Live life the Hollo-way

My hero is Ian Holloway. Ex-Bristol Rovers player/manager who is now enjoying Premiership manager success up at Blackpool. It couldn't happen to a nicer club (Blackpool fans are awesome), or a nicer man.

I used to live down the road from 'Ollie' as a teenager, and whenever I saw him walking his dog he always said hello. These were the days when I was ever-so-slightly obsessed with football, in particular Bristol Rovers. At the time, Holloway was our player/manager. There aren't enough player/managers these days. I always think that a manager bringing himself on as a sub must be a bit of a blow for the player being replaced.

Anyway, I was reminded of my respect for the man this week because of this video in which he rants about the ridiculous Wayne Rooney situation:

Everything about this video I adore: the passion behind his words, his increasing rage, his turns of phrase ("SORT YER LIFE OUT!"), his self-deprecation, how he appears to scratch his arse at the 3 minute point, his fabulous Bristolian accent (which hasn't softened at all over the years), his cheesy joke at the end of the BBC video linked to above, and his cheeky grin. What. A. Fella.

However, the one thing I don't necessarily agree with is what he's actually saying. Now I'm not going to pretend to be some kind of expert on the Bosman ruling and football transfers, and I completely agree that the fact a footballer can threaten to leave a club, then be rewarded with a massive salary hike in order to get him to stay is ludicrous and shameful. But the way Holloway describes Rooney as an entity - like a car or a house - is pretty depressing. 

*cue over-simplified argument*

If anyone else wants to change jobs and join another company, then they are perfectly within their rights to do so. But footballers are bought and sold like commodities, and are treated like possessions, not individuals. Holloway's rant is perfectly valid within the system that currently exists, but basically I believe the entire football transfer system is wrong (I told you this was going to be an over-simplified argument). 

Do I have any sensible solutions for how this system can change? No, of-course I bloody don't. Do I think that Rooney honestly wanted to leave Manchester United? No, of-course I bloody don't; he (or, more likely, his agent) wanted more money, and it's worked out very nicely indeed for both of them. You could also argue that this entire situation hasn't done any harm to Ferguson's reputation either, but I'm going to leave that particular conspiracy theory dangling mid-air...(though check out the labels I've tagged this post with).

But, yes. Ian Holloway. True legend, and a top bloke.

The Brizzle Language School

via beast-clothing.com

This is funny too (it makes I laaff)..

Posted via web from Thoughts as she has them

Ark at ee!!

via beast-clothing.com

I've been in Bristol the last few days and today I stumbled across this legendary clothing stall in St Nicholas Market in the city centre. To someone who's never been to Bristol before the catchphrases emblazoned on the clothing probably mean absolutely nothing, but to me - who grew up in Bristol - I can't get enough of them. Hover over some of the images to hear some classic Bristolian phrases. I loves it, I do.

Posted via web from Thoughts as she has them

Pub quiz-co

So I'm having a bit of time away from London during my week off work, chilling out with my family on the outskirts of Bristol, where I grew up. Knowing how much I enjoy a good pub quiz, my parents decided we should go along to the Upton Inn a couple of miles down the road for their Monday night curry and quiz. I like pubs, I like curry, and I like a bit of healthy trivia-based competition, so it sounded like a good deal to me. But I was not prepared for what fun was to come...

For after the quiz had finished but (crucially) BEFORE the winner was announced, the lights are dimmed, the music (from the music round) is switched on and the little country pub transforms itself into the hottest village disco this side of, err, Bitton. It was lots of fun, and a great way to liven up what would otherwise be the dullest evening of the week. So bravo, Upton Inn - your curry was gurt lush, your staff were all tip top, the quiz cash prizes were not to be sneered at (we came a respectable fourth out of eleven teams and won £20, the winning team got £100) and all in all I would highly recommend a visit. But be warned: it's a popular place is this, so booking is definitely recommended!

Ringtone or no ringtone

I'm an idiot. In my previous post I completely neglected to mention one of the greatest TV recording experiences of my life: DEAL OR NO DEAL. The show is filmed in Bristol and the Dunlop clan went along one Friday afternoon in 2006, smack bang in the middle of the show's heyday. Going to see DOND being filmed was unlike any other TV recording experience I referred to yesterday. For one, the show is filmed in an old warehouse and it was much less like a military operation to get it. Secondly, YOU GET FREE ALCOHOL AND FOOD. This aspect of the experience was particularly excellent. Thirdly, if you play your cards right, you could very well end up on the telly yourself.

Anyone who knows me knows that I would never pass up on the opportunity to put myself in a potentially embarrassing situation, so I actively sought out the researcher with the clipboard who was selecting the three audience members to open the boxes at the end of the show for the viewers' competition. Of-course, these were the days before Ofcom ruled that such money-making competitions were actually a little bit wrong.

