The Labour Party has accepted £608,975 from a very dodgy property developer named David Abrahams. The General Secretary Peter Watt rightly fell on his sword, but the claims that Watt was the ONLY person that knew about this, and that the money had been fenced via third parties, is frankly risible and an insult to the intelligence of us, the rank and file of the Party, plus the British People.

Anyone with even a smattering of knowledge concerning the working of the Party will know that it’s just complete bollocks being spoken from the top today and if this were the Tories, we would be jumping up and down with cries of; “corruption”.

It isn’t of course, although the mere fact that this even crossed my mind for even a second is very depressing.

Abrahams wanted to buy influence. And it worked as Brown admits to having been introduced to the man. What was said? Surely it was mentioned that he was a donor? Why did he get to be in the front row at the Leadership Conference? Why did he give money to Harman and she never asked where it came from? 

 A local newspaper reports that his tenants knew Abrahams -a private landlord - by another name, David Martins, under which he also held company directorships.

Abrahams said he used the separate name for his business activities at the behest of his late father, who wanted his son's success to be "independent of the family name".

To compound the local party's doubts, a woman then alleged that Abrahams had persuaded her to pose as his wife at a selection meeting when he attempted to secure a nomination to stand for Parliament.

Anthea Bailey said she and her 11-year-old son, had pretended to be his family as a "business arrangement" to enable him to create "the right impression".

It is reported that Abrahams' multimillion-pound business park development at Bowburn in County Durham was initially blocked by the Highways Agency because of a blanket ban on further development beside the congested A1.

But in October last year the agency lifted the ban on the development - and a separate one near Newton Aycliffe further south. 

Douglas Alexander, a close confidant of Brown, was Transport Secretary at the time.

The Media will slaughter us for this.

It is completely and utterly unacceptable, and added to the Northern Rock fiasco, the database mess up last week and the general state of paralysis in the wake of the Election That Never Was, we will lose the next election, and deservedly so as we are becoming guilty of the very things (inertia, economic, incompetence and sleaze) that saw the Tories swept from office in 1997.

England stands alone in the face of tyranny and murderous intolerance, but one inspirational leader who refuses to accept the reality as offered by close advisors, prefers to go down fighting rather than roll over and sacrifice all that they hold true.

The above scenario could pertain to the summer of 1940 as much as it does to the subject of this film, Elizabeth and the Spanish Armada, which has received mixed reviews to say the least.

There is plenty for England to be ashamed of in its long history and the latest adventures in Iraq just add to the roll call of debased behaviour, but along the way there is plenty to be proud of and this film is a timely reminder that whilst we should acknowledge the terrible things down by this country to others, Imperialism and the Age of Empire being the worst, we should not be made to feel guilty and flagellate ourselves over and over, as some on the Worthy Left would like.

The reign of Henry II (1154-89) saw the evolution of our Legal System, which remains the template of much judicial practice around the world, by the acceptance of the principle of trial by jury, and the establishment of Magistrates Courts. This paved the way for Magna Carta and the absolute bottom line of Habeas Corpus, something that I worry about when I hear Jack Straw pressing for detention without charge for a monumental 56 days.

Our stand against the Nazis is rightly known as our Finest Hour, and the world is infinitely a better place for the boneheaded, arrogant and frankly bonkers stand that Churchill took when faced with defeat at the hands of the Germans in 1940.

Elizabeth I stood for tolerance in the wake of her mother’s murder by her father and the chronic instability that her sister’s short reign had caused. She had witnessed first hand how when the heart ruled the head of the Monarch, chaos often ensued. Hence her reluctance to marry.

Her sense of duty put the People first at all times, and she navigated the turbulent religious waters of the time by establishing a tolerant form of Protestantism which basically repudiated the political influence of Rome, whilst barely diluting the theological and everyday practice of the Church.

Cate Blanchett comes back to this role after an eight year hiatus, and her performance is as stunning as the first time out, portraying Elizabeth’s rock solid principles and innate inner strength, whilst showing how her Crown isolated her from the everyday intimacies of life.

Clive Owen is a suitably dashing Raleigh, on the one hand dismissive of his Queen’s charms but really he is ensnared by her amazing intellect, beauty and power. But when he falls for another, the Elizabeth’s wrath is quite something to behold.

This is a film of two halves (Brian), and after the exploration of the Raleigh scenario, we are taken on a roller coaster ride of whirlwind European Diplomacy that ends in the attempted Spanish Invasion of 1588 when 130 ships carrying 30,000 troops sailed up the Channel. Bad luck and incompetence saw a rare easterly allow English fire ships to cause consternation amongst the Spanish Admirals, and against all the odds the English Fleet prevailed, and further inclement weather saw the Armada destroyed off the East Coast.

