Author Archives: Alan

People seem to think I often get regularly involved in ‘shenanigans’ and that it somehow must be a complex and well-engineered existence I live.  Quite often my partner in crime is my esteemed brother Rich, who has a similar reputation in his own right.  In an attempt to quell such cynical thoughts, I feel compelled to document the lead-up and culmination of possibly one of the strangest mornings I’ve ever spent in my life.

It all started on Thursday… I was on a very interesting (I am a bit of a geek, after all) but quite head-explodingly intensive course on how to improve my SQL writing skills.  In between taking in vast quantities of information I was often checking my various social media feeds to give my brain a bit of downtime.. (in truth, that’s something I do frequently anyway when I can!)..

So, on Twitter I happened to notice a plea, which was retweeted by somebody I follow (for none Tweeps, ‘retweeting’ is simply an act of somebody ‘forwarding on’ something from somebody they follow to their own followers – a bit like those inane email surveys or collections of pictures of people who shop in Walmart you might receive). On this occasion it was anything but inane…

http://twitter.com/#!/Sarah_Davenport/status/2759082096201729

Since I am from Nottingham, owner of a didgeridoo which I can play – falteringly (I hasten to add!) – and do have a slightly unhealthy obsession with Rolf Harris, I duly replied…

http://twitter.com/#!/winnits/status/2769150967549952

It turns out I was wrong on my final point, but more on that later – a few exchanges on twitter, an email or two and the arrangement was made. I, and my didgeridoo, were to be at The Davenport Shop of Originality in Nottingham for around 10am on 13th November.  I duly texted my brother Rich, also a Rolf fan, to see if he was up for it – he was, and also has a Didge, so he was up for it too.

As all social media obsessives do, I posted on Facebook and Twitter about my excitement at being involved in a Rolf Harris extravaganza, with the slim chance of meeting the man.  The next day my friend Alex got in touch to offer me the use of his authentic eucalyptus termite-eaten Didge, as we discussed logistics of me collecting it it occurred to me that I should just invite him along, so I duly did that!

Cat was roped in, as she so often is, to provide chauffeur services and general being patient and hanging around duties whilst Rich and I did something silly.  We parked up in town and walked to meet Alex – controversially – at the right Lion! (Well, it is closer to Flying Horse afterall).  As we walked up Exchange Walk we spotted him, it’s easy to spot people carrying Didgeridoos around.

Which was something we’d both spotted – because at the Cashpoint just around the corner was a distinctive looking gentleman carrying a Didgeridoo, a rucksack with some drums in it and was donning a top hat.  We assumed naturally he was heading to the same place as us and stopped to chat – he wasn’t, he was heading to a gig at another gallery – but had a couple of hours to kill.  This of course was a sign of fate, so we duly invited him to join us in our own uncertain quest.

It turned out that Ben could actually play the Didge properly so would make an invaluable addition to our impromptu band.  So now a quartet we headed to the venue, eventually finding it in the downstairs section at the end – Sarah’s shop is a real treasure-trove of, well stuff – be it corsets, t-shirts, designer clothes, furniture, jewellery – not exactly my typical shopping destination, but fascinating, and they made us a nice cup of tea and gave us biscuits!

After being refreshed and comparing didgeridoos (I brought mine and my spare, Rich brought one, Alex brought one and Ben brought one) we were ushered into the window upstairs which faces out onto the street.  After a few minutes of getting into our stride (including moving a rocking chair worth over £900 which was the comfiest thing I’ve ever sat on despite it being solid plastic!) we started to get a reasonable sound going, and it seemed the passing shoppers were enjoying it.

The timing is difficult to determine, but at one point I looked up and saw none other than Rolf Harris standing grinning at the window, visibly moved at the tribute to honour his appearance at the Whitehall Gallery further up the arcade.  After a moment of watching and taking in the performance, he got into the window area with us to offer tips on circular breathing (he noted my inability to do it from outside..), and showed he could indeed do it..

