It`s all very well Gillingham Chairman Paul Scally saying there isn`t a news blackout ("There`s no media blackout, we have just decided not to talk to the press until after the Crewe game") but a reliable source informs me that, once again, the Gills lost at home 3-1 yesterday to  again thwart our street`s weekly quest for three wins out of the three teams we`re bothered about.

Mind you, this week the Gills weren`t the only ones.   The Saints made the 670 mile round trip to Carlisle and thanks to inept defending, which included a spectacular own goal, combined with a reluctance to stick the ball in the back of the net, came away from Brunton Park with a 3-2 defeat.

Meanwhile, Charlton produced their best away win for eleven years when they visited the `Posh` of Peterborough and romped to a 5-1 victory.   Local hero, the newly dubbed `hardworking wideman` Scott Wagstaff was brought down in the area for the most blatant penalty ever witnessed but sadly had to leave the field suffering from a `dead leg,` a condition I frequently experience even when I`m not playing football.  So, well done Charlton but boo to Southampton and Gillingham.

In the meantime, speaking of media blackouts, I`m intrigued by what`s not happening to `Sir` Alex Ferguson, the Manchester United manager who continues to flout Premier League rules by refusing to give post match interviews to the BBC.  That`s been going on for 13 games now since the rule was introduced and which carries a maximum fine of £20,000 for each failure to comply.   So in theory at least, Ferguson now owes £260,000 and counting but it seems the Premier League may now `only` levy a fine of £5,000 for each refusal, thus slapping a bill for £65,000 on the Old Trafford doormat.  One rule for one and all that?

Seems to me that Paul Scally might be well advised to keep his head down until Gillingham climb out of their current slough of despond and it also seems unlikely that Ferguson will relent and do as he`s required to do under the Premier League rules.  Both of which might amount to blessings in disguise for those of us who are tired of Scally`s lame duck excuses and weary of Ferguson`s unintelligible Caledonian mumblings.

Oh well, there`s always next week.

EVASIVE ACTION..

My  last rant and a subsequent bout of correspondence with my reader (see comments under `NOT SO DAFT AFTER ALL?` below) brought back to my fading memory tales of wartime Swindon, as handed down to me by my late mother.   For a time during the war, whilst my late father was cooped up in the German Prisoner of War Camp Stalag V111B, my mother and I were living with my grandparents in their house in Hughes Street, deep within the GWR housing enclave of Rodbourne. 

To try and keep the wolf from the door, my mother got a job as a bus conductress for Swindon Corporation.  There were many times that I went with her, to be plonked on the seat at the back of the bus for what seemed hours on end as the bus made its repetative journey from one end of Swindon to the other.   I suppose I was about three or four at the time and I have often wondered  whether those times in Swindon were any better than the ones we had after we moved from there to stay with my mother`s sister and her husband at Blackfield, close to the shores of Southampton Water.

For me, at that impressionable age, at least the experience of sleeping under the stairs at Blackfield and hearing the bombing of Southampton every night seemed somehow preferable to having tedious bus rides.   I`m not sure that Swindon was bombed very much if at all and so the decision to move as close to Southampton as we did was perhaps puzzling - there must have been a good reason, although the only one I can think of was that it was part of the rotation of `homes` my mother and I had throughout the war.   We seemed to live a kind of semi-nomadic existence, spending some weeks or months with assorted relatives and always, it seemed, moving from one to another and never really calling anywhere `home.`

But I digress.  Back to Swindon and the buses.   Now, I had an uncle in Swindon with the improbable name of `Bubbles,` who was himself a bus driver, which I imagine may have been a `safeguarded occupation,` keeping him away from being conscripted.   On the other hand, it might have been because  he was completely mad.  Bonkers.  Daft as a brush.  Quixotic.  Unpredictable.  But he knew how to drive a bus.

One night, the story goes, he was driving his empty double decker bus back to the depot at the end of his shift when, approaching the Whitehouse Bridge (pictured above) he thought he saw a German plane coming out of the night sky and heading directly towards him.   He would normally have taken a turn away from the Bridge but, with a swift calculation born of panic and self-preservation, he headed straight into the Bridge knowing that he might go in with a double decker bus but possibly come out the other end with a single decker.   And so he did.   To this day, Swindon`s Whitehouse Bridge is as infamous as the town`s very own magic roundabout as this video clip explains -   http://vimeo.com/12689753  

 But maybe, after that kind of experience, my mother decided to move out of Swindon and go and live close to Southampton before she was put on the same bus as Bubbles.  Thank goodness she did otherwise I might have ended up a Swindon Town fan rather than a Saint.   And that would have been just too much to bear.

NOT SO DAFT AFTER ALL?

I was a little surprised, not to say alarmed, to see that Swindon in Wiltshire had come last in a survey carried out by BBC2 to find Britain`s `most ignorant town.`  One of the reasons for my alarm is that my mother`s side of the family all came from Swindon.  My mother, her brother and three sisters were all born there and my grandfather spent his  working life as a pattern maker in the Great Western Railway works before spending his long retirement until he died, aged 98, in what was then the GWR enclave of Rodbourne.   I still have relatives living there, so you can imagine the shock of discovering that the good folk of Swindon have apparently been revealed as the dimmest in the country. 