We are privy to advice of many senior Ministers that we should negotiate with the invading Phillip II, but Elizabeth is adamant. She addresses the troops at Tilbury but very strangely the writers do not have her uttering one of the most famous speeches of an English Leader;

“"I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a King, and of a King of England too! And I think it foul scorn that Spain or Parma or any prince of Europe should dare invade the borders of my realm".

The veracity of the words being actually spoken does not seem to be in question, so their ommisson is odd to say the least.

There is a major historical inaccuracy as we see Elizabeth witnessing the firing of the Armada, which would have been impossible as she was based in Tilbury at the time. But no matter. Films are just as much about entertainment as anything else.

Director Shekar Kapur has delivered a well-crafted picture in which the pace builds gradually to an exciting and imaginatively photographed conclusion, and it is unfair to make comparisons with the 1998 prequel, as they are films with different aims and objectives.

More power to Cate Blanchett’s elbow as she campaigned vigorously for the success of the Australian Labour Party in their triumphant quest to end the eleven year rule of that most mean spirited, racist and divisive of men in John Howard.

Oblivion and a place in the rogues gallery of detested politicians is all that awaits him and I detect the Spirit of 1997 is abroad in Australia. Time for the legacy of Gough Whitlam’s struggle to right the historic wrongs wrought upon Black Australia to finally bear fruit, some thirty years on from his illegal sacking by Royal Prerogative.

 I imagine the spirit and tolerance of Elizabeth, placed in a twentieth century context would have seen justice well and truly done years ago.

Dogged Detective Ritchie Roberts (Russell Crowe), disgusted by drug dealing supreme Gangster Frank Lucas (Denzel Washington) and the corruption ridden Authorities, is determined to prevail against all the odds and at the expense of his family life.

For anyone under forty, the benchmark Gangster movie is without a shadow of a doubt Martin Scorcese’s 1990 classic “Goodfellas”, even above the cutting edge of “The Godfather” series. I also like Sergio Leone’s epic “Once Upon a Time In America, but “Goodfellas” stands head and shoulders above it’s rivals for the tight, understated script, the menacing performances of Robert DeNiro and Joe Pesci allied to a brilliantly unravelled story.

Recently in this genre we have had the British contributions of “Gangster Number One”, and Daniel Craig’s seminal performance in “Layer Cake”, and last years Oscar winner for Scorcese, “The Departed”, all of which are worthy additions to this particular subject of film, each bringing a fresh angle and avoiding lapsing into tired clichés.

But American Gangster deserves to be raised into the pantheon of truly great films, as director Ridley Scott just outlines this true story, and lets the actors deliver superbly believable performances. There are no weird special effects or plot twists that you would associate with Scott offerings, simplicity is the king.

Lucas ascends to the throne of his mentor and becomes Harlem Boss. He makes it big by tying up a deal to import industrial amounts of heroin from the killing fields of ‘Seventies South East Asia, aided and abetted by the CIA who used the proceeds to invest in counter insurgency measures, whilst delivering spending cuts for Nixon as the US Public became disillusioned with Vietnam and it’s human and financial costs.

Stateside Lucas is never short of collaborators within the Police and other agencies, and it is only when Robert’s seemingly unbelievable gesture of handing in $1 million discovered in a car boot comes to the attention of the Top Brass, that there is even a sniff of a chance to down the crime bosses.

Washington is stunning in this role, as he seamlessly goes to dishing out the ultra violence, to taking his mother to church, sociopathy personified.

It is only his taste for the limelight, hanging around the heavy weight boxing scene at it’s 1970’s apogee, that allows Roberts to get at handle on his prey and it proves that no matter how controlled such people are, it is so often that the need to be liked that it their Achilles heel.

 Ridley Scott has delivered a masterpiece and American Gangster is certainly one of the films of 2007, if not of the last few years.

Same Old. Same Old. Sitting there with the familiar knot of frustration welling up. Swearing at the telly. Behaving irrationally and getting all het up. Bemoaning the depressing predictability of it all.

Has to be the England football team. Again.

It’s always the same old story of the country getting worked up into a frenzy of expectation, only for the team to let us all down.

From the failure to qualify in 1977 for the Argentina World Cup, defeat and fans disgracing themselves against Belgium in 1980, the Hand of God during Mexico ’86, abject failure at the Euro’s in 1988, the penalty heartbreaks of 1990, 96, 98, 2004 and in between the catastrophic Graham Taylor reign, the unpaletable truth is that we are not as good as we think we should be, and the amazing victory that I was lucky to be part of at Euro 96 when I was in the stands as the Dutch were walloped 4-1, was just a cruel and tantalising aberration.

