PIT STOP BLUES...

Just back from a spiffing week in Cornwall. I won`t bore you with all the places we went to or with a detailed weather report (even though while it was 18C and drizzling last Tuesday it was 29C and fine here in Kent.) The journey there and back was ok - over 300 miles each way - and Barney is turning out to be a good traveller, which helps a lot. As long as we stop every now and then for him (and us) to stretch his legs and do what he needs to do, he`s fine.

And one of the stops we made there and back was once again at Stonehenge. It`s a couple of hours travelling time into the journey and so very `convenient.` As usual, the car park was very busy but we always drive down the adjoining byway and park for free. I have to report that the facilities at this unique, irreplaceable, official World Heritage Site are nothing short of a disgrace to Stonehenge, to the Government Department responsible for its upkeep and to the nation generally. Since we were last there, nothing has changed. No improvements. In fact things have got a bit worse. When I last used the gentlemen`s `facility,` there were two hand drying machines. Now there`s only one and that one struggles manfully to keep up with the constant demand but it is clearly a losing battle for it.

They`re supposed to be going to build a new `Visitor Centre` at Airman`s Cross - a mile or so to the west of the monument - and there was talk of it being ready for Olympic Year in 2012. I can`t see it happening myself and if it`s true that countless visitors coming to these shores for the Olympics are likely to want to see Stonehenge, then unless something drastic is done to improve the facilities for them, then we are going to be severely embarrassed by what they find. I think I`m going to have to find another pit stop next time we head west.

MET OFFICE WEATHER WARNING?

This inviting big beach is just one of many we`ll be visiting next week. We set off early(ish) tomorrow morning for the 340 miles drive down to Carbis Bay in far west Cornwall. We`ll be staying in a lovely bungalow overlooking another big beach with distant views of Godrevy lighthouse.

I just hope the weather isn`t too bad. After all, the year is drifting into Autumn now and I don`t mind it being a bit chilly - bracing even - for I love nothing better than to be on a big beach with the sound of the surf, the wind in my face and a vast Cornish sky overhead. They`ve had a series of Met Office weather warnings down there of late - maybe they have blown themselves out by now and we can get some serious coast path walking in. Another holiday for Barney the Retriever - ten months old and already a seasoned traveller.

A good friend of mine, one Wurzel, has a blog which there`s a link to down the page a bit and on the right (see `Blog List`.) He and his family were down that way last weekend and he managed to post something on his blog from his mobile phone while he was down there. I do apologise, dear reader, but I`m afraid mobile phones are quite beyond me and long distance blogging is a big no-no. Anyway, I think Wurzel`s just being a bit flash. See you in a week or so.

AN UNFORTUNATE SILENCE..

It sounds like a real tangled web, the Lockerbie bomber release business. Did Gordon Brown say one thing to Libya and something else to Obama? What were the real motives behind the early release of Abdel Baset al-Megrahi ? Was it simple comapssion, even if misplaced, or was there far more to it? Someone must know and the one person who should know is saying nothing. Well, almost nothing.

Yesterday, in a coreographed announcement about phantom jobs for 85,000 unemployed young people, which smacked more of spin than reality, our Prime Minister issued a series of denials - no oil deal with Libya, no double dealing, no influence brought to bear, nothing to do with me as it was a matter for the Scottish Parliament, not Westminster. In fact, no hint at all of what Gordon Brown thought of the release which is puzzling, especially if, as he says, he had nothing to do with it.

One thing we do need is leadership, clearly stated views and opinions so we know where we stand, who we are dealing with and who speaks on our behalf. Brown has become adept at giving his opinions on everything from the Ashes victory to Jade Goody`s farewell. But of Lockerbie, Megrahi and all that, not a word, so small wonder that people are thinking the worst. We don`t know what he thinks, so we are left to form our own conclusions.

I`m afraid mine is that I find it increasingly difficult to believe anything that Brown says and it has reached the point whereby I don`t even believe the silence any more. I suspect I am not alone.

CHEERS...

It`s a curious day the first day of September. Summer seems to be on the wane, despite which we are optimistically setting off to Cornwall for a week on Saturday. At midnight last night, the duty on fuel went up by 2.3p a litre in line with the Government`s policy of sticking it up every few months under the guise of saving the planet. It doesn`t work, of course, but it does provide the Exchequer with yet more of our money for them to squander on meaningless stunts.

And one of the more meaningless ones was the introduction today of the Drinking Banning Orders - the Booze Asbos - by which local councils can apply for the Orders to be imposed on anyone over the age of 16 who is caught causing a nuisance in a public place as a result of being drunk. Or words to that effect.

Now I read the other day that there has been serious academic research carried out into the reasons why Britain seems to have more cases of drunken behaviour than most other countries. The conclusion was that people drink because they are unhappy; full of frustrations about all kinds of things and so they turn to drink as a means of escaping the reality of life. Not surprising really, as there is much to be disenchanted with in New Labour`s Britain which shows all the classic symptoms of a failed society in the aftermath of a lost empire.

There are simply too many examples of that failure to list them all here but they would include illegal wars, recession, unemployment, political sleaze, spin and deceit, dumbed down education system, the surveillance society, sneaky backdoor tax hikes (fuel, etc.,) the invasion of our traditional values and way of life, unfettered immigration, the benefits culture and more and more the imposition of rules by the remote, self-serving EU (as witnessed today by the introduction of a mad rule by which people can be prosecuted and fined for buying traditional 100 watt light bulbs.)

And so I am forced to conclude that it`s really the Government that needs the ASBO for all the damage it has done and continues to do to the country`s reputation and way of life, especially today of all days, when summer is on the wane and a gloomy winter lies ahead. I could go on, but you get my drift....and I could write more, but I`m off down the pub. Cheers.

STILL RADIO GA-GA

This evening in a fit of desperation brought about by Saints conceding a 93rd minute penalty to snatch a draw from the jaws of victory at Stockport, I bundled Barney into the boot of the car and took him for a long walk in the Kent countryside. Now I haven`t yet managed to sort out the new car`s radio, but I have managed to find two stations - the one that provides Test Match Special and the other one is BBC Radio Five Live.

