Stewart was an amazing
person - A wonderful husband, a fantastic brother, a loving son and an
adored uncle. He was also a brilliant friend and colleague and is missed
by so many people. His family are determined that his death will never be in
vain and are doing their part to beat bowel cancer for good. We are fundraising for the Bobby Moore Fund
which is part of Cancer Research UK and specialises in research into bowel
cancer. If you wish to donate to the
fund, you can via https://www.justgiving.com/Geraldine-Smith3
.
If you haven’t already
done so, please read the article which appeared in the Daily Record and learn
from Stewart’s story that you must never be complacent. It makes grim reading for us, his family,
even though we were beside him throughout his ordeal, or battle; call it what
you will. http://www.dailyrecord.co.uk/lifestyle/heartbroken-widow-geraldine-smith-raises-3452997
Similarly, if you haven’t heard
it, please listen to Geraldine’s moving radio interview which was on Radio
Scotland recently.
Stewart began writing The
Grambler when he was between procedures and hoping for some form of
recovery. He loved all aspects of
football and was a lifelong Motherwell supporter. His wish was that The Grambler should
continue after his death and I have been happy to oblige. Welcome to The Grambler, the most
ill-informed blog you are ever likely to see. Read on and enjoy…
Before beginning this week’s (g)ramble, I wish to applaud Mrs G who, this
week, hosted a ‘Tea for Stewart’ (in the garden) which, thanks to the
generosity of over one hundred people who came along, - Incidentally, we
haven’t got an enormous garden; there were four ‘sittings’ – raised over £1500
for The Grambler’s Kick Cancer’s Backside Fund.
If you click on the link https://www.justgiving.com/Geraldine-Smith3
you can see how much has been raised for the Bobby Moore Fund.
…..oooOooo…..
WARNING: THIS WEEK'S EDITION IS VERY POLITICALLY INCORRECT AND MAY OFFEND ANYONE OF A NERVOUS OR SENSITIVE DISPOSITION.
I often have a dig at Farcebook in these articles and I am going
to discuss an item that somebody posted recently. It was a piece of comedy film, the vintage of
which, when I describe it to you, you will probably be able to ascertain.
The film opens with an attractive young lady riding a bike. It focuses on her bottom which is also very attractive and is clad in hotpants. As she pedals the bike, the camera focuses on the movement of her bottom. The scene is now set and what follows is a string of incidents featuring men who are so focused on ogling her bottom that they don't concentrate on what they are meant to be doing. Thus we see a man walking into a tree, a man on a bike crashing because he doesn't see what is ahead of him, a man pushing a lawnmower into a flower bed, another cyclist riding into a parked lorry, a man pouring a drink and forgetting to stop... I don't need to go on, you get the picture. It is the sort of sketch which could only have been made in the late sixties/early seventies. All these years on it looks old-fashioned and sexist. Its worst attribute though, to my mind, is that it just isn't funny. Every bump, spillage and crash is laboured and obvious.
The film opens with an attractive young lady riding a bike. It focuses on her bottom which is also very attractive and is clad in hotpants. As she pedals the bike, the camera focuses on the movement of her bottom. The scene is now set and what follows is a string of incidents featuring men who are so focused on ogling her bottom that they don't concentrate on what they are meant to be doing. Thus we see a man walking into a tree, a man on a bike crashing because he doesn't see what is ahead of him, a man pushing a lawnmower into a flower bed, another cyclist riding into a parked lorry, a man pouring a drink and forgetting to stop... I don't need to go on, you get the picture. It is the sort of sketch which could only have been made in the late sixties/early seventies. All these years on it looks old-fashioned and sexist. Its worst attribute though, to my mind, is that it just isn't funny. Every bump, spillage and crash is laboured and obvious.
Why am I telling you about this dreadful piece of comedy from the
60s or 70s? Because this was not unusual
at the time. Many comedy (and I use that
word with reservations) programmes were filled with examples like this; men
leering at pretty women. Sid James built
a career on being a leering, dirty old man with a filthy laugh whose hands were
never far away from groping some attractive, younger (much, much younger) woman's
bottom or breasts. Benny Hill, probably
the top earning British comic of the era, finished every show he made with him
chasing after some scantily clad young women in a speeded up film with the equally
speeded up tune Yakkety Sax being played.
It was all utterly sexist. Benny
Hill's career was similar to Sid James' in that he was generally portrayed as a
dirty old man but he also had the added string to his bow of casual racism.
There was a Chinese character who would regularly appear simply to mispronounce
the word election, or call the supposed interviewer a stoopit irriot.
It was all typical of British comedy at the time...
There was On the Buses - Reg Varney as a 50 something bus driver
who would leer at the younger conductresses (probably less than half his age) who
always seemed to be bursting out of their uniforms. Or Rising damp - Leonard
Rossiter as a seedy landlord who was basically trying to bed one of his
tenants.