We have exciting domestic football, which is the best for entertainment but not technically superior in any way to La Liga or Serie A, and therein lies the key. Croatia kept the ball, were patient and used it intelligently, whereas when Sol Campbell had possession at the back he made a consolidating pass to Gareth Barry, which resulted in a show of frustration from the crowd.

The arguments about foreign players are simply Aunt Sallys. We were eliminated in 1973, 1977, 1983 and 1993 when there were very few overseas stars plying their trade in our top flight.

We don’t have the best foreign players in England. Italy won the World Cup in 2006 and every single squad member was on the books of an Italian Club. There are outstanding stars here, but not the crème de la crème.

But we will be back for more as, the Big Four excepted, it is very unlikely that our Club will win any silverware, or be involved in a truly big game and so you will always see Burton Albion, Hull City or Aston Villa encrusted St. George’s flags as it’s our chance to be part of Big Boys football.

As for Steve McClaren, the players and the FA. All should take their share of the blame, but over all culpability lies with the fans (me included) that buy into the media induced hype, and always end up disappointed and indulging in vein popping ineloquent ranting and recriminations.

 But I will be there, on my sofa in September when the next set of qualifiers begin with the slim hope, but some hope all the same, that something wonderful will happen, and the taste of what we experienced on a balmy June evening in 1996 will come to pass and we go on to win a major trophy

The latest fiasco regarding Northern Rock, allied to a Queen’s Speech that made the John Major Government seem like dynamism personified, unseemly public disagreements amongst Ministers and a series of depressingly predictable Labour Party meetings, leave me with the feeling that Norman Lamont’s damnation of the last Tory Government; “In Office, but not in Power”, is now starting to apply to Gordon Brown’s Administration.

I was reasonably impressed by GB’s start in Office as he reacted well to the floods and terrorist episodes over the summer, and acted in a confident manner.

However, these were outside events that forced him into action. It is when a considered approach is required that he dithers and behaves in unpredictable ways.

There is no doubt that in retrospect Gordon Brown bottled the Election issue because he simply couldn’t decide what to do. As a result he allowed the Party Machine to go into over drive (as I have witnessed), valuable money that we can ill afford to be spent and a fever of expectation to build in the media and in the Country.

But when it came down to it, Gordon didn’t have the stomach for a fight or a situation of which he was not 100% in control.

He has form in this area. Brown profoundly disagreed with Tony Blair, for ideological reasons over Foundation Hospitals, and on the matter of the 2004 University Finance Bill, the so-called “Top Up Fees” scenario.

He briefed against Blair, encouraged backbenchers such as Ian Gibson to stir the shit, but when Blair faced him up Brown backed down, as he can’t handle confrontation and if it does happen he lashes out as has been evidenced by things he said to Blair in private.

He was very good at undermining TB from behind the scenes. Jack Dromey caused all the trouble over the Cash For Peerages non-event. He is married to the pitiful Harriet Harman (I don’t have all day!) who is a member of the GB inner circle. Do the math, as the Americans say.

It was always chip chip, drip drip, but as soon as he had to actually confront Tony Blair, he always backed down.

 In addition his preferred method when the chips are down, and it’s a case of fight or flight, is most definitely the latter. When we had “poor” Local Election results in 2006, he hung Blair out to dry by simply buggering off from public view and encouraging no mark wasters such as backbench pigmy Tom Watson in pathetic self indulgent plotting against Tony Blair trying to jemmy him out of Office.

David Cameron has battered the PM so badly at PMQ’s that he has been on the one hand enraged, and the next minute tearful. Genuinely out of control, however briefly. This has been witnessed and I have it on very good and reliable authority, so Charles Clarke was not far off the mark when he described Brown as “psychologically flawed”.

We have poured £25 billion into Northern Rock, a piddling little Bank.

This was correct at the time, but Brown and Darling should have acted decisively there and then by explaining why they were doing it, and giving Parliament and the Financial Markets a clear and timetabled action plan of what was going to happen next.

In addition, it should have been made absolutely plain those financial institutions that were indulging in reckless lending would be held to account, via a Parliamentary Committee led audit of custom and practice in this area.

Instead the situation has been allowed to drift for three whole months, and now the Rock’s shares have plummeted meaning any sale will not recoup the Government’s outlay, and the issue of Nationalisation has reared it’s head. A sound idea in principle, but EU Competition laws expressly forbid it. Did no one at the Treasury think of this?

