DON`T MAKE ME LAUGH...

Golden Retrievers seem to be the most popular dogs in our village. We have Barney (pictured) of course and next door there is Abby; three doors along is Max, there`s Star in a few streets away and in the next road to us there are at least seven others with names like Wilson, Shane, Tiffany, Polly and heaven knows what else.

One or two of them perform in the Southern Golden Retriever Society Display Team. I caught a glimpse of their act on a live stream from Crufts Dog Show last evening and I have to say that I was impressed with the intricacy of their movement and the precision of the coreography. One of the ladies performing in the Display Team comes from a nearby village and she takes the puppy training classes which Barney has been going to for the past few weeks. He seeems to enjoy that and he`s coming along nicely, although Mrs. Snopper needs to work a bit harder on her begging I feel.

Anyway, given the local connections, I just wonder whether Barney might be tempted to join the Team when he grows up. Here they are performing at Crufts a couple of years ago - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAfmyD7WsRw. I showed this to Barney but as you can see from the expression on his face, he`s not keen, preferring instead to eat anything and everything he sets eyes on and waking us up before 5.00am each morning. A recent meal which he picked up whilst running across a nearby field, included a black and pink sock, which has so far shown no sign of coming out at either end. If it doesn`t appear soon, I`m told that an expensive visit to ace vet Dave Cocker might be necessary. And he certainly won`t make the Display Team:-

(I`m beginning to wonder why Golden Retrievers are as popular as they seem.)

ANOTHER FELONY COMPOUNDED..

I read yesterday that the British Medical Association were imploring the Government to abolish prescription charges in England. At present, the charge for each item on a prescription is £7.10 - a considerable sum which doesn`t take into account the actual cost of producing the medications which are prescribed. Some of them - especially for `popular` ailments like hypertension - are very cheap to produce.

For some time now, prescription charges in Wales have been abolished and before long there will be no charge for prescriptions in Scotland and Northern Ireland. Which leaves England. Today, the Government`s response to the call made by the good doctors on the BMA has been to announce that, from 1st April, the £7.10 charge in England will not be abolished but instead be increased to £7.20.

Now, I happen to be on regular medication for high blood pressure and to control cholesterol and I get a prescription each month for three lots of pills. As I am well past the sell-by date of 60, I don`t have to pay the charge, which would amount to £21.30 each month, soon to be £21.60. So maybe I have nothing to complain about, but the truth is that I am finding it more and more offensive that we in England have to effectively subsidise our Welsh, Scottish and Northern Irish neighbours in the United Kingdom....and I wonder why.

Maybe we in England are suffering increased levels of high blood pressure as a result of yet another iniquity and so we consume more and more pills to combat its effects. But whatever the reason, it`s beginning to wear a bit thin. It`s one thing having to put up with the wasteful, self-serving, dictatorial nonsense that is the EU, but quite another when our so-called United Kingdom is becoming increasingly disunited as a result of own goals like this one.

SWALLOWS AND SUMMERS

It`s said that one swallow does not a summer make. But what happens when three come along at once? A week or so ago, Southampton FC were cast adrift at the wrong end of the Championship league table with, seemingly, little hope of reaching safety. But, three wins out of three has perhaps given them a chance of survival.

Last night there was yet more dancing in the streets at the news that Saints had beaten Ipswich Town 3-0 away at Portman Road. This came on top of successive victories over Preston and Cardiff and it has given rise to an outbreak of hysteria among the more easily pleased in the ranks of fanatical Saints fans, who now seem convinced that summer, along with salvation, has surely arrived.

Now, whilst I don`t want to dampen anyone`s enthusiasm, I feel compelled to point out a couple of things. The first and most obvious is that despite this return of form, Saints are still stuck in the relegation zone and there is still a long way to go in the season. The second is arguably even more worrying and it`s this. If Saints do survive to retain their place in the second tier of English football, the chances are that the `stewardship` of chairman Rupert Lowe will remain. Perish the thought. He will doubtless claim that the team`s survival will have been down to his prudent management of club affairs and that we can all look forward to a brighter future. The reality is that it was Lowe who has brought us to the current parlous state of affairs in the first place.

So we may be left with an unpalateable choice. If we go down, Lowe must surely go. If we stay up, he will surely stay. I think, on balance, the first might just be preferable.

FULL CIRCLE?...

My three sons are now all in their 40s and maybe it`s a sign of me getting older but I often think wistfully back to the days when they were young enough for me to read them a story in bed each night before they went off to sleep. This was a family ritual which meant that my sons knew each and every story by heart, but woe betide me if I misread a sentence - I would have to go back to the beginning and start all over again. Just one of the perils of fatherhood.

Their`library` was a bit limited, but there were the Noddy books and some Ladybird books but one particular favourite was `The Inquisitive Elf.` Unsurprisingly, it was about an elf who was inquisitive....but I won`t spoil the ending for you.

In one of my wistful moments a few years ago, I began to search old bookshops, the internet, Amazon.com and other possible sources in order to try and buy a copy. My searches were, however, in vain and indeed, as one of my good friends explained, if the elf was that inquisitive, then one day he would find me.

Eventually, some months ago, another good friend had spotted the availability of a copy on the internet and he quickly alerted me. I was able to make the purchase and a copy in very good condition arrived safely in the post. I read it again and, after all those years, the words came back as if they had never been away. I`m pleased to report that one of my sons owned up to remembering it - the other two choosing to remain `cool` on the subject as they looked at me despairingly in response to my renewed enthusiasm.

Now I guess the reason for me telling you all this is to confess to the fact that, even now, I refuse to grow up. Can`t see the point of it. Life`s too short and the world too tragic to be taken seriously. In my enduring wistfulness and as tempus continues to fugit, maybe I cling to the thought that, one day, someone might be reading stories to me. If they do, I`ve got just the book for them.

LESSONS IN LIFE...

