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The long(er) version

Right, so this is the lowdown.

In a lecture on blogging - yes, there are such things - I was told the most important thing for a blog is to be very up-to-date, regularly updated and short.

Ah.

I am a real fan of this blog's form and layout, and even if it is arguably a gimmick, the idea that it is updated every week, allowing me to review the whole week's events. I think it was a good idea, and I stand by that.

However, it is not just feasible for a blog. It would work in print in a weekly format, and it would work online in some other form, perhaps, but you simply cannot have a blog that is updated once a week. Not only is this not often enough to significantly appear on surfers' radars (even though the point is that people know when a new post has been made), it means that stories grow old as the week progresses. True, this has often been useful: waiting until the Sunday that week allowed me to take in the entire fall-out of the Jonathan Ross/Russell Brand situation, and in other cases, too, I have been rewarded for waiting for a story to develop instead of getting in their with an opinion that turned out to be misjudged. What's that Sky News motto? "We're never wrong for long." Well, that's not the motto I want.

Nevertheless, my reaction to breaking news is usually very quick, and so there is no point waiting to voice it to the world online if it is old news by then. People want views - well, theoretically they want my views - at the time.

From now, Huw Davies' Week Spot remains the same in that I am still reviewing the week's events, but as they happen. No more 'Updated on Sundays' - this baby is going to updated when it matters. As news breaks and as my opinions form, this blog will be updated with my views on the subject. So, like a normal blog, basically.

I should warn you: this will not be a go-to site for the most up-to-date news. I can get there quickly, but not any quicker than BBC News and that ilk. Besides, I won't always have anything particularly original to say about the latest update in the financial crisis.

So the blog will continue as usual with my views on the news, but as and when it happens. Capisce?

This week, no blog. Next week: the last Week Spot blog as you know it. And after December 7th, we start afresh.

Thank you for your support. Goodnight... and God bless.

I must apologise for some naughty words appearing in this post. Such are the dangers of talking about professional football. Rest assured, though, that it's not me providing the swearing – it's the managers. Irresponsible bastards.

The blog's also a bit truncated – i.e. short – this week. After a hefty analysis of the first Obama vs. McCain debate last week, I thought it might be best for me to give American politics a rest this time round, even with the Palin/Biden showdown having taken place this week. So this is more lightweight, in focus and pounds of virtual paper.

Finally, you may have noticed a new section to the blog, available on the wall to the top-right of the page, as promised in my last post. There's nothing on it yet, but it'll happen, and it'll be about online journalism (well, I find it interesting). You may choose to ignore it or you may choose to read it. Obviously I'd prefer it if you did read it but just so you know: it won't be my opinions on the week that passed, as this is. It's not really affiliated with Huw Davies' Week Spot. Well, it is, because it's me writing it. But it's not the same blog. It's not the same sphere. It's not the same Huw Davies.

It's blogging, Jim, but not as we know it.

And now: normal service resumes.

Chancer of the Exchequer
Churchill vs. The Daleks
FuKinnear

The BBC reports that Alistair Darling, Chancellor of the Exchequer, has said he is willing to take "some pretty big steps" to stabilise British banking and the economy.

GOOD.

I'm not saying he should, necessarily, because I don't understand economics enough to suggest whether interference would be appropriate or not, and whether taking steps would be better than waiting it out. But I'm certainly glad to hear he is willing to take pretty big steps. You'd hope so. Otherwise, what is the point in government?

He also said he was looking at "a range of proposals". That is not convincing. Apart from the fact that every politician in the history of the world ever has said that exact sentence – or at least, none that I know of has said, "We are not looking at a range of proposals" – it's disconcerting to hear it from the Chancellor of the Exchequer because it doesn't tell us anything.

It is not news. Or rather, it shouldn't be. I'd hope that we are confident enough in our government to know they would take the steps necessary to bring this country out of a hole. We should be. We shouldn't, however, have to be reassured they would.

The fact is that people want something more concrete than that. Back in the day it was good enough to hear "Hey everybody, it's gonna be OK" when the economy was hitting the fan, but now, when people are completely, horribly terrified of losing their money, they want to know the Government has a plan – not that it will find one, but that it has one. Until then, words are not enough. And, as Obama and McCain's failure to immediately convince the majority about their plans for the economy proved (sorry, that's the last I say about America), people are happy – well, not happy, but prepared – to learn a bit more about financial politics than they previously were. That's the level of trust we have in our politicians now. And given that Darling thinks we can still be placated by vague promises, it's justified and probably necessary.

Sad, innit?

It was Magazine Week all last week (or this week, if anyone reads this as soon as I post it), and to celebrate, Borders booksellers offered a buy-one-get-one-half-price deal on magazines and magazine subscriptions. Huzzah! Reason at last for me to buy The Oldie without feeling I should spend the money on pretending to be young.

There was also a poll, sponsored by the Periodical Publishers Association (PPA), to find Britain's favourite magazine cover. I know what you're thinking: what kind of sad bastard remembers their favourite front cover to a magazine? So to help us all out, a team of industry experts nominated some and whittled them down to a 'best of the best' shortlist of 16. Here they all are.

