YOU`RE HAVING A LAUGH...

I confess that I don`t watch Strictly Come Dancing or The X Factor or any other `show` that relies on humiliation and ridicule to keep its audience and so I agree I may not be qualified to pass any comment.

But I think I`ve seen enough and heard enough about the antics of former Maidstone MP Ann Widdecombe to reach a conclusion about a perception of her that has been with me for some time. Now, some people may see it as `entertaining` that this awkward, portly, clearly unstable, talentless non-dancer should invade our tv screens under the guise of being a `character.`

It`s entirely possible that those who vote for her continued presence on `Strictly` are doing so simply to prolong either her own embarrassment - in other words have a laugh at her expense, which is a bit cruel - or because they have a misguided sense of what passes for talent in this unscrupulous world. Either way, they are doing Ms Widdecombe no favours and, as she has so often claimed to be a bastion of fair mindedness, she really ought to see the reality of it all and retire as gracefully as her unsteady pins will allow. I see that some people claim that she is a `national treasure` but I fear for her as much as the rest of us that she is fast becoming a national embarrassment.

PHEASANTS 1 - BARNEY 0

Every picture tells a story and this one is no exception. Our walk this morning was up on the North Downs where, even in this busy area of Kent, there are still large tracts of countryside where you can `get away from it all.`

Barney and I went across an open field and then through a little wood before coming out onto a footpath that`s high up above the Medway Valley. No-one else around, although we did hear a few gunshots in the distance which disturbed the local pheasants. Some of them were silly enough to take to the skies and Barney thought this was a good game, so off he charged through the undergrowth and through the trees, all the while sending more and more pheasants squawking skywards.

Of course, it`s in the nature of golden retrievers to retrieve pheasants that have been shot down, so maybe Barney was getting some practice in or simply following his natural instinct. Either way, thankfully he didn`t catch any and after a while he gave up, exhausted... and that`s when I took this picture, which says it all really.

A SURPRISING DISCOVERY..

In September 2008, I wrote a piece on here about the landscape artist Rowland Hilder. Rather than repeat it all again, you can find it by typing `Rowland Hilder` in the search box at top left of this page and it tells something of his life and his association with the area where I live.

This afternoon, Barney and I went for our walkies around the village of Birling, just a couple of miles away. I parked the car behind the church and we set off for an hour`s ramble across the fields and lanes which are beginning to look a bit bleak at this time of the year. Barney enjoyed frightening the life out of squawking pheasants and scampering rabbits and I enjoyed the peace and quiet of a truly rural area. It reminded me of Rowland Hilder`s own description of Birling - "....miles from anywhere. Even people in the next village of Ryarsh were considered foreigners."

Our route back to the car took us through the churchyard and I discovered that Rowland Hilder was buried there along with his wife Edith, herself an accomplished flower artist. In an article appearing in The Countryman in April 1980, Hilder wrote that although born of English parents in Great Neck, Long Island, the family returned to England each summer to stay at Birling with his grandparents. It was during those early years that he fell in love with the Kent countryside and especially the area between Shoreham eastwards towards Maidstone, so often depicted in much of his work.

Looking back on the obituaries for Hilder, it becomes apparent that he was very highly thought of in the world of watercolours. Denis Thomas`s notes in The Independant following Hilder`s death in April 1993, recalled that this particular area of Kent had become known as `Rowland Hilder Country` evoking as much significance as the `Constable Country` of the Suffolk Stour. Rich praise indeed.

So my surprising discovery now becomes twofold, for it is one thing to have admired the artist for so many years and to have discovered his resting place in Birling churchyard, but quite another to be reminded that this part of Kent is indeed `Rowland Hilder Country.` I suspect that `label` is far better known outside the area than it is in it and I do wonder whether Kent County Council, in their endless quest for `marketing opportunities,` might perhaps be making more of this cultural heritage right on their doorstep. After all, it`s not every county that can boast associations not only with JMW Turner but also a landscape artist of such distinction that he became known as `the Turner of his generation.`

For More about Rowland Hilder, please see http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/theartofwar/artists/hilder_rowland.htm

SIR NORMAN WISDOM, OBE

I was very sorry to hear of the passing of Sir Norman Wisdom on Tuesday aged 95.

He was in the same Regiment as me - the 10th Royal Hussars (Prince of Wales Own) - although not at the same time, of course.

