Toilet humour

I would like to record for posterity the wit and ingenuity of my work colleagues. Although rarely seen in action outside the confines of the 4th floor, it does exist. In the gents' toilets at least.

In each cubicle, to counteract unfortunate flooding incidents, is a sign reading...

DO NOT USE HAND TOWELS AS TOILET PAPER

THEY DO NOT GO AROUND THE BEND

A few weeks ago now, someone tore a section from one of the signs...

DO NOT USE HANDS AS TOILET PAPER

THEY DO NOT GO AROUND THE BEND

Fair point, well made. But since then someone (perhaps finding the dispenser empty and wanting to heed the advice above) has removed a much larger section...

DO NOT TOIL

GO AROUND THE BEND

Well, they do say many problems are solved whilst seated.

Goodbye - don't let the barn door hit you on your way out

Emile Heskey has announced his retirement from international football. The subordinate clause that none of the media outlets were cruel enough to add, would have read...

in order to concentrate on his career in Aston Villa's reserves.

I suspect a few more will follow him into the lucrative wilderness that is life after the England team, as opposed of course to the lucrative wilderness that is life in the England team. It can't happen too soon as far as I'm concerned.

One rumour today is that David James will be leaving football altogether: he may be joining Celtic. Boom tish.

World Cup - the final insult

The dust is settling, Madrid is quiet again (or as quiet as Madrid ever gets), Spain are world champions and Howard Webb will not be as warmly welcomed in Amsterdam as were the runners-up.

The final was, I thought, not an edifying spectacle. It was engrossing enough to lure Sarah, normally an avowed hater of football, to the other end of the sofa and controversial enough to have her shouting at the screen. Unfortunately the pessimists' predictions came true and it wasn't a match that will live long in the memory. So much for Total Football: it was tiki-taca against kickihacka.

The Dutch looked like traffic cones and approached the match with an appropriate sense of adventure: absolutely none. Their energies were spent not running up the field to score a goal, but kicking their opponents into next week. Combine that with the Spaniards' histrionics, falling over lightly and waving imaginary cards at the ref, and it's no wonder Howard Webb found the going tough.

British pundits seemed keen to praise the English referee, as though it would be somehow unpatriotic to criticise a man who'd achieved what 11 compatriots couldn't and gone all the way in the tournament. Personally I thought Webb had a pretty bad match. I understand he wanted to keep it 11 v 11 if at all possible, this being a showcase event, but on the biggest stage of all surely he should have been enforcing not undermining FIFA's directives on fair play. Van Bommel went through Iniesta with exactly the sort of uncontrolled tackle from behind that not so long ago the mandarins were calling to be banished from the game; yellow card. Would the Dutch have continued their tactical assault if the biggest culprit had been sent for a bath barely 20 minutes into the game? Maybe, but it couldn't have been any worse than how it unfolded once he let that one go.

On the infamous karate kick, I'm willing to give the benefit of the doubt to De Jong because I'm not sure he saw Alonso and to Webb because he may have been unsighted. But I wish I didn't understand why Robben wasn't booked for kicking the ball away in extra time, two minutes before Xavi suffered exactly that fate. Unfortunately I know only too well: he already had a yellow card and Webb didn't want to send off anyone else. Ironic then that Heitinga was dismissed for an offence that Webb could reasonably have ignored. It was technically the correct decision because the defender briefly grabbed Iniesta but the Spaniard had every opportunity to play on and instead took the opportunity to fall over and "give the ref a decision to make". Ironic also that when Robben passed up the opportunity to do the same under Puyol's challenge, no advantage accrued. This is Robben who's like a Weeble in reverse: he may not wobble but he always falls down.

What was it, fourteen yellow cards? The Dutch fouled and whinged as they'd done through the tournament, the Spanish mostly just whinged. The pundits (understandably) lost all sense of impartiality in their post-match analysis. Suddenly Iniesta, who I'd barely heard mentioned all tournament, was their star player in the World Cup and FIFA's award of the Golden Ball for best player to Diego Forlan was derided. Almost as if they'd forgotten he almost single-handedly dragged a limited team to the semi-finals. Yep, they had, because he wasn't Spanish and hadn't played in the game they'd just watched.

When all is said and done, I'm glad Spain won the World Cup; all the more so when the immediate alternative was the Dutch thugs in a penalty shoot-out. In the tournament as a whole, except Spain's first game, attacking teams generally overcame defensive set-ups and it seemed fitting that the same eventually happened in the final. The BBC website, always an interesting barometer of British opinion, carried a spectrum of post-match views including a considerable number of fans who regarded the Spanish as boring. Eh? Yes, they scored only eight goals in the whole tournament and most of those late in games. To paraphrase Gary Lineker, "two teams play for 90 minutes and then the Spanish win 1-0". But should we expect them to win 10-0 against teams that (to repeat an already overused phrase) "park the bus" and lack the quality to threaten an equaliser? Spain were there to win the tournament and a single goal was usually enough to progress.

I enjoyed watching Spain play. This probably isn't as strong a team as that which won Euro '08 and the second holding midfielder looked unnecessary, but then they had to cope with a big gap where Torres should have been. They lack firepower especially when Villa plays up the middle, and a player capable of beating defenders with pace or dribbling skills. But I love the way they pass the ball: not 50-yard Hollywood passes like Beckham or Gerrard which as often as not go out of play or to an opponent; but back and forth making opponents work and opening a gap to advance. They play a dozen passes to no apparent effect, then suddenly the ball reaches Iniesta or Xavi 30 yards from goal and someone's running at an angle that the defenders can't easily deal with. Not only that, pretty much every single Spanish player can control the ball in one touch and pass it to a team-mate. When the first XI ran out of ideas, they had substitutes who offered something different. Maybe I'm just too used to lower-league English games and overwhelmed by the novelty of a team who can string five passes together and trust technical ability rather than raw effort. Those who follow the Premier League have higher standards (cough). Football doesn't have to be helter-skelter, just because that's the way English teams play it. Possession was nine-tenths of the law for Spain; for England it's one-tenth, the remainder being getting stuck in and slinging it in the box.