Darling seems paralysed. He doesn’t know if Brown expects him to get on with it and make the decisions, and probably fears a bollocking if he says the wrong thing. Hence drift.

Miliband has the same problem at the Foreign Office as his Number Two, Malloch Brown has been parachuted in from the UN, having had no one day’s previous political experience and is unelected.

Jaqui Smith has a similar problem with Admiral West, and was damned with faint praise by the PM as being; “a competent Home Secretary” last week as she (unfairly) came under fire regarding clearance for non EU workers, and it was clear Brown was happy for her to attract the media flack.

What is Brown’s vision? He is on record as being against the market having any role in the Public Services, but wasn’t prepared to really force the issue with Blair, thus we are committed to a policy that the PM doesn’t have a messianic enthusiasm for, which is what will be needed to persuade the Unions, the medical people and the Public that Foundation Hospitals are a progressive, radical and deliverable objective.

The “vision thing”, or lack of it, became apparent when we selected our Parliamentary Candidate on Saturday, as when the contestants were asked “What next?” for the Government, it was wishy-washy stuff about the Environment but with not one pinch of real enthusiasm or ideas. We just got into a depressing round of hand wringing over PFI, and a gloomy feeling over our prospects.

We have done truly great things since 1997, and should be driving forward and setting the agenda, not reacting to the bloody Tories over this stupid inheritance tax issue.

Get a grip, for gawd’s sake Gordon. Say what you REALLY want to do, and just darn well do it. If Ministers or backbenchers don’t like it, then enthuse them. Make them like what you want for the Country, or face them down.

There is a time for consultation and a time for leadership. Lead. It’s why you are there, and why you assassinated Tony Blair in the first place. I have a horrible sinking feeling that you are thinking; “be careful what you wish for”.

Stephen Poliakoff’s triptych of films surrounding the life and times of a large London house owned by Mr. Eliot (Michael Gambon) came to a stunning, and shocking conclusion with the film “Capturing Mary”, in which the eponymous young, talented and supremely confident writer (Ruth Wilson), encounters the truly chilling Greville White (David Walliams) and finds her life changed forever.

The narrator character for the bookends of this series is Joe (newcomer Danny Lee Wynter) who is asked by Mr. Eliot to be is sole charge of this vast London address which the owner keeps empty but beautifully maintained, even down to daily fresh flowers, between the departure of his Mother’s cleaning crew at 6PM, and the arrival of a security guard at 9PM.

During this time Joe explores the house and gets to find out it’s murky and deep secrets via encounters with various characters, from a slimy Cabinet Minister and his mistress, through to Mary whose older self is played by Maggie Smith as she forces herself to confront what took place there, and it’s impact on how her life turned out.

We are introduced to Mary in the second piece, a talking head style monologue delivered by the impressive Ruth Wilson, and Poliakoff explores through her the class hang ups that pervaded ‘Fifties British Society via Mary’s encounter with Geraldine, part of the last Debutant scene of 1958 and how the two seem poles apart, and yet somehow inexorably entwined.

Poliakoff’s genius is his ability to unpick what it means to be British in the new Century, through an exploration of the past and how it has shaped modern attitudes to class, gender, race and all the other issues that make up our Nation.

“Well, what’s it about?” is the question most people ask when you say you’ve seen a play or a film.

The answer with Poliakoff is actually, “err… nothing much really”.

1979’s “Bloody Kids”, is “about” a rather chaotic series of events on a Saturday night in Working Class Southend, but when I watched it again a couple of years ago, it was like actually feeling what Britain was like in that era. Conflict, broken glass, swearing with a bit of blood thrown in for good measure.

And so with the opening film “Joe’s Palace”, the story of Mr. Eliot’s fortune is peeled away but if you are looking for a chronological story with clear delineations, it ain’t gonna happen. And all the better for it.

Sometimes I really despair about the state of British made TV, when you consider all the stuff you have to watch for quality drama is American, but Poliakoff almost makes it all worth it for how it makes you feel. How he moves you and makes you think on so many different levels, but at the same time it is so real. As real as any mindless Soap.

The cast were brilliant and Ruth Wilson’s monologue was up there with the Patricia Routledge’s of this world, and at only 24 she has a glittering future, and the potential to be the best actor of her generation.

Michael Gambon was typically understated, unravelling Mr. Eliot with exquisite delivery and timing and Danny Lee Wynter was an interesting debutant whom I want to see more of.

As for David Walliams. I thought he was excellent and above all, believable and has a real future in straight acting, despite the reviews.