He was in the Regimental Band. I was in the Retreat Section.

IF ONLY..

I make no apology for focussing once more on the rise and rise of our street`s gay icon pacy flanker Scott ("Buzzin") Wagstaff, for once more he has lifted the autumnal gloom, this time by netting the winning goal in Charlton`s televised encounter away at MK Dons last evening.

Following a particularly depressing episode of Emmerdale Farm and an even more angst ridden EastEnders, it was indeed a relief to switch over to Sky Sports and watch this Johnstones Paint Trophy Southern Area Round Two encounter played out in front of just over 3,000 hardy souls in Milton Keynes, the Gorky of Buckinghamshire. As to the game itself and pacy flanker`s contribution, I can perhaps do no better than repeat the remarks made this morning by my good friend and neighbour Hurting Even More Than Ever of Leybourne, who said this in a comment on the next article down from this one:-

"And gay icon six pack buzzin` Waggy has just lifted the Tuesday night gloom with yet another goal and post match interview. Parky (Charlton`s manager Phil Parkinson) describes him as one of the best athletes he`s ever worked with. So, Parky, keep him in the side. He`ll keep improving. All gay icon needs now is a decent agent. Oh, how he must regret turning down Snopper and Slightly."

Waggy`s career is clearly on an upward path and he`s now Charlton`s top scorer with five goals from nine starts. He is developing into every manager`s dream of an archetypal player. He has a good engine, gets from box to box, has an eye for a pass, gets wide, tracks back, gets to the byeline, takes on defenders and has now added the goalscoring touch to his burgeoning repertoire. And we`re all very happy for him and his engaging family.

So it`s all very positive on the playing front but Slightly (who has morphed into HEMTEoL following the Gills` descent into serial abject failure) does have a point concerning Waggy`s off-field activities. If only he had taken up the offer that Slightly and I made a season or so ago to become his joint agents, he would now be in the comforting care of two men of the world, men of substance who have been there, done it and lived to tell the tale - the SAS of football agency. We would have ensured that, as Wayne Rooney`s star is on the wane, Waggy`s recent rise would see him well placed to take Rooney`s mantle as a worldwide icon, rather than one who is recognised only in the back streets of south east London or the sylvan lanes of the Garden of England. TV appearances, product endorsements, book deals, even an end to tongue-in-cheek ironic name tags - all this and more could have been his. If only. But there it is. Life, like football, is a game of two halves, a marathon not a sprint and at the end of the day it may be time for Slightly and me to draw a line in the sand and move on from the rejection we suffered all those months ago when Waggy turned us down. But we know it could all have been so very different. To be fair.

A SPORTING WEEKEND..

I suppose it all began last Friday when the Ryder Cup stuttered into life at Celtic Manor down in Wales. The default Welsh weather has meant the event has been carried over until today when hopefully the European team will bring the Cup back to these shores. I still wonder at the excitement that is generated by hitting a small ball with a long stick into a small hole about a quarter of a mile away but if it beats the Americans then there will be much dancing in the streets of Cymru.

The weekend`s football produced some `interesting` results. Liverpool losing again, this time at home to alleged no-hopers Blackpool, resulting in pressure being applied to `pool manager Roy Hodgson, who I used to watch playing left back for Maidstone United back in the `70s. I felt sorry for my neighbour, the newly dubbed Hurting More Than Ever of Leybourne, whose beloved Gills went down 7-4 at Accrington to extend their run of away games without a win to 32. (Hurting`s heartfelt comments can be viewed by clicking on the `comments` below the item `MIXED RESULTS` a few items down the page). On a slightly more positive note, I was pleased to see our street`s gay icon pacy flanker Scott (`Buzzin` Six Pack) Wagstaff score Charlton`s consolation goal with a stunning volley in a 2-1 reverse at Griffin Park.

On the Saints front, we managed a 2-0 win, thanks to two penalties by Rickie Lambert Southampton`s Goal Machine, in the first league encounter with Bournemouth for half a century. Sadly, a couple of `incidents` marred the victory. The first was when a contingent of Bournemouth fans, clearly overcome by the opulence of St. Mary`s, attempted to break through barriers and police cordons in their anxiety to `pit pat back to their egg in its cosy, their crisp toast-fingers, their homemade plum and butter pat` and return to the gentility of their Dylan Thomas-esque seaside resort.