There is no Test Match on at the moment, so I opted for Five Live and came across a programme called 606, as that is the frequency it broadcasts on. It`s a football phone-in programme, which I may have grumbled about before. It`s `hosted` either by someone with the unlikely name of Spoony or by the BBC`s football commentator, Alan Green. Now Mr. Green has something of a reputation for upsetting people - `Big` Sam Allardyce, Everton`s David Moyes and `Sir` Alex Ferguson, to name but a few. I would normally be on the side of someone able to upset at least two of the above (I have a little time for Mr. Moyes) but I`m afraid I find Alan Green to be even more objectionable, which is really saying something.

His problem is that not only is he never wrong but also he is insultingly intolerant of people who have opinions different to his own. This is a phone-in programme, which survives on the fact that people are encouraged to phone in with their opinions about football matters of the day. This evening, an inoffensive sounding `punter` rang in to suggest that Wayne Rooney had dived to win a penalty for Manchester United - maybe not the most accurate claim I`ve ever heard, but an honest opinion nevertheless, which the gentleman concerned was entitled to have. Green went ballistic, shouting down the microphone, lambasting the caller and very rudely cutting him off before even a semblance of measured debate could take place.

If I had been the wounded caller, I might have issued a formal complaint, withheld my licence fee, called the Samaritans even, for it is not Green`s place to behave in such a way towards those who have no choice but to pay his doubtless inflated wages. So in future, I`ll tune in to Test Match Special, even if there`s no Test Match to listen to, or even tune in to the aforementioned Mr. Spoony, because anything will be better than the shrill ranting of Green and his Radio Ga-Ga. Oh, and by the way, Saints are now only minus seven points at the bottom of Division Three. Maybe I`ll feel better in the morning.

HARD GRAFT

So far I have refrained from commenting on the England cricket team`s Ashes win over the Australians last weekend, partly because I have been `otherwise engaged` but also out of a sense of not wishing to offend the sensitivities of my antipodean correspondent, who I am sure has contracted the parrot sickness just as I have flown over the moon.

So I won`t go on about it. Instead, I just want to mention one particular aspect of the really beautiful game which applies to both teams. It is the sheer commitement that is required to play test cricket. Here we have a game that lasts for five days, each day lasting six hours or for a minimum of 90 overs and for all of that time, the requirement for physical fitness, raw talent, courage, determination and intense concentration is absolute. It`s not an easy game and it sure ain`t quick, unless you discount the split second timing needed to deal with a ball being hurled at you at 90 mph from a distance of 22 yards. Is it still 22 yards - the old `chain` - or has it gone metric yet? Shows you how long since I played the game.

Compare all that with the 90 minutes it takes for a Premiership footballer like, say, Glen Johnson now of Liverpool to `earn` £139,000 a week - allegedly. Okay, he has to be physically fit, talented at what he does, determined and has to concentrate for 90 minutes, but the commitment isn`t in the same league as that needed for test cricket. The cricketers earn their money, but I doubt that many of them earn £139,000 a year just from playing the game. Somehow it just doesn`t seem right, by which I suggest that it`s the madcap parallel universe of football that is out of step rather than the more reasoned arena of professional cricket. Nothing new there then.

But I do wonder how long before the unreal world of Premiership football self destructs, either by spontaneous combustion or by the customers simply having had enough of all the excess and the unfathomable `culture` that now and again shows itself in places like the Boleyn Ground or the New Den on a dark Tuesday evening. If they do, then there is a more beautiful game to be entranced by, where the yakka is hard, the rewards modest, the culture more benign and where it never rains, for if the heavens open, the game simply pauses until the sun shines once more.

SILENCE IS GOLDEN

A few posts ago, I mentioned the press interest in the choice of pies on offer at St. Mary`s Stadium. See "GAME PIE" below. Now I see that the Daily Mail, whilst again devoting ten whole pages to last weekend`s Premiership matches, nevertheless found space to include - buried away in a corner of page 74 of Mondays edition - the following snippet:-

Gate of the Day
"Nine points adrift at the foot of League One, two points from four games, yet still the Southampton faithful turn up in droves - 19,169 saw the 1-1 draw with Brentford, more than at five Championship grounds this weekend."

It is truly refreshing to see not one jot of interest in how the team are doing, which is just as well, for in our now five competitive games so far this season, we have drawn two and lost the other three, the last being a Carling Cup encounter on Tuesday evening, when we narrowly lost 2-1 to Premiership side Birmingham City. The press might have mentioned that our attendance for that game was close on 12,000 - second only to the attendance at the West Ham-Millwall skirmish. Never mind, we can now concentrate on the Johnstone`s Paint Trophy, which we might well exit quietly too.

For all of that, there is a feeling among the faithful that the departure of Rupert Lowe and his regime, the emergence of Markus Liebherr as our new owner, the consequent absence of debt and the establishment of financial stability, the appointment of a new management team, the signing of a few decent players and - most tellingly - the absence of any expectation except that we might just avoid relegation again, have all conspired to make the tribal gatherings at St. Mary`s a more satisfying `matchday experience` than has been the case for the past five years.

And all conducted in a blaze of indifference as far as the press are concerned, with the unlikely exception of commenting on our pies and our attendances. The sound of silence is more than welcome, especially as we have a club to support again, rather than a business to patronise. The language and the landscape have most decidedly changed for the better.

DANCING IN THE STREET...

We`re dancing in our street this morning as near neighbour Scott Wagstaff has scored his first senior goal for Charlton in their 2-0 win over Walsall yesterday. He has been with Charlton since he was about nine years old and has risen through their Academy, youth team and reserves until finally, at just 19, getting his chance in the first team.

Yesterday, he came on as a substitute in the second half and scored after just four minutes of being on the pitch. He outpaced the Walsall defence to latch on to a through ball before scoring in the left hand corner of the net with a measured finish that left the visiting custodian beaten despite a despairing dive to prevent the goal.

This morning, the Wagstaff household and most of their neighbours - even those like me who follow the fortunes of a different team - are playing re-runs of the recorded moment when Scott scored and snapping up the Sunday newspapers to see what they have had to say (the report in the Mail on Sunday is especially complimentary and includes a nice photo of Scott`s magic moment.) We are all so pleased for him and his family and hope that he will now gain confidence and go on to a long and happy career in a difficult and testing profession. Just hope he doesn`t score against the Saints or there will be trouble.

BELLS AND WHISTLES...

I took delivery of a new car about three weeks ago. It`s fine. I like it very much. It`s a Nissan Qashquai N-tec, 2.0 litre, petrol, manual - all the stuff I`ve been used to driving for about 50 years. It`s very comfortable, has a nice high seating position, a nice glass roof with a kind of blind that covers it up if it gets too hot. It`s got a good radio, cd player, aircon, no less than six gears and a nice big boot for Barney top make himself comfortable. Feel a `but` coming on?

