From the Nest of Vipers

Thought I'd blow a bit of dust off this blog (you can read my Them Beatles blog here http://tomevans1.blogspot.co.uk/) by reproducing the article I wrote for the 'Sick in the Basin' fanzine which takes a look at my soon to finish time as Thistle programme editor. 

FROM THE NEST OF VIPERS

Over the course of the last few weeks a number of people have asked why, after 20+ years, I have decided to hang up my laptop and retire as Thistle’s programme editor. The answer is quite simple; the return of the Sick in the Basin fanzine. We simply can’t cope with the competition. SitB vendors can even be spotted next to programme sellers. Programme sellers are now busy filing their nails or picking their noses while surrounded by piles of unsold programmes while copies of SitB disappear quicker than a Scottish club’s presence in European competition. .

I jest of course. Sales of the programme have actually increased of late. Read into that what you may. The truth is that it has been a season of some personal turmoil. Keeping things short, my mother was killed in a car accident almost on the very eve of the current season. Perhaps that event has changed my perspective on life in general. I no longer want to be stuck in front of a laptop all the time; I want to reclaim more time for myself. To read more books, listen to more music and guide Aston Villa to the Premiership title in Football Manager.  When editing the programme ceases to be a labour of love and becomes a chore then it is time to pass it onto someone else. It doesn’t, however, signal my involvement with the Club. I hope.

Regular readers may have noticed the very, cough, occasional typo appear within the pages of the programme. Some of my personal highlights include a fantastic ticket offer in the late 90s where you could purchase 2 tickets for the price of 3, a player lying ‘prostate’ on the ground rather than ‘prostrate’ and referring to a fellow, then, First Division team as Airdire United. I blame the printers for the last one, largely because it was their fault. It also prompted a call from Airdire, sorry Airdrie, Chairman Jim Ballantyne claiming that it couldn’t possibly have been a mistake – Airdrie were dire to be fair – and that he would be phoning the SFA with a complaint on the Monday morning. It was a wind up instigated by Allan Cowan but it had me going for longer than it should have.

Not joking was the Thistle fan who threatened to take me to the Press Complaints Commission. Stand up and take a bow Tim Luckhurst. I quoted, and criticised, an article he had written (something about Kafka reading Thistle fans if I recall correctly) and he phoned the club that very evening demanding an apology or face dire consequences as I had no right to reproduce any of the article. Given that it would have been Thistle and not me in bother one, somewhat less than grovelling, apology followed. Ouch. On a more positive note I did rather upset Chick Young.

I could have done without the Thistle fan interrupting me while having a quiet pint, to have a rather aggressive pop at me over the Real Scottish Football programme. More amusing though was the response to a fairly in depth survey the club conducted at the end of one season. One of the questions was ‘how would you improve the programme?’ ‘Sack Hosie’ was one response.  I’m not 100% certain who that was but I have my strong suspicions and I know where I would be pointing the camera lens of suspicion at for that one.

I’ve been fortunate to have received the help and assistance of a large number of people none more than our two excellent photographers Donald Wilson and Tommy Whatshisname (who has been involved with the programme longer than even I have) but this isn’t really the place for a long list of thanks; I’ll save that for the final programme of the season. I’ve had though the pleasure to have worked, if you can use that word, with some excellent people at the club over the years. One of the difficulties in becoming involved with a football club is reading about people you know on forums and, yes, in fanzines and seeing them unfairly vilified. I’ve read many attacks on the characters of directors and managers that I know to be so far removed from the truth as it is possible to be. I’m delighted that I have friendships with people long beyond their direct involvement with Partick Thistle. Goodness, I still occasionally text Jackie McNamara! Meantime the last time I saw Gerry Collins I hid behind a freezer cabinet in Farmfoods in Parkhead.

