'd heard about called “Bier”. It's the pub that used to be known as “The Old Rope Walk” and apparently has my favourite tipple on draught – the Beer of the gods -”Leffe Blonde” amongst many many other imported bottles and pints.

Bier - New boozer opened. Right by the Oxfam, Bold Street.

As I approached, the door was open but the cleaners were in, mopping up. “Are you open, mate?” I said to the lad standing by the door. “No mate, we don’t open till 4pm”. Outrageous! What city centre boozer doesn't open till 4pm? (Bier apparently – although I did find out later on from a member of staff that there was a flooding problem on Friday night and that is the reason why it wasn’t open on Saturday afternoon – bastard rain!). I then traipsed down Bold Street onto Church Street with my tail between my legs, all the way to the Ship and Mitre were I sat alone, quaffing down a pint of the lovely 'Paulaner' Bavarian Wheat Beer. My mates then arrived and we had a couple more before making our way up to Shenanigans for our final pre-match pint.



There, I was asked by the editor of a Finnish LFC magazine if I could do an interview with them about a book I contributed to in 2007 called “Here we go gathering cups in May – Liverpool FC in Europe”. I wrote (or is written?) the chapter about Istanbul 2005 which was going to be translated into Finnish and reprinted in a two part series for their mag. I agreed to this, and then had my photie took to go alongside the article. I was going to say, nah it's alright, I’ll email you the photie I want to be used, but then realised I would sound like a bit of a tit, so swerved it, and sat there awkwardly holding onto my pint while this fella took me pic with his mobile.

Speaking of mobiles, it was at this point that I noticed that my iphone had 18% battery left on it. I could hardly believe it. It's only about 4:30pm, I had a full charge on it as I left the house and now I'm hanging on for dear life, just waiting for the thing to die. Iphone batteries are shit. Fact!

I won't bore you with details of the match as I've already gone on too much about shite considering the title of this article. BUT, we were fucking brilliant and it's fantastic to see the feel good factor return to Anfield, convulsing everyone, resulting in smiles as wide as the Mersey. Great stuff. Well in Kenny. Thanks. Oh, and we're top of the league!



More drinks are consumed in the post match boozer of choice “The Solly” and then it's a taxi back to hers, getting out of the taxi outside her local chippy, and before I knew it, I was sitting on the couch, big chippy meal on my lap, and the ‘Match of the
Day’ music was gently caressing my ears. Such a perfect day – tomorrow – Mathew Street Festival – Day One. Please let the weather be reasonable.

Sunday.

Up, showered, dressed, Bargain Booze for my bottles of Peroni and then straight into town. The weather was great, a bit dull at first but the sun was dying to shine it's rays down on all the festival go-ers in Liverpool city centre.

I don't know why I bothered with the bottles as I knew full well about the no-glass policy. I just can not be done with drinking ale from cans, especially when they're gonna be warm!

Me mates weren't getting into town till a bit later on so the first hour or so, I'd be on me bill again. I made my way to the Derby Square stage and plonked my bottles on the deck, just in time for 'Dizzy Lizzy' (Thin Lizzy band, obviously) to hit the stage.



The sun had really come out, I took me coat off, opened a bottle and swigged a large amount of Peroni as the two Les Paul's (one gold, one black) were blastin' out Lizzy's trademark guitar harmonies. The sound they had was amazing, very loud, and very fat and the final choice of songs to close the setlist was as if I'd wrote it down myself .
“Cowboy Song”, straight into “Boys are back in town”, followed by “Don't believe a word” and set closer “Whiskey in the jar” allowing the two guitarists to go for it. Great set to start the day off.

I then made my way to the Williamson Square stage to watch a double bill of scouse talent – 'Amsterdam' followed by “John Head” (he, of Shack fame). Amsterdam delivered a great set as they always do, dedicating “Does this train stop on Merseyside?” to the 96 and also condemning “the scum” newspaper. John Head played a decent set but his style of music is not really ideal for this type of event. I remember Shack played the Pier Head stage a few years ago, and also did not go down that well. Put John in an intimate venue with crowd of people there to specifically listen to his music and he will nail it. At this type of gathering, his music does not really come across. I loved it though, as a big fan. It made me laugh at one point, some fella to the left of me shouted to John (I think he knew him) after his second song “John, the sound's crap mate!”, John just done his trademark ‘nervous chuckle’ down the mic and said back “Cheers” - as if to say, Thanks mate, fuck all I can do about it up here now like!