But, it`s got a lot of bells and whistles. An MP3 thingy, bluetooth whatsit, i pod something or other and a satnav! Now I have absolutely no need for the bluetooth, the i pod thing or the MP3, whatever that may be but I thought the satnav might be `interesting,` so on recent trips, I thought I would check it out and see how it worked. I thought it might have been especially useful on our journey to and from yesterday`s family wedding in Richmond, where our middle son, Kevin, was finally and enchantingly wedded to the lovely Claudine. More on that story in a later edition, however.

Back to the satnav. We had to make the journey from here in Kent up to Richmond. Now, normally I would have a look at a map, jot down the roads to follow and more often than not, get there without too much problem. But we punched the route into the satnav and tried to rely on the lilting tones of `Jane` to see us safely there. To be fair, we were held up by the closure of the M26 due to a bad accident, giving rise to a longish detour and some more delays on the M25 which seemed to throw Jane off course. She constantly urged me to make u-turns, come off at Motorway exits only to go back on again and suggest that I should go down routes I didn`t want to go down.

I`m sure she was trying to be helpful and efficient, but so far at least I haven`t grown enough in confidence with her and I`m pretty sure she feels the same way about me. I sense the early stages of an interesting relationship developing here, a power battle emerging and a grim determination to be proved right. But today I found my way home alright without any help from her, thank you very much. Fifteen all in the opening set at the moment.

BARBECUE ANYONE ?

The tension is rising in chez Snopper as the BIG DAY is now only 48 hours away. Middle son`s marriage on Friday promises to be a glamourous occasion with plenty of his show-biz friends expected to turn up for the evening reception. Yesterday I had my hair styled by the indomitable Chris of Larkfield, who said I should just have it `sharpened up a bit,` so it has been. I`m not quite sure what the coreography for Friday might be, so I`ll just go with the flow and hope that`s ok. What troubles me slightly, however, are the `catering` arrangements.

Now, as you may recall, I enjoy plain food - nothing fancy, nothing `messed about with` and most definitely nothing foreign. So it`s with some trepidation that I notice the introduction of a barbecue after the wedding ceremony. The hotel have produced a barbecue menu, which might turn out to be a bit fancy, a bit `messed about with` and possibly a bit foreign. They are quoting £56 a head for said barbecue - I might leave a note in the `comments book` to invite them to rearrange the words `off` and `rip,` but I suppose I had better wait and see how it turns out.

Also, it seems that no breakfast is provided for those, like us, who are staying at the hotel overnight. Breakfast is extra - anything up to about £20 a head - so I may be forced into an alternative strategy, which could consist of taking some barbecue avoiding sandwiches in my Oxo tin, along with one of those small packets of cereals you can get, a small flask of milk, some sugar, a bowl and spoon and a can of coke.

Of course, for middle son and his betrothed, I`m sure it will be a day to remember, with everything going as they would wish. So in all the mayhem and merriment I doubt for one moment that an elderly gentleman with a sharpened up haircut sneaking off for the occasional nibble will even be noticed.

IF ONLY I COULD...

As the death toll among our brave forces in Afghanistan now reaches 204 and the number of injured and wounded doubles in a month, questions are naturally being asked about our continued presence there and, indeed, what we are doing there anyway.

I suppose there was a time when people accepted that armed conflict was unavoidable against a clearly identifiable threat, most tellingly the threat of invasion. I could have believed the threat posed by Hitler and so I would have believed the words of the politicians at the time. I`m not at all sure about the present situation we face in Afghanistan though. Maybe my caution is encouraged by the outrageous war in Iraq, which we should never have been involved with but were condemned to as a result of duplicitous politicians.

And now we are told by our Prime Minister that it is essential for us to be waging the war in Afghanistan to keep terrorism off the streets of Britain. This from someone who was unelected by his own party, unelected by the people of this country, refused to have a General Election because he was sure he would win it, refused to honour the manifesto pledge to hold a referendum on the EU Constitution and brought the equally unelected Peter Mandelson back from the dead to lord it over us. You see, I`m not at all sure I can believe anything Gordon Brown ever says.

And the retiring head of the armed services, General Sir Richard Dannatt, also repeats the mantra about the need for us to be involved in Afghanistan. Now, I`ve a lot of time for him. He seems like a pretty straight sort of guy, but I can`t escape the feeling that what he is saying is the result of `pressure` brought to bear on him by Downing Street. It won`t be the first tiem. Lord West anyone? And how can anyone possibly be convinced by Bob Ainsworth playing the leading role in the Ministry of Defence?

I think it was Kenneth Clark in his `Civilisation` book who said, "If I had to say which was telling the truth about society, a speech by a Minister of Housing or the actual houses put up in his time, I should believe the houses." I know what he means now. However much I admire the heroics of our armed services - and I do so unreservedly - there is still something which fails to convince me that we should be there at all. And I suspect that we are there because the Americans are there - Iraq all over again - and that of itself is not a good enough reason either for the sacrifices already made or for the mantra which seeks to keep us there. If only I could believe what the politicians are telling me, but as I remain unconvinced, I will carry on believing in the lions fighting in the real world rather than the donkeys in a make believe world of their very own.

GAME PIE...

Just to prove my point about the comfort zone provided by the press ignoring the fortunes of Southampton FC, today`s Daily Mail has no less than ten full pages devoted to the Premiership. However, buried away in the bottom right hand corner of page 69 comes the news that "there are three types of pie at St. Mary`s, always a good start. Both the chicken balti and steak and kidney pies manage to hold their own, though they`re not Premier League. But if you`re faced with a choice, take the chicken."

Very comforting indeed to see the complete absence of any mention of our 3-1 drubbing away at Huddersfield. And these days, we can also find comfort in our cordon noir pies as we suffer silently in a blaze of media indifference.

OH, DEAR

Saints` new manager, Alan Pardew, looked distinctly grumpy as he prowled the sidelines at Huddersfield`s Galpharm Stadium yesterday. The home team were simply too good, too strong, too powerful for a Saints team yet to come to terms with so many things, not least learning quickly from the 3-1 hammering which saw us remain firmly rooted at the bottom of League One (really Division 3) and still anchored on minus nine points.