As those of you who have just looked at that link know, the Radio Times Dalek cover won. I'm not disappointed as such; more indifferent. I mean, it's an all right cover, I suppose. I'm not overwhelmed, but I'm not underwhelmed either. I'm 'whelmed'. It's a striking image to put on a front cover, but the 'Vote Dalek' slogan doesn't actually make any sense – it's just a very tenuous tie-in to the General Election that was happening at the time (if anything, it probably gained some votes from people taking the slogan as an order). So it's not all that clever, or clever at all in fact. Still, it doesn't need to be, and that's why it won. It's simple and it grabs your attention – and that's the point. Still, it'd be a downright lie to deny that a lot of those votes were members of the public thinking, "Ooh, Daleks!"

I honestly thought the NME's Beth Ditto cover would win, but I just as honestly hoped that Time Out would. It takes some balls to stick it to Winston Churchill – look how badly Hitler fared – but to do it on the anniversary of his death in the midst of some serious Churchillmania is about the bravest thing you can do as the editor of a magazine. Not only that but it's an amazing, attention-grabbing front cover; not to mention beautifully ironic in using Churchill's own 'V' sign as a 'fuck you' to the man himself.

It's a shame that Time Out is purely just a 'What's On' read now because we need some more political ferocity in our magazines, but maybe a guide to London isn't the best vessel for that. Still, we need something – before we all start voting Dalek.

I'm sure you've all heard by now about Joe Kinnear's verbal tirade against certain members of the media in his first official press conference as Newcastle manager. If not, here it is in its full glory. I love The Guardian for printing this, but in all honesty it's hard not to when, as a journalist, you hear, "Write what you like. Makes no difference to me."

Choosing the best bit of this fantastic rant – please read all of it – is hard, but my personal favourites are the start –

"Which one is Simon Bird?"

"Me."

"You're a cunt."

- and the end:

"Enjoyed getting back in the swing of things?"

"Absolutely. I've loved every moment of it."

I actually don't have much to say about Kinnear's outburst except that I would love it to happen in football more often – love it. It's great to see a football manager wearing his heart on his sleeve and holding his career with invisible tongs. And it's not as if it was a one-off: brilliantly, Kinnear had to watch his first game in charge of Newcastle from the stands because he never finished serving a touchline ban at Nottingham Forest four years ago.

He was, of course, wrong to have such a go at the press. They reported the truth: that he had taken a day off from training on his first day of work, and they merely cast aspersions to tensions at the club – which, when you're in the relegation zone with allegedly one of the strongest squads in the country (uh... ), is likely to be the case. And as manager, however temporarily, of a team in difficulties, Kinnear should be trying to calm the waters, not rock the boat.

But I can't judge someone who provides me with that much entertainment. And thanks to Everton's wavering concentration before and after the half-time break, Newcastle grabbed a 2-2 draw today. Maybe there's life in the old Toon yet.

Perhaps not for Spurs though.

One (or rather two) of the most interesting and appealing things about blogging is its immediacy and its brevity. Why wait a day for a full-scale investigation into a story by a national newspaper when you can read a journalist's opinions on it straightaway, and in just five minutes?

Then I come in and cock it all up by blogging regularly once a week and at great length. I suppose one way of looking at it is that I'm stripping down the boundaries, man, and I'm not restricting myself to a blog's... restrictions. But alternatively, it might just be that I trust my readers to have good attention spans and a good enough memory to return later if they're short on time.

Why am I saying this now? Because, writing a piece on American politics as I speak – well, not literally, since I'm obviously writing this as I speak and as it happens I'm not actually speaking at all – I can tell you that it is going to be epic. There's just too much to say. Sorry.

So if you're looking for a quick opinion on the American presidential election, here it is: I am expecting and dreading a Republican victory. But if you want a bit more than that, read on. And if you don't have long to read this, as you are perfectly entitled to be, what with this being a blog and everything, you can always take a look at the other stories and bookmark the first one for later.

Hell, who am I to give you advice? This blog is for you, not me. I hope you enjoy it. Until next Sunday then.

McCain in the fast lane but no home straight yet
God Save The Queen
Medicine flatlining in the comedy stakes
Alex Ferguson is a tosser
Admin: a word to the wise

No blood on the carpet, but then it wasn't that dirty a fight. The first televised debate between John McCain and Barack Obama has been and gone and there was no clear winner. It was a surprisingly clean affair, with Obama's assertiveness, using the words "when I'm President", seeming a bit incongruous in a debate between two candidates striving to seek legitimacy rather than state a case for election.

Whether this will last remains to be seen. But equally fascinating were the shenanigans on McCain's side beforehand. The Republican candidate tried to postpone the debate to allow a greater concentration on the current financial crisis. He did not succeed.

It may look like weakness, but trying to delay the debate was actually a very shrewd move by McCain. Not only did it give the appearance of a candidate in touch with the common man worried where his money's going; it neutralised the blow the financial crisis has had on his campaign by showing that he acknowledged the problem and wanted to resolve it straightaway. Obama, on the other hand, was in danger of appearing a power-hungry outsider not interested in the people he wants to lead.

But he pulled it back with aggression and good old common sense. You want to help the economy, John? Don't we all? But people want to know – now – what you're planning to do and I don't see why that should happen behind closed doors. Doing two things at once is an integral part of leading the country and hey, if you're not ready to do that, I'm happy to step in.