The survey tested the intelligence of 50 residents of each of 17 towns and Swindon`s residents seemingly struggled to name the colour of oranges, were confused about the number of legs an octopus has and hadn`t a clue as to when Advent began.  Now, over the years people from Wiltshire had gained something of a reputation for being slow witted but that reputation was founded almost entirely on the story of the Wiltshire moonrakers.

The story is simple and its message clear. A pair of Wiltshiremen, engaged in smuggling brandy, hide a barrel of the contraband from the excisemen in a nearby pond and when they return at some later time, in the dark, they are caught in the act of raking the barrel back to land.   They immediately claim that they are trying to rake cheese - the reflection of the moon - from the pond and the excisemen, amused by the apparently simple-minded rustics, leave them to it.

The moral of the story is that, despite their earthy accents, Wiltshire folk are not as slow-witted as some would believe and, to this day, people born in the county are proud to call themselves moonrakers.  Maybe they`re not as daft as the survey suggests or maybe, like the excisemen of old, BBC2 had simply misinterpreted their answers.   After all, a town that has given us Melinda Messenger, Diana Dors, Justin Hayward, Gilbert O`Sullivan and half my forebears surely can`t be as dim as all that.  Can it? 

AN EERIE SILENCE

I started off this year by almost celebrating the fact that it was 50 years ago that I spent  my first year of a 731 day stint doing my National Service.  By `almost,` I mean that it`s by no means certain that the call-up was a matter for celebration either for me or, indeed, for the military.  

As the year has gone on, I have been recalling landmark moments in my military career , most of which were tinged with farce or mediocrity, but one which was as profound an experience as I have ever known.      

Fifty years ago, the armoured regiment which had the pleasure of my enforced company went on gunnery exercises in the Luneburg Heath area and we were `based` not far from the north-west German town of Celle.   In a rare moment of latitude, a couple of friends and I were given a little time to ourselves and we wondered what we might do with it.  I can`t recall why, but we decided on a visit to the Belsen concentration camp, which was not far away.   Given all the other attractions of time to ourselves it was perhaps a surprising decision, but it had the feeling of being `right,` almost like a pilgrimage.

We arrived, had a tour of the gruesome reminders of those horrific and inhuman crimes perpetrated by a horrific and inhuman regime and I recall how subdued we were, as we struggled to take it all in.   But the most telling moment was when we were told that, ever since those appalling times, the birds had never sang or flown over the site.  We stopped, looked and listened and sure enough not a single bird was to be seen or heard.  Eerie....but memorable.

And in this Remembrance Week, whilst we remember those who gave their lives for our freedom, I find it impossible not to remember the eerie silence that shouted out to us on that still day in that dreadful place.   For me, Remembrance Day is one thing but quite another is the sheer impossibility of ever being able to forget what I witnessed and how I felt on that day 50 years ago.

A WELCOME MOVE



First a couple of `disclaimers.`  It`s difficult, if not downright presumptuous, to comment from a distance of 13,000 miles and it`s probably more presumptuous to even pass comment on a society and a country from a position where one`s own country hangs on to some tenuous notion of sovereignty over that faraway land.

But I`ve been interested in Australia for more years than I care to remember.  It has so much going for it with its necessarily short but dynamic history and culture.  I`m even a member of the John McDouall Stuart Society which exists to honour the memory and achievements of one of the country`s greatest pioneers, who came from Dysart in Scotland.  But in a way, his quite heroic achievement - in opening up the hinterland and blazing the trail for the overland telegraph - exemplifies the `taking over` of the country by incomers and the indifference if not outright hostility shown to the indigenous population of aboriginal tribes.  

After all, they have been there for countless centuries, at one with the land, at one with nature, understanding and respecting their place in the scheme of things in the dreamland and doing rather well before the arrival of explorers, pioneers and settlers who brought a kind of presumptuosness of their own.

Over recent years, the divide in all kinds of ways between the aboriginal and incomer populations has become more recognised and things have happened to narrow that divide. For example, in 2008, former Prime Minister Kevin Rudd, on behalf of the Australian government,  made a formal apology for the past wrongs caused by successive governments on the indigenous Aboriginal population.  And now Australia has said it will hold a referendum on recognising its indigenous people, the aborigines, in the constitution. The aim would be to improve conditions for the country's most disadvantaged community. As a first step, the new Prime Minister, Welsh born Julia Gillard, announced that a panel of experts would lead a 12-month national debate on the issue. It's unclear when the vote would take place, although it seems unlikely before 2013.

All sounds very encouraging and another welcome move.  But a couple of things intrigue me.  The first is that, after all this time, why not just get on with it, for surely the issue is very clear and the prospect of yet more prevarication and navel gazing might simply lead to yet more distrust and disenchantment and, at worst, damage the integrity of the process.   But secondly, if this were a perfect world, surely the aborigines would be holding a referendum to include the newcomers in their own constitution?  Or is that just too presumptuous?

GOLDEN GOLDIE..