Even sit coms which had a plot based on totally non sexist matters
would always feature the main (older) character chasing younger attractive
women. There was a dreadful show on at
the time called Love Thy Neighbour which was as racist as it was possible to be
- it featured a black couple moving in next door to a white couple (with
'hilarious' consequences). One of the
asides to this 'hilarious' plot device was the white guy lusting after his
black neighbour's wife.
You are probably wondering where all this is leading.
You are probably wondering where all this is leading.
I have recently seen a newspaper article which asked if men
wolf-whistling at women (as was considered quite normal in those pre political
correctness days) was sexual harassment.
Two learned types gave their opinion; one agreeing that it was, the
other arguing against.
Operation Yew (thought you’d got away with it) tree has put a few
people behind bars for their shocking behaviour towards young women and
children in the 70s. Yes, what they did
was utterly dreadful and every one of them deserves to be locked up.
However, one of the number who was brought to book for
'historical' offences was the DJ Dave Lee Travis who was charged with groping
women inappropriately. That doesn't read
too well, does it? It suggests that there is an appropriate way to grope. However, these allegations were about groping
in the 70s. Groping in the 70s? Sounds like a title for a channel 5
documentary. Any road up, my point is
that, given the popularity of mainstream comedy that was based on treating
women as nothing more than objects to be ogled or groped, was it any surprise
that DLT thought that such behaviour was acceptable?
I recall seeing guys actually smacking girls' bottoms as they
walked by. Although it wasn't something
that I would ever have contemplated doing, I didn't perceive it as being
particularly wrong. The men and girls in
question did know each other, it
wasn't just a guy smacking some random girl's bum. The reaction from the women was generally to
laugh about it. And because their
reaction was good-humoured, nobody considered it to be offensive. It was a joke - Benny Hill/Sid James/Reg
Varney et al did it, so it must be okay.
Only, it wasn't. I once did
observe a girl being offended when she received a playful smack on the bottom. Did the perpetrator apologise? No he didn't.
He merely said, 'Just a bit of fun.'
His following remark, reserved for his mates, sums up the attitude of bum smacking men of the time - 'Time of the month.'
His following remark, reserved for his mates, sums up the attitude of bum smacking men of the time - 'Time of the month.'
I also remember seeing an incident of the shoe being on the other
foot, if you like, when an older woman smacked a young guy on the bottom. His
reaction? Bear in mind that this did
occur near Glasgow
…..oooOooo…..
Right, let’s
move on to the birthday honours. Any
famous folk born on the 4th of July?
Of course there were…. Stephen Foster 1826 (Racist songwriter), Angela
Baddeley 1904 (Mrs Bridges), William T ‘Champion Jack’ Dupree 1908, or 1909 or,
possibly, 1910. In fact, he may not have
been born on July 4th; it might have been the 10th or,
even, the 23rd (Confused boxer/pianist), Mitch Miller 1911 (Not
Frank Sinatra’s favourite person), Gina Lollobrigida 1927 (Interviewer of Fidel
Castro), Neil Simon 1927 (Paul’s Dad), Colin Welland 1934 (PC Graham), Bill
Withers 1938 (Punchline to joke about a duck), Jeremy Spencer 1948 (Oh well),
Rene Arnoux 1948 (Racey car bloke), David Jensen 1950 (65 year old kid), John
Waite 1952 (12 stones), Pam Shriver 1962 (How do you shrive a pam?), Neil
Morrisey 1962 (Can we fix it?), Henri Leconte 1963 (I say, that’s a bit
uncalled for) and Jo Whiley 1965 (Coyote).
Anyone in amongst that lot able to give us a toon to gramblerise? Mitch Miller?
The grambly rose of Texas? John
Waite? I ain’t grambling you at all?
[Steady on. – Ed.] What about something
from Stephen Foster? Actually, yes, but
I won’t gramblerise anything. I give you
the complete lyrics to a famous song written by a white, that is, pale skinned - not
in the least bit black - American gentleman…
I came from Alabama
Wid my banjo on my knee,
I'm g'wan to Louisiana,
My true love for to see,
It rain'd all night the day I left
The weather it was dry,
The sun so hot I froze to death
Susanna don't you cry.
Oh! Susanna Oh! Don't you cry for me
I've come from Alabama wid mi banjo on my knee.
I had a dream de odder night,
When ebery ting was still;
I thought I saw Susanna,
A coming down de hill.
De buckwheat cake was in her mouth,
De tear was in her eye,
Says I, I'm coming from de South,
Susanna, don't you cry.
Wid my banjo on my knee,
I'm g'wan to Louisiana,
My true love for to see,
It rain'd all night the day I left
The weather it was dry,
The sun so hot I froze to death
Susanna don't you cry.