The bail-out is interesting. It looks like a bit of a rabbit out of a hat, but it was always on the cards. Matt, the cartoonist in The Telegraph, drew a fantastic cartoon, reproduced here with thanks, that sums it up quite well.

And the debate itself? Well... it's complicated – which is why analysts are choosing to strip it down by saying that McCain won on the all-important foreign policy front, but it was essentially a draw. I'm not sure about that. Obama made the better points but McCain made the better appearance and sadly, that's what's going to count. I would say that although neither candidate emerged a clear winner, McCain probably just edged ahead in the stakes.

He drove home the experience card. I mean, he rammed it home. Everything new that Obama suggested was brought back to his alleged inexperience, and although that is his stock response, McCain was able to highlight

his own experience to bring up good decisions he made on foreign policy (apparently there are some) earlier in his career. At one point he reacted to Obama's plan to negotiate with foreign threats by saying, "So let me get this right: we sit down with Ahmadinejad and he says, 'We're going to wipe Israel off the face of the Earth' and we say, 'No, you're not'? Oh please." That was damaging. Even though McCain was parodying Obama's supposed naïveté to an extreme, it made the Democratic senator a laughing stock in the hall and suggested he's... well... just too nice to tackle terrorism.

McCain automatically has the problem of having to admit to mistakes the Republicans have made in office, but he's somehow working it to his advantage. "We Republicans came to power to change government, and government changed us." Humility, however false. If Obama points out errors made in the Bush administration – such as landing the country in $700 billion of debt – then unless McCain is personally involved he can reply, "Yes, we've made mistakes, but I can change that", or even "I regret that mistake but I've learnt from it", bringing him back to the advantage of his experience. He also wins the award for stating the obvious: "We cannot allow a second Holocaust – let's make that very clear." Thanks for that, John.

And most powerfully, he can rally the troops. He used the debate over the financial crisis to say he has a fundamental belief in the American worker, whom he claims is better than any other in the world, to pull America out of this hole through sheer hard work. Who cares that an individual's hard work can't pull a country out of a $700 billion debt? McCain realises how much sweat I put into my job. He's on our side, unlike that black commie. I'm great! We're great! U-S-A! U-S-A!

Combine this with Obama's perceived class-related elitism and you have a problem: how can he win the blue-collar worker away from 'working man' McCain? Yes, this is bollocks, but that's their respective reputations in working-class America.

Obama's wry humour on politics can not only undermine him beside McCain's serious 'I care about American people' approach, but also appear patronising. Saying things like, "We had a 20th century mindset that basically said, 'Well, you know, [Musharraf] may be a dictator, but he's our dictator'" can come across as belittling the American public, suggesting they can't understand global politics without it being dumbed down, and however true that may be, that's not an image you want. It's a shame, because Obama has a head for a great turn of phrase, but his superb rhetoric may well act against him, not for him.

He also stuttered a bit in the debate, which I wasn't expecting, and has the unfortunate verbal tic of saying "y'know" a lot. However quickly he says it and however hard he swallows it, that "y'know" makes him appear less confident and less certain about his views. McCain's catchphrase seems to be "I'll tell ya", which is a lot more grabbing. Amazingly, his is often the real oratory.

The fact is that McCain 'won' the debate, at least on foreign policy, because he connects with more Americans. If one candidate responds to a question about Russia by talking about energy resources, and the other says he looked into Putin's eyes and saw three letters: a K, a G and a B, guess which will have workers talking by the water cooler about him. Yes, it's cheesy, yes, it's glib, but it's popular and it's going to win him the election.

I'm sorry. Excuse my pessimism. But mark my words: come Christmas, John McCain is probably going to be President of the United States of America.

We're in trouble.

Not another poll saying the Tories are ahead of us. I'm not holding a bloody election. I'm Prime Minister, not Cameron. We need to do something. What do people care about? Quick, Bryant, hand me that Daily Mail. Ah, the monarchy, eh? Very well – let's do something about it. That'll show 'em who's boss.

After a constitutional review by MP Chris Bryant, the Government is planning to rejig the way succession of the throne runs in this country. The law stating that Catholics cannot be King or Queen, and indeed that anyone inheriting the throne must make before parliament a declaration rejecting Catholicism, is to be thrown out, and so too is the requirement that the crown is automatically passed to a male heir. This means that Prince William's firstborn would be monarch upon his death even she was female.

It's a sound suggestion that obviously makes a lot of sense – there's no reason why even monarchy, the least democratic concept in the country, should be party to sexism and Catholic-bashing. I'm sure it's news that thrills Catholics and women alike, not to mention Catholic women. Finally, that insurmountable barrier is gone. They too can be Queen.

Hang on one crazy little minute though – don't you still have to be part of the royal family to do that? Isn't there some sort of requirement for someone to be born to a monarch to become one? Isn't this basically a minor amendment to an undemocratic system, perpetuating an antiquated outdated practice through supposed modernisation, and probably designed to get people behind the Labour Government again even though it affects them in absolutely no way?