Barney`s looking happy.  And so he should.  After months of patient training mainly by his `handler,` Mrs. Snopper, Barney has managed to pass the test for the Kennel Club Good Dog Citizen Gold Award (KCGDCGA.)  

 He had previously taken the test only to be declared `not ready` on that occasion, due to his penchant for running around saying `Hello` to everyone instead of walking to heel and staying close to his handler.  Although that tendency had been overcome, he had nevertheless developed one or two more, such as not being bothered to stop when commanded to and refusing to go to his bed when asked nicely, but a series of intensive training sessions leading up to yesterday suggested he might have got the hang of those as well .

We have known for some time that he was perfectly capable of doing all of the elements required to pass the test but, like Eric Morecambe struggling to come to terms with Greig`s Piano Concerto, Barney was playing all the right notes but not necessarily in the right order.   Also, we were advised that taking the Gold test was a bit like taking the driving test - it depended on the examiner and how you performed on the day.   As it turned out, yesterday Barney performed all of the tests in the right order and, along with his mate Ossie, kept his natural exuberance in check long enough for the examiner to be convinced. 

So this morning I took him for a long walk through the Autumn woods at Oldbury Hill (see photos on Snopper`s FlickR pics) and just let him scamper around and enjoy himself without having to ask him to practice anything.  In a week or so, Mrs. Snopper and Barney will be attending the ceremony for the presentation of his certificate and rosette, so he`ll have time to reflect on what he might have to say in his acceptance speech.  

 Also, if he thinks that`s it and he`s cracked it, it might just be that he fancies moving on to the Platinum Award, followed presumably by the Diamond and then the ultimate test - the Dilithium Crystal Award.   But for now, he and his handler deserve a break from the white heat of all the pressure they have succeeded in overcoming.  I couldn`t be happier for them both.

DEJA VU ALL OVER AGAIN..

We`ve been here before, I think.  Farce following tragedy, like night following day.

Some while ago, I recall being appalled by the antics of Muslim extremists in Luton, when they attempted to disrupt the homecoming parade for armed forces personnel returning from  Afghanistan.  The force of their invective was deeply offensive and whilst that was bad enough, what was even more deeply offensive was the fact that little, if any, action was taken by the `authorities.`

Now we have had the premeditated and unapologetic stabbing of Stephen Timms, MP who is mercifully recovering from his ordeal.  The young radicalised Muslim woman responsible for the attack was duly sentenced to a life term in prison following the jury`s guilty verdict which in turn gave rise to a tirade of outbursts in the court by a gaggle of her extremist supporters. Yet more demonstrations, including the one pictured, were seemingly allowed to take place outside on the street with banners  saying ‘Islam will dominate the World’, yelling ‘British soldiers must die’, and screaming that the knifed Labour MP, Stephen Timms, should be killed.

It seems unsurprising - perhaps inevitable - that at least two of the protesters are living on ­benefits, one claiming to suffer from `chronic fatigue disorder,` while they orchestrate their Islamic rants .  And as with Luton, I see no reports of any action being taken either for contempt of court whilst they were inside the Old Bailey or incitement to hatred whilst they were outside.   It`s looking once again suspiciously like there is one set of rules for them and another set for the rest of us.   It also sounds suspiciously like the `authorities` are suffering either from a fit of institutionalised reluctance or a `chronic fatigue disorder` of their own making.   Either way, it just won`t do any more.  Enough has been enough for far too long.

FAME AT LAST?

Each week nPower, the main sponsors of the Football League, select a team made up of the outstanding individual players from matches played in the previous week.   It was very pleasing to see that our street`s diva, Scott Wagstaff, was selected for the wide right slot, along with his fellow Charlton team mate and goalkeeper Rob Elliott in the League One Team of the Week.  The team also included Saints captain Dean Hammond.

I`ve checked out the selections for the League Two Team of the Week but, sadly, could find no trace of any mention of anyone from Gillingham.   Now, I wonder why.  Who can explain it?  Who can tell you why?  Fools give you reasons, wise men never try, but maybe, just maybe, on some enchanted evening before the season is out the Gills will grab three points  only for the other two to slip up, thus providing my long suffering neighbour, Extremely Frustrated of Leybourne, with the bragging rights he has yearned for for so long.

ALL IS REVEALED...

The mystery surrounding Scott Wagstaff`s mesmerising goal celebration after he netted the winner for Charlton against Sheffield Wednesday last Saturday, is a mystery no more.

A guest appearance on the Talksport radio programme yesterday afternoon gave Scott the opportunity to clarify what lay behind his antics, all of which is revealed in this clip from the Talksport show:-

http://www.talksport.co.uk/radio/hawksbee-and-jacobs/blog/2010-11-01/wagstaff-i-enjoyed-celebrating-doing-brick

Those of us who dwell in the sleepy hamlet we share with Scott and his family and especially those of us who also dwell in the obscure fog of yesteryear, are still none the wiser.  To be fair.

 

A CUNNING PLAN..