 Poliakoff is a National Treasure and is up there with Mike Leigh, Jimmy McGovern, Paul Abbot and Ken Loach as someone who tells the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth about our Sceptred Isle both the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Twenty years ago the Provisional IRA, an organisation that had the support of London Mayor Ken Livingstone, committed the most despicable act of the War in Northern Ireland. And there are a lot of such vile, base and disgusting incidents from which to select…

Enniskillen, Co Fermanagh saw eleven people perish as the Provos bombed a Remembrance Sunday Parade. What sort of mentality even considers such an action?

And now Vampire in Chief Martin McGuinness, a blood soaked murderer is the Deputy First Minister of Northern Ireland. It’s the sickest joke imaginable but is proof, is any was needed, that it’s all about power and it’s trappings.

Whilst the likes of people I rubbed along with such as Declan Moen, who were mostly inadequate types looking for validation and a role were taking the lives of fellow Irishmen, Adams and McGuinness were pulling the strings and taking no risks. Lives were ruined and now they sip (non alcoholic) cocktails and nibble on canapés with the likes of Ian Paisley.

You have to ask what it was all really for?

Remembrance Sunday each year grows in importance as the First World War generation is virtually gone with only a handful of survivors left, and this gruesome conflict was the curtain raiser to the most violent century in human history.

It seems that we have become more addicted to war the more “civilised” the human race becomes.

100 million people (this is a crude and conservative UN estimate) were killed by war in the 20^th Century and this blood lust shows no sign of abating into the 21^st as we see 670,000 (figures that the Foreign Office describe as being “robust” when scrutinised) Iraqis die at the hands of the Coalition and each other, and the carnage continue from Afghanistan, to Palestine, through swathes of Africa and into places such as Indonesian Occupied Papua where it has emerged British sold weapons are responsible.

 An MOD Minister told the Observer; “We repeatedly told the Indonesian Government not to use them on civilians”. Satire is alive and in rude health.

The industrial scale casualties of the Great War demonstrate the absolute contempt that Capitalism has for human life.

Capitalism as a system, works on the premise of unfettered competition and survival of the fittest, which naturally leads to violence as people seek to protect their interests. Ergo Iraq.

Saddam’s vile Fascist regime, whilst it posed no threat to US economic interests, was indulged and Human Right abuses ignored.

George Galloway, for all his stupidity called Saddam; “a bestial Dictator” and took part in protests outside the Iraqi Embassy as early as 1988.

Meanwhile UK Defence Minister Alan Clark was busy doing under the counter deals with Saddam via Matrix Churchill, a British arms company who were helping the Iraqis develop a “super gun” missile launcher with which he could menace his neighbours.

All highly illegal and Clark lied about this in Parliament, and when caught out came up with his classic line about being; “'economical with the actualité”.

Former US Secretary of Defence, Donald Rumsfeld was pictured with the Butcher Of Baghdad as late as 1981. But as soon as Saddam looked like upsetting the apple cart with his invasion of Kuwait then the full might of economic power was unleashed and 1.5 MILLION Iraqi civilians paid the price between 1991 and the invasion of 2003.

The UN Under Secretary, Denis Halliday, called this; “a Genocide I can no longer be part of”, and resigned his post in 2002.

The price of the Somme and other Great War Slaughters was paid with the blood of largely Working Class men aged 15-25. Hundreds of thousands of them. A true lost generation. We must never forget them.

Back to back wins for the first time this season have gone some way to papering over the cracks that result from Phil Brown’s ineptness in the Tiger’s Hot Seat.

QPR away (lost 2-0) last Saturday was a true horror show, which was witnessed by my Dad. He is always the optimist but could find nothing in mitigation for a dire performance that caused Brown to say to the BBC; “We had a long chat in the changing room and I've put across my point of view that it was unacceptable”.

Not good enough Mr. Brown. You have been in sole charge for a whole calendar year, have spent a staggering £2 Million on players and so cannot fall back on the argument that it’s not your squad.

If the players can’t be bothered then there is a culture of comfort zone thumb sucking going on, for which you are ultimatley responsible.

Jay Jay Okocha is the epitome of what ails City coming into the International Break.

Clearly injured, he insisted on taking to the Loftus Road pitch in order to pick up his obscene wages, but refused to play and was a virtual passenger. What does this say about the Manager’s position in the pecking order? The Nigerian was dropped for the unexpected victory at Turf Moor, but the damage has been done in the view of many. Mr. Okocha decides if he can be bothered to be on the team sheet.

Michael Turner, galvanised by the arrival of Wayne Brown as his centre back partner, has blossomed into Mr. Reliable. He always read the game well, but now has the confidence to make those crucial interventions and to take the decision to marshal his man rather than jump in which was his wont last term and ended up exposing colleagues.