I do love how people are celebrating this 'widening out' of succession, as if anyone can be King or Queen of the country now. It doesn't quite work like that. And it's a bit stupid to claim the current rules prohibiting women and Catholics from taking the throne 'clashes with the Human Rights Act'. The whole bloody idea of monarchy clashes with the Human Rights Act. Stop trying to polish a tiara-shaped turd.

Still, it's just making it fairer to those who are in line to the throne, and that runs deeper than you might think. The current law banning Catholics from the throne also applies to sons and daughters of Catholics, and those who marry them (honestly, this makes Catholics sound like mutants or something). Earlier this year Princess Anne's son Peter Phillips married Autumn Kelly, who was baptised a Catholic. He would have lost his place as 11th in line for the throne (blimey, that was a close one) but Kelly recanted her Catholicism.

Things have changed a little since the days of Thomas More. Put a crown and a sceptre in front of a wavering Catholic and they might just do a quick St. Peter impression – Jesus who?

Are you CTD? An FLK? NFN? How about GROLIES? Let's hope not. But rest assured you won't be for long – these abbreviations are falling out of fashion.

In medical circles these terms used to be thrown around like confetti, but apparently, no longer. Since you ask, they are acronyms used to describe patients, and just to warn you, most of them aren't that positive. CTD means 'Circling The Drain' (as in, dying quite rapidly), FLK means 'Funny-Looking Kid', NFN stands for 'Normal For Norfolk' (nice) and the innovative GROLIES denotes the description 'Guardian Reader Of Low Intelligence in Ethnic Skirt'.

Clearly these are brilliant, and should never fall out of fashion. My favourite was once DTS, used to describe obese patients. It means 'Danger To Shipping'. Now, though, I have fallen in love with the medical phrase TEETH, an abbreviated form of 'Tried Everything Else; Try Homeopathy'. One more secret of the medical world blown apart there.

But these acronyms aren't being used much any more, and who can be surprised? We live in a compensation culture: if you can sue somebody, you sue somebody. Twice. Surgeons are in constant fear of losing thousands if they don't get an operation exactly, perfectly right; why are they going to take risks with their job, reputation and wallet by calling a patient 'GPO' (Good for Parts Only)? What if the patient finds out? The doctor's immediately trying to settle out of court.

I don't know. Modern life is just ruining medical comedy. To quote Thornton Reed in Garth Marenghi's Darkplace: "The main reason I went into [medicine] was for the laughs – that and the pussy, and the pussy dried up a long time ago if you get my drift."

Sorry. Please don't sue me.

I've never liked Alex Ferguson.

When I was a naive young Spurs fan (i.e. from toddlerhood up until a few months ago, when I tore up my figurative season ticket through protest at how the club treated Dimitar Berbatov) I became increasingly frustrated with Manchester United grabbing last-minute equalisers/winners against us in the eighth minute of questionable injury time, and for this I blamed Ferguson's obvious manipulation

of referees and referees' assistants. Add to this his supreme arrogance, his absurd excuses and above all his incessant whining about referees being biased against his team – even though United have clearly had more luck with decisions than any other club in the world, ever – and you get a man that I would immediately consign to Room 101 without a second thought for his family, his friends if he has any, or the mistreatment of a grand Orwellian concept by BBC television.

But in recent months and years my intense hatred towards this waste of human tissue has been quelled slightly by another manager of equal detestitude (yes, I made that up). Arsene Wenger. Never before has such a whining hypocritical coward walked this Earth, and frankly I find it hilarious whenever Arsenal lose just because their manager is an arse.

But Ferguson's comments after their 2-0 win over Bolton have brought it all flooding back. Manchester United got a dodgy penalty after a fantastic tackle by Jlloyd JSamuel of JBolton was adjudged to be indecent. United took the chance and took the lead after an hour of being held at 0-0. Bolton boss Gary Megson called the decision "absolute nonsense" and "an absolute howler" (someone give the man a thesaurus). Ferguson responded, "I was surprised because it looked as though their lad got a foot on the ball," then, "But Rob Styles turned us down four or five times last year so maybe it is payback time. But he still owes us another four."

SHUT THE HELL UP. There is not some great conspiracy against your team, Fergs; on the contrary, referees have spent the last 15 years losing themselves in your colon. If it's beginning to even up now (I'm told decisions have finally been going against United) then that's justice, and to be honest, not enough of it. Rob Styles has not been giving bad decisions against Manchester United, and if he has it's pathetic bringing it up now. Let. It. Go.

I've never liked Alex Ferguson.

Sorry, just a brief bit of shopkeeping. I have recently undertaken a new university course and for my studies I will need to keep a blog. It won't be in the same vein as Huw Davies' Week Spot, and it won't be updated only on Sundays. It will be on this site, or perhaps another site connected by an internal link, but I will endeavour to keep it separate from this review of the week's events. So if, in the next few weeks, you see a new section to this blog, don't be scared - it's all part of the plan.

Thanks.

So then, this is the 25th (kinda) and last Week Spot blog post as you know it. From next week, it will be updated as and when something in the news catches my eye - as, indeed, a blog should be.

Maybe I'll do a weekly round-up again, but I doubt it. So until that day does or doesn't come, here's a bumper final edition of strange stories for you.

And everything's changing, mainly to do with people being removed from the public eye. OJ Simpson's been locked up, Diana Vickers has been voted off X-Factor and Darren Anderton's retired from professional football.