The second was the disappointing news emerging today that one of the Saints` star players was allegedly involved in a fracas during the early hours of Sunday morning in a `nite-spot` in downtown Southampton. Details are sparse but it appears that a nightclubbing malcontent launched his jaw in the general direction of the Saints player`s defenceless hand, leaving him needing hospital treatment and an appointment with our boys in blue. We could really do without yet another `incident` in this trying season.

But there were things to cheer the spirit, notably Manchester United`s encouragingly dismal away form and the start of the Commonwealth Games in Delhi which promises to write a new chapter in the growing volumes of sporting indifference. Seems such a shame for all those highly tuned athletes who have trained for months in preparation, only to discover that no-one`s very interested. Time this anachronistic remnant from the days of `empire` was put out of its misery?

WORTH THE WAIT?

Another day, another night, another queue. A while ago, I reported on the saddest queue ever witnessed in the Bluewater Shopping Thingy, when Michael Barrymore was due to sign a copy or two of his autobiography. A couple of nights ago, yet another gathering began to form outside Waterstones bookshop, this time in Piccadilly in London.

The occasion was the announcement that Cheryl Cole would be turning up to sign copies of her latest tome at 1.00pm yesterday. Now, I`ve always been intrigued by people who write (or have ghost-written) autobiographies whilst still in their 20s. Had I done so at that age, it would have resulted in a very slim volume indeed. Never mind, no doubt the fragrant Mrs. Cole has crammed more in to her tender 27 years than I have still managed in my 70s.

Mrs. Cole clearly has many devotees. The early arrivals on Thursday included a contingent from Lancashire, whose spokeslady declared that, `Cheryl is so wonderful, my role model and it`s such a thrill to be here to catch a glimpse of her.` To be fair, they - and other later arrivals to the steadily lengthening queue - displayed a devotion above and beyond the call of duty by sticking it out throughout a long, cold, wet night on the pavements of Piccadilly. So much so that when she heard of their fortitude, Mrs. Cole immediately sent for 20 flasks of hot chocolate for them. Fair enough.

It takes all types, of course, to make the world interesting, but I do sometimes wonder at the mindset of people being prepared to wait outside all night in the cold and wet just to spend good money on the post-malaria literary ramblings of a bimbo-esque Geordie chanteuse who, by the way, isn`t Mrs. Cole any more anyway. I hope she`s not cashing in on Ashley Cole`s name - if so, sales will be sure to plummet.

WELL OUT OF IT..

From our Golf Correspondent

Now that the Ryder Cup has made its stuttering start at rain soaked Celtic Manor, I caught up with Snopper to find out what the less than average golfer thought of the worldwide event that the Ryder Cup has become.

Snopper`s disappointment at being overlooked by Captain Montgomerie as one of his picks was taken as read, but in truth I detected a note of relief that he had not made the team this time round. "Well," he opined, "I guess if truth be told, my self-appointed handicap of 28 and my last round of 96 left me with only an outside chance. But I wouldn`t have fancied the rain down there in Wales....or the pomp and circumstance, the parades, the speeches, the tv interviews.....and as I`ve never had a caddie in my life I wouldn`t have been too sure what to do with him.....and I think there might be strict rules about how many balls and clubs you can have which wouldn`t have suited my game very much. No, I think I`m well out of it to be fair," he concluded with his usual magnanimity.

Mind you, he did hit upon something that had at least some semblence of reason to it. "You know the Olympics, the Commonwealth Games and stuff like that? They all have seperate but related competitions for the less able members of society and I think its high time there was a kind of Ryder Cup type competition for the less talented among the golfing fraternity. I might be in with a chance then."

And with that frightening prospect chasing frantically in search of the fairways of my mind, I left him to it. You see, it`s one thing to have delusions of adequacy, but quite another to have delusions of even approaching inadequacy.

A TWO PRONGED ATTACK...

I sometimes wonder what those nice, friendly Quakers, who started the Cadbury chocolate empire in their Arcadian village of Bournville all those years ago, would make of how things have turned out these days.

