The news hits the back pages and no doubt gladdens the hearts of many a United fan... Rafa Benitez has left Anfield and Liverpool FC face an uncertain future of debt, team rebuilding and whether their tape of Gerry and the Pacemakers singing 'You'll Never Walk Alone' will hold out for another season. The fans are always the ones I feel the most sympathy with. The scousers are a devoted and vocal bunch who have had to pay their hard-earned money to watch their team collapse into mediocracy through foreign takeovers and dodgy transfers. Huge wage bills and heavily-claused contracts which, with the exception of perhaps the 'big 4', are crippling the clubs financially. Benitez himself leaves the club with a £6m contract pay severence after a miserable season that came under scrutiny after finishing 7th in the premiership and making little progress in the Champions or Europa League. Rafa will be remembered for winning the Champions League in 2005 in a barmy night against AC Milan. Perhaps unfairly, the win was attributed more to Houllier's legacy and the inspirational Gerrard winning the cup rather than Benitez's managerial tactics and skill. For all that, and I'm speaking as a die-hard Man Utd fan, you had to marvel at Liverpool landing the big one after being 3-0 down. Rafa also managed to poach Fernando Torres, arguably one of the greatest strikers to grace the English Premier League and perhaps even developed Gerrard into an inspirational captain that drove the team on to win games that perhaps they'd have lost otherwise. Gerrard's patience was later to run with his manager this season it has to be said. His capture of Pepe Reina also proved a great buy when he now could ply his goalkeeping skills in any one of the top teams in Europe. Then there's Rafa's downfall... His truly awful signings. Luring Robbie Keane after he failed to land Garth Barry and then selling him back at a huge loss was hardly his greatest hour. Add to the list Lucas, Babel, Ngog, Voronin, Pennant and it's not great reading. Losing Alonso to Real left Liverpool vulnerable and they never seemed to recover. His zonal marking, his ill-advised post-match rantings and his at times, questionable substitutions were also the nails in his coffin. So, where next for Rafa? It has to be the Italian Serie A doesn't it? His stock value has probably gone down in the Spanish League and Serie A will probably suit his managerial style. The club itself are in debt and failing a miracle, I can't see them holding on to Torres, Gerrard, Mascherano, Benayoun or Reina. Barca, Jose, Sheik City or Chelski will be circling like vultures with their chequebooks at the ready. As for who will be the next manager? The fans are calling for Guus Hiddinck. Can't see Guus would fancy the prospect of a selling club, in debt and having a questionable attraction to the big players. O'Neill possibly, but he'd be leaving one American-owned club for another without too much chance of available funds. Hodgson doesn't travel well up North and his accent is better suited to West London. For me, Mark Hughes would be a great choice. He did a fine job at City rebuilding the club before the money came in for a quick fix. Players like him and want to play for him. Whether the fans will accept an ex-United stalwart is another matter...
There's always Ian Holloway, but we'd like him for just one bonkers season at the seaside if that's ok? And then there's Keegan - I'd love it if he went there...LOVE IT.
It's been a tragic and inexplicably cruel week in the news. Firstly, the awful news of three prostitutes being murdered and dismembered once more in the Bradford area a place synonymous with the Yorkshire Ripper. The man being held for the murders is a criminology student studying for a PhD. Once again, prostitutes, so easily the target for brutalization are murdered in dreadful circumstances. Today, sees an apparent quiet and unassuming taxi driver called Derrick Bird going on a shooting rampage around sleepy villages and towns in Cumbria before turning the gun on himself. Twelve people are dead and at least twenty five are injured, some in a critical condition. Sadly, the town of Whitehaven will be as notorious for all the wrong reasons in the same way as Hungerford and Dunblane. Tonight, many families will be mourning the loss of loved ones made all the worse in the pointless and nonsensical way in which they died. A friend of mine contacted me earlier and suggested that as a psychiatric nurse, I'd probably have a good insight into the possible madness which drives someone to commit a shooting rampage killing innocent people without any provocation. Well the simple truth is, I don't. I doubt anyone could begin to work out what pushes a person who lives 'normally' and the suddenly snaps with such devastating consequences. What's similar in these two tragedies, and in the case of most multi-killings, is the way neighbours and friends describe the perpetrators. Invariably male, they are described as 'quiet', 'a bit of a loner', 'shy and polite', and 'normal'. The awful truth is, they may look normal but their actions are a million miles away from normal. And here's a prediction without the benefit of psychiatric insight... it's almost inevitable that more prostitutes will be murdered callously, and a quiet and polite loner will pick up a rifle and kill his neighbours randomly and indiscriminately until he turns the gun on himself. And we will once again ask the question... why?
Did anyone watch last night's Britain's Got Talent with gaping mouth and eyebrows raised. My eyebrows have taken a full 24 hours to return to their normal position. This week sees the acts who passed the audition stages ready for next weekend's BGT final. The winner from that programme (chosen by ITV1 viewers) gets to perform for the Queen aka Madge at the Royal Variety Performance. I've missed quite a number of the auditions, so last night's acts were new to me. Firstly, we were treated to Kevin Cruise a 40-something camp man who works as an entertainer on cruise liners. The video intro filmed Kevin talking about his 'journey' and strangely went into planet la-la with him walking around his local shopping centre dressed in a natty captain's hat saying coooo-eeee to bemused and frankly scared young men. His persona is completed by a blond wig and ridiculously fake tanned face. And then came the performance... it was how I'd imagine what tripping on LSD is like. It was manic, camp and very, very strange. The crescendo led to Kevin stripping off his trousers to reveal two things of hideousness - lycra shorts and a popped out testicle. A little readjustment and that old showbiz saying 'the show must go on' and Kevin admirably carried on whilst I was gagging on my marshmallows. I can't even look at another plum after that. And it got worse. We were then treated to a middle-aged man dressed in a Richard the Lionheart straight from the Crusades costume. His act? Chopping wood into kindling. I kid you not. Chopping frigging wood whilst singing the Robin Hood theme to new lyrics... 'chopping wood, chopping wood, chopping through my wood'. This went on for two gruesome minutes until you're begging for two things to happen.. For those three f*ckwits to press their reject buttons, or better still, Mr. No-Talent chops his hand off with a slip of his chopper. Sadly, neither happened. They were they worst acts. Not far behind was the token young girl singer with flicky hair and tooth brace singing about unrequited love and heartbreak. Like you'd know at 14? You know about texting, GHD's and saying things like 'OH MY GOD, that's soooooo AMAZING' repeatedly. Fortunately, a really good gymnastics/dance routine got through who were genuinely talented and watchable. I shall still be watching this week for more acts destined for summer season at Pontins....
