A poem about Autumn, this one. It’s the kind of thing I’d usually write and then forget about, only to discover it sometime later and add it on here…in Spring. Not this time though! This time, I’m unusually on the ball!
‘Leaves on the grass’ was written after a particularly strenuous weekend of clearing leaves from our back garden. I felt rather pleased with myself for doing it, if I’m honest, as it’s the kind of job that is usually left to wait by me. Then, I end up having to do it in the freezing cold of late November or early December when the ground is wet and I end up filthy and soaked. This year though, it was a spur of the moment decision on a particularly sunny weekend when I felt a bit more energetic than usual. And so, old clothes on and gardening gloves firmly in place, I dragged our brown bin onto the lawn and got cracking.
The resultant poem came after when I felt thoroughly work out by my exertions. Here you go.
Leaves on the grass.
First, it's leaves on the grass,
suddenly noticeable,
a dozen at most
but added to daily
and then, months after shedding blossom,
small brown, red, green eye shapes
decorate the edges of the tarmac on the driveway,
escaping in the coming days onto the car, the road
and when you look again
the falling Autumn rain
seems to gradually erase all colour,
like a life slowly sliding away,
too weak to fight, too old to care anymore,
too afraid of losing all dignity
to heave on anything too bright,
visible again by scrolling through images on a phone,
a reminder of a distant rousing prime,
gone, but not quite forgotten,
stirred occasionally by the thrilling glee
of a fresh bright morning
when the fountain of youth seems to flow
without fear and we stride out
and marvel at the amber and gold
before it leaves us again
and we brace ourselves, steeled
for the cold and the dark of what comes next.
There is a more thoughtful side to the poem. It’s not just about Autumn in that I’ve tried to add something about ageing and life in there too. I think a nod to Gillian Clarke’s poem ‘October’ must be given here as I’ve tried to look at similar themes, if only briefly.
I tried to capture the sense of getting older here – perhaps after feeling so bloody tired once I’d finished doing the leaves – as well as the feelings I regularly have about being so tired out by things that wouldn’t have normally had such a great effect on me. So, there’s a brief few lines about getting older (Autumn being late in the year) and catching sight of your younger self in photographs. This was after my wife sent me a photo of me at my son’s nursery sports day, some time ago. It shocked me to see just how young I looked and made me think about maybe feeling slightly self conscious (or just even more self conscious) I’ve become after a health scare.
Hopefully, the poem ends on a cheerful, hopeful note. There are lines about going out for a walk in the bright, bracing cold of an Autumn day and enjoying the vivid colours of the season and I think that’s me being about as optimistic as I ever get.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the poem. Feel free to leave some feedback as I always enjoy reading people’s comments.
So, I’ve given myself a simple brief for this one. I’d wanted to sit down and give this poem some thought, but for a number of reasons I’ve found myself more than a bit pushed for time. Thus, I decided to write a Halloween poem within a time limit. So, I gave myself an hour to have it written.
I cheated a little bit because I’d started thinking about it a couple of days ago and this morning I wrote a few things down; just ideas, rather than fully formed lines.
Anyway, below is the finished and imaginatively titled poem.
Halloween
The smell of premature bonfires and fireworks drifts across town,
but nothing can distract you from the sounds,
those early shrieks and delighted screams
that despite daylight, still cling on stubbornly to
sound the alarm of this special night.
You hear them before you see them,
their delight announcing their arrival,
those miniature ghosts, zombies and monsters,
with every so often a rogue Disney Princess,
knocking at a door to tempt someone to part with treats
based upon their cuteness alone.
As night falls, more sinister sights and sounds sidle along,
changing the atmosphere and making even the most cynical eye
dart everywhere...just in case.
The ghosts, monsters and zombies more convincing now,
casting doubt in the minds of anyone approaching from a distance.
Houses, now haunted, promise a bounty of sugar
for those who are brave enough to venture up the path,
creeping past the plastic graves, skeletons and cackling witches,
but the rewards are plenty when you reach the pumpkins
and before too long pockets and bags are under strain
as greedy teens take on just one last door.
Later, as quickly as they filled up,
the streets are deserted and the dead of night swallows up
that short lived sense of fun and adventure.
Tucked away indoors, stomachs are full and parents cling to the hope
that weary legs will soon win out over the sugar rush.
I hope this one captures that sense of Halloween, especially given the time limits! I tried to add as many things as I could remember from trick or treating now that my children are too hold to bother with it anymore. I’m a bit out of practice though!
As ever, feel free to leave a comment! Happy Halloween!
If you got into live music in your teens and like me, are still going in your middle age, you’ll most likely know that things have changed a bit. You might well still go for pre-gig drinks, but it’ll likely be a more genteel affair, rather than one of the all day races you may have indulged in when you were younger and more carefree. Nowadays, you might even have childcare to take care of too.
However, the biggest change may well be in your mental and physical approach. Simple things like, can you be bothered to get out of your chair and leave the telly and will your aching back survive a night of shuffling along to some indie pop classics?
Saturday afternoon found me running through the usual things prior to some middle age gigging with The Bluetones. First, there was the battle to not talk myself out of going, which I must say was fairly easily won this time round. Then came the physical checklist, which as is par for the course nowadays, featured more crosses than ticks.