Given his appointment at the gallery there was really only time for a quick chat, handshake and general attempt to take in the bizarreness of how this day was panning out.  He continued to his duties at the gallery, and we carried on playing for around an hour and a half or so, and after a while I think we actually sounded pretty good – four didges and two drums on the go.  Unfortunately for us, Ben – our only real actual talent – had to leave us for his gig elsewhere, and then Alex followed as he had to be somewhere for lunch.  Rich and I called it a day and were treated to more tea in the shop.

So, that’s surely it?  Well, we were walking back up the mall so Rich could go to the bank, when we stopped to check out an art installation being run by Nottingham artist Rikki Marr (creator of the amazing ‘Byron Clough‘ painting you might’ve seen in the Cross Keys in Town.  If you haven’t you should!).  Also there was a fella performing beatbox (which Rolf is surely the godfather of), along with two full-grown men dressed as schoolboys in homage to ‘Two Little Boys’.

They beckoned us behind the velvet rope seperating them from the public so we could accompany the beatboxing with a spot of didge.  Indeed, at one point the performer (who, to my eternal shame, I forget the name of..) ‘beatboxed’ down one of the didges into the microphone, which sounded amazing!  We obviously all took opportunities to play the didges directly into the mic too, it’s made me want a mic and amp now, because it sounds amazing!

We hoped to lure Rolf after his signing finished back down the Mall, so played a few impromptu sessions but Rolf was being very dutiful to the people who’d been queuing patiently to meet him, and as time was creeping on so the kick off for Nottingham Forest’s game against QPR got ever closer.  We stayed as long as we dared, and it was a real pleasure to chat with the guys involved in Sarah’s project and artist Rikki who’d finished his homage.

Indeed, he even took time out to rattle off a quick caricature of me whilst we were waiting.  Unfortunately Rolf’s kindness to his patient fans meant we didn’t get to hang around and see him again – Rich and I hotfooted it to the game, and I left my spare Didge in Sarah’s custody as a chap filming the various events had proven quite a proficient player – so they could still try to lure the Antipodean legend.  I hope they succeeded.

So that is how within less than two days a single tweet took me on a journey from attending an SQL coding course to performing in a life ‘art installation’ in a shop window in Nottingham, meeting Rolf Harris, experimenting with a Didgeridoo-Beatbox fusion and finally having a portrait drawn of me by one of Nottingham’s most noted and exciting artists.  I’m not sure whether it’s ‘me’ or not – I don’t see ‘me’ all that often – and generally don’t like it when I do…

Just another day in the life of me and Rich – but I hope you can see that sometimes things ‘just happen’ and aren’t always a cynical ploy.  My desire to help somebody out, admittedly driven by a shared-interest in Rolf, spiralled into something altogether more absurd – and it was brilliant!  Big thanks to Sarah and team for the opportunity to have such a laugh.

I feel like I’ve missed out loads of little things that made today awesome, but looking at my word-count rapidly approaching 1,500 I’ve clearly written rather a lot too!  If Forest could’ve snuck the goal they threatened to against QPR it would’ve made today all the more awesome!

As anyone who has befriended me on Facebook will know, I’ve become a little obsessed with Biltong over the last few months – to the point of actually producing it on a small scale at home.  To further my knowledge, and because I’m easily led by a similarly obsessed but more instant-gratification-driven colleague, we ordered numerous packets of different types from Susmans, a leading UK-based purveyor of dried meat goodness.

So far I’ve sampled some stukkies, some Peri Peri beef bilton and some ostrich biltong from their extensive range.  All very enjoyable, of course – given that I was motivated by the what-I-now-realise-to-be mediocre mass produced stuff you get in supermarkets – indeed, a few months ago I’d have said it was awesome.  I also had a nibble (ooer) on one of my colleagues’ Droerwors (a kind of dried sausage).

I wouldn’t say I’m underwhelmed – but the best of my home-made efforts have been comparable if not better than what I’ve tried so far.  I do have a few more to get through though – and if nothing else it’s made me strengthen my resolve to get hold of a good chunk of ostrich meat to try drying myself.  All in all, a worthwhile exercise – and one that meant I got to eat lots of meat!

Susmans also do non-vacuum-packed ‘fresher’ variants – I might try that, or I might just stick with what I make myself!  The main issue is saltiness, which is probably a product of the need for shelf-life – as I’ve been progressively cutting down on salt in my own efforts after an early attempt stripped almost all the moisture out of the early guinea pigs!