Happily, the clipboard guy agreed for me and my brother to be two of the box-openers at the end, so after a quick lesson on how to open the box without looking like a fool (place one hand on top of the box, then rip the tag off with the other before lifting the lid with both hands) we were ushered to special seats in the audience with easy access to the relevant plinth.

Let's just say the next hour or so that followed was a bit of an ordeal. Not only was I terrified of my big box-opening moment, but my phone decided to start vibrating at a very crucial and dramatic part of the proceedings. I got away with it and dismantled my phone, a small sense of calm enveloping me, safe in the knowledge that it definitely couldn't go off again. About 10 minutes later, someone else's phone started ringing. 'Phew', I thought to myself, 'I'm not the only silly person in this room'. Except slowly I began to realise that I recognised the relentless ringtone, and then I realised that it wasn't a ringtone after all, it was my sodding iPod with The Subways blaring out of the headphones! I'd left it unlocked in my bag and I'd obviously nudged it on, and my attempts to muffle the noise with my feet only seemed to be making it louder. Somehow I managed to get away with that as well.

So, the moment of truth. I took my place in the middle of the plinth behind box number two, absolutely terrified, as you can see from my face, here:

'Please don't choose two, please don't choose two', I mentally pleaded with the random audience member who had been selected by Edmonds. They chose number three, panic over. Here are a couple of photos of the actual box opening:

  
The relief I felt at the moment above is almost indescribable. It was a lot of fun, thanks Noel!

My quest to discover the fate of Sniper the dog

About ten years ago I was watching BBC Points West, the local BBC news programme for Bristol and the surrounding areas. One of the top stories was a frantic hunt for a dog called Sniper, who had gone missing in a forest whilst out on a walk. His distraught owners believed that their beloved Sniper - always the adventurer - had unwittingly wandered in to one of the hundreds of badger sets in the forest, and had gotten lost in the labyrinth of underground tunnels.

There was a live link at the search scene, where it appeared there were dozens of policemen, RSPCA people and members of the public trying to locate the canine explorer, with an emotional plea from the reporter for people in the local area to keep their eyes peeled for a dog matching Sniper's description. The story had me gripped, and at the end of the show they re-visited the scene to inform us that Sniper still hadn't been found, but that the search was still in full swing.

Now, these were the days before online news hit the big-time, and the thought of instant access to information was a distant dream. So the next day I dutifully tuned in to the news programme for a Sniper update. Nothing. After a few days, I was so disturbed by the lack of closure on the story that I even sent them an e-mail, requesting information about the outcome of the Sniper-search. Nothing.

A decade later, I have decided to make it my mission to find out once and for all - WHAT HAPPENED TO SNIPER THE DOG?

Granted, the details I have are rather thin on the ground; my estimation of when this story hit the headlines could be wrong, and it may not have even been a story on the BBC local news programme after all, but instead on its ITV equivalent. But I'm hoping that I will finally be able to discover the fate of dear old Sniper through the wonder of social media and modern-day technology.

Please help and spread the word!

Off we went to the circus...

...But not any old circus. Oh no. This was Cabot Circus - Bristol's brand new shopping complex development, which promises to 'place Bristol firmly on centre stage'. Aside from the annoying logo (I had a massive urge to go round with a bottle of Tipp-Ex and put dots on all of the 'i's) it's certainly architecturally impressive, with vast Eden Project-esque glass dome structures acting as a roof, although the place is still somewhat open to the elements. The range of shops is as you'd expect, with a few 'classier' ones thrown in for good measure. The funky furniture shop Dwell is a nice addition. There's also one of those down the road from me in Balham (oh, and if any of the lovely people from Dwell happen to be reading this, feel free to chuck some free furniture my way, especially a sofa!).


Everyone's been banging on about Harvey Nichols, which has also opened as part of the new development. I went in there for the sake of it and personally felt it was a complete waste of space. Literally. Not that it actually takes up much space - the place is tiny. And £620 for a bloomin cardigan?! Come on! This is Broadmead, not Knightsbridge!

I must say it was nice to see Broadmead (the shopping area of Bristol) buzzing again. Just a shame it comes down to retail and commercial interests to pump some money into the city.

Oh, and funny thing happened at the coach station in Bristol - some girl got off the coach, ran up behind her friend and gave her a massive 'surprise' hug, only for her 'friend' to turn around and reveal themselves to be a complete stranger. My brother and I chuckled heartily at this - only because it's exactly the kind of embarrassing situation that I would all too easily get myself into.

New nan-ism

My wonderful nan came out with another corker today. She was correcting my brother on his use of English and had obviously intended to say 'you need to get your grammar right'. However, being a very Bristolian lady, what actually came out of her mouth was 'you need to get your grammal right'. At the time I had a mouth full of nan's delicious apple crumble, and I was laughing so hard that I'm surprised it didn't start spluttering out of my nose.

In other news, I have dreamt up an exciting new web project that I am hoping to get off the ground in the very near future. All I can say for now is that I have purchased a brilliant domain. Watch this space! Literally...