This picture of a local boys football club conjures up memories of years ago when my three sons played junior football and Mrs. Snopper and I were heavily involved in helping out with the club. They were happy days and, of course, there were ups and downs for the young players who played in the local league. The league was structured on ages - Under 10s, Under 12s, Under i4s and Under 16s - which meant that in any one season there were teams at the top end of the age range playing other teams in the lower end. This produced some remarkable scorelines and I recall one snowy afternoon when one of my sons suffered a 36-0 hammering from a team who were bigger, stronger, faster and, allegedly, still within the age range for the division.

I see today that there is a move afoot to stop that kind of thing happening. There`s a proposal that, once a score in a game reaches 9-0, then the game is brought to an end. This appears to be in order to prevent the kind of stuffing that my lad endured all those years ago. It seems to me like introducing yet another namby-pamby nanny-state restriction in the misguided belief that it prevents psychological harm being done to the losers. But it might also deny access to an important rite of passage.

In late Spring 2003, we were on holiday in North Devon. It was the week before Southampton played Arsenal in the FA Cup Final at Cardiff`s Milennium Stadium. It was a lovely day, so we took our much missed retriever, Henry, for a walk up on Hangman Hill, above the village of Combe Martin. It`s a strenuous climb, so we were grateful for a seat near the top of the hill. Soon, we were joined by a walker who had come the other way and he asked if he could share the seat with us. We got chatting, as you do, and it turned out that he was a keen Arsenal fan and he had a ticket for the final. I suggested that Arsenal had already won quite enough trophies and that it might be Southampton`s turn to add to their solitary FA Cup victory in 1976.

"Ah," said our newfound friend, "you`ve got to learn how to lose before you can enjoy the winning." How true. I`ve had my own share of humiliating defeats. I once played in a cricket team that was all out for eight! But I went on to enjoy scoring 50 and taking five for nine in another game.

Hangman Hill, Combe Martin

My three sons survived their early sporting setbacks and went on to enjoy their sport and life itself with no visible psychological damage - having me as a parent may have been enough. So I view with some concern the proposal to impose a limit on football scores. What about cricket scores, rugby and all the other games where a good thrashing is possible so that defeat can be turned into victory? And why should the winners be denied their own rite of passage?

JUST LIKE THAT...

I was browsing through WH Smith`s bookshop this morning, looking for nothing in particular, when my eye caught a biography of Tommy Cooper. Now, Tom was arguably the funniest funny man there`s ever been - he really didn`t have to tell any jokes to have his audience in peals of laughter and, of course, he was famous for being a hopeless magician. Some of his one-liners have stuck with me ("I went to buy a camouflage jacket but I couldn`t find any.")

Anyway, I didn`t buy it but I thumbed through the first few pages and was astonished to discover that he and I had a couple of things in common. Although Tom was born in Caerphilly in Wales, his family moved to Langley in Hampshire when he was about two years old. Now, Langley is a straggly village next to Blackfield between the refinery village of Fawley and the New Forest. During the war, my mother and I lived with my aunt and uncle at 40 Hampton Lane, Blackfield and it was from there that I first went to school at Fawley Primary School. When my father eventually came home after five years as a prisoner of war in Germany, we moved to Hythe, where I resumed my `education` at Hythe Primary School. From there, at the age of eleven, I moved on to the secondary school at Hardley, which is about half way between Hythe and Blackfield.

Tommy Cooper`s biography recounts that, from his family home in Langley, he first went to school at Fawley Primary School, then on to Hardley Secondary School and when he left, he got a job at a shipbuilders yard in Hythe. It all makes sense now I know that both he and I were Hardley educated.

NO WONDER I FEEL JADED

Tell me if I`ve got this right. It`s a given that everyone has sympathy towards anyone suffering a premature death from an awful disease. No argument about that, I`m sure. But over the weekend the media have bombarded us about the wedding between a thug sentenced and released early but on licence for assaulting a young lad with a golf club and a young lady whose only claim to fame is that she is famous for making a fortune from being utterly dim, bereft of any appealing feature whatsoever, `writing` two autobiographies, releasing a perfume on an unsuspecting world and cashing in on the `exceptional circumstances` which allowed the wedding to go ahead anyway.

I have no `emotional attachment `to Jade Goody (pictured) but I have developed an emotional perception about her, which is not flattering. Now I realise that that perception is all gained from my own exposure to media coverage, but it has forced me to conclude that, however tragic Jade`s situation might be - and on a human level I do symathise - some of the anguish which has been demonstrated towards her might just have been a little misplaced when compared with the countless thousands who have suffered in dignified silence.

PUPPY TRAINING FOR BEGINNERS

Barney flops out in one of his beds after an exhausting first visit to puppy training classes.

The local Golden Retriver club run a series of dog training courses at a local village hall and these range from `basic training` through the bronze, silver and gold awards as the training progresses

When we enrolled Barney, we were asked whether we wanted him to do field trials, become involved with shows, formation dancing teams and all the rest but we said we just wanted him to be a happy, well behaved family pet. So, he`s started the basic training and he seemed to take to it quite well. It certainly tired him out though, so both he and we had a good night`s sleep afterwards.

One of his classmates was a very comely young puppy named Sorrel who will be trained to become a guide dog. Barney was much taken with her winsome charms - no wonder he slept well. I was quite impressed by Barney`s ability to sit down, stand up and walk around when told to do so. Reminded me of my own National Service basic training!

ONCE MORE INTO THE BREACH...

From our Golf Correspondent

After weeks of enforced absence from the fairways of the world due to inclement weather, short days and general indolence, Snopper emerged for his first round of golf at Hever Castle earlier this week.