I had hoped for a more encouraging result in the depths of Yorkshire, where I wrongly assumed that the locals would be more concerned with whippet racing and pigeon fancying than growling encouragement to their football team. Wrong again, for Saints` shortcomings were cruelly exposed. Pardew`s response has been to call them in for extra training today in the build up to Tuesday evening`s encounter with the Robins of Swindon Town.

After only two league games, it is already perfectly clear that if, in 44 games time, we find ourselves buried in mid table obscurity, then that will represent a job well done. Another `nice thing` about being in the lower leagues is the almost total absence of any media interest in our progress or lack of it. So, we can accept defeat these days knowing that it truly is not the end of the world and that, mercifully, hardly anyone else knows about it or cares. I`ve always known there`s something to be said for mediocrity....and I should know!

SEEING THE WORLD

My picture shows local hero Scott Wagstaff being unceremoniously `tackled` by Southampton`s Jack Saville in a recent encounter between the Saints and Charlton, for whom Scott plays. Scott lives just a few doors down the road from us so it`s natural that not only his family but also the entire street are following his progress as he seeks to make his way in the uncompromising world of professional football.

And this week has been a difficult one for him....and it ain`t going to get a whole lot better. On Tuesday evening, Charlton made the long trip to Hereford to play in a Carling Cup First Round tie. Sadly for them, Charlton lost 1-0 in extra time, which I imagine gave rise to a long time in the Edgar Street dressing room after the game as Charlton manager Phil Parkinson carried out his post mortem. I`m told Scott eventually made it back home here at 4.20am on Wednesday morning. Wednesday was a day off, but he was back training yesterday and this morning boarded the coach with his team mates for the even longer journey to Hartlepool, who they play in a League One fixture tomorrow. I shudder to think what time they will get back from there but I`m sure we will be well into Sunday.

So it`s not easy being a young man in a fiercely competitive profession, especially in the `lower leagues,` where the excesses of wealth, fame and fortune of the Premiership must seem like a distant dream. The Premiership starts again tomorrow and I am going to make a determined effort to avoid it. There is so much of it which is distasteful. Not just the greed, the exceesses and the arrogance, but also the fact that there are far too many foreign mercenaries turning out for teams and that there are still `personalities` like Ferguson, Alladyce and `Arry Redknapp behaving as if they were at all important. Sky`s coverage continues to be graced by the awful Andy Gray, whose main contribution appears to be "I have to say," when all the time he doesn`t have to at all.

I`m more convinced than ever that `proper` football is played in the lower leagues, where ambition, effort and determination are tempered by moderate rewards. Maybe Scott is better off plying his trade at Hereford, Hartlepool and other provincial outposts. At least he`ll enjoy his football and see something of the world......even if it is Hartlepool.

FINGER AT THE READY

This time next week we will be on our way to Richmond for the wedding of our middle son, Kevin, (43!) and the lovely Claudine. Of course, there is much to think about and much to do but already I have made some excellent progress with my advance preparations.

I have bought a smart new shirt and a fetching tie, which of itself presents something of a challenge, for ever since I have been retired, I have stopped wearing ties and I just hope I remember how to do them up. On Tuesday (I think) I have an appointment with my stylist, Chris of Larkfield, for my wedding `coiffure.` I have left it for Chris to decide what to do in her quest to equip me with a fitting style for the occasion for, like fashion, hairstyles are something that have passed me by, leaving me with just the gratitude that I have any hair left to style. After that, I should be ready for the big day - chuck a few bits in a bag, head for the hotel and let the event unfold.

For others, however, it is becoming a tad more `challenging.` So many details to be attended to. Not just hairstyles, shirts and ties but whole wardrobes, worries about every detail, concern what others may think and all that. I frankly don`t care what others think any more - there will be people there I have never met before and am very unlikely ever to meet again, so for most it will be little more than a fleeting encounter. Now, all around me I detect a rising tension in the air - a distinct feeling of apprehension - and whilst I`m more than happy to play the part on my son`s big day, I am able to face it as yet another event, special though it is, in life`s rich pageant. These days, I`m happy for others to have their finger on the panic button whilst I sit in my corner and watch it all go by. I think it`s called `comfortably numb.`.

TWILIGHT DAYS

I`ve been retired a few years now and I`m the first to admit to being among the fortunate. I`ll just get the cliches out of the way. I worked my socks off for years, did as well as I think I could for my family and for those who employed me, had many highs, lows and bits in between, enjoyed a lot of what I did, got a lot of satisfaction out of much of it, met some good people who are still friends, but.....when the chance came to retire, I took it with hardly a backward glance.

The initial adjustment from work, pressure, daily challenges, was difficult at first, but time made me realise that there is a life beyond and I`ve found some of it. Nothing too spectacular, just a gradual settling in to a different routine but one which I can dictate rather than having it dictated to for me. Big difference. And it brings a sense of freedom - liberation almost - to go places and do things that suit us. By and large, life is gentle, undemanding, but surprisingly full. Voluntary work, playing golf, following sport, seeing friends, having holidays, blogging, keeping fit and all the things that need doing, ensure that each and every day is different. It`s odd to use the word `holidays` in the context of someone who is retired anyway, so I suppose I mean time away from home in places we enjoy being. Off to Cornwall again next month....but why not? I`ve worked out, I think, that to enjoy retirement, you have to keep the body moving, the mind active and have things to look forward to.

As I say, I am among the fortunate ones and I know it only too well. My body still works, my mind is as inquiring as ever and I have much to look forward to. I suppose my only real regret is that time is passing much too quickly - a good sign of a full and active life, I imagine. The twilight days may at last have arrived, but the sunset can wait a while yet.

There are days when I just despair and today is one of them. Late last night the news broke that the three perpetrators of the brutish treatment leading to the death of baby Peter Connelly can at last be named. After a two year wait, we now know the identities of the pond life (with apologies to amphibians) and the full horrors they inflicted not just on Peter but on others too, including the two brothers` own grandmother, who was violently assaulted so that she would change her will in their favour.

All three are now behind bars, of course, with at least two of them having `indeterminate sentences.` There is the possibility, however remote, that they could be out of jail in a few years, which is leading to the speculation that, if they are, then they will have to be given new identities and given police protection costing taxpayers anything up to £1million a year, and all for their own benefit. There`s a simple solution - don`t ever let them out of jail!