The highlight was the Shack favourite “Cornish Town” from the outstanding 1999 album “HMS Fable” and it was great to see Robbie playing the fiddle/violin with such a big smile on his face, obviously privileged to be playing on the same stage as one his musical heroes.

By the time John had finished, a big crew of us had gathered and now it was time to make our way up to the Tithebarn Street stage for AC/DC UK. As AC/DC are one of my fave bands, I was really looking forward to this, and it did not let me down.



Took us ages to get anywhere near the stage like, and it must be said that it was the biggest crowd that stage saw all weekend. Never under-estimate how massive AC/DC are in this city.

Most of the crowd dispersed when Crowded Scouse (Best tribute act name. Ever!) came on who played a decent set but as one of the lads wanted to walk down to the main stage (at the Tunnel entrance) and I had ran out of lager, I joined him, stopping at Bargain Booze on the way to get some more Peroni. In the shop, this conversation took place between me and the fella serving:

“Four bottles of Peroni please?”
“No mate, not the big ones, just the small standard bottles”

“We haven't got any smaller bottles.”

“........go 'ed then!”

And then, I was off with a bagful of 660ml bottles of Peroni, totally and utterly taking the piss out of the no-glass bottles policy now!

The Argentian Queen band were great. Always are. Everyone knows the songs and it's always a highlight to see everyone singing along and enjoying themselves, the highlight being “Don't stop me now”.



We had a really good bevvy whilst watching them as a good few of us had assembled at this point and everyone was in high spirits.

As soon as they finished, we made the long walk up to the Zanzibar which was going to be our HQ for most of the night.



The Wayward Travellers were first on which was great for myself as I used to be in a band with their drummer and guitarist circa 1993/94. Good little set from the Travellers, definitely a band I will be going to see often.



Next up were the Tea Street Band, fresh from the triumphant (Legendary?) gig at the first BOSSmag Gig Night and they did not disappoint again, allowing us the stretch our calf muscles and bob our heads (I think they call it dancing!) to shake off any Mathew Street Fezzie tiredness and lethargy that may have been starting to creep in.

After the Teasies finished their set, the night then descended into the usual drunken hazy collection of fragmented memories, involving a few more Peroni's and a visit to Heebies.

Eventually, I admitted defeat and trudged off towards Chinatown for a taxi. Of course I went to the 'Botan' for a 9" Meat Feast first.


Monday.

Monday morning began much the same way as Sunday, with an early a.m. visit to Bargain Booze for today’s outdoor tipple. I opted for cans of Stella Cidre today. I was feeling slightly rough from yesterday's drinkathon so thought the cider would be a bit more refreshing, plus, I deffo took the piss yesterday with that no-glass policy, and as one of the lads informed me that a good friend's very young grandson was nearly bottled by one of the idiots throwing bevvies around yesterday when the Argie Queen were on (saved only by the hood of his pram), I thought, ill do my bit to support the policy.

I arranged to meet a mate who was working the weekend as a photographer, so first stop was the Derby Square stage to watch a bit of Tony Sheridan who went through the motions of playing old school rock n' roll throwing in a load of blues guitar solo's.

After meeting up with a few more lads at the Williamson Square stage, we made our way up to Tithebarn to catch the end of the Sex Pistols band and await the Neil Young imposter, who was a bit shit really and considering it had started raining, and one of the lads neglected to bring a jacket, we thought, jib it, let's get up the Zanzibar early doors for the Captive Hearts.

When we walked in the Seel Street venue, a punk rock/pop band had just started. Usually the type of band I’d dislike (think Sum 41), suppose it makes a difference when you're either watching an american band on MTV, or watching some locals lads having a good go in the Zanzi. I'd probably hate them if they made it big, but for the time being, there were boss. Get on them, 'Jets at dawn' they were called (I think).



The Captives played a blinder, not a massive set considering the amount of raspers they have in their arsenal, but a boss little set. One of the lads who is an eternal wind-up merchant took exception at singer, Mark Frith's beige coloured cords, which in the bright lights of the stage looked like white jeans! This created a bit of banter which gave their set a decent feel good vibe which definitely matched their jangle melodies. What an amazing drummer they have. Worth going to see them just to watch this lad play - a master of his trade.