How’s my heart feeling? Not too bad, considering. Is my back ok? Erm, not really after the exertion of pushing that trolley round Asda this morning. What about the knees? Like Annie Wilkes from ‘Misery’ has been tending to them. Your eyes? Somewhat squinty, but as long as they don’t show a PowerPoint, I’ll get by.
In truth though, nothing was going to keep us in the house tonight as we have an appointment with long time faves The Bluetones who are touring their 1998 album ‘Return To The Last Chance Saloon’, so despite flood warnings, we’re heading to Sheffield.
Once there and parked up I’m given a timely reminder of my age – like when I look in a mirror, but slightly less painful – as my dodgy knee means that I struggle to climb the stairs in the car park! An instant decision is made that tonight will be spent at shuffling pace only!
Thankfully, we make it to the venue just after doors open and at my wife’s insistence we’re lucky enough to find ourselves some space on the barrier right at the front, so at least I’ve got something to hold on to!
It’s an early stage time tonight, so it doesn’t feel like we’ve been hanging around too long before support The Loose Cut take to the stage. I always find it tricky when reviewing support bands that I’ve no knowledge of because I worry that I’ll make some sort of insulting comparison, as I’m usually watching them and wondering who they might remind me of. For me though, The Loose Cut inhabit the border between indie pop and indie rock and during their six song set I hear the influence of people like Pearl Jam and early Kings of Leon as well as some 80s stuff like Hall and Oates, which is never a bad thing.
The Loose Cut give us an enjoyable set and manage to get the audience on side with their sheer enthusiasm and also a bit of crowd participation. Channeling his inner Freddie Mercury – minus the stupid noises – singer George guides us through the lyrics to the chorus of their song ‘Round and Round’ so that we can all sing along. And it works, as the crowd join in enthusiastically and everyone is smiling.
Aside from the songs, two other things stand out to me about The Loose Cut. Firstly, there’s the lookalike factor, which takes up far too much of my attention for the first couple of songs. Singer George – and apologies here if I begin to sound like Louis Walsh – has the look of a young Bryan Adams crossed with a youthful Sting, while drummer Manni is a ringer for the young John Peel. Add to that some truly splendid rock posturing and face pulling and for this short set, there’s a lot to write home about. The Loose Cut are definitely ones to keep an eye on.
But we’re here for The Bluetones and thankfully, it’s not too long before they take the stage with only Adam, Scott, Eds and Richard present for opener ‘Tone Blooze’. Mark is clearly saving himself for a bit later…and maybe making hasty last minute adjustments to his cummerbund. More of this slightly later.
It’s a high energy start to the gig with ‘Unpainted Arizona’ followed a brilliant ‘Solomon Bites the Worm’, getting the crowd singing along loudly. The high energy start though takes a noticeable casualty as Mark suffers a cummerbund malfunction. Ever the pro though, he soldiers on, probably safe in the knowledge that his dancing spats will keep our attention! By this point, one of my knees is already numb, but that’s a side issue now; I’m thoroughly enjoying myself, just like everyone else in the room. I’ll block out thoughts of car park stairs and worry about it later!
The band are resplendent in what can only be labelled 70s American Prom chic, with ruffled shirts and tuxedos, bow ties and even the odd pair of braces and I for one feel like I should have made a greater effort than black t-shirt and jeans.
Mark is his usual self in between songs; full of chat and with a gift for a one liner, telling us about how much playing the album will take out of them. I’m close enough to have a chat and wonder if he can empathise with my knee/car park story, but wisely decide against it as the band launch into ‘U.T.A’ and ‘Four Day Weekend’, or tracks 4 and 5 of the cassette as Mark calls them.
‘If’ is a highlight of the set and an undoubted crowd favourite and I manage to shuffle with just a little bit more freedom for this one. Turns out though that I’m not the only one thankful for the tamer pacing of ‘Sky Will Fall’ (one of my favourites) a little later as Mark reminds us of the pace of this album – “Side 2…a f***ing nightmare!” – and is more than pleased at the chance to slow things down a bit.
After this though we fly through to the end of the album taking in the brilliant ‘Down at the Reservoir’ and ‘Heard You Were Dead’ before a bit of a poignant moment as ‘Broken Starr’ is dedicated to a long time fan. It’s another huge sing along and a lovely tribute with Mark blowing kisses as he leaves the stage, but as we all know, we’re not quite finished yet.
The encore tonight is a mini greatest hits style one and it’s fantastic. At the best of times, The Bluetones songs make me feel extremely happy, but tonight is extra special.
The usual suspects are here, with this ‘set’ starting with ‘After Hours’ and going through ‘Bluetonic’, everyone’s mum’s favourite ‘Slight Return’, ‘Marblehead Johnson’ and a cover of Squeeze’s ‘Pulling Mussels’. But then the fun really starts as, with the band playing loosely as Mark has a bit more of a chat with the audience, he gets an idea. And a new song is born. Only those of us in the Foundry on Saturday night will ever know of ‘Sheffield Song’ as I think I can confidently predict that it’s never going to appear anywhere in the wider musical world; not even on one of Mark’s favourite cassettes!