Probably the final would have been more fun with Germany in it. But there's a reason they weren't there: apart from a 20-minute spell in the first half of the semi-final they just couldn't get the ball off Spain. That invites a conclusion about which approach is superior. The Dutch beat a Suarez-less Uruguay more easily than the 3-2 scoreline might indicate, thanks in part to yet another jammy goal by Sneijder, and with some decent attacking football along the way. Apparently the third-placed match was a cracker; alas I missed it.

Overall, the World Cup was the usual mix of good games and fairly poor ones, with probably nary a classic. The standard of football wasn't that high, but in truth has it ever been? The last great final was nearly a generation ago: Argentina vs Germany in 1986. Just as the tournament will probably be best remembered for Suarez handling on the line and Gyan missing the penalty, the final will go down in history mainly for the utter cynicism of its participants. At least there was one rare moment of humanity when Iniesta, after scoring what proved to be the winning goal, revealed a tribute to his friend and fellow footballer Daniel Jarque, who died a year or two back aged 26. For just a few seconds the fierce rivalry between Barcelona and Espanyol was overlooked and a country united in hope. Then Webb yellow-carded Iniesta for taking off his shirt, we noticed the Dutch were berating the officials over a decision that hadn't gone their way in the lead-up to the goal, and normal service was resumed.

About a month from now, a new Premier League season will kick off and for the majority of English football followers, all the above will be just a footnote in history.

The dangers of word association

Sky have a new publicity campaign running. On the train this week I saw a poster that proclaimed in a lightly-sparkled font, something along the lines of:

Oh Grandma, what fast high-speed broadband you have

This tagline conjured up a one-word response... fairytales. I'm not sure it's quite what the writers had in mind.

World Cup - quarter finals

I'm well chuffed with myself: I correctly predicted Spain to win 1-0 and Uruguay to edge out Ghana. Actually those were two of the safer bets. I didn't foresee the Netherlands overturning Brazil, and although I did expect Germany to score against Argentina you could have got long odds on 4-0. 

The only quarter-final game I saw almost in its entirety was Uruguay v Ghana. There's been a lot of fuss about Suarez handling on the line to keep Uruguay in the competition - and in a way rightly so. But the referee spotted the offence and punished it in accordance with the laws of the game. Ghana had their chance to win the game with the penalty, or subsequently in the shoot-out, and couldn't take it. Let's not forget the free-kick which led to the handball was a laughably bad decision from the ref. 

I don't think anyone would have expected that after all five South American teams reached the knockout stages and four the quarter-finals, only one would still be in the competition one round later. Argentina and Brazil were hot favourites but floundered; let's give Uruguay some credit for the spirit they showed in contrast. As for Ghana, my comment in a previous blog still stands: if in doubt, bet against the Africans.

Germany's crushing win over the team previously billed as the best at the World Cup, might suggest England's result wasn't so bad after all. We scored twice against them, after all. But no one is fooled and the inquest goes on.

I quite fancy Germany to turn over the Spanish now. Joachim Loew found a way to neutralise Argentina and if his team can keep Villa and Iniesta quiet I think they can do damage at the other end. I didn't see the last Spain game, not because Paraguay sent me to sleep but because I was out. Apparently it was tight and Villa scored - in other words it could have been almost any Spanish game in the tournament. Meanwhile, the Dutch are hot favourites (less than even money with most bookies) to beat Uruguay inside 90 minutes yet I expect it to be close, possibly with extra time required. A Holland-Spain final would suit me, guaranteeing a first-time winner of the Jules Rimet Trophy, but I have a sneaking feeling the Dutch will face the Germans in a rerun of the 1974 final.

Parenthood in the modern era

I see Cristiano Ronaldo has become a father. The man most famed for gelled hair, sculpted abs and having questionable balance, has followed in the footsteps of Madonna, Brangelina and Michael Jackson in acquiring a child from a dubious source. Whether he is the biological father, no one seems to know; nor does it matter, since he evidently has sufficient wealth to buy custody of the child from its mother in America. One for Fathers4Justice to celebrate? Maybe not: it appears the child will in fact be looked after by Ronaldo's sister. Presumably he will visit now and again, whenever he tires of his Ferrari and lingerie model girlfriend.

Meanwhile, in the altogether less glamorous surroundings of south London, an ordinary middle-class couple are in trouble after sending their children aged eight and five unaccompanied on a one-mile bike ride to school. They claimed the route was safe, the older could be trusted to supervise the younger on the journey, and they wanted them to experience the freedom that they themselves had known, of not being followed everywhere by adults. The headmaster threatened to call social services and the result is, the children will continue to ride but now in the company of a parent. I can't imagine that a year from now my sons would ride alone to school - not least because Daniel shows no inclination to ditch his stabilisers unless I'm towing him - and I can't say I think it sounds safe to do so in Dulwich. But I'm also uneasy with the notion that parents shouldn't be able to determine what's a suitable way for their children to travel. 

Whatever your view on the Dulwich children, they can't be worse off for parents than the new purchase of an preening multi-millionaire playboy.

World Cup - first knockout round

Sixteen have become eight and all the favourites came through. What have we learned?

Firstly, my predictions were about as accurate as a Uruguayan linesman's eyesight. I expected Paraguay v Japan to be tighter than a Yorkshireman the day before payday and so it proved, the South Americans coming through after a shoot-out in which I read neither goalkeeper came any closer to making a save than during the preceding 120 minutes. I also thought Uruguay would edge it against South Korea and they did, lifting the tempo impressively after conceding an equaliser. Argentina and the Netherlands were always going to beat Mexico and Slovakia quite comfortably. And I anticipated Spain would eventually find a way through a Portuguese barricade, although we could have done without Capdevila faking an injury even if the imaginary culprit Costa had hacked his way through the game.

