Friday, 24 June 2016

Week 44 - Brexit - The Grambler's view


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

 

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.  Oh dear.

Meet the next Prime Minister.  Oh dear.
 
.....oooOooo.....
 
Last week, you may recall, I had a bit of a moan about the commentary teams at the Euro 2016 tournament. My gripes were that they spoke about any old thing other than the match we were watching and that they were pretty much obsessed with any English links they could find. This week I am going to moan again. Watching the France Switzerland game on Sunday, I have to say they excelled themselves. While play was underway, the commentator asked of his pundity colleague...
‘So what do you think the English line-up will be tomorrow?’
What! How dare they! They are paid to discuss the match on the screen, not to have a chat about a game that isn’t taking place until a day later. What is really bad is that Wales would be playing at the same time as England and this commentary is being broadcast throughout the UK. Welsh viewers must have been thinking, hang on a minute, what about us. Yes, England are in this tournament and England may have the largest population within the UK, but Wales and Northern Ireland are also in it; the Beeb Beeb Ceeb should be giving them consideration too. But they don’t. The Beeb’s coverage is from England so nowhere else matters. And they wonder why some nations within the UK want independence.

.....oooOooo.....


I said I didn’t hold out much hope for the Grambler’s bet this week and my concern was not misplaced. There has been a lot of ‘pochling’ going on when the third games of the group stage have been taking place. Was it any surprise that France drew with Switzerland thus allowing both teams to progress to the next round? Of course it wasn’t. It happens in every competition that is run along these lines. A case of you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. Similarly, Germany drew with Poland and guess what, it meant both teams had enough points to take them on to the next round. The word fix comes to mind. The problem is that, while these teams are scratching each other’s backs, the spectator is getting a raw deal and is having to sit through some pretty dull fayre.
What is the answer? Is there an answer? Well, I reckon the organisers are trying to get as many games out of these tournaments as possible, but the way they operate just now with six groups of four teams and the top two from each automatically progressing plus the four best placed third places completing the last 16 is not the best way to engage full endeavour from those teams taking part. At the moment there are 36 games taking place in the group stage, then 8 games in the next round followed by quarter finals, semis and final. A total of 51 matches (plus one meaningless 3rd place play off game). I have the answer. [You would have. - Ed.] At the moment, there are 24 teams battling it out at the start of the tournament. I would alter things slightly and have an odd number of teams. No, bear with me please. 25 teams would be split into five groups of five. In the group stage each team would play four games. Thus, at this stage there would be a total of 50 games played. Only one team plus the three best runners up would progress to the next level which would be the quarter final games. The total number of games played would be 57 (plus that meaningless one). Only six more games would be played overall, but it might mean an end to this playing for a draw that we get at present. I think the fact that only one team from each group would be certain to progress would encourage teams to actually try and win games because they could only be certain of progressing if they won all their games. What do you think gramblerlinis? A good idea? I reckon it would improve the dull second week of the euros (and the World Cup as well since it is run in the same way).

.....oooOooo.....


Wow! What about Wales thumping Russia three nil? It proves that Wales are one of the best teams in Europe. Er... No it doesn’t. Sorry pardon excuse me? Yes, it was a great result. Three nil against any team is pretty good. Three nil against a team the calibre of Russia ought to be considered magnificent. In normal circumstances, I would agree. But this game did not take place in normal circumstances. Eh? I am talking about the ‘supporter’ trouble earlier in the tournament. Do you remember the altercation that took place between Russian ‘supporters’ and English ‘supporters’? I believe that if you had asked any one of those people to give their thoughts on the off-side rule, they would not have realised which sport you were asking about. I reckon that their answer would probably have involved a bottle being smashed over your skull.

So, the Russian team was threatened with disqualification if anything similar happened again. How can a football team’s officials ensure that their ‘supporters’ don’t behave the same way again? It is just not possible. The team officials have absolutely no influence over the stupidity of the fans. The safest way to deal with it is to just not be there.

If Russia had played to their capabilities, they should have beaten Wales. Remember Russia drew with England, the country that beat Wales; so, based on that fact, they should have taken all three points in Monday’s game.
In truth, they simply didn’t try against Wales. The camera kept cutting to the Russian team’s coach who sat impassively on his technical area chair throughout the game, whereas Welsh manager, Chris Coleman, was jumping up and down, shouting instructions to his players.

To me the Russian lack of performance was all about saving face. They were not expelled from the tournament and didn’t progress beyond the preliminary group stage thus ensuring that there would be no more ‘supporter’ trouble for the Euro 2016 organisers to worry about. Job done.

 

.....oooOooo.....