News that, after 140 years, prisoners are to be given back the right to vote comes as little surprise given all the other privileges which attach to a term at Her Majesty`s pleasure these days.   And also given the almost insufferable interference in our domestic affairs by the all pervading European Union.   This time the European Court of Human Rights has confirmed that, in their view, to deny convicted prisoners the right to take part in the democratic process is a fundamental denial of their human rights. 

Oh well.  Seems as if HM Gov. has given up the ghost, rolled over and said, "OK then," on the less than principled notion that it will cost too much in legal fees and compensation to carry on with the fight. 

At the same time, in yet another example of the principle of saving money being paramount, care for the elderly seems to be under threat - at least in England, for I believe that care for the elderly is free in Scotland - like so many other things that we in England are contributing to - and therefore safeguarded from any politically suicidal tendencies to do anything about it.

But here`s the thing.   Thanks to all kinds of prisoner-friendly outfits (Prison Reform Trust, etc.) conditions in our prisons have improved by leaps and bounds to the point where   human rights and other reforms have made life in prison much more agreeable with excellent accommodation, health care, catering, social activities, TVs and other home comforts. 

 I`ve no quarrel with all of that but, as the lot of our elderly and those detained as guests of Her Majesty edge ever closer towards parity, it makes me wonder whether the final solution to the perceived problems of prisoners and the very real problems of our aged population might be to put all the prisoners in the old peoples` homes and all the old folk in prison.  I`m not sure any of them would notice much difference?

ROOM FOR IMPROVEMENT...

Once again, yesterday`s footy results leave room for improvement in Snopper Street. 

First, our quest for nine points out of nine from the fortunes of the Saints, Charlton and the Gills has been thwarted once more.  The Saints went away to Notts County (the oldest football league club) and mounted a stirring second half come back from a one goal half-time deficit to emerge 3-1 winners, thanks to goals from Rickie Lambert Southampton`s Goal Machine (RLSGM,) Lee Barnard, who continues to play with his wrist in plaster following an unfortunate encounter with the flying jaw of a bystanding malcontent in a Southampton nite spot;  and a sublime 25-yard strike from the sublime Adam Lallana.

The fact that the full house of nine points again eluded us was once more down to the Gills, who suffered a 2-1 reverse away at Sixfields, where Nothampton Town had not won for six matches.  They have now.

But pride of place must again go to our street`s footy hero Scott ("Charlton`s Joint Top Scorer Gay Icon Pacy Flanker Buzzin` Six Pack") Wagstaff, pictured, whose 23rd minute strike rifled into the Sheffield Wednesday net for the only goal of the game.   But now that he is scoring regularly, it really is time that he worked on his goal celebration technique.   It`s all very well training all week on basics such as fitness, pacy flankness, getting to the byeline, taking on the last defender, picking out a pass and planting the ball beyond the opposing custodian, but what really catches the eye of fans, agents, scouts and opposing managers  is the goal celebration.  Duff celebration = duff prospects.  Ace celebration = every chance.

And so yesterday, when Scott scored his winner, connoisseurs of the finer points of the game such as my neighbourly Gills groupie Slightly and myself, would have been puzzled by the allegedly pre-rehearsed celebration  that followed.  In truth, it was more Norman Wisdom than Rudolph Nureyev, so as you can see from the photo taken whilst he wasn`t looking,  we are encouraging Scott to spend a little more time down the village green practicing his routine for next time he finds the back of the net. This could come as early as next week, when each of our teams are in the First Round Proper of the FA Cup, which always leads me to suspect there might be a First Round Improper. Surely the Gills will see off plucky Dover;  surely the Saints will spoil Shrewsbury`s Big Day Out;  and Scott and his chums must surely overcome the upstarts of Barnet.  Keep practicing, Scotty - there is certainly room for improvement but it`s coming along nicely.  To be fair.

MOUNTING PRESSURE



As our picture shows, the pressure is beginning to tell on Barney as the day for his second attempt at the Kennel Club Good Dog Citizen Gold Award (KCGDCGA) is now just over a week away.

For almost a year now, ever since he passed the Silver Award, he has been attending the training sessions but with the Gold Test looming the stress of expectation is beginning to get to him.  He  is now going through a programme of intesnse activity with extra training sessions lined up for tomorrow, next Tuesday and Wednesday before he has the exam. next Saturday.

He`s being given every chance, as they say, although I fear his natural tendency to see everything as a game, run around and have a good time, wag his tail a lot and lay on his back kicking his legs in the air, might not be quite what the examiner is looking for.  But then they do say that dogs are like their owners, so maybe it will be down to me if he doesn`t make it this time.  Or ever.

JUST SAY `NON`..

Each November, the report of the Court of Auditors on the accounts of the European Union are presented to the EU Parliament and this year their report promises to be little different to those of the previous 15 years.

Except for one thing.   For we learn that the EU are seeking to approve an increase in their budget of 6.9% for the coming year.  Just at the same time as we in the UK are facing £81billion of budget cuts, countless job losses and huge changes to the benefit system.   Now, for the past 15 years, the EU auditors have been unable to `sign off` the EU accounts and it seems reasonable to assume that the same failings will show themselves again this time round.  Weak accountancy, weak internal controls both at the Commission and in the member states were given as the main reason why no less than 80% of the EU budget failed the audit last year.