Maybe five out of eight isn't bad. As for the rest... Chile didn't fulfil my prediction that they would give Brazil a tough game, although of all the teams that are out I'll miss them the most, with their commitment to attack and willingness to get stuck in both reminiscent of the England of old even though their skill level (i.e. they have some) isn't. Ghana overturned the USA, suggesting that Group D really was the weakest of the lot, as The Sun suspected at the beginning. I loved the Ghanaian change strip of red and yellow stripes and the fact that when Gyan could have fallen down to get Bocanegra sent off, he stayed on his feet and scored.

Which, in view of Matthew Upson's feeble attempt to haul down Miroslav Klose, brings me neatly to England. My prediction that we would sneak past Germany was a case of heart ruling head, although both punters and pundits seemed to share my view. Most England sports teams have to be either world-beaters or total failures in the eyes of the Press and the less informed public, because the middle ground is less interesting and doesn't sell newspapers. I suspect that if Lampard's goal had stood the Germans wouldn't have scored twice without reply in the second half, although there wasn't enough in our team's performance to suggest we could have beaten them.The defence was a shambles, the midfield was always chasing shadows, Defoe got no service and Rooney was anonymous again, although I noted he managed a shot on target two minutes from the end, which may have been his second of the tournament. One of my predictions was right though: just after the third German goal went in I told my assembled family that another would follow and in short order, it did.

Predictably the BBC World Cup coverage is now swamped with a dissection of England's campaign, which at least makes a change from the usual vivisection. Now it's whether Capello should go, which players ought to be dumped, whether there's a new generation of better youngsters coming through. I'd prefer them to concentrate on the teams left in the competition who (with the possible exception of Paraguay - did I mention I wish Chile were still there instead?) deserve their places. In any case the wonderful Gills365 pubcast - four ordinary football fans sat in a room masquerading as a licensed establishment - has provided far better analysis of the failings of English football from top to bottom than any mainstream media outlet I've come across.

I'll write some more on England when I have any more enthusiasm for the topic than most of the players appeared to - and that could be a long time coming.

In the meantime I'm thoroughly excited about the prospect of four World Cup quarter-finals even though I'll probably see at most two and a half of them. Argentina v Germany could be a classic. Both teams look better in attack than defence and it will be interesting to see whether Joachim Loew finds it as easy to unpick the Argies as he did England (summarised as "we knew the defence was a mess and they would leave gaps in midfield"). Many observers have written off the Germans but their pace on the counter-attack could cause Maradona's men some problems. I have to go with Argentina but I reckon Germany will score and it could be close.

Uruguay v Ghana is the battle of the underdogs. Both teams impressed in spells during their last games: Uruguay seemed almost complacent in their superiority until South Korea equalised, then raised their game again and eased clear, while Ghana managed a couple of quick bursts early in normal and extra time to beat a disappointing American team. No African team has ever gone past the quarter-finals at a World Cup and I don't think that will change: my hunch is Uruguay will edge it. Incidentally, on the subject of the Americans, Landon Donovan gave a tearful, unintentionally hilarious post-match interview in which he said he'd had "an incredible journey". The comedians on Alan Davies's podcast suggested perhaps he'd been upgraded from economy to business on his flight to a loan spell at Everton, and was overwhelmed by movies on demand. Presumably England were not afforded such luxuries on their return to London yesterday.

I have to back Brazil against the Netherlands because unlike Brazilian teams of the past, they are solid and don't look likely to concede a lot of goals. Robben v Michel Bastos could be a great battle but I fancy Maicon to be a threat on the other side and Robinho can unlock defences, unless playing for Man City. A Dutch win wouldn't be a huge surprise to me but I have the South Americans to win it by a couple of goals.

That leaves Spain with the unenviable task of preventing a Latin American clean sweep in the semi-finals and I think they will do it. Probably they'll find themselves playing against a packed defence for the fourth time in the tournament but their willingness to throw the full-backs forward (Sergio Ramos was brilliant against Portugal) should give them the extra bodies they need to work an opening. I'll take Spain to win 1-0.

To be honest though, I don't mind at this stage who wins either any particular match or eventually the whole tournament. It would be good if FIFA could throw out boring Paraguay and reinstate cavalier Chile - did I mention I enjoyed watching them? Failing that, I will find new heroes and villains over the coming days to root for or against. And may the best team win... provided it isn't Paraguay.

The World Cup - so far

The World Cup is in full swing. Halfway through according to the calendar, three-quarters by matches played, one-fifth by progress in finding out the winners, and finished already if you're French or Italian. I couldn't resist some good old-fashioned Schadenfreude at the fate of the previous finalists, even though England were perilously close to joining them on the plane back to Europe. The only trouble with the French going out with such a whimper is they didn't get to taste their own medicine; I'd hoped they would be dismissed from the tournament by a terrible refereeing decision like that by which they qualified. Instead, the coach showed himself to be almost barking mad, the players went on strike, everyone fell out with each other and they played some of the most tedious, couldn't-care-less football imaginable.

Along with the gloriously overrated Italians, I was delighted to see the back of Switzerland tonight. They deserve credit for their staunch (and successful) defence against Spain but they had no attacking intent or quality whatsoever. The first set of matches suggested we were going to see a lot of teams like that, as they were too many short of flair and the better teams were afraid of losing. No one seemed entirely certain whether the World Cup was supposed to be a celebration of international sport, or the ultimate football championship. Did New Zealand, North Korea and Slovenia really deserve to be there, or was the tournament bloated by also-rans? As if the fear-ridden football wasn't bad enough, we had to bear the vuvuzelas. In this great football party, not only had we got stuck in the corner with a boring uncle, but someone had invited 50,000 bees. My objection to the horns was that they drowned out any of the other noises that bring a football match to life everywhere in the world except South Africa. Only in two England matches have I heard any significant singing, although the Spanish drummer had a good go.