Last night also, there was a Panorama programme about drunken behaviour in Oldham, Lancashire. It seems that in Oldham and countless other towns across the country, each weekend sees a grim determination on the part of hordes of young people to get paralytic on cheap booze and then cause untold mayhem. To be fair to Oldham, they have introduced some (half) measures to try to limit the damage - orderly post office type queues in pubs and bars to order drinks and having a go at supermarkets who sell the stuff on the cheap - but still the mayhem goes on with all the disruption, police and cleaning costs involved.

Now I think it`s the case that the local councils or magistrates have the powers to issue and withdraw licences for the sale of alcohol. The licensed victuallers and the supermarkets won`t like it, of course, but there is a simple solution - stop issuing licences and withdraw the ones that give rise to the problem. All it needs is a bit of courage.

CONSOLATION...

I`ve got quite a collection of books about cricket. I won`t list them all here but they include the collected works of John Arlott; Ronald Mason`s `Ashes in the Mouth,` which chronicles the 1932-33 Bodyline series; David Foot`s excellent biography of Harold Gimblett; histories of Hampshire, Somerset and Glamorgan; numerous Wisdens including Benny Green`s Wisden Anthologies and David Frith`s `Silence of the Heart,` which details the alarming number of cricketers who have died by their own hand. You get the picture - I love the game, always have , always will, but not just for the game itself. For it also provides a rich heritage of literature which in its depth and quality is unsurpassed by any other sport.

Last week, I spent a lost couple of hours in Waterstones bookshop in Bluewater. Amongst the kind gifts I received for my 70th birthday was a generous Waterstones voucher and I searched the shop for something I would really enjoy. I tried all the sections - fiction, travel, history, humour and then sport. The shelves were pretty much stacked with books about football, mainly it seemed the `autobiographies` of assorted poseurs whose lives have little to commend them unless one is impressed by shallow excess. Golf was well represented and also rugby, but it was the stock of cricket books that held my attention. And there were a lot to choose from. I boiled it down to two - Duncan Hamilton`s authorised biography of Harold Larwood and Stephen Chalke`s `The Way it Was` - `glimpses of English cricket`s past.` I couldn`t decide between the two, so I used my voucher for one and put my hand in my own pocket for the other.

Now earlier this afternoon, England were comprehensively stuffed by Australia in the fourth Ashes Test of the current series. Never mind, for the series is nicely poised at 1-1. There is still one final Test to be played and anything can happen at the Oval. (That`s the spirit.) But whatever happens, there will always be the consolation of the richness of cricket literature, where one can look back on triumphs and disasters, characters and personalites, genius and mediocrity all in equal proportion. And all written with a love and feeling for a game which is not just a game, but more a way of life. Especially if you`re English and you`ve just been stuffed. Again.

SMALL EXPECTATIONS

Unlikely though it may seem, the football season kicks off on Saturday. I feel I should be going to see Southampton`s first game at home to Millwall, but a couple of things put me off. It`s still the height of summer and today is one of the hottest days we`ve had for weeks and on Saturday the traffic going down to the south coast will be awful. It has taken me anything up to four hours to get to Southampton during August and so I`m not sure I will make the early 12.45pm start. In any case, the game is being televised by Sky, which is not always a good thing. It seems each time we are live on Sky we underperform. In fact, the last time I can recall a win on Sky was when we beat Spurs 4-0 in the early rounds of the FA Cup in the year we went on to the final at Cardiff.

Having staved off receivership, thanks to the club being bought by Swiss billionaire Markus Liebherr, Alan Pardew (pictured) has been appointed to manage the team, which might account for his worried expression. He has a good track record as a player and manager and he should have enough experience to haul us up to mid table obscurity as we have to start the season minus ten points, thanks to going into administration a few months ago.

Now normally, at the start of any season, there are expectations of success, promotion, winning the league and any other fantasy you care to mention. This season, however, things are different. We have reached the low point - bottom of the third tier of English football for the first time in 60 years - but there are no expectations of a rapid climb back to the higher echelons we enjoyed for three decades. Instead, there is a realisation that our recovery needs to be surefooted, step by step, so as to consolidate our position in this league as the first priority. Careful planning, shrewd investment and patient progress is what the fans expect, nothing more, as we rejoice in the fact that we still have a club to support.

I have pencilled in 19th September for my first visit to St. Mary`s this season (we have a hectic schedule of weddings, holidays and the like in the next few weeks) when the visitors will be Yeovil Town and I`m looking forward to being able to simply enjoy the experience once more, rather than being stressed about the outcome. After all, if The Times prediction is that we finish 15th, then there`s nothing to worry about. Is there?

I SOMETIMES WONDER...

It was reported recently that two policemen from Southampton have become the country's first gay couple to father a child.

PC Ivan Sigston and special constable Steven Ponder have had a son named William thanks to Steven's sister Lorna Bradley, who acted as surrogate mother for the pair. It is believed the birth makes them the first gay couple in Britain to father a baby.

Mr Sigston, 48, provided the sperm but did not put himself down as the father, meaning he and Mr Ponder, 28, must formally and legally adopt William.

A spokesman for Surrogacy UK commented: "We wish this couple all the best, but under the law it is not a proper surrogacy arrangement. That involves the couple applying for a parental order within six months of the child's birth. At present, same-sex couples cannot apply for a parental order but have to go through the adoption process. As only Lorna's name is on the birth certificate, she is William's legal guardian."

It also emerged that the happy couple were, in fact, in `civil partnerships` with two other men and as I am not au fait with the law relating to getting out of - never mind getting into - civil partnerships, I can only assume that yet another legal complication has yet to be overcome in William`s fledgling life.

At the risk of compromising `human rights` in our modern day me-me society and being ever in fear of yet another knock on my door, I will simply say that I do sometimes wonder whether I am in the wrong world at the wrong time. So I will leave any comment to the Simpsons who, in the picture above, have probably asked the most important question in all of this.

A LITTLE KNOWN FACT...

Like everyone else with any knowledge of or interest in the world of football, I was saddened by the loss of Sir Bobby Robson yesterday, following his long battle with cancer.

It might seem churlish of me not to embark on a heartfelt tribute to a good man, but so much has already been written and said about his qualities as a player, a manager and, most importantly, as a man, that there is nothing more I can add.

Except, perhaps, to mention a little known fact about the great man. From 1946 to 1949, my club Southampton FC was managed by Bill Dodgin, like Robson a native of the north-east. In 1949, Bobby Robson signed for Southampton as a 16-year old amateur and when Dodgin left to manage Fulham, Robson went with him to embark on a hugely successful career in the professional game.

