Standing up for FOOTIE

I always promised that I wouldn’t reminisce on this blog - nothing about the ‘old days’.

But when I read Russell Brand’s column in Saturday Guardian I couldn’t resist. It was all about fighting for the right to stand up at football matches.

When I watched Blackburn Rovers at Ewood Park in 19sixty frozen to death - that’s what you did. You could only sit down in the ‘stand’ and that cost a lot and was no fun at all. At most Saturday league matches you could walk round and talk to your mates in the dull bits. Or some lad would come and chat you up (another story).

However, it wasn’t always so relaxed. At one mid week cup replay there was a huge (more than capacity) crowd. It was well-known that a large crowd would ‘sway’. Nothing to do with the Mexican wave and very scary. At this match we were really in the sardine can.

At half time - a chap took his flask of hot coffee out of his pocket. He managed to take the top off but the crowd was so packed that he couldn’t raise his arm to pour it. He had to give up. I watched in fascination. I was excited, but knew it was a disaster waiting to happen. It happened the next morning when I confessed to not doing my History homework.

And yes - the photo above is/was me in my duffel coat (age 16). It was on the cover of the Bolton Evening News when we visited for the semi final. The lads didn’t usually wear flat caps in those days, but we did all carry those marvellous wooden rattles.

Russell and Geoff will be delighted with Saturday’s result - but did it have to be at the expense of the Rovers? Still thanks to Terry for proving there’s life after 40.

No more 'old stuff' I promise …. well OK… if you’re very good, I may show you the pic of me and Annette Mills with Muffin the Mule. He was 60 yesterday.
KAZ

Below the Belt ... again

When I wrote about Volver, I mentioned Penelope’s false bottom - which sounds like a drug smugglers delight. Almodovar wanted her to look more like an Italian film star from the fifties - so he made her wear a prosthetic derriere.

Well I thought you might like to see the real thing on Sophia.

Eat your heart out J.Lo.

I think that, since breast implants became commonplace, the rear has become the new focus of sexual attraction. Bums are the new Baps.

Renault even used bottoms to advertise the ‘Megane’. But I much preferred Thierry.

But what do I know? I’m just jealous.

And whilst we are below the belt. Statcounter sent someone to my blog who was searching for ‘Primark Knickers’.

Nothing unusual there … except that … it came from El Salvador.

Do they have Primark in El Salvador and if not how do they know that Primark exists?

When I ended my illustrious career I never dreamt that I’d become a celebrity as numero uno on El Salvador Google for ‘Primark knickers’

What a funny old world.

Va Va Voom!
KAZ

FAT and FIT

Fat and Fit are two very similar words.

I thought that if you avoided the first one, you were sure to be the second one automatically.

I used to be a bit chubby. In those days I was no stranger to the gym and aerobics classes. Then, thanks to a combination of trauma and Susan Powter’s fat formula, I became thin.

So for the last ten years I have assumed that I am also fit.

Not so! I realised last week that climbing hills makes me breathless. At the top of a hill I sound as though I’m successfully simulating a minor orgasm.

My circulation is so bad that my fingers go numb when I put my hand into Sainsbury’s chill cabinet to take out some low fat lettuce.

I walk a lot, but I stop a lot as well, to peer through the binoculars. I certainly never break out into a sweat. No, I’m a birdwatcher not a peeping Tom - otherwise I would break out in a sweat.

I have never been a smoker.

So, obviously I need exercise.

BUT WHAT? Shall I jog like Anx? Not flattering in a sexagenarian. Swimming’s OK, except you get wet.

At present all I can think of is to run up and down stairs a few times when everyone’s out at work.

There must be something better.

These junge dinger seem to be having fun!


KAZ

DYING YOUNG

Another thought from the ‘Queen’ movie.

They were very sensible to let Diana play herself by the use of old news film. She was certainly the most photogenic woman imaginable.

If you are making a life plan you may like to consider dying young.

Dying young is an excellent move. Even if you were universally disliked - the mourners at your funeral will shed a tear. The fact that they hated you will pale into insignificance compared to the sadness of your untimely demise.

It’s better to be beautiful like Diana, Marilyn or James Dean - your image will be immortalised and idolised.