Today's an important day in my calendar as it's the day I pootle off in my car to the garden centre and select a vast array of bedding plants. Every May bank holiday I afford myself the luxury of knowing that it's unlikely to be frosty now so it's full steam ahead on planet petunia. A morning stroll around the bizzy lizzies and a full gamut of plants selected. Loading the car is always a trauma as I get a hernia trying to get the compost in my boot and then stuffing about 3000 plants and muck onto car seats, head rests and back shelf. Today I also treated myself to a zip-up plastic greenhouse for my tomato growing. I'm expecting big things from my tomato plants which are currently about 5 inches high and have about 5 feet of plastic greenhouse to grow into. A bit of Tomorite and some strong words should do the trick. So, seven hours in my garden looking resplendent in shorts and wellies with my trug and trowel and all plants are in and watered. My new lavender bush is planted in a huge pot container and I shall no doubt be cursing all summer when I have to get past it whilst a million bees are swarming ready for the chance to sting my posterior. And so after all that planting, digging, weeding, watering and lugging about, I allowed myself a sit down to reflect. With a stubby beer in my hand, I thought what a bloody marvellous place is England in the summer when the sun shines. My home is my castle maybe, but my garden is a little slice of paradise.
Oh dear.. I'm beginning to regret putting £10 on England to win the World Cup. I thought I was being smart when I got odds of 14-1 and saw Rooney, Bent, Defoe and Lampard stay fit and knock in numerous goals this season. We were looking hot to trot and on paper, probably good for a win in the competition that has eluded us for 44 long years. And then I watched a lacklustre performance against Mexico. Apart from Glen Johnson's goal, we were hardly on fire. And then to yesterday's dismal friendly against Japan in Graz. We won, yes. The manner in which we won was questionable. England won by losing a penalty and by Japan scoring two own goals. Our strike force and solid midfield goalscorers didn't manage to score and had made themselves only a few chances. This, against a team of players who are genetically shorter than average so you'd have thought Crouch would have been a option for his heading ability. Japan also rank 45th in the FIFA world rankings. England incidentally, rank 8th. And then there's the old chestnut about can Lampard and Gerrard play together in the same midfield? Watching yesterday's match, no they can't. We'll get slaughtered against the better teams. Capello has to choose a defensive, holding midfielder. We have three good attacking options if he goes for Lampard, Joe Cole/Walcott and Wright-Philips/Lennon. Gareth Barry's the obvious choice providing he's injury-free, but there's also Carrick and Scott Parker who should be considered. Playing Gerrard and Lampard together won't work and it will leave us exposed. Apart from that, a bit more practice in penalties is perhaps needed because we're sure to get Germany in the semi's and Lampard has missed two now on the big occasion. I shall stick with my initial bet for England but will also have a punt on Argentina. The bookies favourites are Spain and Brazil but who can ignore a team which contains Messi, Tevez, Maxi Rodriguez and Militto?
After watching many years of the X Factor and BGT, here's my all-time favourite audition from 2009. It features a young, slightly delusional French waiter doing a cover version of Vision of Love by Mariah Carey, The seriousness he gives to the song and the total disbelief when he gets four 'er..no thanks' are a joy to behold. Makes me laugh every time I see it. Au revoir et merci, mais non merci
What a difference a week makes. Last Saturday we were baking in 30c degree temperatures at Wembley cheering on Blackpool to the Premiership. Today, I was stood in drizzling rain watching my godson play football for his school team. As my godson lives out in the sticks, today was a big day on the rural calendar as it was the Catterall, Nateby and St Michaels gala procession day. Another quintessentially English tradition with traditionally English weather to match. There were the usual may queen presentations (yawnsville), bouncy castles, best vegetable on show display and my personal favourite: the burger and hot dog seller. My godson was picked for his team in an unfamiliar goalie position. The usual goalie had injured himself so my godson stepped into the breach with gloves the size of Kent. Never before have I witnessed so many parents getting their knickers in a twist over 10 & 11 year olds playing football. Shouting at the referee and telling little Henry to 'show him inside Henry, INSIDE'. Trouble is, you stand there long enough and you get drawn in to the match and start to ooh and aaah and look to the heavens when little Jonny Clatherclapps misses an absolute sitter. My godson's six year old brother got a little bored with the football and asked if I would take him to the coconut stall instead. What the hell, we won't win anything but at least we'll have some time together. Well, the next thing, this little lad launches four beanie bags at 140mph and lands 4 coconuts. I have never seen such steely determination to succeed nor such ferocity and accuracy from a six year old's right arm. Consequently, the stall holder told us to leave and never darken his coconuts again. We got back to the football to see my godson picking the ball out of the back of the nets in disgust at letting a goal in. His team lost, we got wet, we had some chips, we got more wet. Oh, and we had coconut surprise for tea...