I think that's good, good or bad and bad news respectively, but I'd appreciate your input on that. What do you think?

OJ loses common sense, freedom
The British public loses another Diana
Official: left-handers plagued by statistics
Andy Fordham hits the maximum in weightloss
The Discman makes a comeback
Sicknote Anderton hangs up his boots

Dear oh dear. Opinion still seems to be divided over whether OJ Simpson murdered Nicole Brown and Ronald Goldman, of whose deaths he was found innocent in 'the trial of the century' in 1995, but we can all agree on something – he's stupid.

Surely OJ should have known for more than a decade now that every move he makes would be watched like a hawk by people aggrieved with the 'not guilty' murder verdict, the authorities and conspiracy theorists. He should have been wary of picking his nose in case it turned out to be holding evidence against him.

So with this in mind, his reaction to the supposed theft of some memorabilia was, well, a bit special. For a start, it's not like he was actually robbed. Two people were trying to sell memorabilia from OJ's footballing days and he claimed it still

belonged to him. Now, what do you do in that situation? Get legal on their arses? Let them peddle the useless wares? Or kidnap them at gunpoint and force them to give the stuff back? The latter, apparently. I think he's started to confuse his life with the movies he's been in.

Yet OJ claims, "I did not know that I was doing anything illegal." Uh... really? What part of it did you think was nice and legal, OJ? Was it the kidnapping or the armed robbery? Honestly, it's like he thinks he can get away with murder or something.

And so this time he's been sent down – down for 33 years (though it'll more likely be nine, when his parole is heard). Interesting. What's yet more interesting is that he was found guilty of this charge 13 years to the day after being acquitted in the murder trial. Some will call this justice; I just think it's the most beautiful irony.

Still, he's got only himself to blame. Silly boy.

So, Diana has been voted off X-Factor just one round before the grand final. I hear Mattel are desperate to get her voice into a range of Barbie dolls (complete with claw-like hands) to capitalise on the publicity. And the reaction of the rest of us is... conflicting, to say the least.

I haven't been watching X-Factor at all – I've drying paint that needs monitoring – but like many sceptics, I've been dragged in a bit by the drama. From the couple of performances I've seen, I know that some of them can sing, some of them can't, and Diana Vickers is definitely memorable.

That is to say, I don't know if I like her or hate her. She somehow manages to sound bloody awful and absolutely amazing at the same time – something not done since Bob Dylan, albeit in a very different way. I think yesterday's show proved that faster, louder songs don't suit her, which may well be why she was voted out (well, that and she annoys people), but she can belt out a ballad in at least a distinctive way. Put it this way: I don't know if I like it or not, but I still have her version of Coldplay's Yellow in my head. And since the winner is going to sing Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah and you know no one's going to do it better than Jeff Buckley, at least hers would be different from the norm.

The winners are generally dull. Leon? What's happened to him? At least he could sing, I think, which sets him apart from Ray Quinn, who is without a doubt one of the worst singers I have ever heard, and yet he came second a couple of years ago. Listen to him sometime. He doesn't sing any consonants.

Anyway, like her princess namesake, Diana's gone now – cast aside like the proverbial rag doll she physically resembles. As if it matters – she'll get a record contract and, like her 16-year-old rival and potential squeeze Eoghan, will add to the list of people more than 5 years younger than me (she's 17) and phenomenally more successful than I am.

Bastards.

More useless education statistics emerged recently. After the classic that was 'pupils born later in the year do worse in exams' (I've already written an article on that one), we're now told left-handed students don't test as well as their right-handed counterparts. Oh good, so we'll just make sure our children are right-handed, shall we? I'm sure a return to the 19th century will do us good, and make sure we all grow up in a right-handed utopia. But just to make sure, let's move back in time and culture completely and burn lefties at the stake for being witches.

This goes out to the BBC and educational researchers: STOP SPREADING ALARMISM. Non-stories of non-studies like this just lead idiots to worry, and they don't need the persuasion.

I'm not left-handed. But 7-10% of the population are, and please, just leave them alone. Five of the last seven Presidents of the USA – Ford, Reagen, Bush Snr., Clinton and Obama (and McCain as well) – have been left-handed. No one talks about that. Actually, that's probably for the best: the rednecks have enough to go on without our telling them the world is not only in the hands of a black guy, but a left-handed black guy.

I wonder if they've had to move the red button on his desk.

What the hell has happened to Andy Fordham? I am really, really glad he has decided to kick the drink (seriously, 23 bottles of lager a day?) and lose some weight but he looks emaciated. I mean, I suppose that's what losing 17 stone does to you, but I genuinely don't recognise him. I think it's an actor.

Oh well, good for him, I suppose. But he does look terrifying.

So the lesson here, kids, is if you want to avoid inevitable surgery, don't play darts.

And yet I can't find N64 controllers anywhere.

So. Farewell
Then
Darren Anderton.

You have played
Your last game. 599. You
Scored a volley in the dying minutes to grab a dramatic win for Bournemouth.

Well done.

Sicknote. That
Was your name.
People called you that
Because you were always
Injured.

Now you're
Retired.
But you're not dead.
Yet.