The night ends with a blistering version of ‘Never Going Nowhere’ which takes an 80s diversion by including snippets of ‘Obsession’ by Eurythmics for a while in time honoured fashion, before wandering off deeper into Mark’s imagination with lines from ‘Jump’ by Van Halen, ‘The Power of Love’ by Huey Lewis and The News, ‘Blue Monday’ and, I think, ‘Driving Away From Home’ by It’s Immaterial (and you can correct me if I’m wrong on this one as I couldn’t quite place it on the night). Find me another band that will give you that and I’ll happily call you a great big fibber!
It’s been a brilliant night, as it always is with The Bluetones. My feet hurt and I don’t know if my knees will allow me to get to my car and my wife’s only small, so someone else may have to carry me up the stairs, but I’ve got a smile on my face. A quick look around shows me that I’m not alone either. With news of potential new music next year, it’s a great time to be a Bluetones fan…even if age is catching up with us all!
Some months ago, I wrote an article about the state of the Newcastle United academy. It was largely a tale of failure over the years and of neglect, particularly during Mike Ashley’s tenure, with gambling on talent released by other clubs or kids being brought in from non league to compliment the local talent. In short, the academy hadn’t been working, with only a handful of first team players of any quality emerging over the course of far too many years.
However, like Gary Barlow and his band of oiled up and oddly dressed mates once sung, ‘everything changes’ and in the case of our academy there’s now more than a hint of hope again.
So how have things changed then? Well, it would appear to be down to the masterplan of one man; Dan Ashworth, who seems driven to rebuilding our club from the bottom up. And thus, the whole approach to investment in our younger years has begun to take on a bit of a transformation.
As a fan, it’s nice to feel like there’s a plan. As someone who’s followed the club since the late 70s, ever since I was able to understand the concept of youth teams, our system has never felt like it’s the work of a professional football club and we’ve lagged behind names as wide and varied as Manchester United, Liverpool, Crewe Alexandra and even Sunderland. While others have appeared to have had some kind of conveyor belt producing first team ready players, we’ve been metaphorically hunting down the back of the sofa for small change. For every Gazza type of success, there have been dozens of young players released from the club. If anything, it’s felt like a fluke when a young player has actually come through to the first team.
Our new plan appears to be effective in its simplicity. We’re scouting the best young players in all age groups from various countries and attempting to bring them to the club. We’re investing money. I mean, you’d have imagined someone might have thought of it before now, really. Of course, it’s a wider net than just that, but it’s still simple all the same.
It’s the picture closer to home that really interests me though as it seems like we’re delving down the age groups and attempting to cherry pick the best talent from the home nations too. However, where before we seemed to be happy just to take a chance on kids who’d been released from other Premier League clubs – Charlie Wiggett, Rosaire Longelo and Remi Savage spring to mind – now we’re upping our game somewhat.
In the recent past, under Ashley, we did take the odd chance on youth. But it was never an expensive or risky gamble. The signing of Regan Thomson is a case in point as we paid £60k to Queens Park to bring the highly rated 16-year-old to St. James’ in 2020, beating Celtic and Rangers to his signature and then failed to develop his talents. Thomson was released in summer 2022 and as of June this year has been without a club having left East Kilbride back in Scotland. I must confess, I’d forgotten all about him. Similarly, Jake Turner was taken from Bolton after they’d gone into administration but didn’t make the grade here, although he is playing league football with Gillingham now.
Under Dan Ashworth’s guidance lots changed in the youth ranks. While we still have a fair number of local lads battling to follow in the footsteps of Sean Longstaff and Paul Dummett, the focus feels like it’s shifted somewhat and moved up a gear, if you like. The shift began with the signing of Garang Kuol last year, but the pace has stepped up even more since then.
This summer saw Newcastle bring in several highly rated youngsters from various domestic clubs. And we’ve started young too! Firstly, there was a compensation fee paid to Port Vale for 14-year-old midfielder Michael Mills. Then, we shelled out a reported 5 figure fee for 16-year-old striker Kacey Wooster from Southend’s academy.
After that we’ve also signed up a number of highly rated young players for the Academy and Under 21 sides, both of which have underperformed for years. England Under 17 internationals Leo Shahar from Wolves and Travon Sanusi from Birmingham have come in and seem to have made an immediate impact. On top of that we’ve also signed 17-year-old midfielder Travis Hernes from Shrewsbury, a kid who’d already made first team appearances for the League One Shrews.
But the investment in youth didn’t stop on these shores. Of course, we signed Yankuba Minteh (19) from Odense, a player who already look first team ready with his loan exploits at Feyenoord. Add to that the signing of Cathal Heffernan from AC Milan and it’s clear that we’re intent on making our youth set up far more competitive than ever.
Obviously, when investing in youth there’s never a guarantee of success. Year in, year out for instance, there seems to be a ‘highly rated’ striker in the academy set up and yet a breakthrough to the first team is rare. Even Andy Carroll had been played at left back for much of his youth career with the club. In recent years Elias Sorensen, Tom Allan and Tom Heardman were all touted for success after Carroll, but none was able to make the step up.
I’ll confess to knowing little of our new arrivals. Obviously though, Minteh looks to be a real find. I actually watched Hernes play for Shrewsbury against Leeds, but couldn’t say I noticed anything special that night. After that, I’m guessing. Experience tells me that someone with Heffernan’s background might well be a good bet for the first team in the future. And Travon Sanusi comes with a glowing reputation. As for the rest, who knows? Luckily though, the scouting network has been vastly improved in the two years since the takeover and in Dan Ashworth we have someone with a track record that we can trust.