Armed with a brand spanking new driver which came as a welcome Christmas present, he marched onto the first tee only to find that, due to drainage work, the hole had been reduced to a par three, which meant that the new driver didn`t see the light of day until the second tee. And there we witnessed one of those endearing moments that seem to populate Snopper`s golfing career. You see, in all the excitement and nervousness surrounding his first venture onto the course in 2009, he had quite overlooked the need to remove the cellophane cover from the clubhead. This task took a few minutes with Snopper breaking the odd nail in the process. Even then he couldn`t remove the sticky bit which covered the sweet spot, so he decided to leave it there so he could claim the ball had a sticky contact, which was why it careered off in the direction of a nearby road, never to be seen again.

After that, in truth, things settled down very nicely with Snopper finding the green from the tee on the par three third and generally playing better than he had any right to expect. OK, so a few of the Royal and Ancient Rules may have been liberally interpreted but his first round of the year was encouraging and hugely enjoyable both for our hero and the galleries, who will no doubt follow his progress which, in keeping with the times, will assuredly move from recession to depression as the year drifts by.

MALICE IN BLUNDERLAND -

A SIMPLE SOLUTION?

So, Home Secretary Jacqui Smith is to face an inquiry by Parliamentary Commissioner for Standards, John Lyon, into her claiming £116,000 `second home allowance,` which I ranted about a few days ago. On the face of it, this seems like a good move. But it seems the formal complaints made to the Commissioner stem from a couple of near neighbours in the street where Jacqui Smith`s sister has a house, wherein Jacqui rents a room at `market rate` which she claims is her main residence - instead of the family home in Redditch which she shares with her husband and two children.

I suspect the Commissioner`s Inquiry will take months and doubtless the full force and resources available to the Home Secretary will be brought to bear to demonstrate the number of nights a week she spends with her sister, the number of occasions her security officers are in attendance and much more. The whole issue may get buried in detail, in claim and counter claim, in the neighbour`s word against the government establishment, in the time and expense of it all and the emergence of other events to deflect attention. Not to mention, of course, the track record of successive Commissioners who find it difficult to find against the government for fear of their contracts not being renewed - remember the estimable Elizabeth Filkin, sacked because she was too good, too thorough and too independant?

But in all the shuffling around, in all the tabloid hand-wringing, there are at least two aspects of this whole affair that stand out. The first is the moral issue. Now, our (Second) Home Secretary steadfastly asserts that she `has not broken any rules` and she may be right. But where is the morality in claiming £116,000 of taxpayers` money for a questionable domestic arrangement? And, perhaps more tellingly, where is the morality in claiming anything at all when a rent free grace and favour luxury apartment which, as Home Secretary she is entitled to, is hers for the asking?

And so the simple solution is clear and obvious. Any Minister of the Crown who is entitled to taxpayer-funded, high security, rent free, grace and favour London accommodation should simply be required to take it up. Too simple? Probably. After all, it would be a bit like expecting turkeys to vote for Christmas. But it would be right and proper and see an end to the nonsense about to consume time and resources for a wholly predictable outcome.

A THOUSAND CUTS...

Saints` new `Head Coach,` Mark Wotte, cut a gloomy figure as he watched yet another defeat from the touchline at Bristol City`s Ashton Gate ground on Saturday. A year ago, we had the passion of Nigel Pearson to guide us to safety on the last day of the season. Pearson was `let go` by Saints` buffoon of a Chairman, Rupert Lowe, and Pearson`s new club -Leicester City - are now sure of promotion from the third tier back to the Championship. After Saturday`s defeat, Saints are now sure of relegation back to the third tier, which they last inhabited 49 years ago.

It`s been coming, of course, but the last vestige of hope has now disappeared and we now want it over and done with. Maybe the 10-points deduction for going into administration would be welcome as absolute confirmation of our demise and looking at the club`s share price and general finances, administration may not be long in coming as the bank finally looses patience.

Off the field, the disasters continue unabashed and there seems little sign of Lowe and his chums leaving voluntarily, despite the now constant howls for them to do so. What`s more, there is no sign of an investor willing or foolish enough to recue the club from its £25million debt and breathe new life into the team, the fans and the city.

On the field, the disasters continue unabashed too - our leaky defence, static midfield and powder-puff `attack` are a poor shadow of the team that just a few years ago were riding high in the Premiership.

I think our plight is summed up by the appointment of Wotte, who was number two to the recently departed Jan Poortvliet. Nice man as he was , Poortvliet didn`t hack it in the hurly burly of the Championship and it`s hard to see that his former assistant - the newly promoted Wotte - will fare any better. So let`s get it over with. Let`s accept defeat, even embrace it, for que sera has certainly sera`d and, if you listen carefully, you might just hear the fat lady preparing to charm us with her aria of sadness and regret.

A TOUCHING MOMENT

This is one of those photos that come out of dreadful times to show that life is still kind and gentle. It was sent to me the other day by a friend who lives in the Adelaide Hills and I am pleased to report that, in all the horror and tragedy of the bush fires in Australia, at least this Koala has come out of it in one piece.

I`m told that she is now receiving treatment for burnt feet, and doing very well. Koalas don’t usually drink anything, they get the moisture they require from gum leaves, which is why this picture of her drinking from a firefighter`s bottle is even more moving.

My antipodean correspondent mentioned that last Saturday, the temperature was 43C yet again, and the hot north wind was so strong. The bush was tinder dry, and the bushfire warning was on high alert. Lots of praying for protection, and then thanks truly given when the cool change finally arrived and the danger for that period of time had passed.

But the bushfire season is not yet over and people have to stay vigilant. It is the trade off for living in the beautiful Adelaide Hills, it seems, which is not as isolated as some of the small Victorian towns which bore the brunt of the inferno.

And all the while, our long, endless winter over here goes on. I guess the residents of the Adelaide Hills would welcome some of our cold and rain and snow just as much as I would welcome a little of their warmth. Getting the balance right, however, is quite another matter but maybe my middle son and his lady have found it as they laze on a beach in the Maldives for the next couple of weeks. I really don`t know why we don`t all go and live there, even if there are no koalas that might need rescuing.