The members of the 27 club were Rock musicians who died aged 27. Jimi, Kurt Kobain Janis and Jim Morrison are the main members but the full list is long. Would they really have chosen to end up like Keith, Mick or Cliff? There’s also a weirdo theory about it - related to Uranus - well probably not yours.

So who should have opted for an early death? Several persons spring instantly to mind - you probably have your own suggestions.


Liza Minnelli used to be beautiful and superbly talented. She could never improve on ‘Cabaret’. Her first appearance was in a wonderful little film with Albert Finney (so glad he didn’t die young*) called ‘Charlie Bubbles’. It had scenes in Manchester.
But now Liza is a bad joke - mainly because of her marriage to the ludicrous David Gest. She’s not even an interesting disaster area like her well loved mother.

Cilla was never a beauty, but she had a great figure, some fab clothes and had a talent for murdering Dionne Warwick songs rather humanely. Now she looks like a geriatric hamster. What was she thinking at that Royal Variety performance?

And not to forget:


Or perhaps he should have been drowned at birth along with:



Do you agree?

KAZ
*In addition to Albert, I’m so glad this lot are still alive and kicking - Alan Bennett, Tony Benn, Helen Mirren, Nancy Banks Smith, Ray Davies and Betty Driver.

KAZ on the COUCH

Kaz: Hi Doc - I’ve read in my Berliner format daily newspaper that being single is very good for women. They are slimmer, fitter and have a better social life.

Doktor Blogwurtz: So?

Kaz: Well I’d like to be slim, fit and receive dinner invitations to Alderley Edge .

Dr B: But you are slim and fit.

Kaz: Thanks - but what other advantages are there to being single? You see Kev’s decided to stay in Spain until November and I’m here in Manchester leading the single life. Perhaps I should buy a sat-nav.

Dr B: Du bist wohl nicht recht gescheit. So - why aren’t you in Spain with him?

Kaz: Well (as I explained during a previous session) I get bored and Kev gets drunk! Oh and non sprechen Deutsche

Dr B: How long have you and Kev been together?

Kaz: It’s a bit complicated. We got together in 1983. Eventually we moved into a big house together. This lasted for 9 years then we split. Compared to this split, Heather and Macca’s was very friendly.

Dr B: And then …?

Kaz: We drifted back together(ish) and in 1999 I moved into my ground floor white cube.
To my surprise Kev moved into the flat upstairs.

Ah - So it was just like that 1970’s series starring Gordon Jackson.

Kaz: Yes…you mean ‘The Professionals’.

Dr B: Sich auf dem Boden kugeln und in den Teppich beißen vor Lachen

Kaz: I DO NOT SPEAK BLOODY GERMAN! Tell me what I should do.

Dr B: Time’s up see you next week!
KAZ

The Romance of Proctology.

I’m not very good at talking about - you know - scatological stuff.

In fact I only found out what that word meant when Geoff left a comment on a recent post. Previously, I thought it had something to do with that jazz singing they did in the fifties.

I rush to hide behind the settee whenever the lovely Dr. Gillian puts her mask on.

mj mentioned a Proctologist. This word was new to me - so - I googled it. But I typed it as ‘protocologist’, which is ‘one who drafts protocols’ so I was no nearer.

Anyway, I love coincidences and the day after mj’s post I read an article in the Guardian about ‘The man who got to the bottom of romance’. This referred to Charles Elton Blanchard’s 1938 classic ‘The Romance of Proctology’. It was a sort of Heat magazine of celebrity proctologists. The opening sentence is ‘No one knows who was the first doctor to examine the rectal orifice of the human frame’.

Amazingly, young Chas wrote TWENTY books on the subject of proctology. He is also a great fan of Dr William Allingham who was the first doc to insert his whole hand into the rectum!

Enough of that.

The info for the Guardian article came from the editor of the Monthly magazine ‘Annals of Improbable research’ - correct spelling I presume.

By yet another coincidence this cropped up on yesterday's ‘Have I got news for you’.

The Ignoble prize for Medicine had been won by a guy who wrote a paper entitled ‘Termination of Intractable Hiccups with Digital Rectal Massage’.

Paul Merton loved it.

Their website is a bit disappointing apart from the LFHCfS (Luxuriant Flowing Hair Club for Scientists).

Remember Denzil Dexter in the Fast Show?