You can be sure that the additions at youth level will continue through the season and year after year from then too. At the time we signed Heffernan there was also a lot of talk about signing his international team mate Kevin Zefi from Inter too. It didn’t come to fruition, but I’d be surprised if moves aren’t still being made. And with scouts working hard across the world, there will be other targets being constantly monitored too.
The professional approach to youth team football is a refreshing change of direction for the club. Newcastle United are now establishing themselves as an attractive proposition and you can be sure that will catch the eye of many talented youngsters who end up with their choice of clubs. With Ashworth at the helm it feels like we can rest assured that we’re now a totally viable option and that hopefully we’ll be regularly producing first team regulars from within our own ranks.
These are much needed exciting times for our academy set up. The future’s bright. The future’s black and white and it appears to be in very good hands!
If I’m brutally honest, I didn’t feel much like smiling in September. As if summer wasn’t bad enough with mental and physical health issues we also had months of pretty tragic weather. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t fully expect weeks of bright sunshine and searing heat, but constant rain and an average temperature of about 14 degrees isn’t exactly food for the soul! And of course, September is the month that us teachers get to start a new academic year all over again!
However, there were still just about enough reasons to be cheerful, so here they are.
I got my running buddy back! When he was much younger, my son used to come out running with me on a regular basis. He showed a real talent for running and although he might have the odd grumble, he was able to cover good distances without too much trouble. And then he became a teenager! Despite having real potential as a runner, he simply stopped doing it and I was left running on my own, an kind of X-Box widower, if you like. Fast forward about 3 years and as part of his Silver Duke of Edinburgh he’s chosen to do running as a sporting option. The funny part of it is that he doesn’t want to come out on any evening runs because he might see people he knows! Sadly for him, that means he’s got to be up at 6.30am every Saturday now, but he’s done it without too much grumbling. It’s lovely to have him back though.
Claude the Koala. I read a brilliant story about a koala bear in the news at the start of last month. It really made me laugh! Apparently an Australian garden centre owner was left completely without answers about who or what was eating his seedlings. It could have been goats, it could have been possums, but he didn’t actually know. And then one morning he discovered the culprit, lying somewhat ‘food drunk’ in amongst the eucalyptus plants. A koala, eating the very plants that were being grown to help out his own endangered species in the region! Even when they moved him on, he came back night after night. So now, they’re having to build koala proof fencing to keep him out. There can’t be anyone who doesn’t manage a smile at Claude looking incredibly guilty below!
3. Being back among friends at work. I’ve written elsewhere about summer being a tough time for me mentally. I’ve never felt so sad. And despite my dread of going back to work after the summer break, it’s been wonderful to be back amongst my friends. Hard work, but they make it lovely. So many people have enquired as to my health and been genuinely kind, but being back among our English Department team has been the best part of it. Plenty of laughs, loads of cynicism and just a lot of fun. Thanks ladies! 4. The World Stone Skimming Championships. How have I never heard about this before now? Apparently the World Championships are held each year on Easdale island in the Hebrides. For the uninitiated, stone skimming is exactly what it sounds like. You get a preferably flat stone and throw it in a particular way so that it skims across the surface of the water. It’s always been a cracking seaside tradition in the UK. So, reading about the fact that there’s a world championships for such a dad skill made me smile! It also made me remember that just this summer, on several beaches in Wales, I introduced my son to stone skimming, meaning that for a few days, every time we went anywhere near water the both of us would be scanning the shore for the perfect skimming stone. He got the hang of it quite quickly, but it made me smile to remember that I was still the best! Dads, eh? 5. Year 7. Another year and another group of young people make the transition to high school. Bright eyed, smartly dressed and kind of ready to learn. They’re sat up straight in your lesson, not complaining about English, being tired, the weather, the temperature of the room, the lights in the room or literally anything else that might just put them off doing any work. For a while, they’re an absolute joy to work with. Yes, some can be a bit needy, but that’s ok. This is a big old change they’re making. I have two groups of Year 7s in English this year, plus a group for History and one for PHSCE and I’m genuinely enjoying teaching them. Perhaps it’s the heightened positive approach I’m deliberately taking this year, but those year 7s are a little pool of light in an ocean of darkness at the minute!
So there you go – even when it’s been a tough month and you’re not feeling particularly enthusiastic and bright, there are always a few things that might just make us smile!
Last Sunday, the 8th October saw the second ever Morley 10k race. It marked a quite significant date for me personally too though, as it was almost 11 months since I had the heart surgery to have my pacemaker fitted.
It’s been something of an eventful (almost) year. Sadly more downs than ups too, but all of that has been well documented in other blog posts throughout the last 11 months. However, when I was in hospital I made a vow that I’d complete at least three 10k races by the time my one year pacemaker anniversary came around. Sunday was the third and it was significant because it had also been the last one I’d done before everything went wrong for me in October and November of last year. Here’s how it went.