Favourite managers over the years? Leaving aside their ability as a manager and judging them simply as people then I would have to include Dick Campbell on that list; few people have made me feel part of the club as he did. I’ve huge respect for Ian McCall, the aforementioned Jackie McNamara and Gerry Britton is one the of the funniest people have had the pleasure of spending time with. Get the red wine poured on a club overnight stay and he has a mountain of stories to tell. I wish I could share some here. Pour me some beer in the Star and I might just do that.

Alan Archibald though remains my hero having seen him come through the youth ranks, make his debut under Murdo MacLeod (he definitely isn’t included among my favourites), make over 400 first team appearances, serve on his testimonial committee and see him become Jags boss. The fact that Alan, among others from the club, attended my mother’s funeral service shows the mark of the man and how close knit a family Partick Thistle can be at times.

If I can be permitted to massage my own ego for just a second or two, there have been a few awards for the Thistle programme over the years. All very gratifying but nothing compared to praise, there has been some occasionally, received from fellow Thistle fans. One even raced after me after I left the pub to tell me how much they enjoyed the programme, a gesture that I was extremely touched by. Trying to please at least some of the people at least some of the time can be quite challenging. Size of crowd and corresponding print runs means that it is unlikely, though not impossible, that the Thistle programme will ever be the very best in the country but if Jags fans have enjoyed my efforts over the years then I’m well chuffed. The magazine Programme Monthly, in a short review of this season’s programme, commented that the programme was obviously compiled by someone who cared about the content. I can think of no better epitaph to a 20 year plus labour of love than that. If whoever picks up the reigns has the same approach then the programme will be in safe hands. I look forward to reading their efforts next season.

C’mon The Jags

Tom Hosie

Soon to be ex-programme editor

Imagine This - Growing up with my brother John Lennon

My bookshelves are already groaning under the weight of many a Beatles book. Some excellent, some good, some indifferent and some; or at least one, downright bizarre.

The sheer volume of titles that I already own doesn’t prevent me from eagerly adding to the collection whenever an opportunity arises; especially when it costs me the princely sum of 49p.

An after work browse round HMV one day took me to the book section where the troubled store were clearly getting rid of unwanted stock.

I pride myself on being able to spot a Beatles related item no matter the clutter and sure enough a copy of Julia Baird’s ‘Imagine This – Growing up with my brother John Lennon’, caught my eye and whispered gently to me “buy me, Tom.”

It didn’t really but, hey, 49p wasn’t exactly going to break the bank so off I popped, with a few other items I have to confess, to the check-out.

Julia Baird for those that don’t know, and I suspect if you’ve managed to get this far then you probably do; and the book title does rather tend to give the game away, is the half-sister of a certain John Lennon.

I had read a few reviews of it and none were exactly overflowing with their enthusiasm for it and as a result it sat on the ever growing ‘to read’ pile for a little time.

It was eventually plucked from the pile and I found it a surprisingly fascinating, touching and often moving story.

It wasn’t packed with countless anecdotes of John’s childhood but it did shed some extra light onto John’s troubled upbringing.

John, for the uninitiated, spent much of his childhood being brought up by his Aunt Mimi. His mother, also named Julia, is in most accounts of John’s formative years portrayed as a somewhat feckless, irresponsible woman.

She married John’s father, Alf, almost on a whim. It was a marriage that her family did not approve of.

There was certainly something of the wanderlust about Alf, a merchant seaman and he was rarely in John’s life, although he did return from a prolonged absence with the aim of whisking John off for a new life in New Zealand.

By the time Alf returned to England with the aim of taking John to New Zealand with him Julia, although still married to Ald, had had an affair with another man with whom she had had a child who was subsequently given up for adoption. She was now living with another man, Bobby Dykins. Julia and Bobby would live together and common law husband and wife and would have two children together, Jackie and, the author of this book, Julia.

For a while John lived with his mother and Bobby but this was an arrangement not to the liking of Julia’s sister Mimi who it is suggested called social services declaring that John was being brought up in improper circumstances.

