POWER TO THE PEOPLE.... BLACKPOOL GOES PUBLIC

Exciting times are ahead if you're a resident of Blackpool. Government ministers have made claims that Blackpool is to be transformed into the most exciting resort in Europe by a huge regeneration initiative. 


This week, Blackpool Council announced that the residents of this great seaside town will now own Blackpool Tower and the Winter Gardens following the Council buying both institutions for £40million. For the first time in 116 years, these beautiful yet sadly neglected buildings return to public ownership. 


The money came in from European funds to aid our ailing resorts. It has been used to buy out Sir Trevor Hemmings' First Leisure Group who purchased the buildings and large tracts of Blackpool's seafront for a reduced price in readiness for Blackpool's proposed Super Casinos where we lost out to Manchester. Gordon Brown later scrapped all proposals for Super Casinos. Since then, the iconic buildings and tower have been left without investment and looking a little shabby from their previous greatness. 


The new dawn sees Merlin Entertainments (of London Dungeon and Legoland) to help regenerate Blackpool's entertainment and plan to revamp the Tower complex to include a 'Dungeon' style theme similar to the well-established London and York Dungeon. If you've ever been to either Dungeon, they're great fun (if a little gory). 


There are also proposals to invest in the WInter Gardens complex to restore its past glory as a conference centre hosting the political party conferences of old. With that, will come the inevitable building of new, fit for purpose hotels to rival Manchester and Liverpool.  


Great news for the town and for the people of Blackpool. Public ownership is refreshing and unusual in these days of profiteering and 'outsourcing'. Perhaps now there's a chance these beautiful buildings will be restored to their former glory and be considered world class. 


I can't help thinking though, that's there's always a cost for this kind of huge investment. I seem to remember being finished abruptly from my job as a casual worker whilst working for Blackpool Council during my nursing training. The job supplemented my bursary and being finished just before christmas due to a decision to reduce costs was difficult at the time. My colleagues in permanent jobs were facing pay cuts and possible redundancies. I applaud public ownership and hope that the proposed increased visitor numbers justify the costs.

ACHTUNG ROONEY

I suppose it was inevitable... those bloomin' Germans get one over on us again and Wayne Rooney gets crocked. For the United fans it was very nearly auf weidersehen to Bayern Munich after Rooney scored after two minutes. Shut up shop, defend, game over. Get them back to Old Trafford and finish the game off with a win. 
Sloppy defending right at the end of the match  and Bayern score two. Not a disaster in terms of the result but what happened next with Rooney could be viewed as not United's finest moment. A twisted ankle means he misses this weekend's title decider against Chelski. There's a view that he'll miss the next 6 matches which are critical in United's quest to retain the Premiership title. United have a great squad and I'm hoping Berbatov and Macheda step up to the mark. Rooney however is United's lynchpin and his presence is inspirational. United's loss is Chelski's gain I'm afraid. 


All England's fans would have collectively groaned at the sight of Rooney limping today on crutches. It's our best chance of winning the world cup this year and Rooney's our passport to glory. On the plus side, he now gets a month's rest before the tournament. There's now less chance of him breaking anything which will rule him out altogether. As a United fan though, I'm absolutely gutted!   

WINKLEMAN TAKES OVER FROM WOSSY

Good news today for Claudia Winkleman fans as she's just been named as Jonathan Ross's successor in Film 2010. I for one think it's a great move. Whilst Wossy's day in the limelight looks like it's in decline, Claudia's star is in the ascendency.  


Her presenting of Strictly Come Dancing It Take Two is compulsive viewing. She's just a little edgy and a little bonkers at the same time. There's no pouting or being a beautiful clothes-horse accessory for a male presenter with Claudia. She's quirky and more liable to throw her head back in giggles than to sit there demurely like most female presenters these days. At last, the BBC have recognised a woman with individuality and has that watchability factor. Davina McCall she ain't... thank God. Davina is just silly and tries too hard, Claudia delivers with kookiness and panache. 


Claudia in a nutshell is one of those women other women would choose as their mate. 