(With apologies to E. J. Thribb, 17½)

Hello? What's this? I have a blog?

Yes, I've been very rubbish over the last couple of months, and due to various issues of job applications, illness and Media Law exams, I've abandoned this little corner of the interblag universe. Believe me, I'm as upset with myself as you are, and if you're even half as relieved as I am to be back, then I'm twice as relieved as you.

Anyway, Huw Davies' Week Spot is back after a horrible hiatus, and I promise you a real blog on the news of the day as soon as possible - most likely in the next couple of days. Tell your friends.

Ta ta for now.

Today is my birthday, which means two things for this blog: it'll be shorter and less cynical than usual. Gone are the diatribes of Homeric proportions on the horrible financial state we're all in and gone are the complaints about how bad parts of the national press are (though they are). No, for this week, I am going to bright, breezy and brief.

Which means, yes, there may be some silliness. Sorry.

To that end, I have just opened one of my birthday presents, which is a collection of crap jokes. So, in the spirit of silliness: where was the Declaration of Independence signed? At the bottom. Boom boom.

No, I don't know what happened to this blog either.

D-I-V-O-R-C-E
Dollocaust
Is Manchester United the ugliest football team in the world?

So clearly the biggest news this week is the impending divorce between 75-year-old lingerie model and Joan Rivers impressionist Madonna and her lovable cockney geezer of a husband, Guy 'cor blimey guvnor' Ritchie. Apparently this split has been a long time coming. Apparently bears defecate in heavily wooded areas.

It's interesting that the announcement supposedly came earlier than planned: the couple had wanted to keep up appearances until the end of Madonna's new tour (I imagine this was her idea, not Guy's). Maybe it's just me believing too much of the little celebrity gossip I read, but I was under the impression that everyone knew they've been growing apart over the last few years, so they can't have done brilliantly in the 'keeping up appearances' part of things. Still, waiting until the end of your tour to announce your divorce? Isn't that a little cynical? Call me naïve, but even the end of a marriage should have its priorities, rather than being "highly stage-managed", "announced when it [is] convenient" for one of the two people involved. Madonna "didn't want the distraction while she is trying to concentrate on her tour," The Sun reveals. With a thought process like that, how has she has the nerve to question Ritchie's emotional capabilities?

With this in mind, I also find it very interesting that the announcement came from Madonna and not the couple, as usually happens. Even soon-to-be-divorcees usually manage to be in the same room as each other for one more press conference, for old time's sake, perhaps. But, although Ritchie's representative co-signed the statement, the news was revealed by Madonna's cohort. Maybe it was seen as her responsibility as the more famous party, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's quite happy to take the reins with the press on this one.

She has, after all, been more vocal about the divorce than Ritchie. The other night at a concert in Boston – her first after announcing the divorce – Madonna gave Ritchie lock, stock and two smoking barrels, introducing the song Miles Away with the words, "This song is for the emotionally retarded. Maybe you know some people who fall into that category. I know I do." She then powered through her set like a true rock 'n' rolla, although it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to notice that in those clothes you can very clearly see her snatch.

Apologies for the appalling punnery and quite crude (but accurate) observation that for the millions of dollars she spends on her stage show, Madonna still dresses like a cheap whore. We shouldn't be too surprised by this sort of behaviour from someone who has released singles called Bad Girl, Hanky Panky and the less-than-subtle Erotica in the past, but she's 50 now. Apart from anything else, she could at least start saving some money for retirement. Allegedly her new tour, called 'Sticky and Sweet' – the woman has no shame – involves £1 million of jewellery, 3,500 individual wardrobe elements, 100 pairs of fishnet stockings and 69 guitars. Strangely, it's the last of these statistics that concerns me. Even The Clash, at the height of their instrument-smashing mayhem, didn't get through that many.

Anyway, back to the divorce, just briefly. One final piece of interest, for me at least, is Guy and Ritchie bringing out the old privacy chestnut, requesting that the media "maintain respect for their family at this difficult time."

Optimistic, I feel.

A line of Fisher Price dolls has been withdrawn from sale at a number of toy stores in America after parents complained they were spouting such questionable messages as "Satan is king" and "Islam is the light".

Americans? Paranoid? Nah.

I'm pretty sure this could only happen in the Bible Belt of America (in this case, Oklahoma). Not only is it a hotbed for insane Christians hitting pro-choicers with bricks, it's a hotbed for insane Christians insisting that everyone in the world apart from them is a heathen/Islamic fundamentalist/the Devil/all three. Add a dash of 9/11, a whiff of Jerry Springer: The Opera and a soupcon of 'Holy shit, there's a black man running for President' and you get full-scale terror.

Listen to the clip attached at the top of this link and tell me that gurgling, babbling baby doll is saying "Islam is the light". It's not. If anything, it's saying "Me ears are alight" in an obscure reference to a Maxell advert. Equally weird, but probably less terrifying to Americans. Still, I expect somewhere in the Palestinian Bible Belt – the Qur'an Colony? – there are families complaining that an evil Western doll is saying, "Ooh ooh, the Israelites."

Or maybe they're more understanding than crazy American bible-bashers.

It's been discussed before, this, but watching their match against West Brom made me realise once more that United's players are uglier than Route 1.