It’s my one reality TV guilty pleasure, and to heighten the experience at work we’ve decided to have a sweepstake.  Great idea, we all thought – I’m having reservations now having selected a female clone of Gok Wan.  It doesn’t get much better if you view her video, either!

Click for her profile here (embedding videos doesn’t seem to want to work 😦 )

Oh well, perhaps it will still be an interesting series, but even with cash at stake, it will be tricky to want her to do well if her application video is anything to go by!!  But still, good luck, Melissa Cohen, nonetheless.

It’s funny that it sometimes takes a reminder or an outside observation to make you realise what makes you react or behave in certain ways in certain situations.  I’ve had two such revelations in quick succession this week, which is what prompted me to pontificate vaccuously about it on here.

The first occurred on Thursday when I was playing football.  I’ve never been particularly gifted at the sport, but do enjoy a game of five a side regularly enough, and amongst the groups of people I play with manage to score a few goals here and there (although generally I play in defence).

After snagging a goal early in the game Andy, one of our very gifted players who was on my team, turned to me as I was running back into defence, stony faced and said “Al, one of these days I’m going to see you smile when you score a goal!“.  I hadn’t really thought about it before, but generally I don’t.  It’s true we don’t play infront of a crowd, so people don’t celebrate too ridiculously when they snag a goal or two, but well, they usually look pleased.

As it happens, later in the game I managed to trick my way past two or three of their players and hit a delicate-but-well-placed-shot into the bottom corner.  Those of you who aren’t familiar with my footballing abilities or the typical kinds of goal I score will know that’s pretty unusual.  I allowed myself a clench of the fist and a slight smile at that one before getting back into position.

It wasn’t until I got back home and pondered what Andy had said that I realised my post-scoring behaviour was an exact mimic of one of my all time Forest heroes.  Stuart Pearce was a defender who managed to get a few goals, and usually (with a few exceptions), when he got a goal he’d jog back to position, with a grim-but-determined expression on his face, as his teammates celebrated and literally bounced off him.

I never consciously made the decision to emulate this, but clearly on a subconscious level this made a lasting impression.  Of course, many times when Pearce scored he did celebrate both in Forest shirts and – well – we all remember Euro 96 don’t we?  Interestingly, I did consciously emulate him by practicing endlessly kicking the ball powerfully – which is at least a skill I’ve retained even through gaps in playing in periods of my life.

Rich took it one step further – he practiced so much on his left foot he’s arguably better with it than his right, despite being naturally right footed.  Stuart Pearce it seems, looms large as an influence not only in the football watching habits of the Fisher brothers, but every time they take to the astroturf too – although they might not now realise it.

That said, I remember when playing in a tournament impressing on my teammates to not go over the top if they scored.  We were playing the tournament at the City Ground (on quarter pitches, seven a side), infront of the tiniest of crowds – it transpired it was me that notched our first goal and proceeded to go mental from the experience of netting infront of the Trent End, even if it was pretty much empty!

"Ah, so you're a waffle man!"

The second occasion was the other night, with nothing on telly as usual we had reverted to trusty Red Dwarf DVDs to keep us entertained.  Over the last couple of weeks we’ve wound our way to Season IV, and had got to the fourth episode – one of my all time favourites – ‘White Hole‘.  That’s by-the-by, or perhaps it isn’t, but as Talkie Toaster is talking to Holly about her life expectancy he uses the phrase: “Well that’s better than a kick in the bread-tray.”

Which is a phrase that – whilst not frequently – I’ve been known to utter when things aren’t quite going according to plan, but could be worse (usually at work!!).  I’d previously completely disassociated it with Red Dwarf, which seems odd really given the specific nature of the anatomy being kicked.  I guess if it just trips off the tongue subconsciously you don’t really give much credence to whether it makes sense or not.

Then again, I did watch Red Dwarf a LOT when I was younger, so I suppose I might have internalised more of the phrases and dialogue than I’d care to think about!  Indeed, when somebody (again usually at work) starts talking over-techie at me I’ll quite often say “So what is it?“, mimicking The Cat from the very same episode – alas, the colleague who would reply with “I’ve never seen one before, no-one has…” has left the company!

