I hate people who remind me of myself.

I cut this out from a magazine years ago - it’s one of those ‘post secret’ cards and it’s been on the kitchen wall for years.

Don’t misunderstand me - I don’t hate myself. It’s just those people who remind me of myself.

So who are these people?

The ones who say ‘Actually I don’t watch much television’ as they queue at the Cornerhouse to see the Fassbinder retrospective in the original German. They have spikey hair and long droopy earrings - well actually I don’t wear earrings as my ears aren’t pierced but I would if they were.

Like me they wear subtle understated garments in muted shades of grey, beige and olive green. The Kaz in my head wears fuchsia pink, daffodil yellow and kingfisher blue.

And speaking of kingfishers, I hate most birders as well - the ones with the woolly hats who obviously think that a touch of mascara would scare the birds away. The ones who say shhhh in the hide like I do, then insist on telling you about the lesser spotted swamp warbler they saw at Wigan flashes last bank holiday..

Then there’s the people who can’t enjoy the St@lybridge Bank Holiday Fair. They lean on a wall looking repressed and cynical and don’t eat candy floss or try to win a goldfish in a plastic bag - I thought that was banned now anyway. And they won't be going home to vote for the finalists in Britain’s Got Talent.

KAZ

For the Gander!

A recent advert for an oven cleaner claimed it was "so easy, even a man can do it".

673 complaints were made claiming that the ad was sexist.

SEXIST??
..... I'll show you sexist .....

KAZ

Piers pressure.

Piers Morgan's a lucky bloke. Since being sacked as editor of the Daily Mirror a few years ago he's never looked back. As my Gran would say "If he fell on the Coop - he'd land in the divi".

Piers writes about celebrities and hopes that someday one of them might like him a bit. I remember reading his article in Grazia magazine - there's no law against it.

Piers was sharing his celebrity insider knowledge by telling us who he likes (Posh and Gordon - no not that one - he loves his pal Mr Ramsey) and who he doesn't like (Keira and Robbie).

OK so I'm not a great fan of the Robster either - give me a nice juicy Jason Orange any day - but it was his reasons that made me mad.

Apparently, the trouble with Robbie Williams is that he's an only child - therefore he has a massive ego, is self centred, spoiled and insufferable.

Now, just like Chris Evans didn't choose to be ginger, I didn't choose to be an only child. And I think I'm OK. Friends B and D are also sans siblings.

We are all different.

B is sociable and charismatic, D is easy going and dozy. I'm a control freak drama queen - allegedly reformed

If you're an only child it's always about you. This might be good but it's usually not - no one else to take the blame or fulfil parental expectations.

As a child I was lucky - there were always kids knocking on the door saying 'Is Kaz coming out to play'? So I always had someone to boss about :0)

What do you think?
Are you an only one?
Do you like Julie Burchill?
Are you a victim of sibling rivalry?
Would you prefer Piers or Robbie for a brother?
KAZ

The Boy on the Bus

You know when you're driving along and you see the back of someone - usually a slim woman with tight jeans and one of those swinging pony tails.

You just have to turn round and look at the front don’t you?

Yesterday there was someone in my favourite front seat upstairs on the bus. So I settled for the seat behind.

I found myself staring in fascination at the hair of the lad in front. Red is the wrong word to describe it - this was not ginger - no similarity to Chris Evans.

It was russet, chestnut, titian, auburn - the gentle curl was beautiful - no frizz, just soft, undulating and sinuous. It turned up gently behind the ear and I wanted to touch it.

I was very close.

I longed to see his face but I could only glimpse a few freckles. During the ten minute bus ride it became an obsession.

We reached Owens Park and he didn't get off with the hordes of students. My stop was approaching and he was showing no movement. I had to go down the stairs and alight.

I looked back at the top window.
He had a very ordinary face.

KAZ

Meatballs

It was promised to Stockport years ago. But they weren't ready to chuck out the chintz. "We'll stick with our Antimacassars and Aspidistras" they said - you can build it in Ashton Under Lyne.

So IKEA was bestowed upon the pleasant people of Ashton under Lyne in the principality of Tameside. Ashton folk are just what you would expect of a Northerner. Unlike Mancunians they are big-hearted, friendly and helpful.

These good people have welcomed and embraced IKEA with enthusiasm.

Why?

Midday sees the store and car park packed out. Not necessarily with Billy buyers or Roger seekers. And they don't just want a snack. No - it's the meatballs they crave.

Does it explain this?

...............................................

Now a visit to IKEA is where Kev comes into his own:

1: He drives a van - White Berlingo circa 1998.

2: He is not a weedy weakling.

3: He is an absolute virtuoso when it comes to assembling flat-pack furniture.

Anyone want to borrow him?

To keep Kev on side I always treat him to a FREE cup of coffee courtesy of this .......

( I told them I hadn't got a family but they gave me one anyway)
.......... and a delicious Swedish style sandwich.

Must go - Kev needs me to hold his screwdriver.
KAZ

Black, White and Blue.

Although I was alive and sentient during the fifties I don’t remember much about it. I find out what was really going on from TV programmes like ‘Can Blue Men Sing The Whites?’.

The newsreels and photos show 50s Britain in greyscale - it‘s all they could do back then. Even Keef tells us that it was drab and miserable and ‘there weren’t no sweets‘.

But the fifties were really colourful. OK it was mostly in the States - but we saw it in all in glorious Technicolor in the 1/9s at Chorley Odeon. Those starlets all had ruby red lips and ‘The sky was as Blue as an Elephant’s Eye’.

Look at the wallpaper and ‘atomic style’ fashion and design of the period.
We all want it now.

I certainly do remember the Blues in Britain (mainly in the early sixties) when those black guys came over here to play for pasty faced middle class lads in suits. I’ve talked about my passion for the music of Muddy Waters and co. before.

However anger rose in my inadequate breast as the narrator claimed that ‘The Thames delta was Britain’s distant echo of the American South‘.

Never heard of Liverpool?

But I warmed to Keef as he talked about his passion for the music, his struggles to get the authentic sound and his delight when ’Little Red Rooster’ became the only pure blues record ever to reach no1.


I loved it.

So - could white men sing the blues?
Probably not - but it doesn't really matter does it?
KAZ

SIGN of the Times

We all love to smirk at hand written signs - I can't quite explain the one above which I found in Openshaw.

Even professionally painted signs aren't immune.


The most worrying was the Nivea one that Norah spotted.

I love this shop in Stalybridge. But, I'm not sure why Squires (Squire's? Squires'?) muffins have an apostrophe when John Street muffins don't.

(click to see the pie's)

But - before you say "It wouldn't have happened in my day" or "I blame the National Curriculum, Jamie's School Dinners or Janet Street Porter" - take a look at this lovingly carved piece of stone from over 100 years ago which I spotted on Dickenson Rd yesterday.

KAZ