Time will tell whether Claudia fills the once-credible shoes of Wossy and pulls it off with Film 2010. I think somehow, she just might... 

SUNDAY AT BROCK BOTTOM

Just got home after spending a glorious sunny Sunday out with some friends at Brock Bottom in the Trough of Bowland. It's a really lovely walk by the side of the River Brock made even lovelier when it's springtime.

Today we brought a dog along for the walk and you forget how great it is to have a dog splashing about in the river and running way when off the lead whilst we all panic that it's not being violated in the woods by some randy boxer dog. Fortunately the walk went without incident and after a couple of hours of walking in wellies and putting the world to rights, we head off to a country pub for the obligatory beer and Sunday roast. I love visiting country pubs in the Trough of Bowland. They usually contain characters sat with their pints at the bar eyeing anyone new (ie. townies) suspiciously. I once engaged in conversation with an older local man sat at the bar and I couldn't understand a word he said. Talk about the broadest Lancashire accent...

'Av thee come up from yonder vale lassie?' 'I beg your pardon?'

'Aye, thee wet t'whistle lass on yon butty, yull be deed bah time t'landlord gets himself straight' 'Erm... it's just gone ten past twelve'.

I'm making it sound like a cross between the Deliverence and a world of dark satanic mills but it isn't. It's geographically in the North East of Lancashire stretching easterly from Preston / Pendle hill up to Lancaster and I live within 16 miles of it. It's Lancashire's hidden gem, beautiful and untouristy, but the locals are a little Royston Vasey it has to be said. The Bowland fells has some of the most unspoilt countryside to rival anywhere in the UK and I'm very lucky to live so close to it.

The roast beef and Yorkshire pudding went down a storm and it jogged my memory of why I love Sunday roast dinner so much. We loosened our belts and headed off to Bonds at Elswick for an ice cream before taking Ebby the dog on another walk in the sunshine.

Great day with great company. Dancing on Ice later this evening.. I feel relaxed and refreshed and ready to face Monday morning...

ME LADDIE AND ME

I've just spent a long time on the phone to my 10 year old godson saying goodbye and wishing him a good holiday as tomorrow he's off to Cumbria for a 4 day activity break with his school. I shall spend the next few days worrying that he comes back safe. It's always been the same with him...

From the day of his birth, he and I have forged such a close bond that his mum joked we should go on the Jeremy Kyle Show for me to be DNA tested to find out if I'm his biological mother. To his mum's eternal credit and as a testament to her lovely character, she has never begrudged her boy's devoted attachment to his football-loving aunty nor mine towards her first born son.

I saw his first steps, changed his nappies, helped him ride his bike, helped him clean out his guinnea pig cage and chided him for swearing. I took him to his first football match, let him stay up and watch Match of the Day when he stayed over and watched with pride from the touchline as he went for trials at Everton aged six. I even went to his first nativity play at school. His dad and I went and after about 3 minutes we began first sniggering and then through the agony of 'Away In a Manger' we began to look at assisted suicide as a viable option. That was until golden boy comes on with his solo recorder spot and I'm reduced to eyes welling up and then floods of tears. My godson finishes his spot and then looks out into the audience, spots me and with thumbs up, shouts over 'I did it aunty H'. Sobs at this point whilst his dad just looks at me and shakes his head in pity.

Since then, he has either texted or rung me every week. If he gets a spare moment away from his Playstation or kicking a football up and down his street, he writes to me! I've kept his letters and they are precious and funny in equal measures. He'll tell me about the injustice of getting told off at school for kicking a football into Mrs. Catterall's garden for the 3rd time that week or ask me impossible questions like where do birds go to die? He'll sit on my sofa with his Match Attax books and casually ask me whether girls like boys with gel in their hair.

I shall still worry about him whilst he's away but will also await the first text telling me the canooeing is fab and can I drop off some hair gel as he's forgotten to pack it....

NEVER WORK WITH CHILDREN OR DOGS

Yesterday I had the WORST day at work. A freaky Friday of monumentus proportions which saw me heading off to the pub after work to meet up with two of my oldest friends.

We then headed back to P's where several bottles of cold wine and an exuberant puppy awaiting our arrival...