It`s one thing to have been bought up by Kraft, the American food company, but quite another for one of its most treasured traditions to be sabotaged by the insufferable EU `legislation.` Now I well recall from my youth the trouble Cadburys were in with some of their advertisements, especially those on TV. For some reason, the Cadburys Flake advert, featuring a comely young lady relaxing in a bath whilst tenderly licking around the edges of one of the flakes, has always `stood out for me,` so to speak. But the singular slogan that Cadburys have used since birth has been the one that declared there was `a glass and a half` of pure British milk in every half pound.

Now, thanks to EU rules, that slogan has been replaced by - wait for it - "The equivalent of 426ml of fresh liquid milk in every 227g of milk chocolate." Kind of trips off the tongue, doesn`t it? And so the two pronged attack from America and Europe on a cherished British institution is complete.

Now if you`ll forgive me,, I`m off to have a bath with my curly-wurly.

MIXED RESULTS..

Well, James Alexander Gordon got it wrong. On Saturday, Saints scored the only goal of their game away to Sheffield Wednesday on 64 minutes. Had we gone to 84 minutes without scoring, it would have equalled the longest goalless spell in the club`s entire 125 year history. Not a lot of people knew that, to be fair. But the narrow win means that Saints are out of the relegation zone, having climbed to 18th in Division 3 and are now officially on a roll. Possibly.

Over the weekend, there was much dancing in Snopper Street, not only because of the Saints victory but also because the Gills also managed a narrow 1-0 win which must have cheered up my long suffering neighbour no end. In fact, our street was denied a clean sweep of victories thanks to the Addicks of Charlton, who included local hero pacy flanker Scott ("Buzzin`) Wagstaff in their starting line-up, only managing to draw against Dagenham and Redbridge. But, two out of three ain`t bad and if someone had offered me that before the games began then I would have bitten their proverbial hand off, so to speak.

On the Miliband Chuckle Brothers front, younger brother Ed is now the Leader of the Labour Party, thanks mainly to the votes of the `affiliated trade unions and socialist societies.` So he owes them, as the other elements of the electoral college, the Labour MPs and MEPs and the party members, went for his brother David. Maybe I should care more than I do, but I have the feeling that Ed is in for a hard time satisfying his union sponsors (they coughed up £100,000 for his campaign apparently) whilst at the same time being in any way appealing to a wider audience. So, all in all, a weekend of mixed results, but I do wonder whether time will tell if Ed wishes he might not have won after all.

IF ONLY IT WAS FUNNY..

As if to deliberately vie with the dulcet tones of James Alexander Gordon as he monotones this afternoon`s football results, the outcome of the Labour leadership contest will be announced at 4.40pm this afternoon at the party`s conference in Manchester. It will be the culmination of a long and complicated process by which the new Leader of the Labour Party and therefore Leader of Her Majesty`s Most Loyal Opposition is elected.

There are three `elements` that make up the process by which the leader is elected. There are the sitting Labour MPs and Labour Members of the European Parliament (MEPs); paid up members of the Party; and affiliated organisations, such as trade unions and `socialist societies.` There`s a complex process involving second and even third preference votes so that, finally, the candidate with the most overall votes will emerge as the winner.

The likely outcome is that one of the Miliband Brothers (pictured) will emerge victorious and climb into a job which will see his salary rise from the basic £65,000 as an MP to something like £140,000 as Leader of the Opposition. Now it`s a good idea to have an Opposition and it`s a longstanding principle of democratic government that such an arrangement is in place. I`ve no problem with it but as with so many other things, the integrity and gravitas of the individual will either enhance or diminish the reputation of the office.

Today`s winner might have been Ed Balls, Andy Burnham, Diane Abbott even, but it seems either David (Gap Year) Miliband or his younger brother Ed will be fighting it out. And thereby hangs the problem, for neither of them inspire and like all the other candidates there`s the feeling that they aspire to office rather than deserve it. And all the time, as this intense charade plays out, the ruling ConDemNation coalition government must be smiling inwardly to itself as it witnesses the `opposition` by which it will be held to account.

So, just before 5.00pm this afternoon I might just be more interested in listening to James Alexander Gordon, "Sheffield Wednesday five, Southampton nil..........."

BETTER TO ARRIVE THAN TRAVEL?

Over recent years, I`ve been to quite a few airports - Stanstead, Heathrow, the new Heathrow Terminal 5 and Gatwick South. I`ve been going there either to collect or deliver my Hamburg based son and his family. I`ve never actually flown anywhere myself for quite a few years now, but I have become something of an experienced observer of those who do.