I felt sick with nerves as I stood on the start line. My family were a only few metres away on the pavement and on more than one occasion it crossed my mind to go and join them and tell them that I couldn’t do the race. People felt too close, it was too warm and the hill that we were starting on looked as daunting as hell, even though I’d ran it countless times before. The day before I’d been genuinely excited about it, but now, around an hour and 10km away from the finish line almost everything was telling me just to walk home.
Start lines of races can be funny things for me. Sometimes, I stand there feeling genuinely intimidated. Everyone seems fitter and younger than me. They’ve got much better trainers. And when I’m feeling particularly sorry for myself, none of them have health problems like me, either. Stupid really, but that’s how it can be. On other occasions, you get the feeling that everyone wants everyone else to have the race of their life. The excitement is palpable and the atmosphere is infectiously positive.
Thankfully though, I talked myself out of any silly decisions and got myself across the start line bang on 9am!
It’s a hilly course and while I won’t talk you through every step, there’s a lot to talk about and almost all of it involves running. Firstly, quite a few of the town came out to show their appreciation of the nine hundred and odd of us who thought it was a good idea to be up and running so early on a Sunday morning. Perhaps they were a bit bewildered by it all and who could blame them, but I really hope that the event grows and grows and becomes a staple for both runners and residents, because it was genuinely lovely to see people out cheering us on and from a personal point of view, it’s a real boost. I still don’t believe the stewards who shout out stuff like, ‘You’re looking good!’ as I pass, but by God their positivity helps! For the record though, I generally look like a tall, skinny bloke whose head has been replaced by a sweaty red balloon when I’m running, so cheers to anyone who puts a positive spin on that!
On Sunday, it quickly became apparent that my legs weren’t feeling too powerful. If you’ve seen them, you’ll know why! But I’d put the training in; plenty of runs, lots of hills, lots of 10ks and lots of other exercise. So, it was a bit of a puzzle, but I just put it down to my mood more than anything else and tried to relax as best I could.
Having got through the first long climb, we turned right and ran through Morley town centre and then down the hill towards Morley Bottoms. The flat and the downhill was much appreciated and gave me the chance to gather my thoughts a little bit, as well as picking up a little bit of pace. By the time we came to another long climb I was well into my running and it felt like I was coping well. It helps knowing the route so well, although I hadn’t ran it this year in preparation, but I’d had plenty of practice at hills as it can feel like that’s all Morley is at times!
Once we’d climbed said hill it was time to double back on ourselves and the race takes to the other side of the road and back down again. By this point several of the leaders had long since passed us as well as probably a couple of hundred others who all looked like they were coping better than me! I opened my stride a bit on the downhill section and, realising that we had at least a mile of downhill or flat sections, decided that it was time to start finding a bit of pace. Halfway back down the hill I spotted something on the other side, still climbing the hill that spurred me on even more – someone running in a T-Rex suit! Dodgy heart or not, I was not being caught by that!
I knew that picking up the pace could be a risky strategy though. I didn’t feel quite right and was wary of simply running out of steam by the end when, surprise surprise, you head up a really steep incline to the finish. That said, I knew my family would be waiting anxiously at the end of this section, given my health issues and so I felt it was better to get to them sooner rather than later.
Morley Bottoms on race day is fantastic. Just a wall of noise and smiling faces. It felt great to run through and although I couldn’t see my family for a while, I spotted them eventually and gave them the thumbs up as I actually wasn’t feeling too bad. Shortly after passing them was the halfway point and knowing the route, it felt like the end was almost in sight.
My plan from the start was to try and run around 55 minutes, but it wasn’t long before the pacer had passed me. However, by the time we’d got to around 4 and a half miles I’d caught him again. Sadly, as we began to climb another hill, I lost him once more! I stayed optimistic by reminding myself that the T-Rex still hadn’t caught me though!
By the time I got to Morley Bottoms for the second time and almost the finish, the place seemed to have got even louder and more enthusiastic. I was feeling genuinely sick though, so the noise and the fact that a couple of people – cheers Steve and the lass that I didn’t recognise! – called out my name, which again was a timely boost. I was almost there.
The hill up from Morley Bottoms turned into my own personal Everest! It’s so steep! Virtually all strength drained away from my legs straight away and it was a case of just keeping moving. I almost convinced myself to stop and walk, but kept going as there was so much encouragement and I was utterly relieved to reach the point where it evens out a bit.
As we passed the town hall I heard my family before I saw them and again it provided a timely boost. Bizarrely, it prompted a sprint finish from me too, something I didn’t realise I had in my locker any more at my age. The heart didn’t matter, the tired legs and aching body were of no concern and by the time I crossed the line I was catching the few people in front of my having gone past one or two in the last hundred yards!
I thought I’d be emotional, but wasn’t. I was just elated. The time wasn’t quite what I wanted, but it wasn’t half bad for a bloke with a dodgy heart and pipe cleaners for legs. And anyway, when everyone looks so pleased and the whole town is out cheering you on, it’s kind of difficult to start crying in front of the post office!
So clutching my medal and my bag of sweets – they’d ran out of water, apparently – I scanned the crowd until I found my family again, reassured the kids I was ok, had some photos taken and then we all wandered off happily back down the inevitable hill to go home.
Big thanks to Morley Running Club for everything they do to put this brilliant event together. Same time next year?