Thankfully the second set of group matches saw an improvement in the quality, as the fixture combinations obliged the big guns to go for wins. Over the past four days the final group matches have been played, mostly with something at stake, and I know the standard has risen because the pundits have stopped debating the vagaries of the Jabulani ball. Apparently it was to blame for the wayward shooting and goalkeeping errors in the early games. And there I was thinking the players maybe just weren't that good. On the subject of pundits, there were some welcome new voices, including Robbie Savage who donated his summariser's fee to charity after one tedious game "because there was nothing to summarise", and Five Live's Alan Green urged viewers not to waste time watching the highlights of another match. Mr Green though was heard to praise the standard of refereeing in the tournament; possibly the altitude got to him. I don't think anyone was praising the French referee M. Lannoy after he sent off Kaka for an offence he couldn't have seen even if it had existed or the Malian who disallowed a last-minute American winner because three Slovenians were committing fouls at the time. But overall, allowing for some officiousness, the standard of refereeing has been far higher than the standard of sportsmanship - yes, I'm thinking of you Mssrs Fabiano, Keita and Torisidis.

I've seen around a dozen games so far, in full or significant part, and Argentina have caught my eye the most. Their back line may be as solid as a damp spongecake, but any team whose reserve strikeforce dismantles the 11-man Greek defence is fine by me. They have to go far in the tournament because it can ill afford to lose Diego Maradona, who's probably even nuttier than M. Domenech but seems to know more about football and has far better players to work with.

Brazil looked good in their first two games, less so against Portugal tonight when all 22 players including the goalkeeper could have sat in a huddle in the centre circle, so little effort did anyone make to break the deadlock. It was just like Portugal's first game against Ivory Coast in fact. Still on the South American theme, Uruguay declined to beat France in their opening game but won their group all the same; and Paraguay took advantage of Italy's demise to win theirs as well. I haven't seen much of them - mercifully on the evidence of their most recent game. Above all I was delighted to see Chile progress: a team that gets stuck in, plays some good football and apart from the last few minutes tonight look like they will always try to win. Actually I quite fancy the Chileans to give Brazil a decent game. 

In contrast to the South Americans, the Africans lived up to the old adage that when a major tournament comes around you should always bet against them. Algeria were one of only two teams not to score a goal, Cameroon lost all three games, South Africa put up a brave fight but never looked good enough to progress and the Ivory Coast were emasculated - the Sven effect? Ghana now carry the hopes of a continent but could well lose to the USA.

Of the minnows, New Zealand managed three draws despite not having a forward line, and but for a dodgy penalty might have beaten Italy. North Korea looked robust for an hour against Brazil, then folded and ended up with a dozen goals against them. But their centre-forward did cry during the anthems so everyone loves him. Australia took a hammering first off but like their fellow ex-colonies avoided finishing bottom of their group, despite two red cards. Japan and South Korea shouldn't be considered minnows and both not only qualified but have more than half a chance of reaching the quarter-finals. Honduras named three brothers in their squad - a World Cup first - but unfortunately only one of them was Wilson Palacios and the team was rubbish, frankly.

The European challenge so far has been led by the Netherlands, who won all three games without breaking sweat. We've seen that before: they usually sprint through the group stage and then lose to someone hopeless at the first knockout round. It could be different this time, with the squad reputedly united for the first time in a generation. Spain got through and apart from an unfortunate defeat to the massed defence known as Switzerland, they've looked good. I expect them to beat the timid Portuguese, who seem to be a one-man team and he hasn't turned up yet. Serbia and Denmark unexpectedly sucked. Slovakia proved they weren't Slovenia by beating Italy but should be cannon fodder to the Dutch - famous last words perhaps. Germany impressed the easily impressed by thrashing Australia with attacking intent possibly forced on them by the scheduling of their most winnable game first. I haven't seen that much of the Germans but their young team has a good pedigree.

So, what of England? I was in a minority in thinking the first performance against the USA wasn't bad, and but for a fluke soft goal we would have been off to a flying start. I would be in a minority of one if I thought the Algeria game had any merits at all beyond not losing - but I didn't. Against Slovenia we should have won comfortably from the chances created and it cost us top place in the group. If we can get past Germany we'll probably face Argentina, who should have too much for a talented but lightweight Mexico; one more goal and we'd have faced Ghana and then possibly Uruguay. It will take a huge effort and a big improvement for England to progress much further and in a way, unpatriotic as it sounds, I don't mind. Although against Slovenia we had more pace and aggression, we're miles behind some of the other countries on technical ability and joie de vivre (or joie de jouer). Spain, Brazil and Argentina happily pass the ball to someone who's marked, confident he won't lose it; we prefer to go back to the keeper. Too many England players are decidedly ordinary at this level and I firmly believe the "golden generation" will fall short again. At least the slow start has helped keep a lid on expectations this time, unlike some previous tournaments. Our easy qualification ought to have got everyone excited, but for once the watching public could see we were patently inferior to at least one close neighbour (Spain - 33 wins out of 34 coming into the tournament, I believe, and they played us off the pitch in a friendly). No doubt by Sunday the anticipation will crank up another notch, although I hope without too many mentions of the war or a match 44 years and 8,000 miles away from Bloemfontein.

If I had to put money on it I would back us to scrape past Germany and then lose comfortably (by more than one goal) to Argentina. I'm not sure if that would be better or worse than just losing to cardigan-wearing Joachim Loew and getting it over with. I can take the despair, it's the hope I can't stand.