I`m truly sorry that football has lost one of the few remaining real gentlemen left in the game but proud to know that, even for a fleeting while, he was associated with at least the earthly Saints.

A JOURNEY OF DISCOVERY...

No wonder Barney looks puzzled. So far in his nine months, he`s had a bit of a sheltered life - local walks, local woods and orchards, that kind of thing - but last week opened his eyes to the fact that there is a world beyond the confines of our Kent village.

It was his first long drive in the car - 240 miles - but despite a couple of `comfort` stops at Stonehenge and somewhere in Somerset, Barney travelled very well. When we arrived at our holiday cottage, he settled in quickly and enjoyed the new sniffs on offer in their local woods.

We took him everywhere with us, of course - the picture shows him on the beach at Woolacombe. We went to places like Clovelly that were crowded with people and we even took Barney on the cliff lift which ascends the 901 feet from Lynmouth up to Lynton, none of which seemed to faze Barney at all. So, we now know that he`s a good traveller and that he adapts well to new surroundings and experiences. All good news for Barney and for us. It`s just like having kids again!

EVERY NOW AND THEN....

Three times last week, we made the journey to Crow Point, where Braunton Burrows meet the sea at the Torridge estuary with the wonderful village of Appledore on the opposite shore.

Why three times? Well, apart from being one of our favourite places, it`s also very remote. You can only get to it via a toll road (cars £1.50) which is about two miles long and leads to a small car park. The toll road is maintained by the Braunton Marsh Inspectors, who do a good job of looking after a rich expanse of important natural heritage. But the other reason to go there is that you can walk along the beach right to where it turns a corner and starts to become Saunton sands.

There is seldom anyone else there, even in the holiday season, so it was just us, Barney, the sea, the sand, the wind and the endless sky. Almost a feeling of being at one with the forces of nature and a stark reminder of man`s insignificance in the great scheme of things. I don`t know about you, but now and again I get the urge to be at places like that, far away from the maddening crowd and to remind myself just what a wonderful and powerful world it is without the trappings of modern day life. Sometimes it`s good to get away from it all and there is so much these days to get away from. I just hope that places like Crow Point will be preserved as they are, so that every now and then hopeless romantics like me can escape from our version of reality to where the true reality can still be found.

There are, in life, so many things which annoy. This morning, having been away for a week, we had to go shopping to replenish our supplies. Now, I don`t know whether it has anything to do with where we live but I encountered a prime example of the annoying thing.

Now, it being late July and therefore the peak of the holiday season, it was raining again and not too warm either. However, some people had clearly been on their own holidays, because, despite the weather, I saw at least three middle aged men dressed in shorts and tee shirts and sporting a tan (fake or otherwise) with the obvious intention of alerting everyone else to the fact. "Look at me," they silently cried, "I`ve just come back from holiday and don`t I look splendid with my tanned legs and my holiday clothes?"

No, actually, you are very annoying, you look like a complete twonk and at your age you should know better.

Another of today`s annoyances is the mobile phone. I bought mine a few months ago for £9.73 and I have used it about twice. But far from decrying their usefulness, courtesy of the so-called `celebrities,` a whole new purpose for the mobile phone has emerged - the art of clasping the phone to your ear as you hurry through the arrival lounge so as to give the impression that you are holding an important conversation with someone just as important as you. When all the time, there is no conversation actually taking place and so the clasped phone becomes simply a device to feign being `otherwise engaged` rather than have to face the people, the press and whoever else might find your presence interesting. John Terry was the most recent example of those using this device. They fool no-one, of course, except themselves. It must be very annoying for them.

UP-ALONG AND DOWN-ALONG

Thirty five years ago, we were staying in a caravan at Croyde Bay in Devon for a two-week summer holiday. In those days, our three boys wanted nothing more than to be on the beach with their surf boards, sun cream and plenty to eat and drink. Not sure too much has changed to be honest. However, Mrs. Snopper and I thought it would be a nice change to get away from the beach one evening and make a visit to Clovelly on the north Devon coast, not too far from where we were staying. We suggested it to the boys, who weren`t interested, so we took the gamble and left them to their own devices and off we went. It was the sort of thing you could do in those days - so different to the ultra-protective childhood of today.

That evening all those years ago, we parked for free in a nearby field and strolled up and down Clovelly`s one street and almost had the place to ourselves. Last week, during our stay in Devon, we went back to Clovelly again. Oh, how the years have changed things. Not the village itself, which is almost preserved in amber so nothing changes there; but the car park is now huge, there`s a big all-singing, all-dancing `visitor centre` and you have to pay a £5.50 entrance charge to get in to the village itself. Rampant commercialism must have arrived some time during the 35 years and I suppose I don`t really mind, for it is a unique place which needs to be preserved and if the commercial side of things helps to keep the amber coming, then fair enough.

We were pleased with our ability to make the long descent down to the quay at the bottom of the hill and to manage the climb back up again. The one street is called Down-along as you go down and Up-along as you climb back up. It kind of reminded me of the Woolston Ferry Song about the chain ferry - the floating bridge - that used to ply on steel hawsers between Southampton and its Woolston suburb the other side of the River Itchen. "When I sing of its construction, you`ll be surprised to learn. That the bow going one way, coming back becomes the stern."

For much more on Clovelly, please see http://www.devon-online.com/towns/clovelly/ .

ONE OF THOSE DAYS....

It seems as if today is indeed one of those days. First, a leak from the bathroom has found its way through the brickwork, down through the floor and has been depositing water into the garage. OK, it can be fixed, but it means the bathroom is out of commission for a day or two.

Then Mrs. Snopper has lost her digital camera, she knows not where and we`ve searched high and low but to no avail. Then we went shopping in Tesco`s who had kindly given us a £5 off voucher but when we got to the checkout, we couldn`t find the voucher.

So, can it get any worse? You bet. I see today that Tony Blair has been nominated as the UK`s official candidate for the Presidency of Europe. No-one asked me what I thought and it seems no-one even considered whether there are more `suitable` candidates. Someone like Joanna Lumley would do nicely - she`d certainly find favour with the Italian vote.