He scored the injury time winner at Burnley. Brown’s response? He tells the Mail that; “Michael must understand that he is only one mistake away from being a bad player”.

Stunning man management eh? He will be one unhappy camper if he does make an error and it results in a goal, and rather than shake it off by being secure in his Gaffer’s faith in him, self doubt will inevitably become an issue.

If Brown wishes to slap down a player that he perceives to believe in the hype, then there are more appropriate forums than the local Press in which to deflate an over active ego. When (not if) things unravel, such incidents will become a source of behind the scenes conflict.

Preston were poor in the extreme and the visiting fans spent the second half exhorting the Deepdale powers that be to axe the Manager. Rightly they do not expect a Club with such recent form to be scrabbling around in the nether regions of this Division.

City played well and the move to open the scoring on eleven minutes was fluid and incisive, as McPhee played Campbell clean through and although the Old Trafford loanee was to be thwarted by the ‘keeper, the experience of Windass led him to be in exactly the right place to convert the rebound.

Campbell doubled City’s advantage with a wonderful piece of skill half way into the opening half when he gathered and buried a cross from the right with lightening reflexes. No wonder Sir Alex rates this boy, and why we never get him on a permanent deal.

North End rallied somewhat after the break, but were pole axed by a screamer of a free kick from sub Andy Dawson.

Hughes was poor on the left (again). Marney flitted in and out of the game and Delaney only looked comfortable when he moved into the centre of defence due to Brown departing with an injury.

Michael Turner, Wayne Brown, Dean Windass, Dave Livermore (when selected) and the commitment of Ian Ashbee are keeping City afloat and eleventh is surely the apogee despite the enormous injection of cash and the construction of a vast management and coaching staff.

It is only a matter of time before City, and Phil Brown are found wanting on a consistent basis.

City line up: Myhill, Ricketts, Turner, Brown (Dawson 50), Delaney, Marney, Ashbee, Hughes, Campbell (Elliott 62), Windass (Okocha 73), McPhee.
Subs Not Used: Duke, Livermore. Att: 16,358 (Worrying. Use your imagination Mr. Duffen)

Being a bloke by definition makes you a nerd when it comes to music, and because men can’t express our emotions in the mature and civilised way that women can, music becomes the conduit for how we feel about whom we are, and why I have nearly 6,000 songs on my iPod.

And as a result, like Nick Hornby does in his book “Hi Fidelity”, us men use music as a narrative background to our lives.

Thus going to see Sterophonics at Hull Arena last night isn’t just about going to a gig, having a great time and going home.

Oh no. As a bloke I feel it is incumbent upon me to raise the thing up to faux spiritual levels, and regard the event as a staging post in my life.

This was the first concert I have been to since I left my wheelchair behind, and it felt good for it to be a reasonably “normal” experience, although when we saw the queue to get in, it seemed expedient that we made sure the stewards saw the white stick and the dark glasses. We walked straight in. Well there was a naughty, nithering easterly wind blowing of the Humber after all.

My first wheelchair gig was U2 in Cardiff, and it seemed entirely appropriate that I spotted Sarah, one of my most favourite ex pupils and magnificent arranger of the Millennium Stadium event which the kids gave to me on my retirement, as she made her way out of what had been a brilliant concert.

A nice symmetry, and it felt like the U2 and this ‘Phonics gig were kind of bookends to the whole CA thing.

U2 felt great, but I was kind of thinking this will be the last time, and reflecting back over my life, whereas last night seemed to be all about new beginnings and optimistic probabilities, especially as I spied a bloke with his kid and imagined Conor and me at a gig in the future…. Although I expect it would be cringingly embarrassing for him, and I would have to be very certain and leave it to him to suggest as there is nothing worse than parents or adults trying (and always singularly failing) to be down with the kidz.

The boys new long player, Pull the Pin was released last week and for me, it was going to be almost impossible for it to live up to it predecessor the magnificent Sex, Language, Violence. Other…, which I consider to be their finest record and the best British out and out rock album of this decade and which I have played to death since it’s release in 2005.

But I was not to be disappointed. Kelly Jones is back into a rich vein of song writing form after a two-album dip in the wake of 1999’s Performance and Cocktails, and this record displays a heavy, punky sound allied with Dylanesque lyrical subtlety which Jones has made his trademark.

Bank Holiday Monday displays the get down and dirty rock side of things, and Daisy Lane showcases Kelly’s observational side as he reflects on the mindless stabbing of a boy for his mobile phone.

I am hoarse today. Mainly the result of Superman, which is my absolute favourite Stereophonics track. I let it all go and it was a visceral experience, as if I was exorcising the hurt and bitter distress of the last three years.