This is a team that has produced and since released such Elephant Man cast-offs as Luke Chadwick and Phil Neville, and yet they still keep up an impressive ugly quotient. Maybe it's part of Cristiano Ronaldo's contract. Maybe it's an obscure EU law. Whatever the reason, it's slightly eerie. If you don't believe me, look for yourself at this full XI of hideous United players (in a 4-3-3 formation, notice). To be fair to them, a lot of these pictures have been taken with the players at the very height of gormlessness, but I don't care – they're funny.

Huw Davies is a young writer and sub-editor pursuing a career in journalism, spending his time reading articles, writing articles and watching Neighbours. He recently completed a postgraduate diploma in magazine journalism at Cardiff University, a course so rigorous he developed pneumonia.

Huw is now sub-editing at Haymarket's Medical Imprint, while also maintaining a weekly Premier League predictions blog on fourfourtwo.com. Occasionally, he gets one right.

Before this work began Huw wrote for a wide range of publications, including G2, Psychologies, The Big Issue Cymru, The South Wales Echo, One In Four magazine and The Essex Chronicle, who still owe him a phone call.

His most successful work was arguably for Cardiff University’s award-winning weekly student newspaper gair rhydd, editing the Editorial & Opinion section and writing fortnightly columns under the pseudonym Rasputin. Huw won four Cardiff Student Media Awards, including Best Interview for a one-to-one with Welsh rugby hero Shane Williams and Best Opinion Writer two years running. The judges were impressed with a selection of articles written under the guise of Rasputin on subjects ranging from education reform to links between his beard and international terrorism.

The fourth award came with a feature in gair rhydd, which more importantly won him the coveted Student Journalist of the Year award from leading mental health charity, Mind.

Huw confronted his problems with obsessive-compulsive disorder to search for the truth about the condition in a piece that judges called a "down-to-earth take on living with OCD", "imaginatively written from first-hand experience". Huw accepted the award at Kingsway Hall Hotel in London, where he met Mind President Lord Melvyn Bragg, who has giant hands. The piece also saw him shortlisted for Best Diversity Writer at the Guardian Student Media Awards.

Having graduated from Cardiff University with the postgraduate diploma in magazine journalism and a BA Hons in English Literature, somehow finishing second in the year and achieving a First despite spending most of his time playing snooker (much to the amusement of anyone who saw him try), Huw is settling into working life and wondering whether he should update his blog more often.

Shortlisted, Diversity Writer of the Year, Guardian Student Media Awards 2009
Runner-up, Best gair rhydd Section (Editorial & Opinion), Cardiff Student Media Awards 2008

You are looking for opinion writing that either a) shows versatility and good research or b) tells you something special…So Huw Davies’ ability to blend personal experience and some decent research findings just topped my bill.

Huw Davies and Chris Croissant deserve congratulations for putting together such a diverse and original set of articles.

A gripping and well-written feature which managed to be informative, non-self-pitying and witty.

Huw writes with both authenticity and rigour, balancing personal experience and thorough and creative research in his feature with a high degree of professionalism... This was a strong example of the voice of someone with personal experience breaking down the stigma surrounding the condition.

Huw Davies – ah Huw Davies again – makes the OCD spread so much fresher by approaching it from a personal point of view.

Keeping The Faith, Keeping The Facial Hair (November 2007)
Why is it excusable for the authorities to treat Muslims (and me) as potential terrorists?

Living With OCD (August 2008)
A look into obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), as featured in The Guardian's G2 supplement

Living With An Obsession (February 2008)
My original look into obsessive-compulsive disorder

Williams the Conqueror (March 2009)
An exclusive interview with Welsh rugby legend Shane Williams

Blair. Fair. (February 2007)
The Government's firmness towards Catholic adoption agencies spells good news for gay parents

Poor Old John Prescott (June 2006)
Leave the big guy alone

Bland Designs (May 2008)
The ambitious plans for Cardiff University's Students' Union building make absolutely no sense

Vocation, Vocation, Vocation (February 2008)
Underqualified graduates have overly theory-based degrees to blame

Highlight Of The Year Or A Right Summer Balls-Up? (June 2008)
Whoever organised Cardiff University's Summer Ball doesn't seem to care about the students

The Rise And Rise Of Moral TV (October 2007)
Programmes need to stop preaching

*blows the dust off this blog*

Sorry, I know it’s been a while. In fact, it’s been so long that it seems barely worth apologising. Suffice it to say I’m back with something particularly blogworthy. To wit:

Mario Balotelli is going to spend a week in an Italian monastery.

More specifically, that’s the Santacittarama Buddhist Monastery in Frasso Sabino, which, as far as I can work out from Google Maps, is in the middle of nowhere (a good place for a monastery, admittedly). It’s not far from Rome, and seems to be happy enough to take people in for some brief religious guidance.

To be honest, the idea of Mario Balotelli, the man who fires toy guns at passers-by, breaks into women's prisons and throws darts at youth team players, meditating with Buddhist monks is incredible. When I first heard, I assumed it would be this kind of monastery – that looks much more up Mario’s street.

But no, apparently, he’s actually going to spend a week of his summer holidays trying to calm down a touch. No doubt someone at Manchester City has had a word in his ear.