So why Blair? For it seems his candidancy was announced in Strasbourg yesterday by the unelected peeress Baroness Glenys Kinnock rather than even being sanctioned by Parliament, never mind the rest of us. I`m holding on to the slim hope that the Presidency of Europe can`t come into being unless and until all 27 countries sign up to the EU Constitution - sorry, the Lisbon Treaty. On that score, we in the UK have been denied the referendum we were unequivocally promised in Labour`s last manifesto by unelected Prime Minister Gordon Bennett; Ireland have to vote again in October following their first `NO` vote and the Czech Republic still has to ratify it too.

I imagine Ireland are being promised so many concessions if they vote `YES` this time that they will find it hard to resist and as for the Czechs, their Prime Minister might be waivering under the strain of the pressure being heaped upon him. I think the only respite from all this gloom will be to get away for a week in glorious Devon. So that`s what we`ll be doing early on Saturday morning.

When we get back, the bathroom might be useable again, Mrs. Snopper`s camera may have been recovered and I think we`ll do our shopping somewhere else anyway. But I just know that the undemocratic, interfering, grandiose, self-serving farce that is the EU will have carried on doing what it wants to do with our money and the unelected, grandstanding, self-serving poseur that is Tony Blair will have carried on smiling his way from one calamity to the next. Perhaps, after all, Blair and the EU were made for each other. See you in a week or so.

DREAM ON...

From our golf correspondent

On Thursday, the Open Golf Championship gets under weigh at the famous links course at Turnberry in Scotland. The world`s finest golfers will be assembled to compete for the most prestigious trophy in the game - the Claret Jug. It may not be the richest prize in terms of hard cash, but in status and prestige, it is unequalled in the history of the Royal and Ancient game.

No-one knows who will be in contention let alone win the tournament, but one player who will most definitely not be there is our old friend Snopper, who has had a mixed season so far and continues to play consistently at a level which makes it impossible for him to enter any kind of competitive tournament, especially those where rules have to be obeyed, conventions respected and where there is no room for `improvisation` or creative accounting.

Now, none of those impediments will prevent Snopper from taking a keen interest in events in that Caledonian seaside golfing paradise. He will be glued to the television and the car radio as he drives down to Devon on Saturday for yet another break from his hurly-burly life. But he watches and listens not for the excellence of the play on offer, from which he could learn so much. No, our hero, who reaches his three score years and ten as The Open reaches its climax, watches and listens for the hooks, the shanks, the missed putts and the drives that go out of bounds or, better still, find the water that adjoins much of the course.

You see, Snopper thrives on inadequacy, on embarrassment even, for such spectacles at such a prestigious event merely serve to make him feel better about his own quite dreadful game. And so, far from dreaming of ever playing in such an event, he comes to terms once more with the undeniable truth about his own golfing `talent.` But I suspect he might just `enjoy` his game a little more than those professionals who may see it as just a job - another day at the office - and who may sometimes wish that their own approach could be as free and, indeed, as carefree as that far off elderly inadequate living in his own private make believe golfing world.

A SMALL TOWN IN WILTSHIRE..

There`s something very military about the county of Wiltshire. Salisbury Plain, wide open spaces, tank training, gunnery ranges, Devizes, Tidworth Garrison and.....Wootton Bassett. It lies close by to RAF Lyneham where the fallen from Iraq and Afghanistan have arrived all too frequently, to be taken by cortege to the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford and to await the Coroner.

If there had been enough funds to build a by-pass for the town, then the cortege bearing the coffins of our war dead might not have to pass through Wootton Bassett`s charming, ancient High Street. As it is, each time another plane lands at Lyneham with its sad and wasted complement, a ceremony of thanksgiving, pride and regret unfolds.

The ceremony that has grown up in Wootton Bassett is as simple and moving as the coffins themselves, wrapped only in the Union flag. As the hearses approach, the tenor bell of St Bartholomew's Church begins to toll. Business stops while shoppers and shopkeepers join the crowds lining the pavement. When the cortege reaches the war memorial, the president of the British Legion says a single word – "Up" – to mark the moment when ex- and serving members of the forces should begin their salute. "Down," he says 60 seconds later, as the hearses move on. And once more, slowly and quietly, Wootton Bassett goes back to its business, having paid its respects and given its time quite spontaneously and genuinely to those who have been lost and to the friends and families who grieve.

Now, the loss of our servicemen is acknowledged in Parliament by the Prime Minister and other leading poloticians at the start of Prime Minister`s Questions each Wednesday. But after those fleeting sombre moments , the hurly-burly yahboo Westminster vaudeville takes over and with it the dignity and poignancy are gone. With Parliament about to shut down for three months or so, even that opportunity will be denied.

And so the value of the small town of Wootton Bassett becomes even more important as its townspeople continue to observe their own ceremony. It`s a long way from Westminster in so many ways. In continuing its own heartfelt and heart rending twice weekly homage to our fallen heroes, Wootton Bassett has become the true conscience of the nation.

I`m reminded of Neil Finn`s lyrics for the Crowded House song `Don`t Dream it`s Over`:-

"In the paper today, tales of war and of waste

But you turn right over to the TV page."

I can`t see the good folk of that small town in Wiltshire ever being so easily distracted.

SWISS ROLL IN TO SAVE SAINTS...

At long last it seems the corner has finally been turned. After years of decline and fall, the slings and arrows of outrageous management, the ignomony of relegation after relegation, the imposition of a ten points penalty for going into administration and a narrow squeak with liquidation, my football club has been saved from the brink of extinction.

The gentleman responsible is Markus Liebherr, pictured right. He may bear an uncanny resemblance to James Bond`s arch enemy, Blofeld, but he is, however, of a more avuncular disposition. A hugely successful billionaire Swiss businessman who is much taken with the city of Southampton and its football club. The Administrator, Mark Fry, yesterday explained why he was so keen on purchasing the club. "Markus Liebherr was attracted to Southampton by a number of qualities which include the club's rich sporting heritage, loyal fan base, first-class stadium and training facilities and the potential for the Saints to regain their rightful place in the higher echelons of English football." I believe Herr Liebherr is also a deeply religious man and was impressed by the fact that Saints originated from the boys club founded at St. Mary`s Church 124 years ago, which is why the club is called `The Saints` and why the stadium is called St. Mary`s.

So, good news at last. But it would be wrong to imagine that we will automatically climb quickly back to the Championship, never mind the Premiership, where we resided for 27 years. Our new owner may have £2.5 billion in the bank which might make him the fourth richest owner in English football but he seems intent on building steadily and sensibly. I`m happy with that. We need to get it right rather than get it soon and above all we need stability and consolidation, along with a healthy dose of patience. And we need to regain our reputation as a family friendly club who conduct themselves with dignity both on and off the field of play, for the age of Dennis Wise and Rupert Lowe is now finally over.