 

Any birthdays of note to celebrate? Did any famous or notorious folk came into this world on the 25th of June? Of course they did. Antoni Gaudi 1852 (The world’s looniest architect.), Basil Radford 1897 (The Eternal Englishman.), Admiral of the Fleet Louis Francis Albert Victor Nicholas Mountbatten, 1st Earl Mountbatten of Burma, KG, GCB, OM, GCSI, GCIE, GCVO, DSO, PC, FRS 1900 (Known informally as Lord Mountbatten. That’s his informal name???), Eric Blair 1903 (Who? Oh, George Orwell. Wrote 1984 and Animal Farm which gave us the lines, ‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.’ Brilliant. Spent some time in hospital in Polomint City.), Roger Livesey 1906 (Colonel Blimp.), Cyril Fletcher 1913 (And finally, Esther, I am indebted...), June Lockhart 1925 (Played Raymond Francis in No Hiding Place [Shome mishtake, shurely. - Ed.].), Eric Carle 1929 (The Very Hungry Caterpillar man. That book has been translated into 62 languages and has sold more than 52 million copies since it was first published in 1969. A nice little earner.), Peter Blake 1932 (Artist whose most famous work was an album cover.  You know the one.  You do.  Of course you do.), Eddie Floyd 1935 (His biggest hit, Knock on Wood has been recorded by (among others) Amii Stewart, Otis Redding, Cher, David Bowie, Eric Clapton, James Taylor, Seal, Tom Jones, Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all, Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.), Harold Melvin 1936, 1939 or 1941 depending on source material (Bluenotes boss.), Carly Simon 1945 (Refused a Simon Sisters Sandwich with Sean Connery.), Tim Finn 1952 (Advised us to always take the weather with us.), Ricky Gervais 1961 (Do the dance.), Phill Jupitus 1962 (Porky the poet.), Georgios Kyriacos Panayiotou 1963 (No wonder he changed his name to George Michael. Cue very old gag: What’s the difference between George Michael and a microwave? A microwave stops when the door opens.), Neil Lennon 1971 (Footy bloke. Aka Lenny Leprechaun, The Ginger Ninja or The Ginger Whinger.) and Jamie Rednapp 1973 (Another footy bloke. Son of Flash Harry.).

 

.....oooOooo.....

 

Let’s move on to grambling matters. What happened last week? We won. Yay! No, not yay. Because half the teams weren’t blibbing well trying this week only two of The Grambler’s predictions came up trumps [Don’t mention Trump. - Ed.]. We won the far-from-grand total of 79 pees. Ho hum.

Righto, my grambling chums, this is our last chance to have a bet on Euro 2016. We have eight games for The Grambler to choose from; let’s see what five he/she/it has randomly chosen.

Game (Time) - Result - Odds

Switzerland vs Poland (Saturday 2pm) - Poland - 8/13

Wales vs Northern Ireland (Saturday 5pm) - Wales - 2/5

Croatia vs Portugal (Saturday 8pm) - Croatia - 8/11

France vs Rep of Ireland (Sunday 2pm) - France - 4/9

England vs Iceland (Monday 8pm) - England - 8/15

 

The bets have been placed (10 x 20 pee doubles plus 1 x 20 pee accumulator) and if they all go according to The Grambler’s Prediction, the Bobby Moore Fund stands to receive a whopping...

£6.49

No, not at all whopping.

 

 

.....oooOooo.....

 

Teaser time. Yay! Last week I asked you which Welsh player has scored the most Premiershit goals. Who thought the answer was Ryan Giggs. Come on. Hands up. Ha ha. Knew I’d catch you out. The Welshman who has scored the most Premiershit goals is, in fact... oh. It was Ryan Giggs. Yes, it was an easy one. Thanks to him being a first team fixture with Man U for over half a century, he managed to score a grand total of 109 goals. Runners up are Gary Speed and Craig Bellamy with 81 apiece, Mark Hughes with 63 and John Hartson with 55. I mention Mr Hartson because he could arguably be the correct answer. You see, he moved to Celtic after his Premiershit days and went on to score another 88 goals. Celtic ought to count as a Premiershit team. Okay, it’s the Scottish Premiership, but take them into consideration and Hartson’s total of 143 makes Mr Giggs total look pretty piffling.

Righty ho, one for this week. Which Spanish player has scored the most international goals? That is one to try out down the pub. Answer next week.

 

…..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. Mortimer (without his friend Mr V. Reeves) who gives us possibly the best ever impression of our birthday celebrant George Michael for this week’s closing link.  Take it away, Bob

And finally finally did you wonder what Peter Blake’s most famous work was? You will recognise it. Here is the original photoshoot for Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band...

 

 


 

Happy grambling.

 

Saturday, 18 June 2016

Week 43 - Euro 2016 - The Grambler's view


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

 

Euro 2016 continues and hasn’t it been (yawn) exciting? Anyway, before this week’s rant, let’s get the names out of the way...

A chap from Northern Ireland regularly bought one of these periodicals that you can buy every week until you have the complete set. It was about rivers throughout the world and each week a different river featured. He was particularly looking forward to the edition that covered the river that passed through Cairo and Alexandria. For some reason there was a bit of a hold up at the printers and the magazine was late in getting to newsagents. Every day our avid river fan used to go into his local newsagent to ask, ‘Is the Nile mag in?’

 

Rich Hall and Mike Wilmot (You remember. From Rich Hall’s Fishing Show. You do.) were watching the Euro 2016 Croatia game and at half time there was a break for adverts. One of the ads featured a man wearing a Parka jacket and riding a Lambretta. Mike turned to his pal, ‘Look, a mod, Rich.’

