Bilston Town Football Club (aka I support a team that is top of the league.)

Bilston Town aint just the place that I grew up in, it’s also the place that I learned to love football. Back when I was a kid I’d go to Molineux whenever I could but I’d also find a way to Queen Street now and again too and I can recall two of the best games I’ve ever seen were at Bilston Town and were two of the biggest games in there recent history… I assume (Yeah I picked the big games too, but I knew I’d get in you see, what? Yes I admit it; I’m a Bilston Town glory hunting fan on the quiet! I only turned up when they were winning.)

Back when I was a mere teenager and my bell-end had barely seen the light of day, let alone the inside of a vagina (I used to wank furiously in the dark), I remember spending an overcast, grey Saturday afternoon down at Queen Street with my mate Lloyd, spending about £2.00 to get in (only cus we couldn’t find a hole in the fence which was our preferred method of entry into Darlaston FC back then, after we’d spent bus fares on the old 78 bus to get there, we couldn’t afford the entry fee at Darlo) and watching the sheer might and awesome power of Bilston Town against Canvey Island in what I remember was the Quarter Finals of the FA Vase. Now this game had our interest because if the Steelmen won they would’ve been a single game away from Wembley. So we jumped on the bandwagon and turned up hoping to see a result. We did. Bilston 0-2 Canvey Island. Fuckers. I never realised until I heard the accents of the away fan(s) (delete as applicable) that Canvey wasn’t an Island it was actually an Essex/Cockney backwater full of tossers. But fair play to the few that drove all the way up to the Black Country for the game, they went home happy, we just fucked off home happy that we’d seen a quarter final and legitimately supported one of the teams. I wasn’t sure exactly when this was as I wrote it, but according to Google it was 1993.

It was a year after that I saw a team lift a piece of silverware for the first time with my own eyes. I’d gone midweek to see Walsall play Hednesford at Bescott Stadium in the Birmingham Senior Cup final and the Swifts spanked them 3-0, from what I can remember Evran Wright played up front for Walsall, and he later went on to play for Bilston Town. It’s weird how football allows you to link events to a single club, even a small club like Bilston, but it does. Football is just like that game, “Six degrees of separation” as any club can be linked to any other club very easily it seems. Well I can make another link to Bilston right now: Did you know (I’m sure you didn’t) that the joint highest scoring Birmingham Senior Cup final featured Bilston Town? Well it did. In 1969 Tamworth beat Bilston 6-3 and 9 goals in the final is a joint record. See what I mean? You are never more than six people, or places, or clubs or what ever away from any other person/place/club in the known universe. Its why I enjoy blogging about football, you always know you’re point is going somewhere and if it aint, just look for the obvious.

The second of the two Bilston games that I refer to was the Staffordshire Senior Cup final of 1998. Bilston won away at Tamworth and only had to avoid defeat at home to lift the trophy, a trophy they won three years in a row between 1960 and 1962, and amazingly they did, it was a great night filled with (as I remember it) chips and burgers and feeling very cold. The Steelmen earned a draw and won on aggregate to lift the trophy, what I think may have been there last knockout cup victory since then. Bilston have a proud history in this competition, having won it as many times as local professionals Walsall (4 times) and more times than Port Vale (3 wins), Birmingham City (3 wins) and Wolves (2 wins).

That brings us to today. As a Wolves fan, with Wolves struggling, I’ve turned my attention more to the local leagues. Bilston aren’t letting the side down, they are currently top of the West Midlands (Regional) league Division 1 and are looking good to take the title. Maybe Karl Henry et al should take a leaf from Bilston Town’s book at the moment.




A person for everywhere; not a citizen of nowhere.

This is a reply to the post here by my blog buddy, DocDenbow.

As I have never lived anywhere else other than the Black Country I have no idea of the joy of living near the coast. I often, when away on holiday (usually the North of Wales, Conwy/Rhyl area) imagine the joys of being a stroll away from a beach as being divine, but I too often find myself wondering if the winters are harsher and the rain storms are more severe. But the images that you have published on your blog over the years certainly make me envious of those lovely sunny days when you walk the dog and explore the land. That is something that I cannot do here in Wolverhampton. We have our parks and some wooded areas but nothing on the scale of the Gower peninsula.

What I wanted to say with this reply was simply this: I do not understand pride in being from a certain town or city or country or whatever. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a Black Country lad, born and bred, the area is in my blood and my heart, my memories and moreso my accent, and the culture and heritage is something I enjoy, but I am a person and I can be that person anywhere with anyone and I refuse to be limited by the fact I was born by pure chance in any given place. I mean take football, I’m a Wolves fan (in case no one realised that) but I could support and follow them from the Scottish borders, or the Southern Hemisphere or even from the moon. Football for me is a case of planting your flag and then you’re lumbered for life! That’s the way it should be, but I digress as always.