And yesterday I made yet another in my long line of deliveries to Gatwick, when our visitors were due to fly back to Hamburg having spent some time with us. I`m not sure I get on terribly well with airports. There`s the extortionate car parking charge of £5 for the first hour....and here`s me moaning last week about paying £3.50 to park at Daymer Bay in Cornwall for a whole day. Then there`s the enormous queue to check in and sort out the baggage, then the check to see if you`ve got any lipstick, fluids or other dubious stuff that needs to be left behind in little sealed plastic bags. Then there`s the endless security checks which my son tells me even involve our two grandsons (9 and 7) being stripped down with their shoes and socks removed. (Knowing my grandson as I do, maybe they do, after all, pose a security threat.) Then there`s the general `demeanour` of the actual passengers, whether they be boarding or alighting. They seem to be in a daze, as if transfixed in their own bewilderment as they subject themselves to the series of challenges that face them in their attempts to get anywhere. And I haven`t even mentioned immigration control or customs or men holding up cards with people`s names on or the extraordinary Costa coffees with their hyped up price tags and their bottomless mugs.

My son`s flight was delayed for a couple of hours, courtesy of a strike by French air traffic controllers, which I suppose makes a change from the assorted strikes regularly called by British ATCs, baggage handlers, etc. All of which suggests that the usual notion that it`s better to travel than to arrive might be out of date at least where air travel is concerned. My last flight was, I think, to Lisbon 16 years ago and the subsequent years of just observing the comings and goings at UK airports probably means that I won`t be bothering again any time soon. Anyway, my passport ran out years ago.

Thanks to a little help from my friends, I have now managed to install a link (down the right hand side a bit - SNOPPER`S FLICKR PICS) which shows a few of the most recent pictures I`ve put on my flickr page.

If you click on any of the thumbnails, you should automatically go to an enlarged image of the one you`ve clicked on. This will give you access to my photostream and the `sets` of photos I`ve taken.

It`s early days, of course - I`ve only had the camera for a couple of weeks, so I haven`t taken many snopperpics yet.

Oh, and you`ll see I`m listed as `Snoppo,` which is because someone else is already listed on flickr as `Snopper.` Surely there can`t be two of us or am I really in a parallel universe?

A TRIP TO THE SEASIDE..

We have the real pleasure of our youngest son and our two grandsons staying with us for a few days from their home in Hamburg, so we thought they might like a visit to the seaside.

On Monday, we drove down to Camber Sands and took Barney with us as he likes nothing better than a romp on the beach. The late September weather was perfect and the tide was going out which left a vast expanse of sand to be explored. The boys managed an impressive collection of seashells, which they want to take back to Germany and the rest of us just enjoyed the bracing fresh air and the almost indulgent feeling of being at a place like that on a Monday whilst the rest of the world were at school or at work.

Anyway, I`ve stuck some photos on my FlickR page, which I hope you might be able to see here:-

http://www.flickr.com/photos/snopperpics/sets/72157625009613986/

JUST PLAIN WRONG..

After a short period of relative calm, I`m afraid I have come across something that has made me angry. My Mother died a few years ago, aged 90, and she spent her last few days and weeks in the North Hampshire Hospital at Basingstoke. She was well looked after by a committed and dedicated team who ensured that her last days were as comfortable as they could make them.

I visited as often as I could - every other day from here in Kent and each time I had to fork out for parking my car in their large car park (if I could find a space.) I didn`t mind too much and at times like that you don`t even think about the cost involved. But outside of the hospital environment, things appear a little different.

It appears that hospital parking is free in Scotland (like so many other things that we south of the border are helping to fund,) in most of Wales and in certain areas of Northern Ireland. The bit of the UK where parking charges apply pretty much universally is....England. Now, if we were anything like a truly United Kingdom (or Queendom?) you would imagine that something as sensitive as hospital car parking would have a common policy throughout the land. Well, it obviously hasn`t and the situation has not been helped by the ConDemNation`s coalition Government announcing that it will not be implementing Labour`s pre-election promise to scrap charges in England too.

The reason given is purely economic, since the parking charges bring in something like £110million each year. All of which misses the point entirely which is that, for patients, out patients and concerned visitors, all of whom can find themselves in stressful and desperate circumstances, to have to worry about finding the cash to park their cars - or else - is just plain wrong. There are certain circumstances in life (and death, sadly) when it is simply insensitive to apply the kind of policies that can be accepted as part of `normal` life elsewhere....and this is one of them.