 

Carol Smillie (Remember her?) was a model before she worked on television and in her autobiography she devotes a few chapters to some tales of her days on the catwalk. One story tells of the time she was in Slovakia and actually had to model a kilt made of metal. Apparently, it was extremely uncomfortable to wear because it dug into her waist. That chapter is entitled ‘My tin skirt hell.’ Of course, she’d have said it with a Scottish accent. ‘Ma tin skirt hell’.

 

A sheep farmer was asked by a neighbouring farmer if he would lend out one of his tups during the breeding season.

‘Which one do you want, look you boyo isn’t it?’ he enquires of his friend. Did I mention he was Welsh?

‘How do you mean, bach?’ his friend asks. He was Welsh too, incidentally.

‘Well, I’ve got a few breeds here, see. I need to know which breed you want to borrow, isn’t it. I wouldn’t want to give you a wrong ram, see.’

 

Luke and Ian were great pals. More than great pals. Luke, who was Polish incidentally, absolutely idolised his friend. In fact, other friends use to joke about the way Luke worshipped his friend. One day, Ian proved he wasn’t so brilliant by locking himself out of his house; he’d forgotten that he’d lent his friend the key. Of course, his wider circle of friends were on social media straight away...

Ian has locked himself out of his house. lol.

OMG. Why is that???

Because Luke has fab Ian’s key.

 

Two pals were driving home to watch the England game when the car got a flat tyre. ‘Think we should call the AA,' says the driver.

‘Don’t be daft,’ says his friend, ‘they’ll take ages to get here. We’ll miss the start of the game. Don’t call out the AA when we can put the spare wheel on. There must be a jack in the boot.’

‘There is, but it’s not the right one for this car. It will not be strong enough. The jack will sheer.’

 

So far, I have watched some good games and some not so good - don’t talk to me about Austria self-destructing against Hungary and spoiling The Grambler’s bet. Or Portugal. Best player in the world? I don’t think so Mr Ronaldo. If you were the best in the world you could have magicked a goal out of somewhere to ensure The Grambler made a profit. But no. You couldn’t even do that. I think Mr Messi’s crown is safe.

I feel a rant coming on. No, nothing to with preening Portuguese poseurs, but it is to do with Euro 2016. Specifically, it’s to do with commentators. Sorry pardon excuse me? What about commentators, I hear you ask. All right, I don’t actually hear you, but you are probably wondering why I am not too happy with those individuals tasked with providing us, the viewing public, with an explanation of what is happening on the pitch during a game. I am not happy because they don’t actually spend much time talking about the actual game. Instead, they waffle on about anything and everything (but the game). One match in particular had this gem of non-information...

‘He used to play for Manchester City. I bet they wished they had him now. He’s turned into a good player. They probably couldn’t afford him.’

Okay, it’s about a player on the field, but it isn’t informative; it’s just the commentator trying to fill in every second with words of some kind. Any words will do, obviously [A bit like this blog, then - Ed.].  There is also another person on hand to give us pearls of useless information. This is the ‘pundit’, supposedly a knowledgable ex-footballer. This gives the opportunity for a bit of ‘chat’ between the two...

‘He’s only 18, you know.’

‘I wish I was eighteen.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I was as good as him.’

‘In your dreams.’

It was like a couple of pensioners reminiscing...

‘Jumpers for goalposts. Isn’t it? Mmm?’

Who else remembers Ron Manager from the Fast Show?

Any road up, it is all utter piffle. Why can these people not realise that there can be gaps in the commentary if nothing is happening. Or if they must fill every space with voices at least emulate radio commentators and talk about what is going on instead of giving us drivel like that.

Another thing that bugs me about these guys is that, being from England, they always have to find an English link. I have alluded to the constant references to a competition won by a lucky England team 50 years ago. It was 50 years ago, for goodness’ sake!  Every chance they get it’s talk of Geoff Hurst’s goal, of big Jack Charlton’s brilliant defending, or comparing every goalkeeper to Gordon Banks. Jeezo!  Please get over it!

There is a drinking game (devised here in Scotland) where, when watching any international game featuring England, one must down a shot of spirit every time there is a reference made to the 1966 World Cup. Most people are flat on their backs within two minutes.

Getting back to ‘English links’, commentators will come up with anything. If a player on the field plays, or in the past has played, for an English club it gets mentioned throughout a game...

‘That’s just the skill he shows every week at (insert English Premiershit/Championshit team name).' 
 
What if there are no players with links to England on the pitch, I hear you ask. No problem. These commentators can be quite resourceful. Here is an example from after the Belgium v Italy game...

‘I think referee, Mark Clattenburg had a good game.’

Guess where he comes from. Talk about clutching at straws!

Finally, in my Euro 2016 rant, I have a question for you. What is the significance of the goalies wearing one yellow and one pink glove? Or, some outfield players wearing one yellow and one pink boot? Am I missing something obvious here? Is it symbolic of something? I am intrigued. Does anyone out there in Gramblerland know what it is all about? Write your answers on a self addressed-postcard and throw it away.

 

.....oooOooo.....