I don`t expect us to turn into Manchester United or Chelsea or Manchester City even if we may have the resources to do so. In fact, I don`t want to be like them with all the excess and distaste that surrounds them. I will be content to have a decent club, run by decent people doing decent things and be content for our rightful place to be found once more. Wherever that turns out to be and however long it takes.

DIFFERENT STROKES...

The phrase means, of course, that different people do things in different ways that suit them. And never was it better illustrated than on Sunday, when we were invited to an event at the Duke of Wellington in the village of Ryarsh not far from where we live. It`s a good old fashioned village pub which, as you can see from the picture, was built around a quarter past three one afternoon. The event was to celebrate the 70th birthday of my brother-in-law, who thought it would be a good idea to gather as many of the family together, so that long lost cousins could meet long lost cousins and generally invite people from both `sides` of his family who might not even have met before.

It was a very successful and enjoyable occasion. There were people I didn`t know and others who I hadn`t seen for years so we were all grateful not only for the invitations but also for the chance to get together. But it got me thinking about the different way in which I will be marking my own 70th birthday in a couple of weeks. Now, I don`t like surprises and I don`t like `fuss,` so I decided the best thing to do would be to be anywhere else but at home and `available` on that day.

The result is that we will be in a remote corner of Devon, far from civilisation, with only the surrounding countryside of Tarka the Otter and the nearby coastline to while the week away. It suits me to do things quietly....and I`ve been thinking about what becoming 70 means for me. It`s the biblical end of the line, of course, the stargate to dotage and so the prospect of advancing years does not sit happily on my pretend 39-year old shoulders or with my continuing mental age of twelve.

There is the odd compensation along the way - I believe that once the age of 70 is reached then you will no longer be called upon for jury service. Whilst that may appear to be an overtly ageist decree, I think it will come as a relief to me and an even bigger relief for the justice system in this country. That apart, I confess that I can see little to celebrate in reaching this particular milestone. And so I will spend it in quiet contemplation, giving thanks for the years I`ve had and hoping like crazy that there are many more to come. I guess my strokes are just different.

A HIT AND MISS WEEK...

The hit of last week was undoubtedly my visit to Southampton University with eldest son, David and grandaughter Sarah. The University itself was fine - large modern campus, nice `halls` and an excellent presentation of the history courses and options available. The Highfield campus is like a town of its own within the city. I could well imagine that it would be possible to live quite happily and comfortably within the confines of the campus without ever venturing into the city of Southampton itself. But that would be to deny the chance to explore some of the city`s history - the Pilgrim Fathers, the Titanic, the legacy of hundreds of years of trading, commerce and conflict - as well as the more modern aspects of the south coast`s foremost metropolis (yes, I know I`m biased.)

After the University Open Day, we went down to Town Quay and parked just in time to see a huge container ship being tugged out of dock and off down Southampton Water. We also saw P&O`s largest cruise ship, Ventura, which was preparing to leave on the evening tide, looking for all the world like a floating block of flats. I had expected Town Quay itself to be more `refined` than on the occasions when my football crew partake of their pre-match almond croissants and coffee at M. Hulot`s Patisserie. However, my expectation was marred by the sight of three armed police officers moving in on an Isle of Wight ferry in the apparent belief that the perpetrator of a robbery in Cowes might be aboard trying to make his getaway. He wasn`t. But it was good to be back in my home port for a few hours. It reminded me that it will be grades and academic options that determine Sarah`s choice, rather than the wistful leanings of a biased grandfather towards any particular location.

The miss of the week was undoubtedly Wimbledon. It`s the last day today - men`s final day - and so far I have just about managed to miss the entire fortnight, despite saturation coverage by the BBC. I happened to hear the odd grunt, shriek and gasp from the ladies earlier in the week (almost a new experience for me) and I believe that our Scottish hero, who has now become British, lost in the semi-final. I imagine he will revert to just being Scottish again. But thankfully I missed the spectacle of the misplaced shouting by the crowd between points (I suspect at least one of whom shouts `Get in the hole` each time Tiger tees off;) I avoided the patronising by the All England Club towards the masses who are permitted to enter their hallowed precincts once a year - at a price, of course; and I missed the hand-wringing depression brought about by the fact that despite £20million of investment in the game each year, we as a nation are still pants at yet another sport we invented. With a family event to attend this afternoon, there`s every chance I will also miss today`s final , which will round the week off nicely.

THE FINAL, FINAL CURTAIN?

It may have been a relief to you, dear reader, that I have not posted much on here lately about Southampton Football Club. Last time I did, there was some optimism that Saints` talisman Matthew Le Tissier, aka Le God, would be successful in fronting a consortium to complete the takeover of the club. That prospect seems to have faded away, although despite a formal withdrawal from negotiations a couple of days ago, the Pinnacle Group appear not to have left the stage completely.

Now, a few years ago - even last year - the fact that Saints were in such dire straits would have been big-ish news in the print media and the airwaves. But the rapid demise of the club`s standing in the hierarchy of football has meant that even though we face the gravest situation in all the 124 years we`ve been going, hardly a squeak is heard and barely a word is written. In a way it`s a Godsend, for it leaves supporters like me to our own devices of misery without the rest of the football world either noticing or caring.

So, where are we today? The appointed Administrator, Mark Fry, seems to be in what must be desperate nogitiations with a `Swiss consortium` and another in a seemingly endless line of `mystery overseas potential investors.` Fry has said that if the sale of the club is not concluded by tomorrow (Friday) then the directors will have to consider `other options` - giving the dark hint that winding up procedures are likely to follow.

So maybe Homer is right to hold up his banner, for the fat lady sang and also left the stage a while ago. And yet, and yet, there are still hopes that Fry`s negotiations might succeed or that the avuncular Anthony Salz and his circle of well heeled Saints fan buddies will do as they promised and "not let the club die." But I wonder how much of a club there will be, as we`re down to the bare bones and a ten points deduction for the start of the new season, if indeed there is to be one. Maybe by this time tomorrow, when I`m off to Southampton anyway to check out the University with Sarah and her dad, we`ll know a bit more. It could be the final curtain at long last. And it might be a blessed relief after all.