"Reasons for the errors in the underlying transactions include neglect, poor knowledge of the often complex rules and presumed attempts to defraud the EU budget," Court of Auditors President Hubert Weber said. "I believe that the EU's citizens are entitled to expect EU funds to be properly managed and controlled across the Union", he added.

Quite right, so rather than just impose another 6.9% budget increase on us all, why don`t the EU just take his advice?   It`s high time David Cameron just said `Non` to the imposition of yet more taxes by this largely unelected and unaccountable EU fairyland who, in their disregard for any form of reasonable budgetary control, in their relaxed attitude towards squandering other people`s money and in their determination to assume they know what`s good for us, remind me more and more of the basket case that is Portsmouth Football Club.   

CHEER UP, MRS...

Don`t look so glum, Mrs. Uddin.  Cheer up.  For it seems we taxpayers might end up paying the £125,000 you`ve been ordered to pay back for fiddling your House of Lords expenses.

 It emerged over the weekend that the peer, who claims that she cannot afford to repay the £125,000 she has been ordered to return, may be able to dip into taxpayer funds again to pay off the bill issued by the Clerk of the Parliament.  Officials confirmed that she won`t have to pay the money back until she returns from suspension, but when she does return at the start of the next parliament, Mrs. Uddin would then be entitled to begin claiming parliamentary expenses again, including a new £300 day attendance allowance. If she attended for the 140 sitting days a year the Lords meets for, she could accumulate enough of our cash to repay the money within three years.

It has also been reported that the Crown Prosecution Service might re-open the investigation into Mrs. Uddin`s case, which did not proceed earlier for `lack of sufficient evidence.` However, police obtained statements from 12 neighbours who all said that she had never been seen at the flat in Maidstone and that they referred to the property as the “empty flat”. Water bills showed close to zero usage, leading the water company to replace Lady Uddin’s meter, assuming it was broken because usage levels were so low. At one point, some shirts blew off a nearby washing line on to the balcony of the flat, and were left to gather mould because no one was ever there to remove them.

Neighbours said that they could see that there was no furniture in the flat until press reports about her case, and no signs of occupancy other than a single unshaded light bulb, which was set on a timer switch.   Lady Uddin had asked the letting company to forward all correspondence to her London home.  

Sounds like game, set and match to the Crown Prosecution Service to me and the quicker the Lords are rid of unelected chancers like Mrs. Uddin the better.

NEAT AND TIDY..

For more years than I care to remember, I`ve taken our successive golden retrievers for walkies up around East Malling Heath, a couple of miles from home.   Years ago, it was a well tended market garden area, with extensive strawberry fields but for years now  the area has been left for nature to take its course.  As a result, there has been a large tract of natural countryside to explore with the public footpaths that run through it giving access to woodland, heathland and open fields - just the kind of areas that dogs love, as well as the dog walkers.

I hadn`t been there for a few weeks until yesterday, when Barney and I set off on our accustomed ramble.  What surprised us was that in the space of those few weeks, the natural environment has been turned into a more formal `wildlife nature area.`   Now for quite a few years , the `development` that is Kings HIll has been growing.  It`s a sought after residential development with an attendant business park, a shopping centre, community hall, cricket ground, leisure centre and all the other trimmings normally associated with the `built environment.`

It`s all very neat and tidy - manicured verges, manicured houses, no washing lines in sight, no litter anywhere, semi-mature planted trees maturing nicely - it`s almost Stepford-esque in its tidiness.  The latest `phase` of the development  now gives access to the natural countryside area which has been left untouched until now, but with that development has come the perceived need to `formalise` things.   So, there are now signs showing you where to go and where not to go, signs telling you to behave, to pick up any dog droppings (which I do anyway,) there are well defined paths with nice new kissing gates, there are whole areas of my former haunt that are now fenced off, there are litter bins, dog bins and all the stuff you would expect to see in a formalised inner city park.  Very neat and tidy.

But this is not the inner city.  This is an area in the middle of the Kent countryside.  What has clearly happened is that, in a pointless effort to remind the Kings Hill incomers of their former urban environments, the developers have turned an area where we used to ramble free, explore, get lost now and again but see nature as it really should be seen, into a controlled,  restricted, neat and tidy, risk-assessed adjunct to the controlled, restricted, neat and tidy, risk-assessed housing estate that has invaded this corner of the Garden of England.   Mr Fussy would love it.

THE FIRST OF MANY?

A very good day yesterday. For the first time ever, I had the real pleasure of taking my grandaughter to St. Mary`s, this time to see the Saints take on the Latics of Oldham.   She has just embarked on a three-year history degree course  at Southampton University, so it follows that she should be exposed to the cultural life of the city and broaden her education still further by sampling the experience that is a Saints home game.  

This was, however, something of a gentle introduction, as the only tickets I could get where the two of us could sit together was in the KIngsland Stand.   You see, the Kingsland Stand is the quiet one, in direct contrast to the barage of constant noise from the Northam Stand or the sharp banter of the Itchen, where I normally sit.   But we had a good view and the game ended in a 2-1 victory for the Saints.