 

Any birthdays of note to celebrate? Did any famous or notorious folk came into this world on the 18th of June? Of course they did. Giuseppe Scarlotti 1723 (Where there is love, there is jealousy.), George Mallory 1886 (Why did he attempt to climb Everest? ‘Because it is there.’), Jeanette McDonald 1903 (When I’m calling you hoo hoo hoo, hoo hoo hoo.), Sammy Cahn 1913 (Love is lovelier, the second time around [But a damn sight more difficult. - Ed.].), Red Adair 1915 (Used to dance with Ginger Rogers.), Richard Boone 1917 (Not the best judge of projects’ prospects. He turned down Jack Lord’s role in Hawaii Five O and the Robert Shaw role in Jaws.), Ian Carmichael 1920 (I’m all right, Jack.), Paul Eddington 1927 (He did very little harm.), Delia Smith 1941 (Let’s be ‘aving ya!), Paul McCartney 1942 (Who?), Barry Evans 1943 (Here we go round the mulberry bush.), Fabio Capello 1946 (Footy bloke and Tommy Cooper lookalike.), Linda Thorson 1947 (Miss Tara King.) and Alison Moyet 1961 (My soul desires a pre-industrial world.).

 

.....oooOooo.....

 

Let’s move on to grambling matters. What happened last week? We won. Yay! No, not yay. Thanks to Portugal and Austria not doing what they were meant to, we were down 37 pees. Shocking.

Should we bet on the Euros this week? Given that things get even more cagey in the third game of the group stages, I foresee more than the odd draw. Aye, go on then; we’ll do it. Come on Grambler; do your stuff.

Game (Time) - Result - Odds

Belgium vs Rep. of Ireland - Saturday 2pm - Belgium - 10/11

Romania vs Albania - Sunday 8pm - Romania - 5/4

Switzerland vs France - Sunday 8pm - France - 19/20

Slovakia vs England - Monday 8pm - England - 3/4

Ukraine vs Poland - Tuesday 5pm - Poland - 21/20

 

The bets have been placed (10 x 20 pee doubles plus 1 x 20 pee accumulator) and if they all go according to The Grambler’s Prediction, the Bobby Moore Fund stands to receive a whopping...

£13.85

Now that is whopping.

 

 

.....oooOooo.....

 

Teaser time. Yay! Last week I asked you of all the players representing their countries, who has scored the most international goals (67 at the time of writing). It’s not Zlatan Ibrahimovic; he’s scored 62. It’s not that fop and dandy Cristiano Ronaldo; he’s scored 56. It is... Ireland’s Robbie Keane. Mind you, having win 144 caps (and counting), it perhaps isn’t such a surprise.

One for this week? Not a Euro 2016 question, but one tenuously linked in that it features footballers from a nation taking part. Which Welsh player has scored the most Premiershit goals? An easy one? Maybe. Maybe.

 

…..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 birthday celebrant Ms D. Smith and a short clip of her most famous moment of TV. She was famously a little ‘tired and emotional’ when addressing the Carrow Road faithful. First up - click here - the actual footage (with some added captions) and that is followed by a mix called The Delia Smith Song . I do hope you enjoy these moments of Delia not at her best.

 

Happy grambling.

 

Saturday, 11 June 2016

Week 42 - New York New York - so good they grambled it twice


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

 

Last week I told you of a visit to Noo Yawk. I enjoyed our four days there very much, but it was a bit hectic. After that, Mrs G and I needed time to relax. And relax we did. This week I will tell you a little bit about the second part of our once in a lifetime holiday (Never again.)

So, after New York, we began our journey home; in style. For the next eight days we would be travelling across the North Atlantic on board the Queen Mary 2; Cunard’s flagship. Cue crap joke... Two people talking - ‘I work for Cunard,’ says one. The other says, ‘I work quite hard, too.’ Boom and, as it were, tish.

Yes Mrs G and I were going to lord it up in the manner of royalty and famous people from the past. Ah yes, I was going to enjoy this part of the holiday.

First impressions were not good. Our driver took us from one extreme (wealthy Manhattan) to the other (far from wealthy dockland area). It reminded me of that Trainspotting moment where the American tourist, sporting his rich man’s jacket and carrying an expensive camera, ventured into the dingiest pub in town looking for a loo. Do you remember that moment? We never saw him again in the film, but we saw the lowlifes that frequented the pub with his coat and camera. The point I am making is that he had ventured into a part of town that no visitor should ever go to and this part of New York seemed no different. It was a really shabby, run-down looking place and I would not have dared go out alone there. How odd then that this was the part of the city where the most prestigious passenger liner in the world was about to sail from. Never mind, thought I, once we get into the ship’s departure terminal, we would be experiencing luxury unrestrained. Oh dear. How wrong can you be? We were ushered into a huge barn-like structure made of corrugated metal that reminded me so much of the immigrant arrival point at Ellis Island that we had visited a couple of days before. The only difference seemed to be that Ellis Island had a far more attractive building. Anyway, we queued. And we queued. And we queued. For what seemed like an hour, we were in a queue waiting to board the ship. I thought this mode of travel might be less stressful than travelling by air, but was beginning to have serious doubts.