Cutting the story short, for fear of completely boring anyone who has struggled this far, John was sent to live with his Aunt Mimi.

Many accounts suggest that John for many years had virtually no contact with his mother but his half-sister’s book paints a different story. Her account has John paying his mother many a clandestine visit once he discovered, through his cousin Stanley, that she lived only a short distance away.

Julia’s book also addresses her mother’s reputation as being a feckless, unfit mother. Instead she creates the image of a zestful, attentive and loving mother; although one haunted by the child she was forced to give up for adoption, her at least partial estrangement from her son, and a possible later miscarriage.   

What isn’t in doubt is that John had re-established a relationship with his mother, and his two half siblings, when she was run over and killed by an off duty policeman.

That loss had a profound effect on John. It did too on his two half-sisters. Upon their mother’s death they were shunted off to Scotland without any explanation  and it was only several months after their mother’s death, and a return to Liverpool to live with an Aunt and her husband, that they found out that their mother had in fact died. Although young they were, in an act that seems impossibly cruel, denied the opportunity to attend their own mother’s funeral.

The longer the book goes on the less John features in it. His life and that of his sisters went off in totally different directions.

For many years there was no contact at all but according to Julia’s book, John got back in touch with his Liverpool family in the mid 1970s when he was living, where he would until his death, in New York.

Julia describes the difficulty she had though in speaking directly with her brother. Yoko, she tells us, would answer all her calls and only rarely would she be able to speak to John. Yoko it would seem was practically running John’s life for him and was ‘protecting’ him from his family.

Sadly Julia never got the chance to see her brother face to face again before his death and after his death her relationship with him was diminished even further with Yoko claiming that John barely knew or met his sisters.

They are certainly airbrushed out of many accounts of John’s life.

Did they have a close relationship with John or did they, as Yoko claimed, barely know each other?

Perhaps the first volume of Mark Lewisohn’s three part Beatles biography, due for release in October, might provide some of the answers.  

In the meantime this book is well worth a read. 

The Power of Twitter

It’s been a little time since I last posted an entry on my blog and this one won’t be a long one. I really just wanted to share something with anyone who happens to stumble across the blog.

Those of you that know me will be aware that a disproportionately large chunk of my life is devoted to Partick Thistle Football Club.

Programme, website and social media editor is my job title that sounds grander than it actually is. That role, as the title suggests, means that I spend a fair amount time on Twitter; that social media outlet where people share the minutiae of their lives in 140 characters or less.

It’s easy to be disparaging about twitter but Saturday demonstrated to me the power that it has and how, even with the most tenuous of links, it can connect and bring people together.

Those familiar with Twitter will be aware of the concept of hashtags. With Thistle having installed Alan Archibald, or Archie as he is affectionately known, as interim manager we have been using the hashtag #ArchiesArmy on the Club’s twitter feed.

On Saturday morning as I was checking twitter, as I routinely do on a Saturday morning, I came across the following tweet that used our Archie hashtag:

@Archietime1 Hey Archie, did you know there’s an #ArchieArmy hashtag? It’s for Partick Thistle (their manager’s nickname is Archie!)

I naturally had to investigate further and it revealed that the Archie in question was an 11 year old boy from Cheltenham who suffers from a rare condition called Propionic Aciduria.

Unfamiliar with that condition? Well so was I.

An internet search revealed that the condition prevents individuals from being able to break down parts of protein and some types of fat due to either a missing or a non-functioning enzyme called PCC. This inability causes a build-up of harmful substances which can cause damage to the person’s heart, liver, brain, and bones.  The result can be seizures, delays to normal development like walking and talking, and other health problems break down parts of protein and some types of fat due to either a missing or a non-functioning enzyme called PCC. This inability causes a build-up of harmful substances which can cause damage to the person’s heart, liver, brain, and bones.  The result can be seizures, delays to normal development like walking and talking, and other health problems.