Keeping the Faith - Bon Jovi at the O2

Although they won't know or care, the music of Bon Jovi has played an important part in both Sarah's life and mine. She grew up with the sound of New Jersey from her brother's stereo; I discovered Jon Bon during great years at university thanks to a housemate; lending Sarah a tape (probably Slippery When Wet) was one of the ways I inadvertently and auspiciously first attracted her attention; and playing Keep the Faith LOUD was a surefire way to calm down Bump (who became Adam) on long car journeys.

In light of this, it seemed appropriate that Sarah's first concert should be Bon Jovi and her birthday gave me the perfect opportunity to splash out on tickets for their residency at the O2 arena. When I saw photos taken of another concert from the vertiginous upper tier, I was very glad I paid extra to be within sight of the stage, not just the screens. Although it has to be said the screens, clustered in stacks and mounted on a track around the periphery of the stage or perched on universal joints as a backdrop which turned into a flight of stairs, were a joy in themselves.

The passage of time meant Sarah actually attended another concert first: the Stereophonics at Cardiff. By coincidence it was in the same city that I saw Bon Jovi previously: the 1995 Crossroad tour with support from the brilliant Van Halen and my personal favourites Thunder. A purpose-built arena would be a different prospect though.

Come Sunday we found ourselves witnessing a momentous occasion, although for a rather strange reason. Bon Jovi keyboard player David Bryan has branched out into musicals and was in New York collecting Tony awards for Memphis, the first time in 27 years that he's missed a Bon Jovi concert. Jeff Kazee from the Asbery Jukes stepped in, hidden under a hat, and I couldn't tell the difference.

It's only fair I record that Jon Bon Jovi can no longer reach some of the high notes; a problem covered moderately well by a few altered arrangements and by the old staple of audience participation. I commented whilst watching a Robbie Williams concert on TV several years ago that he got the crowd to sing Angels because he couldn't hit the top notes without autotune, and I was only half joking. Sarah disputed it - she's quite a fan of Robbie and if all else fails, points out he can sing better than me - but reminded me of this comment after JBJ hid from the upper registers. Probably I should also note at this point that Jon should hold off on the botox and let his face catch up with his neck.

Despite this, it was a great show. 23,000 people were there to be entertained and, I suppose in many cases, to remember the old times. There was a broad range of ages and it was noticeable that far fewer people sang along with the more recent songs. Sarah and I were largely lost on anything from The Circle and seemed in a minority in knowing Something for the Pain, which goes back about three albums now. The other big difference I noticed, compared to the National Stadium Cardiff 15 years ago, was that lighters have been replaced by the grey glow of mobile phones and digital cameras, held aloft in their hundreds from start to finish.

A review in one of the London free papers suggested Bon Jovi had rehearsed the show too much, but I just thought it was slick as you would expect with some fun elements thrown in. Richie Sambora led Lay Your Hands on Me (sung almost entirely by the crowd) during a JBJ costume change and about an hour in, the band ventured onto a semi-circular stage between the VIP area and mosh pit for an acoustic interlude which included the brilliant Bed of Roses. There was still another hour, plus the excruciating wait for an encore which included In These Arms and of course finished with Livin' on a Prayer, sung first a cappella by the crowd to the first chorus and then again from the start in its entirety by the band.

For us there were only two disappointments. The first was that the set didn't include the wonderful These Days; the second was that it had to end. I may well never see Bon Jovi in concert again - been there done that and literally got the T-shirt last time as well - but we're now downloading the back catalogue. That should ensure Bon Jovi continue to play a part in our lives in the future too.

World Cup - the English heroes/villains are named

Sometimes I wonder why Fabio Capello is paid untold millions to be the England manager. There are legions of ordinary men in the street who could do the job just as well if not better. Or so they think. And today, with the World Cup less than two weeks away, they got to play fantasy squad selection - and then see where Signor Capello disagreed with them.

Most of the squad picked itself, given that Capello had already ruled out the likes of Brown, Hargreaves and Zamora with his original 30-man selection. Whichever of the three goalkeepers turns out to be first choice, they were all certainties for South Africa, as were Glen Johnson, Ashley Cole, Terry, Ferdinand, Lampard, Rooney, Heskey and Defoe. Close behind in the odds-on stakes were Milner, Crouch and Carragher. We knew Barry would go if fit, so too King in all likelihood, absent knees notwithstanding. That left questions about cover for defence and the wide midfield positions, key players' fitness and whether Bent had done enough to edge out someone else up front. Did Capello have some cunning plan or was it a straight first team and back up in each position?

The answer, as it turns out, was the latter. It was no surprise to see Darren Bent absent, even though he outscored all Englishmen bar Rooney last season. He's done very little in an England shirt, not least because no one else passes to him. Whether that's because he takes up bad positions or just because he isn't part of the gang, I'm not sure. There's no point taking someone to South Africa who could play in every game and never get a kick of the ball.

Of the remaining choices, Carrick and Wright-Phillips were fortunate to get the nod after poor seasons. Has either of them been better than Walcott, who "sensationally" misses out? Parker and Dawson can't have been surprised to find themselves unwanted after failing to get on the pitch during the recent friendlies but by that token Stephen Warnock also ought to have found himself on holiday; presumably he found himself second in line only because Baines manoeuvred himself to the back of the queue with an atrocious display against Mexico. Huddlestone probably knew his chance had gone once Barry showed signs of being fit, which is a shame as the Spurs youngster had a good season and would have offered something a bit different in the holding role.

Despite rumours to the contrary, King was eventually selected as cover for Terry. I'd have taken Dawson, despite his lack of international experience, because the two of them play alongside each other for Spurs, but Capello prefers almost-relegated Upson. Frankly the centre of the defence is likely to leak like a sieve whoever plays. I'm relieved to see Joe Cole included: he's a class act.