There we go. Typical man, anally retentive and uptight using an outside entity to express his feelings.

It was a great show. Loud, well paced with a good acoustic section from Kelly on his own, and enormous fun with a man who refuses to lose touch with his audience.

The Chameleon Players (“People so nice that they make the Waltons look like the Sopranos”, says Ray Rumkee) next production; “The Bumper Book Of Stories For Boys And Girls”, by Edgar Harrison takes to the stage at the Northern Academy of Performing Arts, Anlaby Road in Hull from Friday through till Sunday (7.30pm). Tickets are priced at £6 and £5 concs, available on the door.

“A splendid collection of thrill a minute adventures that will hold you breathless with laughter”, (Time Out). All right, I made the testimonial bit up, but you get the drift. It is very funny. I’ve read the script and bear the injuries to prove it.

It’s no longer a State Secret, (the type that if you find it out you have to die) that the author is the Players founder, cum grandee David Burton and, all joking aside (that can’t right can it?) the play is in the great British tradition of stage farces, set in a bygone era of joyous infantile double entenrdre and insufferable sniggering.

 The narrator is played by a comic genius and must surely be considered for an Olivier Award. Or maybe not. Enjoy.

Just after the second attempted attack on London in July 2005 a young Brazilian Electrician, Jean Charles de Menezes, was shot dead by the police.

I fully accept the argument of context, and that mistakes do happen. If the Met had admitted it was a tragic error, then all the opprobrium heaped on the Service now could have been largely avoided.

 What we should NOT accept is wilful dissembling from the top of the Met.

The relied on a notion that events surrounding 7/7 would inure the public to police heavy handedness.

But the British Public have a healthy scepticism of authority, and will not simply accept unpleasant happenings in an unquestioning way, and by underestimating the mood Sir Ian Blair dug himself further and further into trouble.

They said at the time;

1) Jean Charles de Menezes came out of a house under observation by special branch.

2) He was challenged by a police officer who shouted; "Armed Police!"

3) He vaulted the barriers and ran along the platform into a tube train.

4) He was wearing a massive coat on a hot July day, which could have concealed a bomb.

5) Police used minimum lethal force.

6) He was an illegal immigrant.

Facts as reported by the PCA in the Guardian on August 7^th 2005.

1) The cop observing the house went to relieve himself and assumed the guy had come out of the house in question due to his dark appearance. Do the math if this is the criterion for a terrorist.

2) No witnesses heard the police issue a challenge. There were 40 people at the scene so unless it was an outing with the Deaf Institute, the police are lying.

3) The guy was in possession of a pass and had stopped to buy a paper. Again no witness evidence regarding barrier jumping. CCTV evidence shows him running for and entering a train which he heard coming AFTER passing the barrier in the normal way.

4) He was wearing a denim jacket. Not a coat as stated.

5) He was shot seven times, five in the head, at point blank range.

6) His visa had expired. He DID NOT enter the country illegally, despite what the Daily Mail so desperately wanted.

After the event the police were quick to shout about "What if...." and anyone who dared to question the boys in blue was automatically an agent of Bin Laden.

As a result everyone nodded sagely and said how terrible it was that we are living in times where the police have no choice but pursue such a regrettable line.

The fact is the Police, via Ian Blair who appeared on Question Time that week and repeated the above, lied and lied and lied, because they messed up big style.

Having said that, I am 100% in agreement with Michael who points out in his blog the breathtaking hypocrisy of Ken Livingstone.

Whilst the IRA butchered innocent working people in the ‘Eighties, Ken welcomed the chillingly evil duo of Adams and McGuinnes to come to London as his guests, first when he was leader of the GLC and again when he was elected as a Labour MP.

But when it affects the people who vote for him, Ken goes all Schwartenegger on us.

But let’s face it, it's not as though the Met in particular, don’t have "issues" with telling the truth or prejudice.

McPhearson springs to mind.” Institutionalised racism" and a "culture of cover up" were m' lud's findings after the Lawrence murder.

Numerous fit ups of the Irish in the 70's and 80's and then a refusal to accept the bleedin obvious even when given the evidence by an IRA cell. Can’t have the public lose confidence Ma'am.

Whilst on the subject of the police....

1993 May, South East London. Mike Fisher, 14,000 others and I are on a march to protest against BNP activity that resulted in the murder of Stephen Lawrence. 100 or so (un policed) skinheads start giving it the old Nazi salute and monkey noises. Police do nothing. Something is thrown from our side, cue bedlam.