MALICE IN BLUNDERLAND

OK, so "no rules have been broken," and so we`re supposed to conclude that that`s alright then. But the seemingly endless litany of outcries about MPs and Lords` expenses and allowances goes unchecked. The latest episode concerned Home Secretary, Jacqui Smith, who has been claiming £22,000 a year for a second home allowance whilst living in a room in her sister`s London residence, leaving her husband and children to reside in the family home in Redditch. Oh, and Ms. Smith`s husband, one Mr. Timney, apparently receives £40,000 a year for acting as her `parliamentary adviser.` Oh, and Ms Smith, as Home Secretary, is entitled to a grace and favour free home in London, which she has chosen not to take up - I wonder why?

Now, I accept that being Home Secretary is one of the principal offices of state and, as such, deserves proper reward for the responsibility of the office. But the salary of £142,000, along with the `usual` salary and expenses for being an MP would seem to suggest that the Smith/Timney family are doing very nicely, thank you - especially in these dark economic times. I`ve no problem with that, but I do find it difficult to accept that the Home Secretary, responsible for law enforcement in this country, should also be willing to stretch the morality of the allowances system to its limits by claiming for a room in her sister`s house as her `main residence` and employing an `adviser`who happens to be her husband. It doesn`t look good.

But I think my biggest grumble is that, even if "no rules have been broken," it`s useful to remember that it is the MPs themselves who made the rules. That doesn`t look good either.

Time for a sort out, I think.

AN EASY MISTAKE....

from our Orthodontic Correspondent

After over two months of intensive treatment by winsome dentist Louise Seeley, Snopper has finally been released back into the wild with a new look. Gone are his old choppers and after much drilling and filling, he is now sporting a new set of gnashers which have transformed his persona.

As he emerged from the dental surgery for the last time yesterday on his way back to his car, he found himself besieged by a succession of admirers who mistakenly took him for film heartthrob, George Clooney. However, much like the chap in Beijing who had to constantly deny that he was Phelps, Snopper was finally able to convince his pursuers that he wasn`t Clooney. "An easy mistake to make, of course," he mused, as yet another pig flew accusingly over his roof.

SOMETHING TO CHEER ABOUT

Well, it`s been a long time coming but this weekend, Saints fans have something to cheer about at last. My picture shows them dancing in the streets of our once great city as the news filters through that the game away to Watford was postponed because of snow in the area of Vicarage Road. This means, of course, that Saints fans across the globe can rest easily knowing that yet another defeat has been avoided.

The downside is that those games which were played over the weekend have left Saints in an even more perilous position than they were, as they are now effectively five points away from the safety of fourth from bottom of the Championship. One win at home all season, abject management and boardroom stubbornness have all conspired to reduce Saints fans to despair, culminating in an orderly demostration march from the Bargate to St. Mary`s Stadium last week. It seems these days there is more fun in demostrating against the stifling regime of Rupert Lowe and his chums than there is in watching the football. Ah well, at the end of the day, it`s only a game. Isn`t it?

SNOWTIME FOR BARNEY

Barney is three months old now and it seems that ever since he has been with us, the temperature has never gone above about 5C. On top of that, we`ve had more snow than we`ve had for almost 20 years. All of which means that Barney`s daily walks are not as enjoyable as they might be. At least for us.

However, Barney loves the snow and doesn`t seem put off by the cold weather. I guess it`s because he`s never known anything different. My picture shows him taking refuge by the bird bath in our garden; almost as if he`s saying to himself, "If I think I`ve got it hard, what must the birdies be thinking?"

No sign of a let-up in the forecast for next week. It sure does seem like a long winter and I can`t wait for Spring to be sprung. I wonder what Barney will make of double digit temperatures and sunshine. My antipodean correspondent tells me that Adelaide recently had seven consecutive days with temperatures over 40C with the highest reaching 45C. Now, as much as I crave an end to this winter of discontent, I`m not sure either Barney or I could cope with that.

IT`S THAT DAY AGAIN...

Comes round quicker each year - February 4th. On this day 49 years ago I began my 731 days of National Service by reporting to Bourlon Barracks, Catterick, North Yorkshire; the home of the 4/7th Royal Dragoon Guards, the `training regiment` at the time.

And what `basic training` it was. For six weeks we learned how to march up and down, turn left and right and even turn around. When we weren`t marching, we were shining our kit, doing PT, doing fatigues and all the while counting the days, if not the hours. We were a mixed bunch thrown together from all parts of the country and all conceivable backgrounds.

As our training progressed, we began to support each other against the onslaught of military discipline, prejudice, intellect and practice. One of our group was, sadly, one of life`s unfortunates. A pleasant, mild natured, inoffensive chap called Newton, who came from somewhere like Retford in Nottinghamshire. However hard he tried, he simply could not come to terms with the marching drill. He was naturally ungainly and it wasn`t his fault that he could never look tidy, but that had singled him out for special (mis)treatment by the drill corporals. The rest of us did what we could to help him - polishing his brasses, shining his boots, ironing his shirts - but we couldn`t march for him.

One in every squad

Things reached a climax one day when the drill corporal`s patience finally ran out. The barrack block was a very big building on at least three storeys, mounted with a clock tower in the centre of the roof. After yet more of Mr. Newton`s marching incompetence on the parade ground, the drill corporal`s`conversation` with him went something like:-

Corporal : "Newton, do you see that ******* great building there?"
Newton : "Yes, Corporal."
Corporal : "Do you see that door in the middle there?"
Newton : "Yes, Corporal."
Corporal : "Right, Newton. When I give the order for you to march, I want you to move smartly to that door. When you get there, open it and go inside. You`ll see a flight of stairs that goes all the way up to that clock tower. Still with me?"
Newton : "Yes, Corporal."
Corporal : "Right. I want you to climb those stairs, get to the top, come out onto that balcony and jump off. And before you hit the ground, I want you to shout out `Here comes f*** all.` Got that, Newton?"
Newton : "Yes, Corporal."
Corporal : "Right, Newton. Quick march!!"