I’m a heritage kinda guy; in the same way museums keep alive Roman history or Royal history or even pre-history. We should never forget the past and were we have been and come from, we shouldn’t sweep it under the carpet or forget about it, but we also shouldn’t let it govern how we see ourselves. Society is always developing, changing and evolving and the very notion of self in regards to location is redundant. People are people and places are places. People cannot be a place, they can only be at a place and then sooner or later they’ll be at another place.

These days we are lucky to have this wonderful and crazy place called the internet, and so we can be anywhere and everywhere, skyping and emailing and youtubing from home, the office, the top of Everest or two thousands leagues beneath the ocean and all at the same time still being just us, people who have a story, a history, somewhere we were born, grew up, lost our virginities, danced, drank, sang, worked, cried, etc, the internet removes location and simply becomes “the internet.” It is where we exist mate, we are both ordinary dudes with ordinary lives but can be interesting and have an audience unlike in the real world, thanks internet! We are what we are, places allow us memories and they allow us somewhere to exist and inhabit. That is all. You’re no more a Welshman than you are a Yam Yam Doc, but you are partly the man you are today because of the places you’ve lived in, but ultimately you are a person, you are you everywhere and anywhere. Location doesn’t maketh the man. The man maketh the location. Being happy and contented is far more important.


The trouble with drinking (aka no one chooses to be a drunk).

For at least the last decade, probably longer I have been a bit of a drinker. I’ve always enjoyed a drink or two but it was only after my dad died, and I was there to witness it, that I started to drink what I would term at the time as heavy (but would consider now quite tame). I think the trauma of performing CPR on a man whom I’d looked up to for almost twenty four years and admired as the good, working class man he was probably pushed me towards the drink and if I’m honest I’ve always felt a tiny amount of guilt that I was unable to help him, or save him. Many years later I still think about that terrible day and those terrible moments and I cry. I break down into a sobbing mess. I’ve never done it in front of anyone other than my girlfriend who has seen me in such a state on several occasions over the years we’ve been together. I’m not ashamed of it and I can easily control it. The only thing the years have done is give me that. I don’t want to be that emotional wreck, so I hide it behind silliness and trying to be the clown. At the time I had to be there for my mum and my family who all suffered the same as I did when my dad passed on.

Alcohol certainly wasn’t the answer. It wasn’t then and it isn’t now. It only heightens the state you are in. Never drink to forget or if you’re upset, do it when you’re happy and smiling and joyful.

My life had to instantly adjust; I was still living at home and was suddenly the man of the house. I was the guy who had to do all of the DIY, the gardening, and the shopping. I pretty much went from being an overgrown kid playing Playstation all day and night to running a household and paying the bills and worrying for the first time about everything and everyone. It was hard to adjust at first. I didn’t want responsibility, it was part of the reason I was living at home in the first place. But the decision was out of my hands, I got on with it as did everyone else. As adults we don’t get a choice in the matter. It’s why I get annoyed when I see kids of 14 and 15 wanting to grow up too fast. Enjoy your youth cus you are an adult a long time. There will be plenty of time to be grown up, decades in fact – of time spent working, commuting, on hold with call centres and filling out tax returns.

17 months later I was well into the swing of my new life. It wasn’t so bad anymore. I went every single Saturday morning and changed the flowers on my dads headstone, without fail (I’ve even cracked solid ice to take out old flowers and add news ones, that was never fun, but it happened, I made those carnations fit and added fresh water so it could freeze as it was -2). Simple things made life bearable, work was steady, my family were OK, my friends were awesome. Wolves made the play off final and we all went together to Cardiff and watched them win 3-0 and go up. Things were good.

But in the July of 2003 my family had its hearts torn clean out again, thanks to an ‘accident.’ I can’t rant about this as I’d like to because even now almost a decade later I cannot, not go crazy at what happened, my feelings are still FUCKING RAGE. I don’t want to go into the details either, but I can say, my 16 year old nephew was killed in a car crash. He’d been with me the day we beat Sheffield Utd and went up only weeks before. He’d become a closer friend just as a result of my dad passing away, and suddenly, senselessly and wastefully he was gone. In a blink of an eye he was dead. It was devastating and almost destroyed my sister (his mum). Even now I wonder how she managed and I salute her in my heart for coping as she did. She’s a superhero. I couldn’t respect her any more than I already do and I know I’ve never told her that. My nephew was my mate and my brethren and he was gone. I dunno how any of us survived that period of time, but we did. I’ll never forget going to say goodbye to him in the chapel of rest and having to ask for a veil so his mum didn’t have to see he’d been hurt. Even in death you want them to be alright. At peace. He was but his mum didn’t have to see him so peaceful, he was a lively kid and she didn’t need to remember him any other way.  She didn’t need to see him so asleep. God I miss him so much. So fucking much.