I always thought the measure of any society was the way in which it treated the elderly, the poor and particularly the sick. Says a lot about our `society` when the most important consideration is finance rather than compassion.

SNOPPER NOW ON FLICKR..

Thanks to the purchase of a new camera and yet another triumph of technological wizardry, I can now post photos I`ve taken on FlickR.

Check out my first offerings at http://www.flickr.com/photos/27615582@N03/5004136666/

These were taken last week during our stay in Cornwall.

(Hope it works)

....and I suppose there`s some comfort in knowing that whilst you`ve been away for a week, not much has happened during your absence. My neighbour reliably informs me that the most excitement in Snopper Street was when someone moved their car a bit.

So, not much to report on the home front, but we had a super week away in Cornwall - blessed with good weather, except on Wednesday when we were due for a rest anyway and blessed with memorable walks along the cliffs and beaches of Daymer Bay, Polzeath, Polly Joke, Holywell Bay, Cadgwith and the headlands at Pentire and Trevose. But for me, the week was memorable for achieving one long held ambition and almost achieving another.

The one I did manage after years of near misses was to finally visit the church at St. Neot. This is a small village on the southern edges of Bodmin Moor. It`s very picturesque, quiet and peaceful but its glory is the collection of medieval stained glass windows in the Parish Church of St. Anietus. Certainly the finest church windows in Cornwall and with the possible exception of those at Fairford in Gloucestershire, probably the finest in the whole country. More on that story at http://www.stneot.org.uk/parish_church_of_st_neot.html

The one visit I didn`t quite make this time was to Creegbrawse, a mile or so from Chacewater deep in the heart of the Cornish mining country. I`ve long been fascinated by the Cornish mining industry and Creegbrawse was the site of the beginning of the great county adit, which drained a host of mines over a distance of some 40 miles in the Gwennap, St. Day, Blackwater, Scorrier area and beyond, draining to the Carnon River which has its mouth at Restronguet on the south coast. It was by any standards a remarkable feat of engineering, determination and dedication and one which deserves more acknowledgement than it gets. Maybe next time I`ll make the pilgrimage.

Again, whilst things may not have happened much at home, things have been going on in the `wider world.` I suppose the most notable event was the Pope`s visit. Now those of you who know my religious beliefs (by which I mean there aren`t any) will expect some cynicism about the costly arrival of an old ex-Hitler Youth German dressed up in a frock and waving his arms around at anyone he sees. But no - I`ll put cynicism to one side and just accept that people can believe whatever they want to believe and follow the teachings of whoever they choose. It`s none of my business although I have to repeat what I`ve said before which is that, whilst I may have no quarrel with Him upstairs, his self-appointed representatives on earth are a bit of a problem when it comes to setting examples for the rest of us.

But as if to smite me for teetering on the edge of blasphemy, in my absence my beloved Saints have become rooted in the relegation zone at the foot of Division 3. Our new manager, Nigel Adkins, needs time, patience and goodwill to find his feet and move us forward. If only he would refrain from speaking of himself in the third person. When Snopper hears that kind of thing, then Snopper gets worried. To be fair.

It`s good to be home though.

HERE WE GO AGAIN..

The beach you see in the picture above is Crantock Beach in Cornwall. We set off tomorrow morning on the 300-mile or so journey down to north Cornwall and, although the weather forecast for the weekend is a bit `iffy,` the Meteorological Office have issued a weather update saying that a ridge of high pressure is coming in from the Atlantic and so dry, warm, fine weather is expected for south western areas of the country over the next week or so. Winds light and variable, force 2-3, visibility good, state of the sea slight. So we might be ok.

Took Barney for a last minute check-up with ace vet Dave Cocker this morning - Barney`s put a bit of weight on thanks to a penchant for buttered toast and biscuits but a daily scamper along Crantock Beach and lots of walks in other parts of Cornwall should do him good - and me too.

Once again, my apologies for having no idea how to do remote blogging. When we get back, our youngest son and two grandsons will be visiting us for a few days, so it might be a couple of weeks before I`m blogging again. But, hey, in the last couple of weeks I`ve bought a new mobile phone and a new camera, both of which I`ve got to get my head around, so my limited techyness will be stretched to the limit anyway.