Oh! Susanna Oh! Don't you cry for me
I've come from Alabama wid mi banjo on my knee.
I had a dream de odder night,
When ebery ting was still;
I thought I saw Susanna,
A coming down de hill.
De buckwheat cake was in her mouth,
De tear was in her eye,
Says I, I'm coming from de South,
Susanna, don't you cry.
Oh! Susanna Oh! Don't you cry for me
I've come from Alabama wid mi banjo on my knee.
I soon will be in New Orleans,
And den I'll look all round,
And when I find Susanna,
I'll fall upon the ground.
But if I do not find her,
This darkie'l surely die,
And when I'm dead and buried,
Susanna, don't you cry.
I've come from Alabama wid mi banjo on my knee.
I soon will be in New Orleans,
And den I'll look all round,
And when I find Susanna,
I'll fall upon the ground.
But if I do not find her,
This darkie'l surely die,
And when I'm dead and buried,
Susanna, don't you cry.
Oh! Susanna Oh! Don't you cry for me
I've come from Alabama wid mi banjo on my knee.
I've come from Alabama wid mi banjo on my knee.
You think that’s racist? Here are
the lyrics to one of his lesser-known songs: Uncle Ned…
Dere was an
old Nigga, dey call'd him Uncle Ned
He's dead long ago, long ago!
He had no wool on de top ob his head
De place whar de wool ought to grow.
He's dead long ago, long ago!
He had no wool on de top ob his head
De place whar de wool ought to grow.
chorus:
Den lay down de shubble and de hoe
Hang up de fiddle and de bow:
No more work for poor Old Ned
He's gone where the good Niggas go.
Den lay down de shubble and de hoe
Hang up de fiddle and de bow:
No more work for poor Old Ned
He's gone where the good Niggas go.
When Old Ned die Massa take it mighty bad,
De tears run down like de rain;
Old missus turn pale, and she gets berry sad
Cayse she nebber see Old Ned again.
De tears run down like de rain;
Old missus turn pale, and she gets berry sad
Cayse she nebber see Old Ned again.
His fingers
were long like de cane in de brake,
He had no eyes for to see;
He had no teeth for eat de corn cake
So had to let de corn cake be.
He had no eyes for to see;
He had no teeth for eat de corn cake
So had to let de corn cake be.
How the hell did he get away with it?
…..oooOooo…..
How did The
Grambler’s predicting skills fare last week?
We lost. Big time. Nothing back at all. Zero.
Zilch. Zip. And any other words beginning with zed that
mean rugger ball. Ho hum. Let’s see what this week’s random choices
are…
Meeting – Time – Horse – Odds
Sandown 2.00 Waady 2/1
Leicester 2.40 That’ll Happen 8/13
Sandown 3.45 Golden Horn 4/11
Beverley 5.20 Grand Beauty 11/8
Nottingham 8.45 Raddeh SP
…and if the bets
(10 x 20 pee doubles plus 1 x 20 pee accumulator) all go as predicted by The
Grambler, the Bobby Moore Fund will benefit to the tune of… fanfare please…
Don’t know
Unfortunately,
that ‘SP’ means that the total we could be sending to the BMF cannot be
calculated as the odds on that particular gee gee are either not yet calculated
or were in the midst of being changed at the moment my bet was being
placed. Never mind. It won’t alter the fact that we are not
likely to win. How am I able to predict
that? Because we very rarely do
win. That’s how.
…..oooOooo…..
It’s Teaser
time. Yay! Last week I asked you what the following
‘shirts’ have in common - West Ham’s No.
6, Man City’s No. 23 and Chelsea’s No. 25. The
answer is that they were all ‘retired’ after the famous wearer departed the
club.
West Ham number 6 was worn by the man whose charity we support; Bobby
Moore. He made 544 appearances for the
Hammers over 15 seasons and was captain for ten years.
Manchester City number 23 was worn by Marc Vivien Foe who died
suddenly during an international match aged just 28.
Chelsea number 25 was the shirt of Gianfranco Zola who played
a total of 312 games and scored 80 goals for the Blues.
Okay then, what about a teaser for this week? Which English football club is geographically
the furthest south as well as being the furthest west? Easy peasy.
…..oooOooo…..
Once again,
let’s finish with a mention of the main reason for continuing to publish this
blog – to raise awareness about bowel cancer.
If you have any bowel problems, don’t be fobbed off with the line that
you are too young for bowel cancer to be a consideration. Just point your doctor in the direction of http://www.bowelcanceruk.org.uk/campaigns-policy/latest-campaigns/never-too-young-campaign .
…..oooOooo…..
And finally,
Cyril? And finally Esther, I am indebted
to a Mr R. Stewart who continues this week’s theme of political incorrectness
with an album title and sleeve that can only be judged as being just a little
bit questionable…
How the hell did
he get away with it?
Happy grambling.
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