Less than 14 months later my mum passed away. During a heart operation at the old WalsgraveHospital in Coventry. Since my dad had died she’d had a stroke and came back stronger, had heart failure twice, was diagnosed with diabetes had complications from many procedures even having to have dialysis after haematoma complications days after my nephew had died. She was never out of the hospital. She was so strong and tough; we’d hoped and expected her to be OK. She coped with everything, quietly, and with old fashioned dignity. She had her first operation and was admitted to Intensive Care and was comatose until they told us her bleeding was so severe she may die and had to go back into theatre to stop the bleeding. She didn’t survive and died.

Our third funeral was now being planned and third immediate member of our family was lost so close together. Two and a half years devastated my family from my dads death, to my mums. I cannot begin to explain what this does to a family or an individual in the family, unless that individual of course is me. I remember it all and still feel it all too. Its tough, very fucking tough. Its tiring, its devastating, it’s just awful. How we coped?? We were family and it made the rest of us tighter and more resilient. We all still cry and bear the scares and miss oh so very much our mum and dad and nephew. So very, very much! It kills me to think about any of it and it makes me remember how insignificant any of us are and how much we need to enjoy life today, not tomorrow, today. Take nothing for granted, tomorrow it’ll all be gone.

I’ve written this to unburden myself of these real life events that to you are just the words of a man on a blog, a man you don’t care about, just another blogger, to me it’s all too real and it still affects my life every single day. It affects my relationships and my friendships and I know people don’t understand. I don’t expect them too either, its not your cross to bare, I understand that too. But it happened. All of it and I’m the person I am because of it. My family is still solid as a rock. We know the depths you can plunge so we enjoy the highs you can achieve sometimes too. Give your mum and dad and kids a hug or a text or a thought every day because I can promise you it hurts badly when you can’t. Never let a moment pass you by, it’s not cheesy, trust me.

I don’t want pity or sympathy, I just hope it helps some of you understand just why I am how I am – and why I rant sometimes, and drink sometimes, and rant and drink sometimes together. I make no excuses for my behaviour on this blog, or in real life. Or even on twitter or Facebook, or maybe just chatting next to the kettle at work, or at the counter as I pay for my alcohol. Very often I am just being loud and angry and sweary and its not always acceptable. But I hope that sometimes through the words you can see and hear me speak, I’m always being honest and genuine and sharing my real feelings about stuff that is serious and important and sometimes very frivolous or self indulgent (and often surreal). The scars I bear are not physical, you can’t look at me and see them, but please understand they are there and sometimes they re-open and certainly they still hurt. I don’t think the pain will ever go away, no matter what I do or what I drink.

I can only apologise to people I upset, my intention is never, ever to cause other people pain or anxiety or stress. So as I sit here writing this, with a glass of white wine and a Hamlet miniature I bid you farewell for tonight and I’ll see you all again here soon for more madness, madness that you might understand a little better for reading this.

Thank you for reading. I admire your patience.

Peace and love!

This is my 200th Post.

When I started writing this blog I never imagined I would reach a hundred posts let alone two hundred, but here we are. How? I do not know. Why? Why not! Who? Me of course, I did it, all of it, I’m the guilty man. What? What? Where? Bilston and once from my mobile phone, but then my phone broke as I assembled a bed frame, my mangina leaked all over it. When? So many questions!!!!

Yes I am a lunatic male who has an internet connection. Thank you all for reading this and all of the other posts too, why you bother is beyond me…. and with that statement I lose twenty followers. DAMN IT!

Oh well, you’ll be back, or someone else might pop along, no matter and all of that.

Well what’s going on? Have you seen the news recently? I’ve not been too prolific on wordpress in February 2013, mostly because I’ve had too much to say on the news and I didn’t wanna upset anyone. But as it’s the 200th post I reckon I’m in the clear to have a rant or two.

The first rant I have is where is my cake? 200 candles and maybe even four tiers as it is technically the 4th calendar year of my blog, what’s going on? Sort it out wordpress, fucking hell! Getting little stars for comments and likes is all well and good but you can’t beat a paper hat, a paper plate and SOME FUCKING CAKE!!!!!

I jest. (Barely – where’s my cake?)

Maybe I should concentrate on the news. February news.

Well what have I failed to comment on so far this month? Horse in ready meals, Oscar Pistorius, Wolves Footie Club, The Pope stepping down, Michel Le Vell being charged with child rape (you have to be careful on that one, legally speaking) Nick Clegg is still a Tory cuckold, Hillary Clinton quits the American state department, a meteor hits Russia and another one fails to wipe out humanity (damn it!), Richard III’s body is announced as found after a dig in a Leicester car park, Chris Huhne admits letting his ex-wife take some his speeding points and is found guilty of perverting the course of justice, Fidel Castro makes an appearance in public and speaks to Cubans for the first time in yonks and we had the Chinese New Year.