M and I are not exactly animal lovers. Dogs, cats, reptiles and amphibians unsettle us in various degrees of mild discomfort through to phobic reaction requiring a sedative via injection, but M is particularly uneasy with dogs. No sooner had we walked through the door when this staffie cross labrador leaps towards us at 80mph which had M launch herself facewards to the wall in the style of being frisked by the LAPD. The screeches of 'GET THE BLOODY THING OFF ME' only aroused the puppy into doing an impersonation of a Shaun the Sheep rucksack and holding on to the back of M's coat before having her claws pinged back one by one to remove her from her mounted position.

And so we made our way through to the lounge with M (hyperventilating) and I clutching rosary beads and praying to St. Barbara of Woodhouse (the patron saint of dogs being put into the garden for the duration of our visit). P earnestly tells us that it's is a very friendly dog who just wants to say hello. Why dogs can't just shake paws like any normal person, I just don't know. Worryingly, we were warned the dog 'may' jump up on the sofa and try to eat our hair. I kid you not. This puppy who no doubt eats the finest IAMS preparations feels a need to suck visitors hair for an aperitif. P goes on to inform us that we'd be ok as long as we both sit well back into the sofa and whatever we do, DO NOT lean forward as the dog sees this a green light to get jiggy with sucking hair. M looks at me and I saw death staring back at me. All colour had drained from her face as she reached for my hand, united in the sisterhood chant of 'We shall not... we shall not be moved'.

M has been a Special Care Baby Unit nurse for over twenty five years. She is pragmatic and thoroughly excellent when dealing with prem babies. Her pragmatism does not extend to all things canine, indeed it's become a standing joke how M attracts animals. Ever since we were kids and riding our bikes home from school, normally mild-mannered dogs would break free from their gardens, teeth snarling and hurtle towards M who would be frantically pedalling whilst at the same time trying to free a dog's jaws clamped tightly to her size 5's. Even castrated dogs will try and mount her. However, in the face-off with P's dog, her cool nursing head kicks in at the prospect of dog saliva in her hair so she launches into her handbag for the nearest bobble to tie her hair back, a cattle stun-gun and adopting her bodily position into fully reclined mode.

The dog returns from her wee in the garden and takes one look at her new love interest M and springs onto the sofa, runs across the back and removes the bobble to let M's hair fall seductively across her face whilst M is screaming 'PLEASE GET THIS BASTARD DOG OFF ME... NOW'. P comes running in from the kitchen and asks me who the imposter is with the Robert Plant / Led Zep wet hair on her sofa, realises it's M and removes the dog into her arms kissing the hound from Hell and calming it down. Whilst M is using an inhaler to get her breathing back to normal, P then tells us both off for not heeding her instructions to sit well back and inferring that we 'invited' this experience by having the audacity to lean forward. This cycle happened several more times during the evening leading M and I to the conclusion that the puppy perhaps had lesbian tendencies. Call it a crush on an older woman.

Eventually the dog calmed down once M explained sympathetically that she was in a long-term relationship with the father of her child and perhaps she should mix with puppies more her own age. The dog spent the rest of the evening dozing across M's feet and no doubt reflecting on her lost love.

All in all, it turned into another of those fabulous wine-induced, laugh 'til you cry, crawl out at 2am evenings spent with two fab friends.

Ssshh, don't tell M but I've got her Cesar Millan tickets for her birthday...

THINGS I HATE ABOUT FOOTBALL...

Ah, the beautiful game.. most love it.. some get infuriated by it.. some loathe it. I absolutely love it, always have done and probably always will do. But even I'm realistic enough to know that there are some really annoying things about football. Allow me to take you on the journey of things that make my blood boil about football...

Spitting

The spitting is relentless and occurs across all levels of football. I don't often see competitors in rugby or cricket spitting so why footballers? Even more gruesome is when you spot footballers spitting when walking down the tunnel about to go onto the pitch. Maybe they're not bright enough to realise that someone has to clean that mess up afterwards, usually a cleaner on the minimum wage. But to top it all is the footballer's nasty habit of holding one nostril and blowing down the other to expel vast quantities of catarrah. Nice. That's despite wearing a big blob of Vicks smeared on their footy shirts which helps the young, fit healthy millionaires breathe through 90 minutes.