There is no hard fast life expectancy for someone with this condition and while it is possible to survive into adulthood my, admittedly limited, research seems to suggest that on average life expectancy is somewhere between 12 and 14 years.

To return to my story a few tweets were exchanged with Archie, in reality the young boy’s mother.

It turned out that Partick Thistle were the first Club to Follow Archie on twitter and we were promised a cheer on Saturday from doing so.

A few other Thistle fans picked up on this and Archie now has a fair number of Thistle fans following him. One was even prompted to send him a birthday present; Archie celebrating his 12^th birthday today.

I’m proud of the fact that through nothing more than a shared name Partick Thistle are now known in a Cheltenham household. More importantly, through a simple twitter exchange I now know about a rare condition that I previously didn’t know existed.

Twitter isn’t just about sharing what we all had for breakfast. It can connect and touch people in so many different ways.

You can follow Archie via the link below:

https://twitter.com/Archietime1

And you can read more about Propionic Aciduria here:

http://www.patient.co.uk/doctor/Propionic-Acidaemia.htm#ref-12

The Ginge, The Geordie and The Geek - Coming to a TV near You

On a purely personal level one of the highlights of my involvement with Partick Thistle came when someone made a point of speaking to me, as I left the pub one evening, to tell me that they enjoyed reading the programme each home game. That gesture was as unnecessary as it was kind and something that I haven’t ever forgotten.

It’s in part because of that that I try and make the point, any time I’ve seen a comedian/band/play that I’ve enjoyed, to try and pass on my own thanks and let them know that their efforts are appreciated. Twitter and Facebook make doing just that pretty easy.

The above is just a bit of a preamble to the topic of the latest of my increasingly infrequent blog entries; ‘The Ginge, The Geordie and The Geek’.

Unfamiliar with that name?

Hopefully after viewing BBC2 in April of next year then that will have changed and you’ll have derived as much enjoyment from these three talented guys as I, and my long suffering partner in crime; Alison, have in recent years.

It would probably be a good idea to provide a bit of background information at this point.

‘The Ginge, The Geordie and The Geek’ (aka as Graeme Rooney, Paul Charlton and Kevin O’Loughlin) are a comedy sketch group that we first saw during the, I think, 2009 Glasgow Comedy Festival.

It was really something of an afterthought to go and see them. The Festival was drawing to a close and, to be honest, by the final Friday we were pretty much comedyed (is that a word?) out. The high profile acts that we saw that year were by and large disappointing, and the notion of finishing the Festival with a sketch show as opposed to yet another stand-up appealed greatly.

Universal in Sauchiehall Street Lane was the venue and the boys blew the place away. Just as impressive as the actual comedy was the unrelenting pace at which it was delivered. The ease in which they slipped from one hilarious scenario to another was incredible.

We vowed as we left the venue that night that it wouldn’t be the last time we would see them.

It wasn’t. The following year’s Glasgow Comedy Festival saw them move from Universal to a sell out night at The Tron Theatre. They produced another fantastic performance.

Just as they have each time we’ve seen them perform at the Edinburgh Fringe. One of the disappointments of last summer’s festival, for us, was the fact that we left it way too late to get tickets for one of their sell out shows and didn’t get to see them. We made sure that we didn’t repeat that error this summer.

From the very first time we saw them we were convinced that they merited a television series. We were delighted to read, therefore, a couple of months ago that that BBC had, finally, given them that richly deserved commission.

That television series is currently being filmed, much of it in front of a live TV audience, and we’ve been fortunate to catch a couple of those recordings at the BBC studios at Pacific Quay. It will hit your screens in April next year. Please make sure that you watch it.

Lest you think this gushing praise hides some kind of family connection; the very occasional twitter/facebook interaction aside I don’t know these lads at all. There is a real warmth to their performances, however, that makes you feel as if you do know them; as ridiculous as that notion may appear.