I`m not sure, however, whether the football was the highlight of Sarah`s day or whether the couple of visits we made to the Cowherds Inn (pictured) at the lower end of Southampton`s extensive Common were more to her taste.   After our long drive we were ready for a good feed and the Cowherds certainly provided it.  I`ll spare you the details, but let`s just say that any trace of anything remotely foreign was conspicuous by its absence.  Trouble was, we ate so well, there was no room left for pudding, so off we went on the longish wander down to the stadium, possibly harbouring thoughts of an after match return to finish the job.

And so it proved.  After the game, we walked back to the car, which we had left quite close to the Cowherds and a brief consultation concluded that we really should go back for more.   We had tea for two and our overdue puddings - butterscotch and toffee pudding and custard for Sarah, treacle tart and ice cream for me. Exquisito!! 

With Sarah safely returned to the University, I then had the long drive home, but it left me with a collection of very satisfying thoughts to reflect on my very good day - always a pleasure to visit St. Mary`s, especially after a home win;  an even greater pleasure to have my grandaughter`s company for a whole day; and the discovery that an excellent cuisine is just down the road from where she is staying, along with an extensive menu that we might just work our way through in the next three years.  Time will determine whether Sarah`s loyalty grows towards the Saints, but already she seems much taken by the Cowherds.  Me too.  http://www.vintageinn.co.uk/thecowherdssouthampton/

HOW COME?

Fair play to the House of Lords who, without any grunts of discontent, yesterday doled out the `sentences` to the three `Noble` Lords who had transgressed the rules relating to the claiming of expenses.   Labour peers Baroness Uddin and Lord Paul, and crossbencher Lord Bhatia, were suspended after the upper chamber approved the damning judgments of its Privileges and Conduct Committee.

Baroness Uddin was suspended until the end of the parliamentary session in 2012 and told to repay £125,349.  Lord Bhatia was sidelined for eight months and has  ­already repaid more than £27,000.  Labour grandee Lord Paul was suspended for four months and has already ­returned £41,982.

Baroness Uddin (pictured) claimed more than £100,000 by ­stating that her main home was a small flat in Maidstone, Kent, not far from where I live.   But she has been living in east London for more than 20 years. The arrangement allowed her to claim almost £30,000 a year in expenses she would not otherwise have been entitled to.

Now, whilst these may be the harshest penalties dished out by the Lords for 300 years, what do they amount to in reality?   Well, this ignoble trio have simply been required to repay the cash they fiddled from the taxpayer anyway, so there`s no element of `fine` involved, and they are not allowed into the Lords until their suspensions have been completed.   I presume this means they will not be able to claim the daily attendance allowance or any other expenses that go with being a member of the House of Lords.   But that`s it.   No prosecutions for what amount to clear cut cases of defrauding the taxpayer;  no problem with them coming back to start claiming all over again and no question of their titles being taken away.

In the real world where most of us don`t have the privileges enjoyed by the ermine clad members of the House of Lords, we would have been fired from our jobs, prosecuted and jailed for committing the kind of offences carried out by this trio.   So how come these three are getting away so lightly?   I`ve no quarrel with the judgements reached by the House of Lords yesterday - they were simply invoking the sanctions at their disposal - but it really is time for a fundamental change so that elected politicians, whether in Parliament, the EU or local councils and especially the unelected Members of the Lords, are subject to the same laws and judicial procedures as the rest of us.

STRUCTURAL DEFECT..

There was a time, many years ago, when I used to admire Manchester United for all kinds of reasons.  It may have stemmed from the Busby Babes, who played football with a smile under the guidance of the urbane Sir Matt Busby and my sympathy for them was clearly enhanced by the tragedy of Munich which resulted in the loss of so many lives.

I`m not sure when admiration turned into disenchantment but I suspect it was around the time of `Big` Ron Atkinson who seemed to impose his own brand of arrogance on the club, a quality that has been taken to new heights in recent years.  For me, there have been quite a few times over the years when I have taken immense satisfaction in that bubble of arrogance being pricked.  I especially revelled when my own club Southampton beat them on that glorious 1976 day in the FA Cup Final.  So I admit I`m biased.

But events on the pitch are one thing;  events off the pitch say perhaps more about the nature of the club and we are now witnessing once more the shenenagins that have been the hallmark of `Sir` Alex Ferguson`s tenure at Old Trafford.   Now, no-one can deny the trophies his `management` has brought to the club - I think the total is now 35 -  but it`s the methods used, the absence of any managerial style, the arrogant assumptions, that have perhaps taken a little of the shine away from those successes.  Beckham, Stam, van Nistelrooy, Keane and many more were all shipped out by the club for having the temerity not to slavishly acquiesce with Ferguson`s dictatorial `style,` which seems to rely on handbags, hairdryers, bullying and rant.   Sir Matt Busby he ain`t, never was and never will be.

Rooney`s publicly stated desire to leave may genuinely be because of his perceived lack of ambition by the club but I get the feeling that it might be that he has simply had enough of being treated like some errant schoolboy caught behind the bike shed doing something of which the headmaster disapporoves and so wants to give him a lesson he won`t forget.