By the way, it appears that this is my 700th post on this blog - so plenty of back catalogue for you to browse while I`m away if you are that sad. (winky emoticom thingy)

CU in a couple of weeks :-)

STRICTLY ATTENTION SEEKING..

Last evening I started to watch the England-Switzerland game but after a few minutes, I decided I wasn`t interested in watching a bunch of overpaid, womanising, millionaire poseurs managed by a £6million a year Italian easing their way to qualification for Euro 2012. So I turned over to watch the end of the 20-20 cricket international between England and Pakistan which England won comfortably. Not surprising really given the mess that Pakistan cricket is in and also given that these days the England cricket team contains a small gathering of South Africans and an Irishman as well as some doughty English battlers . Inclusivity and multi-culturalism rule OK it seems..... all the time the results keep coming.

But even that tv exposure will soon pale into insignificance with the announcement of the new season of Strictly Come Dancing and the list of `celebrities` subjecting themselves to this seasonal humiliation. They are, of course, the usual collection of has-beens, never-weres and fading once-upon-a times and include, as if in a fit of BBC spitefulness, one time Maidstone MP and Government Minister Ann Widdecombe.

Now I really thought that when she gave up being an MP at the last election, she might just slip quietly away to Devon and never be seen or heard again. But it seems the glare of publicity and an irrepressible need for attention seeking has proved too much for this celebrity virgin to resist. I can`t say why I`m not looking forward to it or, indeed, why I wont be watching it, but I think there may be two reasons.

First, I don`t like shows that rely on ritual and institutionalised humiliation in the name of entertainment. It`s not funny seeing people who should know better make fools of themselves but, secondly, I`m old fashioned enough to think that people like Ann Widdecombe being seduced into taking part in the Strictlys of this world, somehow diminish the work they did in government and especially the offices they might have held. Goodness knows, politics and politicians need all the help going to restore some public faith and credibility and putting themselves up for these kind of fols-de-rol ain`t helping. Oh, hang on, Prime Minister`s Questions are back again. Maybe there`s no escape after all.

PER ARDUA AD ASTRA..

From our Golf Correspondent

Finding it difficult these days to even remember what amnesia means, it was no surprise that Snopper almost forgot that he was due to play the 18-hole course at Poult Wood today. It was yesterday morning that he realised it and fending off his usual panic attack, he took his faithful retriever Barney for a walk around a nearby course, with the intention of replenishing his stock of golf balls, which had seriously been diminished recently. On his last outing, he lost no less than nine balls and so he felt he needed to make sure that he had an ample supply for today`s challenge. Between them they managed to reclaim 17 lost balls from the nearby course, which I shall refrain from naming just in case any legal action might come Snopper`s way, but even he thought that 17 balls might just be enough for today.

And what a day it was. No liberal rule interpretation , no creative accountancy, just a straight forward round of golf which saw Snopper card 96. Helped by a handicap that he stubbornly refuses to reduce from the maximum allowed of 28, Snopper`s net score for today came to 68. And the par for the course? Why, 68 of course. His card included three triple bogey 7s, a smattering of pars and an assortment of 5s and 6s - all very encouraging for our intrepid and ageing hero, who might just have been encouraged enough to begin to take things a little more seriously.

There are, however, a few things that might hold back any progress. His collection of clubs, for instance, has been with him for over 20 years and have seen better days, even though he only uses a few of them. Then there is his bag, of similar vintage, showing some unattractive smudges and patches and most of the zips don`t work any more either. Not surprising really as the pockets are crammed full with more balls than are surely allowed under the Royal and Ancient Rules. His trolley has problems too, in particular the fact that the tyres on the wheels come off quite often. So I won`t be surprised to see an improvement in his equipment and not before time.

But given the struggles he has had, his wonky knee, the arthritis in his wrist, the condition of his tools, the blustery, wet conditions for much of the afternoon and tee placements put as far back as possible by a clearly malevolent greenkeeper, Snopper`s score marks something of a personal milestone for him. For others, of course, such a score would be laughable, but then they are the fortunate ones who may possess an inherent talent for the game which means they don`t have to go through quite so much ardua to arrive at their personal astra.

A KICK TOO FAR?