There’s an old saying that always gets trotted out when talking about what we’ll politely call ‘journeymen’ footballers. You know the one, ‘more clubs than Jack Nicklaus’. Funny eh? See what they did there? Anyway, the first player I’m going to look at kind of sums up exactly why that old saying exists as he had more clubs than the pro shop at St. Andrews, let alone Jack Nicklaus! My first Gallowgate Cult Hero is goalkeeper John Burridge.
Universally known as ‘Budgie’, John Burridge signed for Newcastle from Southampton in July 1989, leaving almost 2 years later. To this day, he remains the only player I’ve ever turned up specifically early to watch warm up! But more of that later.
Burridge started his league career with Workington Town in 1969, when they were still a league club, before moving on to Blackpool a couple of years later. He then moved around a lot of clubs including, Aston Villa, Crystal Palace, QPR, Wolves and Sheffield United. By the time he’d signed for us he was 38 years old and had been playing for 20 years and had 10 clubs. Newcastle were in the old 2nd division or the Championship, as it’s now known and Burridge had come in alongside other new signings like Micky Quinn and Mark McGhee. Hopes were high for a possible promotion campaign.
Hopes, however, were ultimately dashed and having failed to gain automatic promotion Newcastle famously crashed out in the semi finals of the play offs to the old enemy, Sunderland. In the first leg of the semi, we played away at the old Roker Park and Burridge had his finest cult hero moments in black and white, diving down to his right to save a late Paul Hardyman penalty. But the drama didn’t end there as Hardyman then ran to where Budgie was lying, clutching the ball, and kicked him square in the head! He was immediately sent off, but Budgie was rightly raging!
Despite skiving school and standing in a very early morning queue, I remember that I couldn’t get tickets for that away leg – you see, ticketing isn’t just a modern day problem! However, we managed to get tickets for a beam back of the game at Whitley Bay Ice Rink of all places. In the hysteria following Budgie’s save, I missed the kick in the head entirely and remember just being delighted at the sending off, but completely in the dark as to why Budgie looked like he wanted to kill someone!
Burridge was a maker of spectacular saves, starting with one in the first minute of his debut against Reading when flew across the goal to tip an early header over the bar. So, a good shot stopper in today’s language. He possessed a confidence like no Newcastle goalkeeper I’d seen before too. But with that confidence came many rushes of blood to the head and while Burridge was a keeper who liked to command his area, there were a few terrible errors in there too.
As I said earlier, I quite liked getting to home games early in Burridge’s time, just to watch his warm ups. I was 17 at the time and had never witnessed anything like it! Burridge, who described himself as “a clean living lad” was a big advocate of being in the best condition, fitness wise. If I remember rightly he practised yoga, which was something I hadn’t even heard of in those days! But his warm ups were something else. While others would just be pinging footballs around the place, Budgie would be like a contortionist, stretching himself into ever more painful looking positions, before walking on his hands, one armed push ups or doing something that just looked like he was dancing really, rather than warming up. Follow the link below and you’ll see what I mean. It’s from his Palace days, but he was still warming up in a similar fashion when he played for us.
Speaking about his fitness and what was needed to play in goal, he once told a reporter, “You’re not a football player, you’re a handball gymnast”. He was a specialist goalkeeping coach at the time and was still making occasional appearances on the bench, despite being 43 by this time.
Another Budgie tale that sticks out for me was when the Toon visited Elland Road to play Leeds in that heartbreaking ’89-’90 season. Leeds would eventually go on to take the title, but we’d beaten them 5-2 on the opening game of the season, so the home team were determined to flex their muscles that day. To that end, as the Toon players walked into Elland Road legend has it that they were greeted by the sight and sound of Vinnie Jones screaming and bench pressing in a weird attempt to intimidate our boys. Budgie’s response was to add 10 kilos to each side of the weights and quickly do ten reps, before telling Jones, “That’s how you do it
By the time Kevin Keegan arrived as manager in 1992 Burridge had departed, heading to Scotland to play for Hibs. He briefly rejoined the club in 1994 as a back up keeper and goalkeeping coach, but despite declaring his loyalty to Keegan in typical Budgie fashion – “I would give the guy my eyes!” – he was soon on the move again.
In all, Burridge had 29 clubs, 19 of which were in the football league. He continued to be a colourful character wherever he went and still holds the record for being the oldest Premier League player of all time. He was 43 years and 162 days old when he played for Manchester City against QPR in May 1995. If my memory serves me rightly, he even played against us in that same season and had an absolute blinder, keeping a clean sheet. Later, whilst player manager of Blyth Spartans Budgie was convicted and fined for selling fake leisure wear and just last year, aged 70, he played in a friendly for Hibs. He even claimed not to be retired in a recent interview.
Perhaps the best Burridge story that I could find though, was the one where Budgie played a whole game for Wolves in a Superman outfit against us in the ’82-’83 season, after making a £100 bet with Kevin Keegan that he’d do it.
Clearly, Budgie was a one off and the type of character that has drifted out of the game in recent years, but it was always a pleasure to watch him play for Newcastle United!
I’ve taken a different direction for this latest poetry blog. Where usually I’d have already written a poem and just dug it out from a notebook, today I’ve written a short poem especially for National Poetry Day. I gave myself a deadline before writing some of it down. Any changes or additions were then made when I typed this whole thing up. I hope you like it.