......and off he went in the direction of the door. When he got there, he didn`t hesitate and disappeared inside, which left a now concerned drill corporal to run after him and haul him back into the sunlight.

It changed things. We helped him more and more and so, remarkably, did the drill corporals, whose attitude, either borne out of fear or admiration, changed into an almost benign encouragement which lasted until Mr. Newton and the rest of us `passed out` a few weeks later, after which I never saw him again.

I went back to Catterick some years ago and was relieved to see that the barracks and its clock tower had been demolished and I wondered whether the world was smiling any more kindly on our ungainly colleague. I hoped it was.

EVEN HERE...

Ever wondered what those lovely summer holiday places look like in mid winter? Well, I do. Frequently.

So, as the worst snow for 18 years swept through Kent today, I thought I would take a look at how things were down at Sennen Cove in deepest west Cornwall. It`s one of our favourite places - full of character, always welcoming, always something interesting going on. And this was the scene today, as Sennen shivered under a blanket of snow, which is such a rare occurrence in the far west of Cornwall. Even Cove Hill, the road down to the cove, was impassable today, which meant that the fishing boats stayed in the harbour. A far cry from the balmy, carefree days of high summer. Even here in Sennen it was not possible to escape the winter chill. Click on the photo for a larger image.

Sennen has its own website - click on the link under Snopper`s Links - and Terry, who runs it, sets a quiz every week or so by publishing a photo of somewhere down that way and inviting people to guess where it is. I`ve managed to crack it in the last couple of weeks correctly identifying Carn Brea and also Sancreed, but it`s not often I get it right. If you know the area, have a go. At least it keeps me in touch with a favourite haunt and thoughts of summer.

FLYING TONIGHT?

This is the less than imposing facade of Stansted Airport, which I visitied again early this morning with my youngest son and his family, who flew back to Hamburg after spending a few days with us. Last time they came, I took on Heathrow`s new Terminal Five, which was also less than imposing. There`s something about airports that I can`t quite define. It may be that my opinion is coloured by the fact that I go to airports quite a lot but never ever fly anywhere. But today`s `experience` did nothing to enhance my general attitude towards airports and all the challenges that await me when I go there.

Today started early - we left home at 7.30am so as to get there in plenty of time for the check in and security business. Once again I had to pay to use the Dartford Tunnel, which I finished paying for years ago but continue to have to fork out each time I use it. It`s gone up to £1.50 each way, which simply compounds the felony. Managed to park at Stansted in the Red Car Park, even though my car is black. I went off to find a trolley for the luggage and was surprised to have to pay another £1.00 to get one, which was made worse by me putting the £1 coin in the wrong slot and having to find another £1 coin for the right slot - I just don`t `do` technology.

Then came the ritual of Ryanair`s check-in system, which seems to comprise checking in by machine, then proceeding past a checkpoint, showing boarding passes, so as to deposit the luggage. That done, we ambled off to a rather pleasant Italian cafe (Caffe Alba) for some coffee and a bite to eat before my son and his family said goodbye and disappeared into the departure lounge, which left me to amble away and face the challenge of the car park payment machines. I had some difficulty at first but a kind lady showed me where to `stick my ticket` and fork out £6.80 for a little over an hour`s parking.

I found my car which stood out quite prominently in the Red Car Park and meandered back home along the M11, M25, Dartford Bridge (another £1.50) M20 and home to an eerily quiet house. As I got home, it started snowing....and it still is. Tomorrow, as Kent is gripped by a few centimetres of snow, I confidently predict that all the schools will be closed, minor roads will be declared impassable and all forms of transport will be severely disrupted. But it will be October before I have to go to Stansted again - plenty of time to give the car a respray. In red, of course.

OTHERWISE ENGAGED

My apologies for absence from these pages for the next few days. Tomorrow morning, I have to go to Stansted Airport to meet our youngest son, his wife and our two grandsons, who are coming to stay with us for a few days from their home in Hamburg.

It might be possible for us to have a complete family get-together over the weekend, as each of our three sons, along with their wives/partners/offspring might all be around here at the same time. A rare event indeed, since they live busy lives in various parts of the world. So the next few days could be busy.

It will be `interesting` to see what Barney makes of it all and, if all goes well, I should be back blogging early next week,....as long as I come through unscathed.

WHILE ROME BURNS...

Strange as it may seem I can just about imagine that there are some people whose interest in the affairs of Southampton Football Club may be, how shall I say, minimal? Fair enough, but I would just ask that you spare a thought for long standing supporters like me (over 60 years now since I first saw the Saints play) who have become totally disillusioned with results on the pitch and now totally fed up with events in the boardroom.

The gentlemen pictured above are, left to right, Rupert Lowe (6% shareholding,) Michael Wilde (16%) and Leon Crouch (10%.) They are the major shareholders in the holding company, Southampton Leidure Holdings PLC and their shares dwarf the 1,000 which I bought years ago - not as a financial investment but as an emotional one. I have not been disappointed with my investment - the value of the shares has plummetted to about 20p each (I bought mine for 39p and at one time they were as high as 68p) and I have certainly had my emotional money`s worth having sufferred the range of emotions from the FA Cup Final to, now, almost certain relegation to the third tier of English football. A roller coaster ride indeed.

Of the three shown above, Lowe is also Chairman and Chief Executive and is so devoted to his twin responsibilities that he has failed to appear recently and will be on holiday in Scotland, doubtless duck-shooting, when the Saints `entertain` Swansea at home this coming Saturday. Pity he won`t be there, as a mass demonstration is planned by fed up fans who are demanding positive action to rescue the situation before the bank pulls the plug. Michael Wilde, the largest shareholder, has simply gone missing. He left 15 minutes before the end of the last home game, when we lost to the mighty Doncaster Rovers....and hasn`t been seeen since.