For me the unluckiest player of all - and the most baffling exclusion by Capello - was Adam Johnson. Perhaps the manager took note of what happened with Walcott at the last World Cup, when he was picked on a whim despite Eriksson never having seen him play, and offered nothing at all. But Johnson is a different case. He's 22 years old, has played over 150 senior games and made the step up to the Premier League with ease, displacing a certain SWP from the Man City team in the process. Not only that but in five minutes against Mexico he showed more attacking threat than some of his team-mates had in the preceding 85. Crucially, for me he offers something different: a left-footer who can deliver quality from wide positions, without always having to beat the full-back first. There's a hint of Beckham in that respect. Joe Cole tends to run inside and can get crowded out, whereas Johnson can stay wide if needed and create space for others. I'd have risked Gerrard or Milner in the holding role if Barry got injured and omitted Carrick to make room for Johnson. Maybe this World Cup has come too soon; he has the potential to be an important player for England in the next few years.

Tomorrow the squad numbers will be announced, no doubt leading to more speculation about whether they're significant. Who will get the number 1 jersey? Who will be 9 and 10? Whatever happens it can't be more badly organised than today. The FA named the squad at 4pm but by then a combination of Twitter and well-connected journalists had already leaked the news. Quite why Capello didn't take his squad straight from the plane to a hotel yesterday and name the squad before sending them home, is beyond me. Still, if that's the only glitch in England's run to the World Cup final we'll probably forgive him.

On the rocks (Martini)

So, Gavin Henson and Charlotte Church have split up. Apparently she was unhappy about his friendship (or should that be "friendship") with an actress.

According to the papers this morning, Welsh rugby player Gav started the healing process by ushering a group of mates onto a plane and getting utterly rat-addled in Spain. The delectable Miss Church, meanwhile, consoled herself by going shopping.

Their entire relationship has been something of a celebrity cliche; it's good to see they're being consistent to the end.

Does anyone know what we wanted?

Plenty of rubbish has been written in the aftermath of yesterday’s election and it’s my constitutional right to add to it. I’m no great expert on our political system but have been reading with interest the rantings of partisans, the wriggling of Cabinet members and the considered puzzlement of academics. Here’s my summary of an election that produced more questions than answers.

First off, who won? I've seen numerous comments from axe-grinders suggesting this was either an anti-Brown vote, or anti-Labour, or anti-Tory, depending on their particular allegiance. Strangely I've yet to see a claim it was an anti-Lib Dem vote even though they polled fewer votes than the other two main parties. Several commentators have remarked that the British people spoke clearly, they just all said different things. It seems to me (and apparently Gordon Brown) that the only reasonable interpretation is a Conservative victory.

Their failure to secure an overall majority in the House of Commons was due more to the structural imbalance in the constituency map than a lack of support. In 2005 Labour secured 35.2% of the vote and 356 seats; this time the Tories have about 36% but only 306 seats. And Labour's share of the vote is lower now than the Conservatives' last time yet they have 50 more seats. Does the failure to secure 50% backing from the populace undermine the Tories' right to form a government? I don't see why it should. The last time a party polled over 50% was 1935, and that was for a national unity block during the Great Depression. In a first-past-the-post system there's no requirement for an overall majority. After all, no one is claiming a candidate should be elected as an MP only if he has more than half the vote in his constituency. Let's be consistent. Whoever gets the most votes, becomes an MP; whichever party has most votes and most seats, should attempt to govern. Amid much political posturing it's not impossible that Gordon Brown's concession on this point is tactical, expecting Cameron to be unable to form a coalition with Clegg in order that he gets a legitimised free run at it. There are too many ironies to list about the position in which the Lib Dems find themselves.

Turnout was up, at 65% approx, which means one-third of the electorate still didn't cast a vote. It's a shame we have no way of telling the distribution between those unable to vote, the apathetic and the disaffected. I don't believe those who couldn't be bothered, have any right to complain at the outcome of the election or indeed the way the country is run. As for the disaffected, perhaps we should have a "None of the above" option on the ballot papers, but I don't have a huge amount of sympathy for anyone not willing to choose the least bad option or as a last resort, stand for election themselves.

Electoral reform may follow shortly. That could mean proportional representation, or something else. There are other voting systems available, most of which are used somewhere and all of which have flaws. Maybe we could hold a referendum on which voting system to adopt. But how would we determine which voting system to use for the referendum - another referendum?

Pretty much any voting system can potentially lead to a hung parliament, with consequent manoeuvring and internal rifts as party activists disagree where compromises should be made and which potential partners are suitable. I'm not absolutely convinced that on balance first past the post is much worse than some of the suggested alternatives.

Whatever reforms are made to the electoral system, we must resolve the West Lothian question. This election has brought a new twist to the old chestnut, in that the Conservatives have a majority of seats in England but are denied an overall parliamentary majority by Labour's 49 MPs in Scotland. The Scots will claim they could be governed by a party with no mandate: just one MP and 17% of the vote north of the border. A delicious irony is that the Tories have fiercely resisted separatist moves by the SNP, insisting that the United Kingdom should remain so in more than name. It seems to me that any electoral reform should embrace the concept that each of the four countries in the Union should have its own representatives and that where power is devolved to Scotland, Wales or Northern Ireland, MPs from those countries should not be allowed to vote on matters that affect only England. Apart from being obviously the right thing to do, it would also sideline Mssrs Brown, Darling and Alexander in Westminster. But I can't see it happening. It's too sensible for one thing - and would reopen the devolution/independence debate at a time when Britain has other problems to deal with.

Finally, a few words on those who found themselves queuing outside when the polling stations closed. It was unfortunate and clearly there are flaws in the organisation of the poll in certain places - albeit none was a marginal constituency. But, these people had 15 hours to vote. How long did they want? With the EU Working Time Directive they can't all have been at work all day. Not a single person I saw interviewed seemed to consider the possibility that they should have gone at 9am or early afternoon; far easier to blame someone else. It was almost reassuring to see that even in this potentially revolutionary day, the modern British tenet prevailed: It's not my fault, someone else is to blame. 