Brains, funny things ain’t they?  I suppose it could be worse, I could have added ‘Howdy doodly doo!‘ to my every day phrase repertoire!

One of my favourite things about going to the football is quite random, and quite churlish really.

To start at the beginning, I tend to be rather a different person when at the football than in my everyday life.  People who’ve sat with me at games for the first time are usually pretty shocked that my usually relatively mild manner can become a frothing at the mouth foul-mouthed ball of rage.

You see, going down the football is my ‘release valve’ – and since my football team of choice, Nottingham Forest, haven’t exactly had an auspicious few years of late, there’s plenty of frustration upon which one can vent one’s spleen.  It’s not just ranting at the team I support though, of course.

I’m quite a big fan of banter with opposition fans – and by that I most certainly don’t mean anything physical – just literally banter.  It’s fun, and from my spot at the City Ground (on the front row right above the away section) I couldn’t wish for a better spot to do it.  Because the Forest stewards are quite draconian, ‘banter’ is restricted to fairly inoffensive things.

That’s just perfect though, nothing seems to get a better reaction than a smile, a wave or a blown kiss – so I’m glad our little Hitler stewards have opened up this unique opportunity, afterall, nobody looks anything other than moronic by enthusiastically masturbating the air infront of their face, when you think about it.

So anyway, this is all the background to explain what is a very small and trivial thing that I really enjoy about going to the football.  Nearly every week – as well as single or double-digit salutes and air-wanking – my favourite gesture is generally received from the away fans, the classic “Specky Four Eyes” formation with their hands forming rudimentary ‘glasses’.

It’s ace – it’s the only place except Primary School (bear in mind I was in Primary School in the 1980s – I imagine even they might’ve moved on now), where that’s a viable insult.  Far from being insulting, it’s hilarious – and one of my favourite sights from my seat overlooking our dear visitors from other towns and cities in the UK.  When there’s nothing left of wit to say, let’s insult someone for wearing glasses!

I bloody love football, and how stupid football fans can be – it really is more than just going to watch twenty two men kick a bag of wind about, it’s tribal, it’s passionate and – above everything else – it’s bloody funny, there’s no way I’d have trudged down there through some of the times Forest have had lately if it weren’t these things.  Above all else, it’s probably the only place you can go to get called a Specky Four Eyes.

Except for school playgrounds, and let’s face it, it just wouldn’t do to be seen hanging around those regularly with no real reason for being there!

I don’t mind Manish too much, even if he’s part of the BBC Leicester conspiracy, and whilst Claridge has the charisma and presenting skills of a lump of coal, he is pretty knowledgable unlike the Match of the Day pundits.

It’s the Lizzie and Clem nonsense that is an utter waste of time. Forest’s highlights were reduced to the goals, ignoring some other cracking footy, in exchange we get to hear Lizzie reading out texts and emails from morons, and ‘Clem’ galavanting around Huish Park like a big bald camp irritant.

Why not maximise the cash you paid to show the highlights? Save a bit by getting rid of the considerable chaff on the payroll. As football fans we want to see the action, not half-baked trivia from a bald dude nor the opinions of idiots read out by a token lady.

Anyone who read my previous blog entitled ‘The C Word‘ may remember I wrote about the father of one of my friends.  David was a man who was diagnosed with cancer but rather than give up, he battled, formed a charity, underwent countless treatments as well as volunteering for tests of potential new treatments.

It’s with great sadness that I must note he passed away a few days ago, his hard fight with that evil disease finally over.

If you read that, you should read this too.  Indeed, anyone should read this – well, not my words, which are ultimately fairly flaccid and redundant, but they should click through and read this, his final blog entry, and this, a tribute from his similarly amazing son, Martin.

To me he remains an inspiration, a hero and somebody I greatly admire – which is rather good going for somebody I never had the pleasure of meeting.  Next year a friend and I have pledged to take to a Windsurfer in his honour, which should prove entertaining as neither of us have any experience of such things!

If David’s fight and inspirational attitude moves you as much as me, then please donate a few pounds in his memory to W4CR.  You can do so by clicking here.

Rest in peace, David.