Which leaves Leon Crouch - former Chairman ousted by Lowe last year after just a few months in the chair, during which time he had the foresight to appoint Nigel Pearson as Manager. Lowe`s first job back in the chair was to sack Pearson. Guess what - Leicester City with Pearson in charge are 12 points clear in the automatic promotion slot and will pass Saints on the stairs as we go down - if we last that long.

I`ve got some time for Crouch. He`s a real fan who puts his money where his mouth is - he paid for the Ted Bates statue out of his own pocket and he paid the wages of players like Andrew Davies who were instrumental in keeping us up last year. And now, Crouch has made the other two an offer they can`t refuse - "I`ll put £2million of my money into the club if you two will do the same, which will write off the overdraft and keep us from going bust." Lowe and Wilde have not taken up the offer, I suspect because, unlike Crouch, they are more concerned with their money than they are the club. Which is a pity because before too long, there won`t be a club to worry about. And we all lose.

SNOPPER GOES INDEPENDANT

From our Communications Correspondent

The mobile phone you see on the right is the Nokia 1650. It is, as it says on the box, just a mobile phone. No camera, no internet access, no tea or coffee making facilities - just a phone and just the thing for a communications luddite like Snopper, who has hitherto been reknowned for his aversion to anything remotely `technical.`

So imagine the industry`s surprise when, on a recent visit to the nearby Hempstead Shopping Centre, Snopper wandered into the Carphone Warehouse, threw himself on the mercy of a sprightly young lady and was persuaded to purchase the Nokia 1650 for the princely sum of £9.73. You see, for years, he had relied on old mobiles handed down from grandaughter Sarah, but the last one kind of ran out of puff, according to him. There was no response when it was switched on and, being blissfully unaware of any concept of recharging, Snopper decided he should take the plunge and go independant.

All very commendable. Except for a couple of things. Sprightly young lady had sorted it out so that Snopper could make calls and convinced him that all his questions would be answered by reference to the handbook, included in the price. A phone call home to Snopper Towers confirmed it. However, his few remaining friends should not expect him to be in touch just yet, for he has no idea what the number of his new phone might be and has no idea how to enter anyone else`s number on his new phone. The handbook appears silent on the point, he says. This particular £9.73 transaction could have legs.

SHREDS OF EVIDENCE...

The news that the Statutory Instrument which would have exempted Members of Parliament from the requirement for them to have published, details of their expenses claimed over the past four years, has been withdrawn, is to be welcomed and applauded. I was gearing myself up for a rant today about the fact that MPs had voted to exempt themselves but, in a dramatic climb-down yesterday lunchtime, the measure to have been introduced to Parliament, was buried.

At last it seems that not only has common sense prevailed but also that our MPs have decided that, after all, even they should not go against the rulings of the High Court and that they should stop spending taxpayers` money on trying to prevent those same taxpayers from finding out what their money has been spent on.

Now, at the risk of allowing my innate cynicism to come to the fore, I suspect there may be a small number of MPs who are now nervous about having to reveal details of their expenses . So I imagine it is just possible that there might be an outbreak of small fires in certain offices or, more probably, a run on shredders in the stationery shops around Westminster. I suggest those MPs who may be concerned, get together and hire the kind of heavy duty, high capacity mobile shredder pictured above. It will save a lot of time, add to the recycling targets and improve their carbon footprints. Just as long as they don`t charge the hiring fee to the taxpayers - we`ll need to see the receipt, of course. And so the madness goes on.

BARNEY AND THE GNOMES

I am honoured to have a correspondent in Adelaide who has e-mailed me to say how much she enjoys reading about Barney`s adventures.

Well, here he was a short while ago having been introduced to the gnomes who look after the bottom of my garden. I`m not sure quite what Barney made of them or, indeed, what the gnomes thought about their territory being invaded but from the picture it seems that the gnomes have the upper hand - at least for now.

It is, of course, perfectly in keeping with my mental age of twelve that I would have gnomes in my garden. A couple of years ago, we were browsing around the local garden centre when they were having a `Gnome Event.` The deal was, Buy-Two-Get-The-Third-Free, so I did. Ever since, I`ve had to tread carefully around their sensitivities, for I have not yet had the heart to explain which of the three of them is the free one.

The reason I feel genuinely honoured by my antipodean correspondent is that she is a direct decendant of one of the Companions of Stuart - the incomparable explorer, John McDouall Stuart, one of my all time heroes, responsible for paving the way for the route of the overland telegraph and the Stuart Highway across the continent. I`ve told the gnomes about my correspondent friend, of course, and Barney is flattered that she has fallen for his charms, which, whilst considerable, are not quite so apparent at 4.15am.

SO IT`S COME TO THIS....

There are lots of heroes in the annals of Southampton Football Club, but I just want to tell the story of how just two of them have recently been treated by the regime now running the club under the chairmanship of Rupert Lowe.

For years now, hanging proudly in the corridors of power at St. Mary`s, there has been an iconic picture of former Saints manager Lawrie McMenemy holding the FA Cup aloft after he had guided the team to victory in the 1976 Final over Manchester United. A few months ago, Saints played against Doncaster Rovers at their Keepmoat Stadium and to mark the occasion, Lowe was presented with a picture of a locomotive by the Doncaster Board. Now, Lowe and McMenemy have not seen eye to eye for years, so Lowe decided to take down the FA Cup photograph and replace it with the one of Doncaster`s train. As if there isn`t space enough in a 32,000 seater stadium.