It was a bit of a pain in the arse having to traipse back down to the other end of town, but the Captives were an unmissable band of today. Paul Weller played a blinder down at Tithebarn, especially his collection of hits by The Jam at the end. Even though it was lashing it down at this point, no one was going to be walking away from "...tubestation...", "Going Underground" and "...Malice."



One of the lads, Gerry, knew about some fella doing a set in the Sir Thomas hotel bar so we made our way there. Turned out, it was the fella who used to front the Maximum Who band. It turned out to be fantastic set of tunes played and resulted in being, officially, the best bevvy-sesh of the weekend.Half of our block from The Kop eventually and coincidentally ended up there, even me Mum and Dad and all the County Road Cronies ended up present which resulted in me Ma handing out the pork pies and sausage rolls to the lads. This went on for a good few hours and was definitely one of the highlights of the weekend. It turned out that Gerry actually lives in the house that me Mum grew up in! Small world an all that.



Just like last night, the night descended into hazy memories of rock n’ roll and ale stained shoes. We made our way to the Slaughter House to watch Digsy (from The Sums) perform one of his cabaret sets but before he even had time to plug his geet in, I admitted defeat (again), and was on the 86 bus back to my temporary Allerton abode. One thing I do remember however, is missing my bus stop, one reason for this is that I always get confused with this south end caper and all the streets look alike (Mather, Menlove etc), another reason was I was reading the match report from the Mirror that someone had left on the bus. It was from Saturday's match against Bolton, which seemed a few weeks ago. That's when it dawned on me what a monumental weekend it was. We seemed to cram a few months worth of great memories into three short days. God Bless you Mathew Street Festival.

Tuesday.

What goes up....must come down.
"Suicide Tuesday" I call it. The day that the whole City of Liverpool is walking round like extra's from "Day of the Dead". I always book this day off work. Only thing is, this year, I was in charge of looking after my girlfriend's 7 year old daughter. I remember seeing a sign for a fun fair on one of the mornings I was on my way to town with my ale nestling between my feet in the car. So, thought, that'll do. After a McDonalds hangover special (Big Mac Meal and Banana milkshake) we made our way to the fair situated in Otterspool.The first ride we went on was the Waltzers.



So I’m sitting there in the Waltzer car waiting for the ride to start then it suddenly dawned on me that there is a very very strong possibility that I am going to spew in approximately 20 seconds. I never, but I’ll tell you what, over the next three hours, I came close a few times. The only rest I got was when she went in the fun house for about 20 minutes, and I also got some respite when she went in the big enclosed bouncy castle thing.



Next year, I'm deffo having a couch day. No work, no minding binlids, and especially - no fucking Waltzers! I went to bed at about 9pm on Suicide Tuesday and still felt rough as a bear's arse on Wednesday...and Thursday...in fact, I think I only started to feel human again by late afternoon on the Friday...and by that time, it was the weekend again. Thankfully, it was a match free weekend, therefore, a bevvy free weekend, which has allowed me to chill, write this outrageously self indulgent blog which has evolved from a review of the Mathew Street Festival to a full review of a week in my life. Anyway, it's given me the chance to recap on this last week, the festival, the good times and reflect on what is always the best weekend of the year.

See yers next August...if I'm drinking 660ml bottles of Peroni, please, have a quiet word with me.

Mathew Street Festival 2011 Preview

Well, the greatest weekend of the year is upon us again,
and having scoured the Mathew Street Festival website,
this years line-up is looking like the best one ever
(It could be better'd actually by having three more tribute acts:
Floyd, Zeppelin and The Smiths, but alas, you can't have everything)

Note to all - book Tuesday off work - you'll thank me when that alarm sounds.

Below, you will find a selection of acts that tickle my
musical taste buds and I will be found tapping my foot
to the sounds on the street, whilst occasionally necking
a warm bottle of Peroni on the sly, out of the sight of
the men in High Vis jackets who do not want glass bottles on site
(just to note, all of my empties will be disposed of in a
respectful and appropriate manner - I fucking love my City)

Anyway, here's my line up:
(Strangely enough, not a Beatles band in sight!)

All bands are tribute acts apart from :
Amsterdam, John Head, The Wayward Travellers,
The Tea Street band and The Captive Hearts.

As always, it's great watching live music,
even better when it's your mates who are up there on the stage,
plying their trade.
So have a good one Prowsey, Waka, Degsy, Pod, Frith
and all the lads in The Tea Street Band.