KAZ

National Treasures

Eileen and I went to see the Queen last week. No - not that Queen - Helen Mirren is so much of an improvement on the genuine article. I can’t wait for the latest and last ‘Prime Suspect’ on Sunday. There are so many good role models for women of my age.

Speaking of ‘my age’ I unfortunately had another birthday recently and someone bought me Alan Bennett’s ‘Untold Stories’. It's a sort of autobiography, but inspired by one of those ‘annuals’ we used to read when we were kids. There’s a bit of his life, some stuff from his diaries and writings about his plays, art and acting.

It reminded me of the day I swanned home wearing my black stockings*, mini, white lipstick and false eyelashes and followed by some spotty youth. My lovely uncle Harold was waiting and suggested nervously that perhaps I was getting a bit too old for the ‘Enid Blyton Annual’ and perhaps he should buy me something else for Christmas. I agreed but felt a little sad.

Anyway, as you know the ‘Queen’ film is set in the period following the death of Diana which, by coincidence, Alan describes in his diaries. He is a big fan of HMQ. He was shocked that she had to go ‘mournabout’ and expresses surprise that she wasn’t forced to do a ‘Diana phone in’ as well.

Like Julie Birchill - I’m a Diana sympathiser, but I must agree with Alan that Diana could act and HMQ couldn’t - so poor old Liz did look a tad insincere throughout the whole tragedy.

The book is wonderful and often very funny. He looks forward to the day when the names of old people in homes - Frank, Arthur, Agnes etc. change to Wayne, Melanie and Darren. In one of his plays a bloke was welcomed to the old folks home with the words ‘Welcome - you’re our first Kevin’.

Definitely a ‘National Treasure’ - I’m looking forward to ‘The History Boys’ next week.
KAZ
*Tights weren't invented until 1965

Sara Lee

Here’s some good news.
A few years ago I discovered ‘Vitapointe’, a product that had been around for ever (see advert with young Julie Andrews). I became Vitapointe’s greatest fan.

Now here’s some bad news.
I was all dressed up and ready to go out when I decided apply some of my favourite hair product. It was a brand new tube.

I squeezed - but none emerged. Why?? Because all the Viatapointe had ejaculated from the wrong end of the tube … and it was now all over my clothes.

After saying ‘Dear me’ - I changed my outfit.

The following day I wrote a restrained letter to ‘Sara Lee’ - owner of Vitapointe.

I was fair. I said that, although my jeans would probably be OK with a hot wash, my jacket would need dry cleaning. I declared my undying devotion to the product.

More bad news:
Ms Rebecca Addison (Customer Relations Administrator) replied immediately. The gist: So concerned to hear this ….blah …must investigate further…blah ... Please forward the leaking tube and all the items of clothing to us!

WHAT??

Oh YES - like I’m going to go and buy special packing, string and sealing wax and take for ever making a parcel. How long would I be separated from my favourite jacket? What would they do with it?

I sent off the offending tube (they did give a freepost address). I explained at some length why I did not feel able to pack up the contents of my wardrobe and send them off into the unknown,

More bad news.
Letter arrived containing Voucher for £2. TWO measly miserly QUID! A tube of vitapointe costs £2.19. So I’m already n-n-n-nineteen pence down and no compensation for inconvenience, time, dry cleaning bills, postage, packing, stress, blood pressure monitor.

I’m about to write again using phrases such as ‘insulting offer’ ‘valuing customers’ ‘Because I’m worth it’ etc.

Or is it just a waste of time?
Anyone got a favourite hair product I could change to?
KAZ

Is it ORGANIC?

What does the word *ORGANIC* mean to you?

If you are an arty farty type - it could be a curvy shape inspired by ‘natural’ forms. Or it could be a type of shampoo.

*ORGANIC* is a 'goody' word, unlike additive, chemical or synthetic which are 'baddy' words

But to a Chemistry student it means a particular branch of Chemistry.

ORGANIC Chemistry is about the compounds of carbon. There are millions and millions of them. Of the 112 elements carbon is unique. When you study chemistry you will find huge fat books on organic chemistry and just a pamphlet on the compounds of all the others put together.

