When you need some release, Lord you know you will feel the lines in your pocket

At Blog School – were this to exist – they would always say ‘Punchy first line to hook the reader’. I don’t have (m)any readers and I always ignore good advice, so I give you instead the word ‘Swoon’.

Swoon.

It is a word we don’t use these days. It really is a very good word though. When I first saw Mrs Bob (and I hasten to add, when I still do), I thought “oo-er missus, she’s dishy, a right sort” and then I promptly swooned.

Swooning is to faint. especially from an extreme emotion, and / or to become enraptured.

Mrs Bob enraptured me. Have you been enraptured recently? What do you call a meat-eating dinosaur in love? A Velosorapture. I just made that up like Bobby Davro might have.

From the verb ‘to swoon’ came the verb ‘to spoon’. I last spooned – against my will – in a Beckenham hotel with Hairy Liam. More on that later.

Prefab Sprout released their debut studio album ‘Swoon’ in 1984 which peaked at number 22 in the album charts. I have it and like a few tracks but I bloody loved the next one ‘Steve McQueen’. An all time classic along with a few others at that time like The Waterboys ‘Whole of the Moon’ and The Smiths ‘Hatful of Hollow’.

I raved earlier this year about the band Death of Guitar Pop. Their single ‘Suburban Ska Club’ with Neville Staple from The Specials was my track of 2018. Now their Christmas track will struggle to sell well against the big names but do download it as it is in a good cause with 100% of sales profits going to mental health charity CALM The Campaign Against Living Miserably.

The video below for ‘Feeling like a right James Blunt at Christmas’ stars is produced by Inbetweener James Buckley. Me, Steptoe, The Captain and Tenille will be seeing DOGP at the Stone Valley Festival next May.

So Bob, favourite track for 2019? Now you know I don’t listen to enough new music but this year I have been slightly better. Clearly J.O.B. have been the on point band of the year with their debut album and storming live shows. Fuzzy Sun are the next best thing out of Stockport after me and my beloved County. My new fave act though are definitely the two-piece, guitar & drum outfit, ‘Muse on Steroids’, Crooked State. Epic soundscapes , mesmeric drumming and a real Putney / Colchester sound-tsunami. Here is Bob’s track of 2019.

A sight to behold live and I hope they get some real success – with younger cooler fans though than Blobby Bobby.

So what’s been occurring?

I have had a lot of football over the last few months as the majestic Stockport County are back in the National League. The Stockport Sippers – well seven of us – had a tour of Kent with a 1-0 win at Dover and a 2-2 draw at league leaders Bromley. Me, Pottymouth, Hairy Liam, The Captain, Bygraves, The Godfather and Fingers.

We stayed / drank / ate for two nights in the beautiful Canterbury. Our friend Mr Bygraves’ expert knowledge of the city was disputed as we searched out the best hostelries to sup in and most of these seemed to be unknown to him. I know he will contest this so I hope he fails to read my blog. Ha ha! Our first pub was The Two Sawyers.

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I did enjoy the oldest pub in the city too, The Parrot, which was built on Roman foundations in the 14th century while the cathedral was under construction nearby.

We had a night in Tonbridge Wells and in Beckenham. The former was the deadest place to go out drinking on a Monday and the latter started well but died off mainly because this was night 4 of our tour.

Big shout out though to the incredible ‘Spoons in TW, The Opera House. The building was originally an opera house, opening in 1902 and becoming a cinema in 1931. Nearly 40 years later it became a bingo hall and then finally a pub with the original chandeliers, booths and stalls and once or twice a year is used to stage plays. Amazing place. Even though we wuz drunk.

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Football jollies mean the dreaded room draw. Me, Fingers and Pottymouth were sharing for the first two nights and were delighted to find we actually had three beds. Unfortunately Hairy Liam insisted on joining us on the first night and spooning with Fingers (I wasn’t his prey until Beckenham). It was a very very funny night I must say and whilst we got in at 1ish we probably arsed about for another 90 mins (not literally). We were also v v drunk and had gorged on kebab meat and chips. This was the period I had five cooked breakfasts in eight days. My swollen belly must be an allergic reaction to that. And the beer.