P.S. Paul Clark, the transport minister who voted against his constituents' specific interests, was trounced on Thursday. And the BNP candidate lost his deposit here in Gillingham. Whatever mixed messages the electorate sent to the main parties, they were absolutely clear on these scumbags: you're talking rubbish and we don't want to hear it.

Ask turkeys to vote for Christmas?

Tuesday: national and local newspapers report that the number of carriages on some high-speed rail services in Kent has been reduced because of low demand. This comes as no surprise to North Kent commuters, who were only too well aware that High Speed 1 was too expensive and delivered travellers to St Pancras, nowhere near most places of work. (As Private Eye commented earlier in the year, it was a service introduced to fill spare capacity rather than meet demand.) Nor is it a surprise to Medway Council, which lobbied fiercely against accompanying cutbacks to well-used services into Victoria. I suspect that among those who held an opinion on the matter, the residents of commuter towns such as Gillingham and Rainham were unanimous in their opposition to the plans. Alas, the local MP passed up a rare opportunity to represent his constituents' view on a matter that was particularly pertinent to them, and voted with the Government in support of the cutbacks.

Thursday: outside Rainham station in rush hour stands an election campaigner. Can you guess for which candidate he was canvassing?

None other than Paul Clark, MP, of course. Private Eye would be proud.

Kind, caring Gordon

Everyone knows pensioners find it hard to make ends meet. So I commend Gordon Brown for giving 66-year-old Gillian Duffy the opportunity to boost her meagre income by selling her story to a tabloid. If only all politicians were so thoughtful....

I've never voted Tory before, but...

That Nick Clegg has really shaken things up, hasn't he? No longer does he possess a face only his mother could recognise. In two hours of spellbinding oratory he became the Bright Young Thing of British Politics, a role vacated when Blair cosied up to Dubya and Cameron turned smug.

I didn't see the debate but nor, judging from the viewing figures, did most of those whose allegiance has changed in the past few days. Chinese whispers spread word of his success and the snowball has grown. Like accounts of epic battles in days of old, his victory becomes more glorious and emphatic with each retelling. History is written, if not by the victors, then at least by those who suspect they know which side is about to win. Suddenly there's a third party with a realistic chance of making an impact in a general election. That's long overdue - and very welcome.

We will now see whether the Lib Dems' policies withstand scrutiny. Until now the most serious critique has been by comedians, who were keen to point out that the Lib Dems could promise all manner of unlikely initiatives safe in the knowledge that they would never have to implement or fund them. A zero-percent income tax rate? Sounds good to us, a Lib Dem government will introduce that. The moon on a stick? Sure, why not. Now, we may get to see whether there's a £10bn hole in their budget, as the Tories claim.

But, Clegg and wise grandfather Cable will not get my vote. I could never bring myself to support a party which wishes to subsume Britain further into the morass of bureaucracy, corruption and trough-swilling that is the European Union. This is a group of self-serving careerists who make the Westminster cabal appear quite saintly. Why should we let Italians, Germans and Greeks make our laws and run our economy? It's bad enough that the Scots do it.

Further, my local Lib Dem candidate's leaflet trumpets loudly, in almost so many words, that if you don't vote for him you will get a Tory. Has he not considered that maybe that's what the populace wants? Particularly in Wigmore. The leaflet may have contained some statements on his party's policies but as he didn't see fit to put them on the front page, I didn't see fit to open it and read them. A candidate who defines himself by who he isn't, does not deserve my support.

Besides, as the Conservative spinners will no doubt soon find the courage to advertise, "Vote Clegg, get Brown". Already Lord Voldemandelson, is making noises about the common ground between the parties, preparing for a coalition in which the same old puppeteers (including him) would pull the strings. A hung parliament is probably bad for the country, a hung parliament with Labour still in power would be infinitely worse.

I don't buy the argument that Gordon Brown has no mandate to be PM, at least not on the grounds that are commonly stated. We don't elect the Prime Minister, we choose MPs who then choose their leader. The West Lothian question is a different matter entirely, but not something to which there will be any resolution until Scotland gains independence or England gets its own parliament. I'm also dissatisfied with the notion that Brown is unsuitable to lead the country because he lacks charisma. Blair had that in bags and look where it got us. I can even tolerate that strange thing he does with his lower lip, whilst suspecting his own wife must want to punch him by the end of an evening spent together.

My objection to Brown's reelection is that his government is no longer fit to govern. The moral authority vanished when Blair decided to invade Iraq, based ostensibly on evidence that was either misguided or misleading. Incompetence or dishonesty - neither is a particularly attractive trait for a government. Then there's the economy, which has gone to hell in a handbasket. Admittedly the UK is not alone, we just have it worse than most. Brown was a disastrous Chancellor, although I will concede he delivered on his promise to end boom and bust... by getting rid of the boom. Who increased public borrowing to levels that threaten to cripple the British economy for the next decade? The same man who now claims we should trust him to lead us out of the very mess he got us into. I've had enough of broken promises (remember the referendum on Europe? Brown doesn't) and the same old slimeballs finding their way back into government - I'm thinking of you, Mandy and Camby.

In the midst of all this sits Paul Clark MP (Lab), a loyalist who did his time in local politics and has represented Gillingham for 13 years, no mean feat after it had been Conservative since 1950. He floated into the Commons on the wave of Blairite revolution and has held on, most recently with a majority of under 300. His voting record suggests unwavering alignment with the whip, sometimes at the expense of his constituents' interests - which may be why he is now a junior transport minister. (Anyone see the irony of him voting in favour of trashing our train service?) I have no particular gripe with him but he hardly demands reward for his faithful service to the people of Gillingham.