Eventually, of course, we boarded the ship and all those doubts disappeared when we reached our ‘stateroom’ or cabin, if you prefer. It wasn’t big, but it was big enough, if you get my drift. I think a cat might just about avoid getting a sore head if I attempted to swing it.* Cosy, you might call it. Pokey, if you were less charitable. No matter, it would be home for the next eight days.

The first thing we did was to try and familiarise ourselves with the ship. Mrs G wanted to see the spa facilities. Incidentally, it was her last visit... ‘What? A hundred dollars to have your nails painted!’ Anyway, other passengers were doing the same familiarisation thing. Mrs G saw a woman there who she thought was a dead ringer for Celia Imrie.

‘Isn’t she a dead ringer for Celia Imrie?’ she said.

‘Who’s Celia Imrie?’ I responded.

‘You know. The one in that film. Calendar Girls. She was the one that wanted bigger buns.’

‘Oh yes. I know who you mean. Nah. Nothing like her.’

It is a game Mrs G like to play whenever we do a bit of people watching; spot the celebrity lookalike. It amuses us no end.

After checking out most of the ship, from the pointy end to the blunt end, we headed back to our cabin for a glass of bubbly that Cunard thoughtfully provides for its guests. There we perused the daily doings sheet that tells guests what activities are taking place the following day. Not much appealed to us, other than a talk on women playwrights by someone called Fidelis Morgan and... Oh, so it was Celia Imrie.

There was an odd mix of things taking place to amuse us over the next seven days or so. As well as talks, there were musical shows, dancing lessons, silly games including quizzes and bingo. It all seemed a bit like a posh version of Butlins. Mrs G only ever plays bingo when we go of holiday to Lancashire’s finest resort, Blackpool. There, she will have a couple of games on those light-up machines that cost 20 pees a game. I fancy a game of bingo, thinks she. She knew it wouldn’t be free, but expected it to be just a nominal sum. Let me tell you, there is no such thing as nominal on a Cunard ship. How much do you think she was charged for her bingo cards? $25!! That’s twenty five dollars, in case you thought you had read that wrongly. She was too embarrassed to hand the cards back after asking for them, so had to pay up. There must have been thirty or more playing that day, so I reckon Cunard had raked in at least $750. How much did they give out in prize money? $155. Hang on, that is a heck of a profit from one game of bingo. There was, though, the possibility of winning $500, if the numbers came out the right way and house was called before 44 numbers had been called. But that never seemed to happen. They did guarantee a prize of $1000 on the last day of the voyage. Woo hoo! A thousand smackers! Hang on. Let’s qualify that woo hoo, shall we? $750 taken in each day; so, over the eight days, a minimum of six grand would be raked in. Correct? With a maximum of only (8 x $155) + $925 = $1365 being paid out in prize money, I would like to know where the other $4635 goes. Not to charity, I’ll wager.

Any road up, you are probably wondering if Mrs G won. Yes she did. $75! Yay! Enough to buy at least two drinks on board.

As you know, I like to spot the oddities on my travels. Even on board the QM2 there were some oddities to amuse me. For example... Many doors to public areas on the ship have signage in Braille as well as English. This is true of toilets. Thus, we might have a sign saying gentlemen followed by the relevant number of dots to spell that out for blind people. With me so far? One I noticed made me smile. It was a sign for a ladies’ toilet and the sign was above the door. How many blind women are going to be able to reach a sign that is seven feet off the ground? I wonder about the people that plan such things, I really do.

As well as Mrs G’s bingo exploits, we had a go in the ship’s casino. Wow, you must be thinking, you must be made of money. Too right. We each put a grand total of two dollars into the one cent fruit machines. I am not sure of the correct name for these machines. I grew up calling them one-armed bandits because those purely mechanical devices of old had a large lever at the side (its arm, if you like) which you pulled down to operate them. The bandit part of the name is self explanatory. Other people call them puggies. I have no idea why. Whatever, one dollar was supposed to give you one hundred plays. One cent machine, therefore one hundred cents = one hundred plays. You would think. No. It’s a con. Yes, it’s a one cent per bet machine, but you must play a minimum of five bets per play. So, why not call it a five cent machine. Anyway, we didn’t win, but it was an enjoyable twenty minutes of daftness.

I mentioned earlier that many famous people travelled across the Atlantic in the past. Obviously, it was once the only way to make the crossing and only very wealthy folk could afford to do it. Cunard take their ‘history’ very seriously and all around the ship there are pictures of some of the film stars and royalty who used their ships in the past. Obviously, not so many can spare the time for such a relaxing method of transportation. Others, like Celia Imrie, work their passage by doing a few talks or shows and getting a free trip (and they get paid into the bargain). Apparently, previous crossings have seen Sting, James Taylor and Crosby, Stills and Nash singing for their supper. I believe the last three mentioned were on the same crossing as each other. How fortuitous was that?

Other famous types still use the ship. Apparently George Dubya has made the crossing as has John Major. Both retired, of course, so they can now spare the time.