I only gave myself a short time to think and after trying to write something about Autumn, I abandoned it in favour of writing something about why I write poetry. So, here you go.
The words I'd never say
Usually, it's the words I'd never say,
too self conscious to just let them fly
and only too aware of the stutter, the nerves
and the glowing cheeks that would greet
the rush of blood telling me that it was safe to speak.
Sometimes, I'm lost in thought,
my own little world and things I'd rather not share out loud.
Futile really. Probably not even anything that
anybody else would need to know,
but it has to come out somewhere, somehow.
Scrawled inky lines crawling across the page,
filled with scribbles, arrows and asterisk
allow the expression that otherwise would stay silent
it could be the birds in the park or fears about health,
or just about a day out that might have left its mark,
this shy boy can still have his say.
I was never a one for writing poetry. There had been the odd one or two over the years, but they were never kept. And then lockdown happened and the words just began to flow. Now there are multiple notebooks with poems in various stages around out house. Hopefully, the poem fills you in a little bit as to why that is.
A bit of a cathartic post, this one. I’m aware that I’ve written a lot about my heart surgery last year and I’m aware of the fact that it might just be getting boring. It’s getting that way for me too. But despite my many quiet vows to not let the pacemaker define me, it’s kind of a tough one that! So this post is sort of cathartic because it allows me to vent my frustrations as well as publicly celebrate my successes, however minor they might have been.
So, my recovery continues. I’m still very aware of my pacemaker; you can literally see it when I take my top off (steady ladies), there’s a scar that looks red raw when I’ve done any exercise and more than anything else, I can just feel it sitting there in my chest. It doesn’t hurt or anything like that, but it does get sore after exercise or if I’ve had to take on any lifting.
Thankfully though, I’m now running regularly. I manage to get out twice a week and have been pretty much exclusively running 10ks recently in preparation for an upcoming race. That race is the Morley 10k, which I ran in October of last year before collapsing a few weeks later and then finding myself in hospital a few weeks after that. So all the omens are good! At the time of running it, I felt good and strong and despite the fairly undulating course and the fact that I was actually very poorly, managed a time of 54 minutes! I don’t think I’ll get anywhere near that this time around!
That said, for a recent hilly 10k that I ran around town, I clocked a time of under 57 minutes, so I’m not actually too far short of pushing for a similar sort of time as last year. Maybe, with a decent tail wind for the last couple of miles, I can achieve something worth shouting about. It would certainly help me get past the whole ‘woe is me and my pacemaker ‘ thing!
My body continues to frustrate me though. As far as I’m concerned, I’m out of shape and carrying a bit of a belly, although my wife tells me I’m being ridiculous. When I’m feeling more rational I can put the aches, the pains and the belly down to middle age, but I still feel unhappy with it and I’m fairly sure that had I not had the health issue that I’ve had, I would be in a lot better shape physically. Four months off work with nowhere near enough exercise and far too much snacking has clearly taken its toll and I’m struggling to get back into shape.
I found summer really tough and for long periods felt as low as I can remember ever feeling. As is my habit, I tried to hide it from everyone and seemed to be getting away with just being labelled occasionally grumpy, but if I’m honest, I just couldn’t cope with it. Running kept me sane and when I was out on those early mornings I hardly had a care in the world. But at home, on holiday, visiting family, I just felt awful. It wasn’t anyone else’s fault. I felt impatient with those around me and angry at what’s gone on since last year with my health. In terms of recovery, being so frustrated and angry really doesn’t make things easy and I’ve genuinely felt like I couldn’t move on.
The peak of it came when I just felt I had to talk to someone. Not like me at all, but I knew I had to try. I tried repeatedly, but something always got in the way and then one afternoon while she was at work and I was at home, my wife called me about something and I just confessed to how incredibly sad I felt. She’s been brilliant!
Talking a lot has certainly lightened the load, but I’m still considering counselling or just joining some kind of support group. I did this when I first got my pacemaker as I really struggled with what felt like the injustice and the worry of it all and it did me the world of good to hear from other people in the same situation and just to share a few things.
Part of the reason for the summer being such a tough time was that I stepped down from coaching my junior football team. The club wanted me to get rid of 4 players in order to make space for others that they were dropping down to us from our A team and I just wasn’t going to do it. I hoped they’d see reason, but when they didn’t I walked away on principle. I’d always tried to be a totally inclusive coach and when the club decided to release players based on ability, that was enough for me. They tried to dress it up as something else, citing players commitment as a reason, but it simply wasn’t anything to do with it.
I’d coached the team for 7 years and loved it. It had always helped me with my physical fitness and mental health too and so to lose it hit me hard. I managed to get a couple of the players that were dropped fixed up with a new club, but the fact that I could no longer coach kids I’d coached for years and years – including my own son – knocked me for six and just deepened the sadness I was already feeling.
The issue dragged on a bit because parents were actually on my side and so there’s been a lot of complaints flying around. However, the club have actually emailed one of the parents of a lad who was dropped and told some rather creative lies about me while being incredibly loose with the truth about what actually happened. I could have got very angry, but I’ve just decided to leave it. If it makes people feel better about themselves to tell blatant lies, I haven’t really got the time for that in my life. Not at the moment. Talk about kicking a man when he’s down!