Crap goal celebrations

In the 60's and 70's when footballers were called Norman or Ramsbottom, footballers used to shake hands when they scored. Nowadays, we have boxing spas with the corner flag (Cahill), cupping ears at opposition fans (Tevez), index finger to lips in shushing motion at opposition supporters (Arshavin), back flips (Nani) rubbish roly polys (Robbie Keane), robotic dancing (Crouch) and many numerous examples of childish walks, rolls and jumping on each other. One example which is currently getting on my nerves is the constant pointing at other players to acknowledge their part in a six yard tap in (see Wayne Rooney).

Wearing accessories

Arriving at the match festooned in huge wireless headphones, clutching a Louis Vuitton shower bag, wearing diamond earrings in both ears and having them sellotaped to earlobes during the match, wearing gloves in spring, wearing roll-neck jumpers under footy shirts, wearing t shirts displaying message like 'Team Bridge' and displaying if goal scored... the list is endless and really annoying in equal measures...

Women

Includes WAGS who try to be celebrities in their own right and especially when they launch perfume ranges. Kiss and tell wannabees who prey on our young naive millionaires and gain thousands of pounds telling lurid stories of 7 times a night sex romps in a Travel Lodge outside Alderley Edge. Wives who stand by their philandering n'er do wells despite numerous infidelities (see Toni Terry, Cheryl Cole)

Sky pundits and match reporters

Anyone who watches Sky Sports on Saturdays will know what I mean. Particular awfulness goes to Paul Merson, Phil Thompson, Chris Kamara and Charlie Nicholas. The words excitable, shouty, cliche-ridden and overly exuberant spring to mind. The phrase money for old rope also springs to mind.

Yorkshire Men

Football and Yorkshiremen do not mix. They should stick to mining, not getting their hand in their pocket, talking funny and breeding ferrets. They should stay clear of football because they are just rubbish at trying to be good. Examples of this are.. Mick 'Ah reet' McCarthy, Steve 'By eck it's raining down thee neck' McLaren, Neil 'it's everyone else's fault Sheffield yow-nited went down' Warnock and best of all.. Dean Windass. Have you ever heard Dean Windass bringing a match report from some second division ground? My God, who signed him up? Truly awful

Diving

They all go down in the box like being shot from a sniper position but some are worse than others. I'm thinking Didier Drogba. Just to digress, players who show an imaginary card at the ref, shout 'I got the ball' whilst drawing an imaginary ball with their fingers are also worth taking outside the ground for a right good kicking.

Fiddling

No, I don't mean violining in the penalty box. It's when a substitute is about to come on, all the cameras are on him awaiting this monumentus moment. The manager and coaching staff are giving detailed tactical instructions in his lughole whilst he sports a glazed nodding expression. And then it happens... our young footballer feels the need to grab his todger or gonads, stretch them a bit and rearrange them to the other side of his underpants. Just why do footballers feel the need to do that? How uncomfortable can it be sat in shorts for 30 minutes on a bench? Get a grip for goodness sake... No, perhaps not.

Excessive wages

If you have world class players, you begrudgingly have to expect that they will attract world class salaries. £120,000 a week is somewhat obscene whichever way you try and justify it. Most footy fans get really annoyed about average, third-rate players who get paid £50,000+ a week for getting erm... 8 goals a season or spending most of it injured.

Foreign takeovers

Inevitable I suppose with the amount of money especially in the premiership at the moment. United fans are very uneasy at the Glazers huge debt off set against the club. Also the Man City new money and Chelski old money hasn't landed any major prizes but sees a worrying exchange of managers at the drop of a hat. I struggling to think of many teams in the top flight without foreign owners. It's not a comfortable thought.

The games big characters

Which generally a euphemism for dickheads. Dare I mention Big Ron, little Gordon Strachan, Robbie Savage, Christiano Ronaldo, John Terry, and Barry Fry to name but a few? Oops, I just did.