Now I hold no candle for Rooney - he might be a decent player but even in the Alice in Wonderland world of Premier League football, no-one but no-one is worth £250,000 a week.   Especially at the same time as HM Gov. is cutting £81billion of expenditure from anything from benefit claims to aircraft non-carriers and leaving at least 490,000 people out of work.  With Manchester United, it seems the ironies just keep coming.

Rooney`s timing is awful and maybe we shouldn`t be surprised at that but in a curious way it`s at least refreshing to suspect that, for once, Ferguson isn`t in charge of the situation. This time, someone else is  and however misguided Rooney might be, it might just be the catalyst for Ferguson to finally pack it in, go away and shuffle off back to the swamp with the rest of the dinosaurs, leaving a great club the chance to begin  restoring at least some of the affection it used to command all those years ago.

 NICE TRY..

From our Crime Correspondent

An anxious wait has come to an end with the arrival on Snopper`s doormat of the results of his pathetic, lame duck, plaintive attempt to hoodwink Rother District Council.  A couple of weeks ago, Snopper`s unfailing disregard for the startlingly obvious resulted in him receiving a parking ticket from the Council, having failed to notice a ticket machine in their car park at Camber Sands.

He sent off his cheque for the damage, along with a letter explaining that he was an elderly pensioner struggling in these hard times to eek out a living for himself, Mrs. Snopper and their dog, Barney, and would they mind terribly if they could overlook his senior blunder and let him off.

The result arrived today courtesy of an official communication from the Council, pointing out the error of Snopper`s ways and `respectively (sic) drawing  attention` to the location of the ticket machine which I`m sure will come in handy if he ever returns to the scene of the crime.

He has, however, with his usual sang froid, taken a little comfort from his assertion that, "the Council`s understanding of the plight of the elderly seems to be in inverse proportion to their ability to spell."  Neither was he surprised that `respectfully` does not appear to feature in their vocabulary.

Nice try though.

SMALL MERCIES...

Each week Snopper Street is on tenterhooks awaiting the outcome of the football matches followed by neighbours who support different teams. There are a few peripheral supporters who follow Premier League clubs, but the true football fans among us are content to leave that make-believe fairyland to its own devices and instead follow our own clubs in the `lower divisions.`

Our goal is simple - one week to achieve the maximum of three wins by the three teams we follow; Charlton, Gillingham and Southampton (alphabetical order.) That would secure the maximum of nine points out of nine but so far this season that ambition has eluded us. We`ve come close - last week we managed seven points out of nine and yesterday there were high hopes that our goal would be achieved. After all, Charlton were at home to Brighton and their supporters had the added incentive of a matchday programme featuring our street`s local hero, Scott (`Charlton`s top scorer this season`) Wagstaff; the Saints were on a roll, unbeaten in five games but facing a stern test away oop north at Huddersfield whereas Gillingham made the journey to Vale Park to take on promotion contenders Port Vale determined to end their record breaking run of 32 away games without a win.

Charlton went and lost 4-0, not helped by Waggy being confined to the bench for much of the game with a foot injury. Southampton went and lost 2-0 with a sub-standard, below par, hapless performance, leaving only Gillingham to salvage a little pride for our street with a hard fought 0-0 draw away in the Potteries. They may not have ended their away win drought but at least they provided the one point out of nine that we managed yesterday.

Small mercies indeed.

OLD HAUNTS...

I guess it`s what happens to other people too but, as I get older, I find I look back on things, events and places I experienced years ago and one of the many things I enjoy is to revisit those places, revive the memories and see what changes the years may have brought.

It was well over 40 years ago, when times were hard and we were bringing up three children, that I took on the part time job as Clerk to the West Peckham Parish Council. The money wasn`t great - £10 a year if I recall correctly - but it represented a kind of Christmas bonus which came in handy at that time of the year. I inherited the job from a colleague who had been doing it for years and was nearing retirement. He told me how much I would enjoy it because there were good people in West Peckham and it was a nice village to be associated with.

He was dead right. The heart of the village is at the end of a semi-gated cul-de-sac, off a beaten track, and there you will find the village green (pictured,) the village pub (The Swan) and the church of St. Dunstan, which has stood for over 900 years. The whole parish has a population no more than 300 at most and is mainly farm land, with orchards, woods and rolling fields. Archetypal English village scenes - almost a throwback to another age. Not much happened to disturb the peace of the Parish Council all those years ago and so my tenure as their Parish Clerk was trouble free but somehow richly rewarding. I`m not talking about the £10 a year but more about the place and the people. The chairman of the Parish Council was a gentleman farmer, who I got to know, like and respect, not least because his roots - like many of my own family - were in the Hamshire/Berkshire borderland.

This morning, I put Barney in the car and drove the few miles back to West Peckham. Armed with the Ordnance Survey map, we headed off down part of the Wealdway, the long distance path that runs from Gravesend to the Sussex coast near Eastbourne, across a field and into a wood before emerging back on the village green where, on this quiet October Sunday morning, the sweetest sound of silence was broken only by the breeze and the birds. How it should be.