The word `legend` is used too glibly these days when referring to footballers, but there can be no argument about calling David Armstrong a Saints legend. Moving from Middlesbrough to Southampton in 1981, Armstrong played well over 200 games for Saints, spread over six seasons. He also played for England and was Saints Player of the Season in 1983/4. As a gifted, hard working left sided midfield player he featured in Saints teams which in those glory days included the likes of Kevin Keegan, Alan Ball, Peter Shilton and Mick Channon. One of the best goals ever scored by Saints was this one - http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=0VSOpeYqgSI&feature=related, in which David Armstrong played a pivotal role.

These days, David does some occasional work for the local radio down in Hampshire which covers Saints matches, home and away. He is, of course, a well-known, much respected figure so it was sad to learn that, at yesterday`s return game against Doncaster at St. Mary`s (Doncaster won 2-1) David Armstrong of all people was `invited to leave` the hospitality area (The Mick Channon Suite) despite the fact that he was entertaining guests who are always honoured to meet `legends.` Being invited to leave is, of course, the same as being thrown out, only a bit more polite.

You see, these two tales - and there are lots more - simply tell you all you need to know about the regime under Chairman Rupert Lowe. It is petty, small minded, oblivious to the history of this once great club and, frankly, an embarrassment to those of us who have until recently supported the club come what may. Lawrie Mac and Dave Armstrong do not deserve to be treated with the disdain shown towards them. Their problem is that they don`t like Lowe....and his regime has made it clear that the feeling is entirely mutual. I leave you to work out who are the true heroes and who are the villains. It`s not difficult.

OUT IN THE COLD?

It seems that our local Kent Police are very big on diversity. There is a very comprehensive structure within the force to ensure that "equality and diversity underpin all aspects of and are mainstream in our work."

Action Groups are responsible for both `creating and sustaining the equality and diversity agenda.` Each Action Group is made up of people from all levels across the force and is chaired by a senior member of Kent Police.
Each group takes ownership for their strand of diversity, makes sure that actions from the delivery plan are carried out and undertakes wider community related responsiblities.

Progress is fed into the Equality and Standards Board, chaired by an Assistant Chief Constable and on which the action group chairs sit. This Board reports in turn to the Citizen Focus Performance Gold Group, whose key objective is `to deliver confidence, satisfaction and reassurance across Kent and Medway.` The Gold Group is chaired by the Deputy Chief Constable.

Action Groups are responsible for both `creating and sustaining the equality and diversity agenda` across a wide series of issues including Minority Ethnic; Disability; Lesbian, Gay and Bi-sexual; Immigration and Asylum; Hate Crime and Incident; Age; Gender and Transgender; Fairness; Gypsy and Travellers; Religion and Belief. Small wonder, then, that Kent Police came as high as fourth in a nationwide survey by Stonewall about the way in which Police Forces tackle diversity. And I congratulate them for that achievement and for the impressive structure they have put in place.

Now, before the boys in blue come knocking on my door, let me say that as a council taxpayer funding Kent Police, I can have no problems with any of the above and it`s good to see my taxes being used in this way. There are just a couple of things that puzzle me though. First, I am at a loss as to how Kent`s Chief Constable can complain about resources when there seems to be ample funding for all these diverse pursuits. And second, I am at a loss as to why there is not an Action Group for white, British, law abiding, taxpaying, non-benefit claiming heterosexuals, who seem these days to be in a minority of their own.

Hang on - there`s someone at the door.

STREET LIFE

A big day for Barney. He`s eleven weeks old today and a week ago he had the last of his injections, so this morning he had his first `walkies` on the lead. Not really a walk, as such, more a scamper around a bit of the parish with Barney being interested in all the new sniffs, seeing some more traffic, checking out the grass and engaging himself in a kind of mini-battle with his collar and lead. Not sure who won.

The thing with puppies is to get them used to as much of the sights and sounds of the world as possible. So far, Barney seems unfazed by anything he has come across....although the local donkeys were a bit of a surprise to him. We`ve been taking him for rides in the car most days, to get him used to travelling and he seems to have taken to that as well. Yesterday we took him to Pets at Home, where they allow you to take pets inside the store. We bought Barney a nice new tag for his collar with his name, postcode and phone number on it, just in case, and he was very interested in the guinea pigs, rabbits and the fish in the shop. At Barney`s age, most things appear edible.

Now we`ve started, he will expect a walk at least once a day to broaden his horizons. I hope the streets of our village are ready for him. He certainly seems up for it.

CULTURALLY CAPITAL...

Last evening, Liverpool brought the curtain down on the city`s year as European Capital of Culture with a resounding firework display, much dancing in the streets and an almost palpable sigh of relief. So it seemed oddly appropriate that the grand finale of the year`s events should be left to Liverpool Football Club`s Spanish Manager, Rafael ("Rafa") Benitez.

For it was Rafa who treated us all to a measured, thoughtful and damningly honest critique of the antics of Manchester United Manager "Sir" Alex Ferguson. Now, there isn`t room in these pages for me to list all of the `facts` referred to by Rafa, suffice to say that they did not just relate to Liverpool`s own dealings with Ferguson but to a whole range of issues which underlined - if any further proof were needed - that Ferguson says what he likes about anything and everything, does what he likes, flouts any `Respect` campaign that might cross his path, refuses to honour contactual obligations with the media and generally conducts himself with an arrogance and deportment which does little to enhance the reputation of the club he represents.

The thing I particularly admired in Rafa`s delivery was his refusal to acknowledge Ferguson`s knighthood. I agree with that, for I have probably mentioned before that the honour was dished out to him by that equally discredited chancer, Tony Blair, in the misguided belief that he, Blair, might gain some street cred by being seen to be associated with Manchester United`s successes on the field of play. All very Alastair Campbell.

There are those who imagine for one moment that Rafa`s critique showed that he was feeling the pressure of expectation and that there would be the inevitable backlash from Ferguson, who seems to employ `mind games` as much as he does hairdryers. I didn`t get that impression at all. Rafa said what he had to say clearly and carefully, but what is important is the fact that he said it at all. About time someone finally had the courage to say what the majority of non-Manchester United football followers have thought about Ferguson for so long.