We can’t claim to have seen them from the very start but all the same there is real pleasure in seeing them progress over the last few years. We’ve seen many acts over the years that we’ve felt deserved to get that so called big break yet continue toil away without the recognition they deserve while other, in our view, less talented individuals are performing to big crowds at the SECC when not appearing on our television screens. What I call the Kevin Bridges Syndrome.

To return then to the theme of the opening paragraphs; Ginge, Geordie and Geek, thanks. We enjoy your performances immensely and we look forward to seeing you on BBC2 next year and hopefully at the Edinburgh Fringe in the summer, if not before.

For more information on ‘The Ginge, The Geordie and The Geek’ check out:

http://www.gingegeordiegeek.com/

https://www.facebook.com/groups/37496449776/?fref=ts

https://twitter.com/GingeGeordiGeek

Beatles Books, DVDs and Ephemera

This isn’t so much a blog entry as a list. I was thinking the other day of just what Beatles related ephemera I had, excluding CDs, so decided in true obsessive fashion to make a list of it all. It, of course, remains a list in progress which in itself is a scary thought.

Books

A Life in Pictures – The Beatles. Beatlemania 1963-1964

An Intimate Life of Paul McCartney: Howard Sounes

Backbeat: Alan Clayton and Pauline Sutcliffe

Can’t Buy Me Love  - The Beatles, Britain and America: Jonathon Gould

George Harrison Living in the Material World

Images of the Beatles – photography from The Daily Mail

John: Cynthia Lennon

John Lennon: Philip Norman

Magical Mystery Tours – My Life with The Beatles: Tony Bramwell

Paul McCartney A Life: Peter James Carlin

Revolution in the Head: Ian MacDonald

Shout! The True Story of The Beatles: Philip Norman

The Beatles

The Beatles – Hunter Davis

The Beatles: A Day in the Life

The Beatles Anthology

The Beatles in Scotland: Ken McNab

The Beatles on Television: Jeff Bench and Ray Tedman

The Beatles: The Story of the UK Tours 1963-1964: Martin Creasy

The Longest Cocktail Party: Richard Di Lello

The Mammoth Book of The Beatles: Sean Egan

Ticket to Ride – Inside the Beatles 1964 and 1965 tours that changed the world: Larry Kane.

Who Killed John Lennon : Fenton Bresller

With The Beatles:  Alistair Taylor

You Never Gave us Your Money: Peter Dogget

Magazines/Newspapers

Life: Remembering George Harrison

Liverpool Echo: Arise Sir Paul McCartney – March 10^th 1997

Mojo: The Magical Mystery Tour and Beyond

Rolling Stone – The Beatles 100 Greatest Songs

Uncut: 148 page John Lennon Special

Beatles Films

A Hard Days Night

Yellow Submarine

Films

Backbeat

Nowhere Boy

Concerts

Apple Rooftop

Paul McCartney – In Red Square

The Beatles at the Budakon Tokyo

General DVDS

John Lennon – The Death of a Beatle

John Lennon Through the Looking Glass

Rock Milestones – The Red Album 1962-1966

Rock Milestone – The Blue Album 1967-1970

The Beatles – Magical Mystery Tour Memories

The Rutles

Tribute Bands

Bootleg Beatles Concert Tour 2011-2012

Them Beatles 2011 Tour Programme

It Says Here

A free press is something that should be celebrated. Despite the proliferation of news that is available online the sales of newspapers in the UK remain relatively healthy.  

The best-selling of them remains ‘The Sun’, a tabloid that is sadly synonymous with the worst excesses of the more sensationalist end of the market.

A story that the British press, tabloid and broadsheets alike, have been covering recently has been the worrying allegations surrounding Jimmy Savile; the former DJ dying at the age of 84 last October.

The allegations themselves are extremely disturbing. Equally disturbing is the idea that Savile’s predilections for young girls, if indeed he had them, were well known and there was a failure to act upon that knowledge.