Sunday

Thin Lizzy 1pm – 1:45pm Derby Square
Amsterdam 1:30 – 2pm Williamson Sq
John Head 2:15 – 2:45 Williamson Sq
AC/DC 3pm – 3:45 Tithebarn
David Bowie 3:35 – 4:15 Tunnel Stage
Crowded House 4pm – 4:45 Tithebarn
Bruce Springsteen 4pm – 4:45 Water Street Stage
Queen 4:30 – 6pm Tunnel Stage
Wayward Travellers 6:30pm Zanzibar
Tea Street Band 6:45pm Zanzibar


Monday

Bob Dylan 12pm – 12:45 Tithebarn
Sex Pistols 1pm – 1:45 Tithebarn
Neil Young 2pm – 2:45 Tithebarn
The Stranglers 3pm – 3:45 Water Street Stage
Paul Weller 4pm – 4:45 Tithebarn
Coldplay 5pm – 5:45 Tunnel Stage
Wayward Travellers 5pm Bierkeller
Wayward Travellers 7:30pm Albert Dock (Boat)
The Captive Hearts (TBC) The Zanzibar

Songs I'm hoping to hear:

Thin Lizzy - The Cowboy Song


Amsterdam - Home


John Head - 1967


AC/DC - Down Payment Blues


David Bowie - Moonage Daydream


Crowded House - Fall at your feet


Bruce Springsteen - The River


Queen - Tenement Funster


The Wayward Travellers - My World Too


The Tea Street Band - Push the feeling


Bob Dylan - Tangled up in blue


Sex Pistols - Pretty Vacant


Neil Young - Only love can break your heart


The Stranglers - No more heroes


Paul Weller - Wild Wood


Coldplay - Don't panic


The Captive Hearts - Believin' Love


As I said earlier, what an outstanding collection of music on display.
Even if I only heard half of the songs above,
I will be an extremely happy bunny.

My iphone weather app informs me that weather will
be perfect festival weather, sunny but slightly cloudy.
(I don't want to get drenched, but also, I do not want to wake up
on Tuesday morning with a head that resembles a massive tomato!)

Here's hoping that everyone has a great weekend!

See yers down there.

Justice for the 96 - sign the petition

One of the most shocking and repulsive things that was shown over the UK Riots in August 2011 was the video footage of the young Malaysian student being helped to his feet, dazed and confused, following on from an attack that left him with a broken jaw.

Whilst the student was in this state of semi-consciousness, he was robbed by those who it initially appeared had come to his aid.

(see below video of Malaysian student being robbed)

This was a sickening incident which was rightly condemned by everyone who happened to view this footage.

Now, imagine the circumstances were a lot worse…imagine the Malaysian student was dead at the time of the incident, and was robbed of his possessions as he lay, lifeless on the ground. Can you just imagine the uproar!?!

Now, imagine that it did happen, and then you, and your friends and family were wrongly accused of perpetrating this horrendous act! Imagine the guilt that you would be carrying around with you needlessly for the rest of your life. Wrongly accused of a crime that is too repulsive to even believe a human being could stoop to such a low depth of depravity.

Well, this sort of unfounded accusation has actually happened.

(Video below contains a scene from Jimmy McGovern's docu-drama "Hillsborough"

In the days following on from the Hillsborough disaster in April 1989. The LFC supporters present on that fateful day were accused by certain sections of the English media of carrying out this very act. The same supporters who, without any training or experience of how to act in the face of such tragedy, took it upon themselves to ply their amateur trade as first aid workers, pumping chests, giving mouth to mouth resuscitation in a confused and clueless state of mind whilst trained professionals watched on.

“Yorkshire policemen chat with folded arms, while people try and save their fellow fans” – sung Ian Prowse of ‘Amsterdam’ in the song “Does this train stop on Merseyside?”

It was said that these brave people (who should have been praised for their quick thinking actions in the face of tragedy) not only were the cause of the disaster, but also, they robbed and pick-pocketed the possessions of those that lay dead.

Just have a think about that for a second.

NOW, try to comprehend how the families and friends of the Hillsborough 96 have felt for the last 22 years to not only have lost their loved ones, but to also carry the extra burden of the allegation that their loved ones peers, friends, family and fellow Liverpudlians played an active role in their death.

That is why we are still fighting for justice, to clear the names of the wrongly accused, to expose the real cause of the disaster and ultimately, and hopefully, let the 96 souls who perished on the 15th April 1989 finally rest in peace.

Sign this petition,

http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/2199

Let the truth be heard.