Mr Whacko joined us for the match in Dover and loved the company so much (obviously hard of hearing) that he came out on the lash with us. He joined the pool tournament that I would have won with Pottymouth had he not let me / him / his family down. I also met Latvian Chris who we found playing himself at pool in a bar. He beat me twice, He had never beaten anyone at pool. I have no idea what that says about me.

Our detour to the delightful village of Rusthall saw us spending more quality time with Bigger Dave and Banana Split Lady, who are of course the parents of Fingers and his better brother, Favourite Fingers. Great black pudding in Rusthall by the way.

Whilst I am on food again, I had a great pasta-based dream recently. I was asked by Vic and Bob to step in on the recording of a tv show. We sat round a dinner table in front of a live tv audience and had to ad lib funny stuff. I realised early on I was doing well. I had a wig of dried rigatoni pasta and looking into the audience saw a bloke wearing similar sparking off some hilarious one-liners. I was opposite Morganna Robinson from House of Fools. I think she liked me.

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My other dream about rats coming out of holes in the bottom of bath with vegetation growing through too, is not even worth a sentence in this blog.

I should point out – going back to the football – that Frank Mulhern scored a wonder goal at Dover. I missed it as I was queuing up for a hot dog and Bovril. Here is what I missed. I did hear the cheers!

I did say there would be more later about spooning in Beckenham, but it is still too hard to talk about. PTSD. I dispute the fact that with no top on I look like a silverback gorilla btw Hairy Liam.

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Now last weekend I went to see Barnet play County. This time I went with Killer, and was delighted to see The Godfather, The Captain and Hairy Liam had made the trip for the day. We were joined by work buddies / friends, The Tom Toms, Sanchez and Carrington. How crap were County? Very. We still won though, 2-1. The singing was of the highest order too and the inclusive and fun abuse of the Barnet keeper was so pleasant that he applauded the County fans afterwards. Idiot. Tiny Tom got me well blootered at the pub afterwards but I think I got home. I have another game this weekend up in Stockport. Liver donors out there, call me. Please.

The Bovril went down well at Barnet. Two Bovril virgins both enjoyed it. I bloody love it at the football. Beefy mouthfeast time.

I now feel sick. I have just googled Bovril and find it is made in Staffordshire which means Stoke. Bleah. No offence but I would rather it was made in Burnley.

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Now we head inexorably towards Christmas everyone asks me ‘Bob, Bob! What is your favourite shop-bought cheese-based sandwich?’. Easy. Wensleydale and carrot chutney. Now stop with all the questions and build a flipping snowman you doinks.

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Proudest moments since my last blog? My wonderful son turned 21 – he had a week of celebrations with the lovely H and all his friends. The Fam took him and H out to a great posho pub food place in Essex where you did not dine in the pub. Oh no no no. You ate in futuristic pods like the film ‘The Dining Pods’ which I plan to write. Imagine a London Eye pod but much much smaller, with a table, blankets, a heater, and food and drink and no views of London.

Another proud father moment was Carey Junior (female) coming back from a gig (The Regrettes) saying she had been in the mosh pit all night and fell over too. That’s my girl! She will be forced to gig with her old dad soon. Fuzzy Sun could have been the one but she failed to age quick enough for it and is too young to get entry. Sill girl.

So I will sign off now as I type in the old Carey Baronial home in Stockport as my parents snore softly above me (I am under their bed).

Next time I hope to report on my impending work karaoke night-out, look back at the J.O.B. album launch, tell you how ill I felt the day after Stockport v Ebbsfleet and give you the top five condiments. Oh and tell you what I won’t show my parents and why…..

Animo et fide.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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