On the way back to the car I paused outside the smart new looking village hall (40 years ago it was a corrugated iron job) and read the events recorded on the agenda for an upcoming Parish Council meeting. I noticed that the chairman bore the same surname as the gentleman farmer who chaired proceedings all those years ago, which seemed to confirm that very little had changed in all that time. And for West Peckham and all the other timeless villages which enrich our sceptred isle, I hope it never does.

SIGN HERE PLEASE..

A week ago, I wrote of my surprise to discover that I was living in `Rowland Hilder Country,` having also discovered his grave in a nearby churchyard. It reminded me of the countless times I have driven through another literary country en route to St. Mary`s Stadium. Just beyond Farnham on the A31, you leave Surrey and enter Hampshire, at which point there`s a sign saying `Welcome to Jane Austen Country.` A little further along towards Alton there`s another sign pointing you towards Chawton and `Jane Austen`s House` and my journey takes me close to Winchester, where Jane died and eventually to Southampton where she lived for some time.

Last week when we were in the Bluewater Shopping Thingy I had a browse in Waterstones Book Shop. What struck me was the collection of notices outside proclaiming the impending programme of book signings. Among the authors beating a path to Bluewater in the coming weeks were literary giants such as Katie Price, she of the pneumatic chest and little else; Michael MacIntyre, who thinks that all you have to do to be funny is shout a lot and shake your head about; Danny Dyer and Ross Kemp, both of whom appear to be making a vicarious living under the guise of being `hard;` and one Ricky Villa.

Ah yes, Ricky Villa, he of the memorable winning goal for Tottenham Hotspur in some long forgotten FA Cup Final, but clearly yet another in this array of `characters` who have tales to tell with creative prose and a keen eye for tempting a deluded audience to part with their cash in return for a signed copy of their `book` and a fleeting interaction with what passes these days for `celebrity.
`

Somehow I could not imagine Jane Austen turning up at Mrs. Miggins` Literary Emporium to sign copies of Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice and all her other immortal works just to make a few bob whilst smiling sweetly to her admirers. You see, Jane would not have needed to do that, which says much about the motives, the quality and the transient desperation of today`s opportunistic `authors.` Katie Price Country anyone?

SNOPPER NICKED AT LAST

Our Crime Correspondent reports

Rother District Council, who operate out of Bexhill-on-sea in Sussex, have a car park at Camber Sands which is just up the road from Rye. It`s a nice area, very popular with visitors, especially dog owners, as a big chunk of the beach is where dogs are allowed to go and do their thing. A couple of weeks ago, the Snopper family, including grandsons and Barney the Retriever, paid a visit to Camber Sands. On arrival, there was a wooden kiosk with a nice young lady inside taking money and issuing car parking tickets.

Last week, Snopper thought it would be nice to take Mrs. Snopper and Barney back for a return visit. On arrival, the wooden kiosk was boarded up, no sign of nice young lady, so Snopper concluded that, as the summer season had drawn to a close, the car park operation had closed down and parking was therefore free. On returning to the car after their seaside ramble, Snopper was surprised to see a penalty notice from Rother District Council, demanding payment of £80 as he didn`t have a parking ticket. This after over 50 years driving and never once exceeding the speed limit brought on an immediate feeling of shame, as much for being found out as for committing the `offence.`

With a painful shrug of his elderly shoulders, Snopper duly wrote a cheque along with a covering letter to apologise for his oversight but also confirming that he is an old age pensioner struggling to survive on a fixed income during the deepest financial crisis for decades and that perhaps Rother District Council would look to providing a clear notice on the boarded up kiosk so that visitors - especially the terminally dim - might purchase a ticket from the pre-payment machine, wherever it might be situated. And he thinks that pensioners shouldn`t have to pay anyway, a campaign being launched, as our picture shows, by a band of Snopper`s golf groupies gathering outside the offices of Rother District Council. The outcome is awaited, but there is real worry that his hitherto unblemished (well, nearly) reputation might finally come to an unfortunate end. Et tu, Snopper?

I NAME THIS SHIP...

As I got back to Southampton`s Town Quay on Saturday evening, where I had parked my car before seeing Saints 2-0 win over Tranmere Rovers, I took this photo of the new Queen Elizabeth as she was being lit up when the light began to fade over the Ocean Terminal.

Today, of course, the real Queen Elizabeth is performing the naming ceremony amid much pomp and circumstance coreographed by Cunard. They`re pulling out all the stops to ram home the fact that this is a British ship run by a British company operating out of Britain`s premier passenger port - the Coldstream Guards, the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra and Lesley Garrett will all be taking part in this very British ceremony, never mind the fact that the ship was built in an Italian yard.

I just wonder how much influence Her Majesty might have had over the ship`s name, for it must be a bit difficult to "name this ship Queen Elizabeth. May God bless her and all who sail in her." Harping back to my harpie friend Ann Widdecombe, it occurred to me that, as the ship is more akin to a bulk carrier than a traditional cruising vessel - more block of flats than elegant ocean going edifice - maybe Her Majesty might be more at ease naming "this ship the Ann Widdecombe. May God bless her and all who sail in her." Bet she won`t though.