Holiday in Bridgend

Though British to my fingertips I love the buzz around Australians. Their energy, sense of humour and accents are all very exciting. Spending time in Brisbane and Sydney each year is a joy to me, Mother and Mr Pew (my chaperone).
Sadly we are being hit by the credit crunch and oz is off the agenda. Happily we have a solution. We will load up the Ford Anglia with vegemite and Prisoner Cell Block H DVDs and drive down to Bridgend. There we can hear dozens of Aussies accents every day. I do hope they have named a part of the town 'Little Sydney'. If we can visit a Celtic Crusaders training session we will play "spot the Welshman'.
At Chez Spoonfinger we love and admire Crusaders coach Mr Dixon. In our downstairs lavatory we have framed photographs of the four greatest bearded men in history. These are:

Sigmund Freud
Charles Darwin
Brian Blessed
John Dixon

Mr Dixon is not out of place with these great men.Though no match for the greatest bearded women.

While in Wales we hope to pay homage to that great RL summariser Jonathan Davies. Apparently in his youth he used to play the game. He is a man of great mental toughness. Sitting through hours of commentary by Ray "french letters" French cannot be easy. I am told that Jonathan's predecessor threw himself out of the gantry during one of Ray's anecdotes about playing a game on frozen ground during the winter of 1946.

I hope we have more luck with Mr Davies on our next visit. Last time Mother had composed a poem "Jonathan my Jonathan with your cheeky impish grin". Mr Protheroe had got a jar of vintage "ChateauBillinge " pickled turnips and I had created a fuzzy felt picture of Jonathan and Robbie Paul eating some chips. When we got to what we believe is Jonathan's home we knocked and knocked on his door. No answer. So Mr Pew shouted through his letter box. I recall his exact words:
" We've been driving for 6 hours its 3am in the morning and freezing can you let us in? Mrs McGillyCuddy needs your toilet and Mr Protheroe's turnips go a funny colour in the cold!"
Within minutes the local police turned up. They thought my fuzzy felt picture was very pretty.

Toilet Heights

On occassions Mrs McGillycuddy will accompany us to a game. She is a rotund lady with dodgy hips. This means that getting out of a low slung toilet can be problematic. For this reason it is sometimes necessary to make enquiries about:

* Toilet heights (floor to seat)
* Whether the toilet attendants have appropriate lifting cetificates
* Whether there is a lavatory winch available (fixed or mobile)

Getting answers from super league clubs on this issue is difficult in the other leagues it is virtually impossible. Yet we need to know. It would appear that no one has toilet heights at their finger tips. Nor do clubs employ toilet attendants! I well remember using the urinals at Wakefield and asking a fan where I would find a heated towel and some passable eau du toilette. He looked at me like I was from another planet. and do not get me started on winches. They are virtually standard in the USA. Many of the fans I see at games are no strangers to the sweet trolley yet the game is winch free.
If Mrs McGillyCuddy has trouble getting up she panics. When she panics she sweats! During one game at half time Mother (aged 87) created an impromptu pulley system using a towing cable. It took 28 minutes to get Mrs McG on her hind legs. By the time they got back to their seats the game had finished!
When money is tight we need top class customer service in our game. Some clubs need to step up to the plate.

John Kear's fingers and hips

At the back end of last season I found myself fixating on John Kear's fingers. One game was held up as Steve Ganson needed time to finish a pie. I could see JK's fingers undulating and rapping non stop. A couple of weeks later Trinity were on Sky and there were several close ups on Kear's fingers. We played these back a few times. Mother was convinced that that he was fingering a piece by Rachmaninov. However Mrs McGillycuddy said it was morse code and it was repeating....."My hip is giving me gip".

We now know that Mrs McGillycuddy was correct.

Recently JK has had a hip operation. My 'spies' tell me this is because he is being lined up for Strictly Come Dancing. They like RL people on this type of programme with Offiah and Hanley already dancing and skating. Mr Pew, my chaperone, was convinced that next we would see Garry Schofield on a reality show like Love island. However John Kear seems to be the man.
The thought of seeing JK and Kristina Rihanoff doing a Tango is mouth watering. At Chez Spoonfinger we would be cramped around our 14" portable TV hours before the programme even started. There would be pots full of hot Yorkshire tea and cheesy scones aplenty. Mother would probably knock up some 'Year of the Kear' t shirts. Mr Pew, my chaperone, would start one of his legendary marketing campaigns encouraging people to vote for JK. I can see the placard now:

"Vote for John Kear. He is a nice chap and he probably needs the money!"

What a coup it would be for rugby league in wakefield if JK could win.

Is there nothing that man cannot do? As he is an innovator in the game it would not be long before Anton du Beke is working with Ricky Bibey on his footwork. Marvellous.

Eddie Hemmings is a cult

My good friend, Mr Protheroe was once a big cheese in the Lancashire pickle industry. Now he earns big bucks as a Keith Chegwin look - a - like. He works for a leading 'doubles' agency and yesterday he told me something very interesting. The top 5 requests for look a likes are:

1. Barak Obama


2. Angelina Jolie


3. Paris Hilton


4. Eddie Hemmings


5. Christian Bale

Apparently there are weekly "Eddie" parties where people pay homage to the silky skills of Britain's leading sport broadcaster. They will watch old Sky games - not the least bit interested in the actual game - and cheer at Eddie's familiar phrases. The favourite being the repeating of a player's name as he attempts to score. As he scores the second half of the name is 'shouted' with a higher vocal inflection.....Sinfield..SinFIELD! At the fancy parties they hire short 'baldies' as waiters. All are called 'Stevo' and it is customary to slap them on the head (Benny Hill style) for no apparent reason.

I once bumped into Eddie as he left Lidl. He was carrying 48 cans of cider and a small scotch egg. I told him I thought he was a great entertainer. He put down his purchases and started to do an impromptu charleston while holding out a hand for small change. I gave him 50p and he seemed genuinely pleased.

On reflection I suspect it was not the Eddie Hemmings.

Captain my Captain

Yesterday I was having a heated game of kerplunk! with my chaperone, Mr Pew. He was thrashing me. At the half time break we had Yorkshire tea and some of mother's spiced eccles cakes.

By means of lateral thinking we went from Eccles to Salford to the flapdoodle that the City Reds had experienced in Florida! What had those boys been up to?

Was it high jinks and giddy tomfoolery? Or was a mark over stepped? It would appear to be the later. While I do not like to speculate perhaps a couple of the players had a strong shandy or maybe Paul White or Robbie paul put a fake dog poo on Bomber McRae's pillow - being an australian he may have thought it was an american chocolate mint! The possibilities are endless.

My concern is that the response of the Salford club was misguided. Perhaps corporal punishment in the privacy of the Willows would have been a better option.

At school I was regularly thrashed. On one occassion I used the wrong spoon during high tea. I was beaten unconscious. After 2 weeks in intensive care I returned to school and never made the same mistake again. Surely Steve Simms should have given Alker a sound spanking and drawn a line under it rather than strip him of the captaincy.Public humiliation is surely not the answer.

I suspect the Reds will now struggle this year - 'Spare the rod, ruin the club'.