Our famous lookalike watching threw up some interesting folk. I didn’t realise King Edward VII was still alive. Obviously, he isn’t, but his lookalike is. One of the ‘turns’ on board was an excellent guitarist called Robin Hill and he is the spitting image of Kelsey Grammer. There was a waiter who looked like Carlos the Jackal. Okay, he wore black-rimmed glasses and was a bit chubby. Another waiter looked like that grinning ‘comedian’ Michael McIntyre. Among the guests, there was Walter Smith the footbally bloke and Norris Cole from Coronation Street. Silly, I know, but as I already said, it amuses us.

I only found out about the famous people - Sting, James Taylor, George Dubya, etc. - after we got off the ship at Southampton and we were waiting in a queue for a taxi. One of the entertainment staff was next to us and I asked him if there were still famous people used the ship. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘On this crossing we had Walter Smith, the football manager.’

* Yes, I know that the word ‘cat’ refers to the naval discipline inflictor (I think I just made that word up.) the cat o’ nine tails, whereas I am obviously referring to a small, furry, feline-type creature. It would, of course, be cruelty to swing a live animal round simply to judge how large a room was. So to all you cat lovers out there in gramblerland, I would like to put your collective mind at rest and assure you that I would never do such a thing. Honestly. I mean, why would I ever do something so barbaric? True, they do their business in my garden. And I never notice the fact until I am digging about with my bare hand and inadvertently pick up a soft brown poo which some neighbour’s cat has buried there. Why do they bury their shit? Is it just so that I will pick it up? They are probably watching me from behind the shed and having a right old laugh at my expense. But I still wouldn’t swing one. I mean, what if the room really was too small to swing one of these furry, shitting-in-my-garden b******s? Can you imagine the mess of blood and guts on the walls. I wouldn’t want to have to clean that up, I can tell you.

 

.....oooOooo.....

 

Any birthdays of note to celebrate? Did any famous or notorious folk came into this world on the 11th of June? Of course they did. Ben Jonson 1572 (No, not the runner.), John Constable 1776 (Evening all.), Richard Strauss 1864 (Inventor of denims. [Shum mishtake, shurely. - Ed.]), Jacques Cousteau 1910 (Inventor of the aqualung my friend, don’t you start away uneasy. You poor old sod, you see, it’s only me.), Richard Todd 1919 (Lonely actor.), Beryl Gray 1927 (You dancing? You asking?), John Aspinall 1927 (Zookeeper and friend of Lord Lucan.), Gene Wilder 1933 (It’s pronounced Fronkensteen.), Jackie Stewart 1939 (Racey car bloke.), Rachel Heyhoe-Flint 1939 (Crickety bloke.), Jenny Pittman 1946 (Horse racery bloke.), Lindsey de Paul 1948 (No, honestly.), Frank Beard 1949 (The one without the beard in Zed Zed Top.), Collis King 1951 (Crickety bloke.), Hugh Laurie 1959 (Roast my raisins!) and Jean Alesi 1964 (Racey car bloke.)

 

.....oooOooo.....
 

Let’s move on to grambling matters. What happened last week? We won. Yay! Sort of. 45 pees up from our £2.20 stake, so some of our horses did what they were meant to.

Well, Euro 2016 has started and France managed a 2-1 win against Romania thanks to a terrific strike from Dimitri Payet. I think it likely that it will be goal of the tournament; it was that good. Any road up, all this means that we don’t need to bet on the nags this week. Yay! Let’s see if The Grambler can pick us five games for our little flutter. The only problem with any bet is that the games take place at different times so normal 3 o’clock Saturday rules don’t apply. Indeed, it is necessary to pick from all the games being played between today (Saturday 11th June) to Friday (17th June). Sorry about that, folks.
 

Game (Time) - Result - Odds

Albania vs Switzerland (Saturday, 2pm) - Switzerland - 10/11

Poland vs Northern Ireland (Sunday, 5pm) - Poland - 8/11

Germany vs Ukraine (Sunday, 8pm) - Germany - 3/5

Austria vs Hungary (Tuesday, 5pm) - Austria - 8/11

Portugal vs Iceland (Tuesday, 8pm) - Portugal - 3/5

 

The bets have been placed (10 x 20 pee doubles plus 1 x 20 pee accumulator) and if they all go according to The Grambler’s Prediction, the Bobby Moore Fund stands to receive a whopping...

£5.86

Hmm. That’s not particularly whopping.

 

 

.....oooOooo.....

 

Teaser time. Yay! Last week I told you that Gareth Bale has now joined two other Welsh Players by winning his second Champions League (or European Cup) medal and asked you to name the other two boyos to have achieved this. You probably got Ryan Giggs who won it on two occasions with Manchester United (1999 and 2008). The other was not Ian Rush, who only won it once with Liverpool (1984), but Joey Jones who won twice with Liverpool (1977 and 1978).

One for this week? Let’s have a question relating to Euro 2016. Of all the players representing their countries, who has scored the most international goals (67 at the time of writing this)? One to ask down the pub.

 

…..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 birthday celebrant Mr G. Wilder and Mr P. Boyle for this week’s finishing clip. From the film Young Frankenstein (pronounced Fronkensteen), here is Putting on the Ritz  .

And I couldn’t finish without a picture of a Miss C. Imrie showing off her bigger buns.
 
 

 

Happy grambling.