Apologies for yet another football rant, but as I mentioned the other day, if you`re a Saints fan, you`re never more than three feet away from a kick in the nuts.

I`ve been digging out my old football programmes and I came across one from seven years ago almost to the day. It was on Sunday, 31st August 2003, that Saints played Manchester United at St. Mary`s in front of a crowd of 32,066. Late in the game, James Beattie headed in a corner from Graham Le Saux and despite a frantic last few minutes, Saints held on to record yet another win over United to go to fourth place in the Premiership. One abiding memory of that day is of our manager, Gordon Strachan, saying he was going to celebtrate that evening by staying at home and watching teletext. Heady days indeed.

Yesterday, in a League One (really Division 3) fixture, Saints lost 2-0 at home to Rochdale in front of a crowd of 18,169 and find themselves in 14th place in the third tier of English football. The team looked disjointed, the natives were restless and the prospects look decidedly grim. No complaints about the result - Rochdale deserved the three points for their spirit, endeavour and finishing, all qualities sadly lacking in a clearly demoralised Saints team. There was plenty of huff and puff, lots of headless chicken-esque chasing around but absolutely no guile or penetration. Key players like Rickie Lambert Southampton`s Goal Machine (RLSGM) are so much off form and clearly carrying injuries, caretaker manager Dean Wilkins was guilty of tactical naivety and duff substitutions and there was a crying need for leadership.

It seems the bubble may be bursting, following the death of Markus Liebherr, the sacking of Alan Pardew and a string of questionable decisions made by Executive Chairman, Nicola Cortese. It`s still very early in the season, of course, but it`s as clear as day that firm, decisive action must be taken and quickly if a season of much promise is to be rescued. Such a contrast to seven years ago, when teletext was much more enjoyable tv watching than Goals on Sunday was this morning. As in the dark days of Chairman Rupert Lowe, I`m considering whether I really want to drive the 250 miles round trip, spend a small fortune and feel all of my 71 years to watch what I saw yesterday. It may just have been a kick too far.

SUCH A WASTE..

I see that Tony Bliar was pelted with eggs, shoes and assorted garbage at the launch of his book, `A Journey` at a Dublin book shop yesterday.

I agree with the shoes and assorted garbage bit, but I`m not sure he`s worth wasting eggs on.

THREE FEET AWAY...

Well, it`s been a few days now. Dust has begun to settle, knees have stopped jerking and Saints fans are coming to terms with the sudden departure of manager Alan Pardew, which came after a successful year on the pitch, and a thumping 4-0 win away at Bristol Rovers last Saturday.

Naturally enough, there has been much speculation among the fans as to the reasons for this turn of events, ranging from the plausible to the downright ridiculous but rumours are now spreading that there might have been some serious breaches of conduct behind the scenes. One of these rumours suggests that Pardew`s departure may have a resonance with his departure from West Ham a while ago, but in the end, whilst we might like to know, it really isn`t any of our business.

Nonetheless, there is a proposition going the rounds here in Kent. It`s been suggested that Pardew wanted our street`s gay icon pacy flanker Scott ("Buzzin` Sixpack") Wagstaff to sign for Saints before the closure of the transfer window so as to bring some much needed pace to our flanks. Pardew went to see Saints` Executive Chairman, Nicola Cortese, with this proposition. Now, Cortese, being of Swiss/Italian extraction is believed to have a `season ticket` at La Scala in Milan. Small wonder then that, when he looked into Waggy`s background and discovered that his taste in music included something called Yolande Be Cool vs D Cup and also the combo known as Outkast, that was the end of that.

In all seriousness though, Pardew was our 13th manager in 10 years and I guess we Saints fans should have known better than to expect even a little continuity. And so the speculation has now turned to who might be the 14th in this line-up, with the usual suspects coming out of the woodwork . Fortunately, neither `Sir` Alex Ferguson nor Big Sam is likely to end up at St. Mary`s, so there is at least the odd blessing to count, although rumours of David O`Dreary joining Saints are worrying.

All this post-Lowe and post-Liebherr upheaval has reminded me of the well known truism that had its roots in Southampton, which is : "If you`re a Saints fan, you`re never more than three feet away from a kick in the nuts." I`m off down there on Saturday to see Saints take on Rochdale - yes, Rochdale. Now where did I leave my ` athletic supporter?`