Once upon a time it was believed that these ORGANIC compounds only came from living things, in other words only God could make them…. Until in the late 19th Century a chemist called Wohler heated ammonium cyanate (definitely inorganic) and it changed into UREA (definitely organic). Everyone’s body makes urea as you know.

The God botherers were not pleased.

The chemists went frantic and synthesised dyes, medicines, fibres, pesticides, flavourings, plastics, fuels, perfumes etc. etc..

And did they get a word of thanks? NO! ‘Chemical’ is a baddy word as well.

Any synthetic ‘chemical’ you come across is likely to be ‘ORGANIC’. This includes all the additives on the dreaded labels - 59 of them in a McDonald’s strawberry milkshake.

DDT (the best known organic pesticide - 4,4'-(2,2,2-trichloroethane -1,1-diyl)bis(chlorobenzene) is ORGANIC, so are paracetamol and polystyrene.

Confusing eh?

But of course most people now see the word ‘ORGANIC’ and assume it means pesticide and additive free.

Recent headlines suggest the definition of *ORGANIC food* is a bit flexible.

Check before spending your money.

This is for my K9 friend Murphy it’s an organic squirrel cake (honest) for doggies. Save a piece for Oz.

KAZ

Something for Everyone

Does ‘baps’ mean ‘breasts’ by any chance? It’s a barm cake in Manchester.

Why do I ask? Well a searcher found his way to my blog looking for ‘bapwatch carol’. I was mystified but research led me to this Carol Vorderman pic which I’d stolen for a previous post. I used to like Carol a lot until she let me down with that that turquoise frock and the money ads.

Well this ‘Bapwatch’ guy knows exactly what he likes. Women on the telly. He takes their photographs directly from the screen and that’s about it.

His tastes are eclectic- but I detect that they are mostly ‘Afternoon delight’ - especially Carol. Could this be because his missus female partner is out at work? Or perhaps it’s his mum

So what have we got apart from Carol?

Who’s this georgeous black and white creature?


I absolutely loved Tiswas and my students said I looked like her - Who knows - she might look like me by now. She’s 56.

Here’s where the baps come in.

Go and visit - it’s not only baps - there’s something for everyone.
KAZ

Fly Monarch dot com

Tuesday September 19th:

4.00 am: Kaz finally falls asleep.

4.30 a.m: Alarm goes off.

5.15 a.m: Taxi arrives 20 mins early. Driver is chatty old git who thinks I’m fascinated by the condition of his roses. Glad he was so nice because, after dropping me off at the airport, he came running after me with my keys instead of going back to rob my flat.

6.00 a.m: Check in. Pleased I’d been up at 2a.m. to re pack my luggage. Only one bag allowed on board. Squashed my shoulder bag into my lap top bag and checked in the trolley which I usually take on the plane.

7a.m: Security: long queues of trippers removing shoes and (for some inexplicable reason) throwing pens into a transparent bin for ‘Pointed objects’. I held on to mine.

7.10a.m: Passed through detector without bleep - but customs person decided to frisk me. She was small and Italian looking and when she stroked her hands vertically between my breasts - It was… well … very nice!! OK?

Why choose me? Did she like me?

Well I often get picked on. I have a long face (like Audrey) and I don’t wear those backless kitten heeled shoes that go clomp clomp. Docs and a stripey top which would coordinate with a bag labelled ‘SWAG’ are not the same as the mint green holiday outfits ubiquitous at Manchester Airport.



7.45 a.m: Final check to enter the plane. Chubby guys at boarding gate were far too nice to be efficient. As I approached one shouted to the other ‘You’ve let someone on the wrong bloody plane’. There didn’t seem to be a standard procedure to deal with this, so he just dropped everything and ran/waddled up to the plane door where panic ensued.

The poor bloke who thought he was going to FARO was escorted off … and then back on again. Had he settled for Barcelona rather than wait for the next plane to Faro?

11.30a.m: Arrived Barcelona

Then .. Bus … Taxi …Train …

4.10pm: Arrive Figueras station

Kev waiting. Kaz knackered.

Thursday 22 Sept: Mr ‘Faro’ on same return flight. He must have liked Barcelona.

Kaz Home in Manchester - Kev still in Spain.
I may share my feelings about this with you later.



KAZ

PS: Heard on radio today - you can now take lipstick but not lip gloss!