 

Saturday, 4 June 2016

Week 41 - The Grambler salutes Muhammad Ali


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

 

The more observant amongst you may have noticed a distinct lack of grambling activity of late. That is because Mrs G and I had taken ourselves off on a once in a lifetime holiday. Never again! (My thanks to gagster Tim Vine for that one.)

So, in the manner of the first school essay after the summer break, I give you an essay entitled ‘What I did on my holidays’.

We made our first ever, and possibly only ever, trip to New York (or Noo Yawk as they seem to pronounce it over there). First impressions were not good. We were driven from the airport in a sedan car, or car as we would say. It was a nice car admittedly. A Cadillac. First time either of us had been in one. Any road up, travelling through the city is scary. Very scary. Indicators? Forget them. If any driver wants to change lane, he/she just does so. Our chauffeur was possibly the worst offender. At one point, he was in a left hand lane in gridlocked traffic (There is a lot of that.) and wanted to turn right. Trouble was, there were four lanes of traffic to cross. No problem to this guy, he just turned the wheel and went for it. There was much honking of horns (ooh, missus!) but when I opened my eyes (I couldn’t bear to watch this.) he had done it. Don’t ask me how.

Second impressions weren’t much better. We were staying at a hotel near Times Square (There’s posh) and though there are plenty of restaurants, they are pricey, as we found out the first time we went for a meal. Basically, we were ripped off. We had chosen an Italian restaurant. It was so full, we had to wait for a table. To me, that is a good sign. If a restaurant is that busy, the food must be good. How wrong can you be? First off, the waitress was a bit unpleasant; she just pointed out a table to us and threw a couple of menus in our general direction. Surly doesn’t come close to describing her manner. We ordered a small pizza and a pasta dish - it was an Italian restaurant; it’s what they do best. You would think. The pasta could be described as okay. The pizza could be described as oh dear. We chose something that had a cheese topping rather than the usual tomato. I say cheese. On the menu, it certainly looked like a cheese-topped pizza. Indeed, when it was placed in front of us, it looked like a cheese-topped pizza. What it didn’t taste like was a cheese-topped pizza. In fact, it was impossible to identify its actual flavour as it didn’t have any. It was certainly a proper pizza bread base; that much is true. However, the topping had no discernible flavour at all. It was just... white stuff. Horrible. What made this whole experience even worse was that we were charged 12 dollars a glass for some really nasty house wine and then, when the bill was presented to (flung at) us, there was a service charge of fifteen per cent included. Not only that; there was a space for you to add a further gratuity if you wished! Flaming cheek!

So I left that restaurant feeling mighty grumpy, I can tell you. As we headed to our hotel, Mrs G spied a shop which sold shoes. If there is one shop she can’t pass without a ‘quick’ look, it is a shoe shop. I waited outside the shop. And I waited. And I waited. I amused myself with a bit of people watching. As this was Times Square, it was busy, so there was much people watching to be done. All shapes and sizes passed me by... Why is it all the ‘larger’ people always have food in their mitts? Some of the weirdest fashion statements were on show. High-heeled trainers? What is that about? They looked as ungainly and as uncomfortable as high-heeled fashion shoes, but they had a top resembling a training shoe. You know, those shoes that originated from the sports field where people train, as in, run. No chance of anyone running in these things. Anyone I saw seemed to have trouble just walking in them. I also actually heard a guy address his friend as bro. I thought that was only used in films, the way Scots in films say ‘hoots’. These things amused me no end.

When Mrs G finally emerged from the shop I was less amused. It was a cold night and forty minutes spent outside a shoe shop was not what I came to New York for. And I was still miffed at being ripped off at that restaurant. As we started to head homewards for the night, I was getting annoyed that we couldn’t make much headway due to the masses of people. I have never before witnessed such crowds (I am a Motherwell supporter, after all.) and was struggling to make much progress. We came to a spot where some actory types were dressed as film characters. They were there simply to mingle with the public. No, I couldn’t understand that, either. An odd mix they were too. Batman rubbed shoulders with Captain America, Spiderman, Woody from Toy Story and, of all things, Elmo from Sesame Street. I wish I could apologise to Woody; I didn’t mean to elbow him out the way when he tried to shake my hand. Sorry Woody, you weren’t to know how the previous two hours had peed me off.

I spotted a sign on the side of a bus and I am not sure if it is for real or not. It went something like ‘Vote John Halsey for Vice-President - A good solid number two’. Is that a wind up? Cos where I come number two is a popular euphemism. A good solid number two? Much better than a soft runny one [That will do. - Ed.]

It was interesting to see those places that had been sung about over the years. You would think that these tunes would be about something really special; strangely, many are anything but. Let’s start with Broadway. I don’t think I would bother giving it my regards. It is just a long avenue full of theatres. Or several avenues, if our tour guide is to be believed. Apparently any theatre in New York that can seat more than 500 is classed as a Broadway venue. The neon lights no longer shine bright(ly) either. Instead there are thousands of huge led screens flashing advertisements for electrical goods, perfumes, fashion, shops - anything. Of course, many are advertising the multitude of shows on offer; mainly Disney productions. They certainly shine bright(ly), though. You wouldn’t want to stare at them for too long if you value your eyesight. The biggest ads were reserved for the intersection with Times Square. The largest screen stretched for three of that well known unit of measurement - the football pitch. Our tour guide was full of such hyperbolic facts and figures. That biggest screen costs a company $2.5 million for a four week ad, he told us. I didn’t detect any magic in the air; just the smell from hot dog and hamburger stalls... Oh, and the stench of greed.