I'm not joking. The police went mental. I saw a lot of people get coshed and suffer injuries. We dived behind a wall and just waited for things to calm down. Half a pack of fags later we ran the gauntlet of a "secure" line i.e. one that stopped a protest but allowed race hate merchants to get drunk outside a pub a give us the large one, and got back on a bus into Central London.

I arrived at a pub in Farnham. News comes on the box. "Protesters bring shame on Lawrence family" etc...etc..Lots of agitated young black men were shown.

Bloke in pub says;” Hitler had the right idea if he'd have stayed in his own country”.

 I said, "Pardon mate?"..."Say that again".

Pub goes quiet.” Go on say it again big man".

Silence. I’m on a roll now..

"Go on fucking say it! Barman, are you going to bar this guy?"

Silence. We go to leave guy says to Catherine "What are you looking at, bitch?"

 "An ugly, pathetic inadequate". Brilliant.Exit stage left.

A month later I'm playing pool with John Hempsall.

This guy comes in and is watching us.

I look at him a bit. Greasy hair, bad teeth, dressed by his mother. A real example of Aryan Supremacy.

Forget about him and sometime later go for a jimmy. Next thing, shove in the back.

"Nigger lover."

 He goes for a kick and I knee him in the bollocks and then the face.  Claret all over the place. We leave.

Now before you think I'm some kind of hero fighting the evil Far Right. Think again. This guy was a pathetic nonentity who wouldn't even repeat his initial comment. I could have seriously damaged him. And at the end of the day, it’s inadequate types who think this way. He’s victim, not a player.

I spent the next few days bricking it that a) I'd done the guy serious damage b) there would be a knock on the door from the boys in blue and my career would be down the pan before it had really begun.

I needn't have worried as pond life came into the pub about a week later, saw me, and left and I never set eyes on him again in the remaining six years I lived in the town.

Leaving Boothferry Park about six years ago. Two lads messing about crossing the road. Copper on horseback belts one across the back of the head. Passer by challenges cop. Cue mouthful.” Get your Inspector”. Chief Plod arrives. Cop lies. Bloke threatened with arrest.

Then outside County Ground Swindon.

Guy in front (about 25)."Can I get through to my car please?"

”No"."

“Please it's just over there”.

” Are you fucking deaf?"

Someone pushes and the guy bangs into the cop. His reaction? HE SPITS IN HIS FACE. Cue bedlam and time to leave.

 And then there’s Hillsborough, the Miners Strike, Forest Gate, Operation Pre Empt etc, etc…….

“David Cronenberg's use of violence in his movies displays barely disguised sadism”. The Daily Mail.

Oh purleese! When are the media going to just darn well grow up. Cronenberg is a responsible and serious filmmaker who makes the viewer sit up and take notice of the human condition, and our motives, by taking seemingly mundane characters and placing them in extraordinary situations as exemplified in 2005’s A History of Violence in which an ordinary guy is sucked into a vortex of spiralling horrors which challenge his self image as a decent man.

In this film Anna is a genuinely good person, a midwife of Anglo- Russian extraction who becomes involved with the London based Russian Mafia when she delivers the child of a sex worker who dies during the birth. Anna finds the girl’s diary and so begins a journey into the dark side as she attempts to trace the baby’s family back home. Ken Loach meets Goodfellas.

Yes, the violence is strong and as you get with the Cronenberg style, it is very close up and visceral. It feels intense and personal, and there is no soundtrack or multi shot approach to dilute the base horror of what is going on. Sound is the key and every slap and crunch is present. I looked away during the bathhouse scene, which is unusual for me.

But the scene is very necessary, and we are forced to acknowledge that this stuff goes on in our country, and the Government needs to get a grip and manage (not “control” which has become, thanks to the Mail, a flammable word in the hands of the Tories) this influx from the Eastern Bloc in order to protect the people involved, and this film shows that we have singularly failed in this quest.

Anna proves to be an underdeveloped character. I wanted to know more about her because her fascination with the Viggo Jensen character must have been based on some life experience, as he is so brilliantly repellent otherwise.

Jensen is excellent as the gangster, but there is a twist which when I thought about it afterwards is a bit predictable, and to a certain extent unrealistic given the dynamics between the characters.

Overall I would say it’s not bad, but not good either as the pace is patchy. I don’t mind reflective phases but there was no end product. The first half and hour could have been done in ten minutes with no damage to the plot.

As for the controversy. As with Hostel, Vacancy, Death Proof and other films that are billed as violent. They are 18 Certs and I doubt very much that anyone would stumble into a showing on the off chance.

 Censorship is there for protection, not to control what we see and the Daily Mail should take it’s pathetic self-loathing and crawl under the nearest stone where this Right Wing, bigoted rag belongs.