My conclusion: I may have to vote Conservative. It's a decision I won't take lightly, not least because I'm old enough to remember that the last Tory government wasn't a roaring success. I have no confidence that Cameron & co would do a better job than the current lot. But, I believe they at least deserve a chance. And frankly I'm desperate for change.

Whether the country agrees, remains to be seen. At least they're interested. And for that at least we should be grateful to Nick Clegg.

Gary, gone but never to be forgotten

I attended my first burial today. By that I mean a proper hole-in-the-ground, handful-of-soil burial, earth to earth and dust to dust; none of this open-curtain-shut-curtain business. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, warm sunshine easing aside the nip in the air as we stood in the village churchyard. Exactly the sort of day, as someone commented, that our neighbour Gary would have been pottering in his front garden, intercepting the residents of the close for a quick (sometimes prolonged) chat as they came and went. Instead he was the centre of attention in a different manner.

Gary, bless him, was going deaf and consequently turned his TV up so loud that at times it kept Adam awake. I really didn't want to raise the subject because I knew he would feel bad - and fate intervened in a cruel way to prevent the discussion. Instead my last conversation with Gary before his sudden death was about our lawn, specifically its recovery after being covered in building materials for nearly a year. I can't think of a more fitting topic to conclude our years as neighbours. Not long after we moved in, he took it upon himself one day to mow our front lawn. He continued to do so occasionally even after his own front garden had been paved, for no other reason than that he was a kind man. And he loved to talk about lawncare and his plans for his garden.

Fleetingly I was sad that those plans never came to fruition. Then I realised that if Gary had lived to 120 he would never have finished. He was a planner and a tinkerer, but not a completer. (Sarah might say I should know.) The front garden was presentable, but the back expressed a paradox of beauty and chaos. He spent many an hour using some of the noisiest mowers you'll ever hear, one of which he later donated to us. Many more hours were devoted to spreading sand, fertiliser and other concoctions designed to produce a perfect square of grass. He'd been a greenkeeper earlier in life and it showed in the results. But the only time the edges were ever strimmed was when I did it for him. And his garden was also a collection point for homeless tools, upturned outdoor furniture, empty pots and lengths of mesh, timber, hosepipe and the like. Anything that ought to have had a home in one of his three sheds, didn't. My occasional guilt at the state of our garden compared to my neighbour's aspirations, tended to dissolve as soon as I actually looked over the fence.

You know what? That was the great thing about Gary. He loved people and loved life - sometimes to the extent that we wished he would slow down a bit - yet he never pretended to be anything other than himself: ordinary, human, contradictory and fallible. The number of neighbours at the funeral today was proof that the close won't be the same without him.

Gary Goodchild, RIP.

Dilemma of the week

Because it's been cold these past few days, I've been wearing two pairs of socks. Which pair need washing, the pair next to my feet or the pair open to the weather? Or does each pair get only half the dirt? If that's the case, can I wear the same pair of pairs for two days before they need washing? Should I wear the inside pair on the outside for the second day to even out the dirtiness?

I only wish I could think of a terrible pun to conclude this entry.

Hell's Kitchens

I have a strained relationship with the A303. It's full of promise, being the route to relaxing short breaks in Cornwall, yet seems to hold the destination ever at arm's length. The scenery is beautiful in places, at the cost of fast progress. It's far more interesting than the M4-M5 option, but frustrating.

My biggest bugbear about the 303 is the abysmal quality of the food. You might think anything beats motorway services. But this road always covers breakfast time on our early-morning journeys west, and the only eateries open are Little Chefs. Heston Blumenthal, who was named after a motorway service station (possibly) and is the only chef ever to cook a meal in a Little Chef, got his hands on Popham, near the M3, a couple of years ago but unfortunately that's not usually open by the time we pass. Last week, circumstances obliged us to make a reluctant repeat visit to the same one as last time. It shall remain nameless for fear of libel.

I went for the "Healthy Choice Breakfast" and very nearly found myself with a bowl of Frosties. Don't get me wrong, I like Frosties, but when they're presented as a healthy option you know you're in trouble. Last time we were there, Sarah ordered porridge, thinking no one could get mess that up. Wrong. It arrived looking like putty in both colour and consistency. More fool Sarah, she ate it. This time she looked for something even safer and spotted fried eggs on toast. I'm told - I had no desire to sample this for myself - that the egg was rubbery. No complaints from the boys about their meals; I wouldn't expect any as frankly they aren't gourmands. And the tea was OK - it even came in a pot. All this was dumped on our table by a waitress who I remembered from last time for her particularly unfriendly manner. Talk about service with a sulk. Nor was she alone in being apparently begrudging of our custom. Before leaving we used the toilets. Sarah reported the ladies' was in a poor condition. In the gents', the urinals were sealed off with bin bags and an explanation that they were blocked, and the cubicle wall had come detached from the floor. What amazed me was that the "restaurant" was still busy. But they will see not a penny of our money in future. I'd rather forage for overnight roadkill than breakfast there.

On the return journey, in late afternoon soon after New Year, the red and white chap in the hat was not an option. Sarah and I alone would have adjourned to one of the many roadside pubs offering home-cooked food and a suspicious welcome, but the boys were keen on something in a bun. After long delays in the single-carriageway sections of the A303 we eventually found ourselves in a Harvester on a retail park not far from Stonehenge. I'm not a big fan of Harvesters but I've never had a meal there as bad as this one. Our waitress may also have been the cook and the car park steward, for the frequency of her visits to our table. They'd run out of burgers and mashed potato. How can a restaurant run out of mash yet continue to offer chips? By the time we finished our solitary course a full ninety minutes later they were turning away customers because there was nothing for them to eat. Frankly they didn't miss much. Sarah's chicken was overcooked. We easily could have left without paying the bill, so drastically were the few staff past coping.

And that, dear readers, is why, for all the isolated splendour of the standing stones, and the breathtaking passage across the Blackdown Hills, I really can't bring myself to love the A303.