42nd street isn’t a particularly nice place either. And the song had it wrong when it called it the avenue I’m taking you to. It is most definitely a street according to the New York naming system - avenues run north to south while streets run east to west. Any road up [Shouldn’t that be avenue up? - Ed.], 42nd Street has had a chequered past. From being the place where big musicals were staged in the first half of last century, by the 70s it had become the centre for some of the sleazier aspects of the business known as show. Gentlemen’s clubs and strip joints were the main fare on offer. It has cleaned its act up a bit since then and is now more family (or tourist) friendly.

We also passed through Harlem on one of our bus rides; I’m guessing there is a Spanish bit. We also saw 59th Street, though I didn’t notice a bridge.

To finish my little travelogue, I will end with something that truly shocked me. I am not a racist person. Never have been. However, a racist incident occurred while I was in New York and I still cannot work out how or why it happened. People in New York often hand out cds to passers by. My response is always to hand them back and say politely, no thanks, as I continue on my way. One day, a black gentleman handed me a cd and I responded in my usual way. Treating this as some sort of rebuff he shouted after me (and these are his exact words), ‘It’s only music! What’s the matter? Scared of black people?’ What the hell prompted that?

 

.....oooOooo.....

 

Any birthdays of note to celebrate? What famous or notorious folk came into this world on the 4th of June? George III 1738 (The well-known king.), Mabel Lucy Attwell 1879 (The well-known illustrator.), Patience Strong 1907 (The well-known writer of schmaltz.), Rosiland Russell 1908 (Not Jonathan Ross’s favourite actress.), Christopher Cockroft 1910 (The well-known inventor.), Geoffrey Palmer 1927 (The well-known bloodhound impressionist.), Bruce Dern 1936 (The well-known dad of Laura.), John Whitney 1944 (The well-known Charlie.), Michelle Phillips 1944 (The well-known Mama.), Roger Ball 1944 (The well-known average saxophonist.), Gordon Waller 1945 (The well-known Gordon.), Bob Champion 1948 (The well-known champion.), David Yip 1951 (The well-known dog impressionist.), Jimmy McCulloch 1953 (The well-known wing.), Bradley Walsh 1960 (The well-known chaser.), Russell Brand 1975 (The well-known tit.), Angelina Jolie 1975 (The well-known wife.), Emmanuel Eboue 1983 (The well-known footy bloke.) and Lukas Podolski 1985 (Another well-known footy bloke.)
 
 
.....oooOooo.....

 

Let’s move on to grambling matters. What happened last time we had a flutter (They can’t touch you for it.)? We lost. Not a penny piece back. Ho hum. Let’s not even bother with the details. Well, the footy season is at an end. You know what that means, don’t you? Blibbing horses. Yes we have to have a gramble on the beasties. Incidentally, did you know that the Dutch for ‘mount horses’ sounds exactly like ‘Gramble up the beasties’? No, didn’t think you would.

So what has The Grambler randomly selected for our first week of gee gee grambling?

Meeting - Time - Horse - Odds

Epsom Downs             2.35      Sayana                                          8/13

Hexham          5.20      Mr Monochrome                         10/11

Musselburgh  5.30      Impulsive American                     5/4

Newcastle       6.40      Huge Future                                 10/11

Lingfield         8.20      Aflame                                            11/8

If these nags finish ahead of the others in their respective races the Bobby Moore Fund stands to receive a whopping...

£14.34

I think you will agree, that is pretty whopping.

 

 

.....oooOooo.....

 

Teaser time. Yay! Last time out I asked you what was the only country to have two cities boasting two teams having reached the semi-final of any European Cup/League type competition, prior to Manchester City putting England in the category. Did you know the answer? It was Scotland. Both Dundee clubs have reached the semis as have two of the Glasgow clubs. Isn’t that interesting? [No. - Ed.]

One for this week? Gareth Bale has now joined two other Welsh Players by winning his second Champions League (or European Cup) medal. Who are the other two boyos to have achieved this?

 

…..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 have just heard that the most famous sports personality in the world has just died. Muhammad Ali was, at one time, the most recognisable sportsman in the world. It wasn’t always so. In 1964 he was an aspiring 22 year old heavyweight boxer about to be given the chance to fight the world champion, Sonny Liston. Prior to the bout a British pop group was trying to get noticed in the States. A photoshoot with the world champion seemed a good publicity stunt. However, when Liston saw this ‘bunch of cissies’ he refused to go through with the shoot. Somebody decided to find out if the contender would be willing to do it instead. He was and various snaps were taken before the band were whisked off to their next engagement. Ali then asked, ‘Who were those cissies?’ Ali wasn’t expected to win that fight, but he did and the pictures from that photoshoot were suddenly seen everywhere around the world. Not bad publicity for the Beatles.
 
 

 

Happy grambling.