I still go to watch the team, as my lad still plays and most of the squad are still ‘my’ players, but I just won’t have anything to do with the people at the club now. One or two in particular should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves, but I guess that some people are just never in the wrong! Karma can be a bitch though, so we’ll wait and see!
For now, I’m just trying to be as positive about life and recovery as I can. I’ve thrown myself into work and whether I’m happy or not, I’m trying to be as positive as is possible. So, I’ve dug out my Disney teacher voice for the new year 7s so my natural grumpiness doesn’t scare them and I’m putting positive comments on our ClassCharts whenever I think someone’s done something good. I’m trying to make sure that I explicitly praise as many students as possible whenever they’ve gone beyond the ordinary and I’ve not sent one email about how pointless a meeting is yet! I’ve even been early for a few of them as well. Inner me’s not particularly fooled, but the positivity is genuinely helping. It probably sounds stupid, but while I’m being positive, I’m not being negative and not feeling sorry for myself. Does that make sense?
So life, as ever, is full of ups and downs. And while there are a few too many downs for my liking at the moment, I’m hoping to work my way out of the way I feel before the end of the year. In November I’ll have had a pacemaker for a whole year and if I’m honest, it is a comfort. As far as I can tell, the old issues with my heart are fixed. Now, however difficult I find it at times, it’s just time to get on with life again in the best way that I can.
This one is an autobiographical poem. It’s about a lot of things in my life, but mainly things that have happened, or feelings that I’ve felt since I left home to go to university. It was a long time ago, but due to the upheaval it’s something that I probably still think about every day.
I’m from a city in the North East of England called Newcastle Upon Tyne. If you’re from the U.K no doubt you’ll know of it. If you’re anywhere else, you may still have heard of it and if not, give it a Google; have a look at the bridges and stuff, because it’s a wonderful place. For my money, it’s the greatest city on the planet, but then we’d all make that claim, wouldn’t we? Trust me, I’m right though because it’s a city that seems to make an indelible impact on its people and it certainly did on me.
I lived in Newcastle until I was 19 and can vividly remember, aged 18, telling my Year 13 form tutor that I’d never leave. I genuinely couldn’t envisage a time when I’d leave the place. There just wasn’t going to be a reason to take such drastic action. And then there was, so I left. After 3 years away at university I spent another 5 or 6 months back at home, trying to find a job that never came my way. This was ’90s Newcastle and it felt like I’d never get a break in a city that seemed like it was being cut adrift by a government that had all but destroyed all of our industry. So, I headed south to the Midlands to move in with the girl that later became my wife. We’re still together and nearly 30 years later I still live away from ‘home’, but closer now at least, in Yorkshire.
Roots
Geordie jeans and a head full of dreams
you left your home town, not even suspecting
that you'd never return.
The bridges, the monument, the shops and
even the river would lose their warm familiarity
and before too long become almost alien,
making you feel strange, yet not a stranger,
displaced, without roots
and never quite at home, wherever you went.
Every turn presented another stage of
cultural change and gentrification
while you stood still, a statue without a plinth,
slowly shrinking into yourself
until you didn't really recognise who or what
you'd become, functioning behind a mask.
No direction and the wrong turn at every junction,
when the road forked you found the dead end,
falling into a self made trap, again and again
with only glimpses of light to keep you from the dark,
so that even the way ahead was stumbled upon
and even then only chance would keep you from being
back to square one.
The beacon at your side the only part
of those last ten years,
to stave off the loneliness and put you
back together when,
you'd fallen off the wall again and again,
so that now, still Geordie jeans and a head full of dreams,
there's a reason to face each new day
and a heart to call a home.
The poem is about moving away and then watching the city change. That might have been changing in that I lost my sense of belonging there but also lost the ‘geography’ of the place, if you like so that however often I went back there would be more and more times when I just couldn’t remember my way around or couldn’t place things anymore. Add in the fact that my parents moved from my childhood home to a new village and it all led to me feeling a little alien in and around Newcastle.
The city also grew and was given a bit of a facelift in certain areas, making it far less recognisable and far more difficult to feel at ‘home’ in. Gradually, while I didn’t fall out of love with the city, I began to feel like I just didn’t really know it anymore which was heartbreaking given how attached to the place I had been growing up.
The Geordie jeans bit is about clothing, but heritage as well. There’s jeans and genes in there. The genes are obvious, I suppose. ‘Geordie Jeans’ however was, shall we say, a clothes shop when I was growing up that was a bit ‘budget’, but it was all that my parents could afford. So, I’d be kitted out for home and school in their stuff and very self conscious about it as a teenager.
The latter end of the poem is about all of those feelings coming together to have an adverse effect on my mental health. When we first moved away I knew we wouldn’t stay there, it was just after leaving university too, so there was career uncertainty too. If I’m honest, that’s stayed with me right up until the present day, as much as I love my job and the place where I live.
There’s a little bit of optimism towards the end of the poem. I still retain those dreams, however far away they might seem and as I said earlier, I still have my wife by my side looking after me and giving me strength wherever I go and in whatever I do.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the poem. It’s opened up a few ideas along similar lines in my head, so I might write more about those times if I can find the time.
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