Nice one, Rafa

And just in case you thought that we had said goodbye to the land of make believe, I see today that the Football Association is going to `review in its full context` what Rafa said.....just to see if they can bring a charge against him for bringing the game into disrepute? They`ll be aiming at the wrong target if they do, for all Rafa has done is provide a measured account of events that the FA themselves should have dealt with long ago. The FA`s own cultural integrity is about to be tested again. What`s the betting they`ll be found wanting - again?

JAWS 3...

As long ago as 2nd December, I mentioned that I was about to embark on a course of serious dental work, as my choppers were in need of sorting out while I still had a few left. I don`t know why I`m telling you this, because it`s really not the most rivetting subject in the world. Maybe I am so pleased with myself, overcoming my demons, that I want to display my newfound hunkiness - if only to myself.

Anyway, the first couple of visits to lovely lady dentist Louise confirmed that I was in the hands of a caring, experienced professional who understood the anxieties of a grumpy old man, terrified of what he might have to undergo. I had some fillings, which stood up well to the Cashew Nut Test over Christmas. I also had to have a root extraction but despite Louise tugging, pulling, yanking away for quite some time, it just refused to be extracted. I`m told I have to wait a while before her sprained wrist recovers so she can try again. Suits me.

This morning, I had my fifth visit. We`re now on to the bit whereby eventually I get some brand new, high-tech, state-of-the-art, high-flying, ocean-going, whizzo choppers and to that end, Louise took the last impressions this morning. In three weeks time they might be ready to try out. I wonder if they`ll have a kind of test snack ready for me to sink my gnashers into.

My fear of dentistry remains, of course, but I know the journey I`m on will have been worth it, thanks to Louise and her bevy of young lady helpers. At times, I think I`m in the hands of the tooth fairy...... but this time I`ll be paying her. And a bit more than a silver sixpence.

HOMECOMING BLUES...

So, the icy grip of winter is with us. What a good idea to get away from it all for a few days of warm sunshine on some Mediterranean island. Well, my eldest son and his family did just that, flying off to Malta on Boxing Day, returning on New Year`s Eve so our teenage grandaughters could keep their social engagements.

Got off the plane at Gatwick to be met with a freezing wind that makes one wonder about the veracity of global warming. Drive home, open the front door only to be confronted by a scene resembling one of those TV makeover programmes. In their absence, a pipe had burst in the loft, water brought the ceilings down, along with the contents of the loft. House flooded, carpets ruined, can`t use the electrics. All in all, late night disaster for them.

Swift arrangements for the family to be put up with respective parents/grandparents. New Year`s Day, nothing happening. Plumber fixes pipe after a couple of days, electricians arrange temporary power supply, loss adjusters from insurance company on the scene today - just six days after the discovery of the problem.

We all hope, of course, that the problems can be overcome soon, but it may well be some time before the house is fully `habitable` again. Much depends on the insurance company and the availability of plumbers, electricians, ceiling replacers and all the other things that will need doing. Meantime, the family are, of course, more than welcome to what help and assistance we can give them.

And that`s the curious thing. We do feel for them, of course, in all of this but, since our boys left home to find their own way in the world all of 24 years ago now, our role as parents has naturally diminished. So it`s nice to feel `useful` again; to feel that we can help them a little more than we normally do and, whilst I fervently wish that these problems had not befallen them, it nevertheless reminds me that, however old your children may be, you never really stop being a parent.

TOLD YOU SO......

Southampton 0 - Manchester United 3. Predictable, wasn`t it? A United team which rested players such as Ronaldo, Tevez and Ferdinand went ahead after 20 minutes, at which point Saints` young team more or less gave up. The 0-3 final scoreline belied the fact that United had a number of chances to increase their winning margin but seemed to treat the game as a training exercise; for their part, Saints failed to win even one corner in the whole game and were reduced to playing with only 10 men following the dismissal of Matthew Patterson for what can only be described as an `industrial` challenge on United defender, Nemanja Vidic.

So, out of the cup and only the league to concentrate on - I`ve heard that before somewhere - and I can`t even claim that Saints today were gallant losers. Even if they had been, the old saying still rings true. Show me a good loser and I`ll show you a loser.

NOT THIS TIME

In 1976, I was fortunate to be at the old Wembley Stadium to see Southampton beat Manchester United with a goal from the late Bobby Stokes to win the FA Cup, against all the odds.

Over the years, the Saints have beaten Manchester United on a number of other occasions.

On Sunday, Manchester United come to St. Mary`s again, this time in the third round of the FA Cup. The game is a sell-out with 32,000 being there to witness the afternoon`s events. Now, I guess about half of them might be regular Saints supporters, a few thousand will be United fans and the rest probably of a ghoulish tendancy to witness what everyone expects will be a severe stuffing by the newly crowned World Champions.

As the great Matthew Le Tissier has recently said, Southampton might just as well go out and play with whatever freedom they can muster, for no-one - least of all the Saints fans - expect anything other than a heavy defeat. Le Tissier also mentions, however, that in years gone by, the Saints would have looked upon this game as one they could win. Not these days, I fear.

The one bright spot is the fact that the game is being televised on the relatively obscure Setanta Sports channel. I will refrain from paying the fee to watch the game. In fact, I am now refraining from paying to watch any of Saints matches until Rupert Lowe resigns or Administration sets in. Furthermore, I will always refrain from paying good money to watch Manchester United. They may be World Champions, Champions of Europe and Champions of English football, but those successes do not make them, their players or their manager sufficiently attractive for me to bother to watch Sunday`s encounter. In any case, as the song says, "Que sera, sera, whatever will be will be. We`re most definitely not going to Wemberley. Que sera, sera."