The fact that Savile is no longer here to answer these allegations adds a different dimension to the story, but its’ right and proper that the allegations are reported.  

Should the allegations be subsequently proved then Savile can only be posthumously punished through the blackening of his name and reputation. Those organisations though that may have turned a blind eye to them could, and should, be called to account.

It’s a sensitive issue and one that should be covered with balance and be free from hypocrisy.

The latter is a charge that can very easily be levelled against The Sun newspaper.

Their online edition makes reference to Savile’s “sick lust”, “predatory” actions and “depravity”. Emotive terms certainly, but ones that you couldn’t possibly argue weren’t accurate if it found that there is substance to these allegations against him.

What then of my charge of hypocrisy against The Sun?

I apologise for reproducing the image below but it central to my argument.

The cutting shows an image of the singer Charlotte Church, then aged just 15, and makes salacious reference to the breast size of a girl still in her early teens; the paper even refers to her as a child.

Jimmy Savile may well have been guilty of an appalling abuse of trust. It could then be argued that his employers, including the BBC, were complicit in that abuse of trust if they chose to turn a blind eye to it.

Could it not also be argued that The Sun was guilty of an abuse of the free press in publishing that picture of Charlotte Church?

Is it not harder to take their indignation over Savile’s alleged crimes seriously when they themselves thought nothing of drawing attention to the breast size of an adolescent girl much the same age of those allegedly abused by Savile? 

The Culture of Shame

The publication yesterday of the report of the Hillsborough Independent Panel revealed the full shocking cover up and manipulation of evidence perpetrated by the South Yorkshire Police.

Their motivation was a simple one, though breath taking in its' mendacity. It was an attempt to shift blame for the appalling disaster from their own failings to the Liverpool fans themselves.

The media were briefed by senior police officers and a local MP that the Liverpool fans, boozed up, had forced open a gate thus causing the fatal crushing. They further claimed that the bodies of the dead were pick pocketed and that the dead and dying, and those attending to them, were urinated on.

Aided and abetted by a complicit right wing media these myths and lies very quickly became the accepted truth in the eyes of public perception. If you tell a lie often enough then almost by default it becomes a perverse version of the 'truth'.

That so many people bought into and accepted this lie without question is indicative of the society that we lived in during the 1980s.

The Prime Minister of the time, Margaret Thatcher, famously declared that "There is no such thing as society. There are individual men and women, and there are families".

The 1980s was certainly the decade where any notion of collective responsibility was superseded by a "me first, what do I get" attitude.

It was a divisive, bitter decade that viewed the population of huge swathes of Britain as a dangerous underclass.

It was a decade of riots in the streets of Liverpool, London and Bristol.

It was a decade of a bitter industrial dispute that spilled into violence.

It was a decade where being part of large, predominately working class and male, group was synonymous with a perceived criminality.

It was the culture of the decade that sowed the seeds of the Hillsborough Disaster.

If you were attending a football match in the 1980s you were at the very least seen as some kind of threat to public order. That meant being herded into, and then penned within, crumbling football grounds.

When those crumbling football grounds were then found to be also dangerous and quite literally death traps then the logic of the time decreed that it was the fans that were responsible.

Well, they were going to a football match they must have been up to no good. Some might even had a drink beforehand; that just confirms that they had to be to blame.

When you adopt that position, and you have the weight of public opinion behind you, it’s no great leap to then alter statements to not so much blur the lines between fact and fiction but distort them totally.  

That the disaster was allowed to happen in the first place was shameful enough – an institutional failure. The subsequent attempt to deflect blame, hell let’s call it for what it was; a cover up was something that Britain should forever be ashamed of.

While the publication of yesterday’s report was a welcome vindication the apologies from senior politicians and police officers are hollow and largely meaningless. The only small step that can be made to make amends is by making sure that those that really were responsible are brought to justice.