OK, so what should I rant about first? I don’t care too much about a lot of that stuff. I mean a soap star getting accused of terrible crimes is certainly a story I’d avoid. I know nothing of this case and so I simply hope justice prevails, but I also wonder if an innocent man is going to be wrongly accused of terrible crimes. But time will tell.

Oscar Pistorius is a very strange story. I don’t like to think the worst of people and I’d like to think that a guy with no legs, who’d overcome adversity to win medals galore, wouldn’t be heartless enough to gun down a young woman he loved. But that’s just me. What ever happens though it’s a total fucking mess and heartbreaking for his family, and moreso her family, but if he did it with a dark heart he has to be tried as a killer not a hero or an icon. The law has to rule, and it will. Its just sad all round and I hope he didn’t mean it. What ever the outcome I feel he’s going down like he’s got woodworm (cheap gag, sorry about that!)

As for Wolves, we need to stop drawing games under King Deano and start winning. I feel like we are going to get relegated. Everyone says we won’t, some morons are arrogant enough to say we are too big a club to go down. What? Like we were in the 1980s when we did it all the way to the basement with our nice new stand then? Fuck off! Things need to be improved by the middle of March or we’re fucked. We need six wins at least before the end of the season. But I don’t wanna get all angry about football.

Probably the biggest story of the last few weeks has been, “Red Rum and Shergar in your Microwavable Biryani!” and “School dinners and hospital food are full of ketamine!” No one with any sense has ever really trusted ready meals or supermarkets, but at the moment local butchers are loving it – the old horse meat fiasco! It’s not a health risk to eat horse, the entire row is a row about labelling. I agree with that. But it also turns out that pork and lamb has been found in meals that claim to be chicken too. That kinda scandalous shit has knock on effects for Jews and Muslims. But what I see when I read about all of this is the need for cheap food and as people have become poorer and poorer, supermarkets have tried to keep them spending in their stores by offering beef steaks at 10p and lamb cutlets at 8p, and ready meals that are easy to re-heat and also quality produce… yeah! If we all ask ourselves honestly, we knew it was horse! It was cheap! In fact most of us thought it was rat, fox and badger. Thank fuck it’s only horse aye?

So as February trundles on all I can see is more comedy, ludicrous scandals and utter bullshit from selfish assholes trying to convince us all of their utter bollocks. And I aint even touched on politics.

Aint the world just one big middle finger to all of us?

Man I wish I had some cake.


Just Chatting To Myself.

I have been a bit of a stranger around this place in the last few weeks, not a lot going through my head that I want to talk about. I’ve started to write several posts but have been distracted, haven’t had my heart in it or plain and simply given up because I’m very lazy. ‘No point putting in too much effort for little reward,’ that should be my blog banner statement. Not that blogging isn’t worth the effort; I just feel that some of the posts that I’ve tried to write are rants about things that no one else really cares about. Silly little things that wind me up that I’m sure most people would brush aside and ignore. Not worth the effort just to make myself look like a total douche.

I’d had sudden and rapid plans for this blog a few weeks ago, as you may see along the pages listed above, I’ve added an audio and fiction section. The idea that I can talk and be engaging is laughable, much like my plans to try stand up comedy that I announced foolishly on twitter and Facebook only to never do it and get nothing but odd looks from friends upon seeing them next. But I only have myself to blame, ideas are just that, ideas. I have an overactive imagination and come up with a hundred crazy schemes a week, what I need to do is learn to keep them to myself as nearly all of them (in fact all of them) are pie in the sky or pipe dreams. The fiction could happen though, watch this space as they say.

I suppose it comes down to the fact that I am neither happy nor fulfilled with my lot in life. On the face of it I should be happy. I have a job and a roof over my head, a girlfriend who I love, food in my belly and *touch wood* no serious health problems. But all of those things aside I find myself pretty damned fed up a lot of the time. But not with the world, I’m fed up with the people in it; selfish, arrogant, self-important people who can’t for a single second put anyone else before their own pathetic bullshit and are happy to stampede over people like myself who simply don’t want any hassle. And you know I rarely cause myself any hassle or problems but very often people will come to me and cause me hassle and mainly it is because they fucked up and I’m supposed to care, they are so important, so important! If it was survival of the fittest they’d be fucked and in the event of a zombie apocalypse I’ll blow these people away in a heartbeat to save myself. Maybe I should just try and be more like them, then the blog posts I don’t use because I recognise how pathetic they are will suddenly become so important to me because, OH MY GOD, I HAVE SOME MINOR ISSUES WITH SOMETHING OR SOMEONE!!

OK rant over, my next post will write itself, it’s my 200th post. I’m sure I can waffle on about that at some point in the very near future. I’ll try and make it as self important as possible in light of this rant today. (Tee-hee).