An artist's impression

Don’t worry, I’m not turning this blog into a gossip column – I just love that this is Mario Balotelli’s next step towards salvation, after beating on school bullies and giving a homeless man £1,000. Can you have a midlife crisis at 20?

Strangely enough, I didn’t think a 140-character tweet would do this story justice. Hell, there’s a film in this.

Once again: Mario Balotelli. In a monastery. Meditating.

Bloody hell.

I try to avoid self-publicising on this blog (well, apart from the About Me section, obviously), but I would like to point people towards this - my weekly Premier League predictions blog on fourfourtwo.com.

This week I let the predictions become a thinly-veiled attack on a certain French footballer (which, if this is anything to go by, is a nice way of putting it (nasty words within)).

So... yeah.

In this blog he explains that gemmology is getting ever more scientific with all the new equipment available, that allows a more in depth analysis of a gem material.

These are big expensive pieces of equipment that are housed in the larger gem labs and universities and are proving very helpful in the identification of new synthetics and treatments.

It used to be a matter of course that when you entered the jewellery trade you enrolled in two courses to gain qualifications. The first was The Retail Jewellers Diploma (R.J.Dip. now The Professional Jewellers Diploma, P.J.Dip.) to gain knowledge about all the various aspects of the retail jewellers role. The second was enrolling on the Diploma course in gemmology from the Gemmological Association of Great Britain and Ireland, to gain an excellent understanding of gemmology and ultimately the F.G.A. I have spoken to many colleagues in recent years that are either too focused on sales or don't see the point in studying gemmology "because it's all done in labs now" rather than using some skills in store.

Erics next point is to say that the new gemmologist's job is to explain gems, synthetics, treatments and of course the beauty of these pieces to the trade and public. I spend hours every day explaining what a Tourmaline is, how angles and percentages affect the light performance of a Diamond, what is the difference between Akoya cultured pearls and Natural Pearls, what does heat treated mean, and so on. But I am able to do this with confidence because of the training I have had. So Eric is right, but this is only part of the new gemmologist's role.

We need to have more gemmologist's in or close to retail in order to protect the trade and public alike. Unfortunately there are many rogue traders in the world that don't tell the truth either intentionally or through ignorance. All jewellery professionals need a basic training using the most useful equipment a good pair of eyes and a loupe or eyeglass. This was something reinforced by Edward Johnson of GIA London where I attended a course in January. My view is it's easier to stumble into trouble with your eyes closed!

You also need to train your eyes. After coming back from a weeks Diamond Grading, I noticed colour or lack of it in everything. When a tap was running, I could easily detect the slight differences in the water coming out, just the same as Diamonds in the normal colour range. Something that made me think of doing this blog this mornig was this. My wife tells me off for putting spread on the toast on the kitchen worktop intead of on a plate. If she had an eye as trained as mine I would never get away with it. When you spread toast on a worktop it stays relativly flat, if you spread it on a plate it takes on the curvature of the plate. Yes, I know it's very sad that I notice these things, but it helps me to be a good gemmologist! Get looking!

It's the age-old problem: how to get out of a regular commitment one time without everyone thinking you're rubbish.

Due to reasons that will absolutely not interest you, I simply have not had time to put together a blog this week. Not even a little one. I know: I managed it in Madeira and I managed it even when I was leaving to go to Madeira (making me late for the hotel), but this week it just can't be done. My deepest apologies.

I have thought of ways to try and do a short one and get away with it - the week in pictures, for example, or just one story - but I feel that would be lying to you, my readers. And you're all so lovely. I just couldn't do it.

So instead, I emerge from this smokescreen of cop-outs naked and embarrassed with nothing to cover my dignity. This week, you will not be able to read my opinions on the week that was.

Yes, this comes at a bad time, just after some more people have been drawn towards the blog and have been impressed by it. And yes, it's incredibly unprofessional to miss a week. But sadly, I have no option.

I hope you are not too disappointed, and I truly, truly hope you will come back next week. I promise you I will make it worth your while. Not literally, obviously, but it'll be a good one. Promise.

Much love

x

It's surprisingly easy to get the news in Madeira. I know I shouldn't be surprised - Funchal is a popular tourist spot on an island off the coast of Portugal, not a windswept rock in the middle of a cultural black hole - but given that all I'd be able to understand in a Portuguese paper would be 'Obrigado' and 'Cristiano Ronaldo', and considering how difficult it can be to get foreign-language papers in the UK, I find myself delerious with delight at seeing an English newspaper, even if it is The Mail.

Truth is, there's a newsagent's on practically every corner offering an impressive range of English rags. They're printed in Europe and imported as soon as they can be, generally being ready to buy around lunchtime. They're also quite expensive: a Guardian costs me €3.90 (about £3.25), which I personally think is a bit cheeky. Still, it's worth it to keep up-to-date and free hotel internet access makes a happy Huw.

And, you may be asking, why aren't I off enjoying my holiday instead of lying in the sun beside a rooftop swimming pool, admiring a spectacular view, drinking a cool beer and writing what I think about the world?

Well, I'm committed, 'tis all.

(So committed, in fact, that I got a bit carried away with these stories and they turned from blog posts into epic blog posts into full-blown articles. Sorry about that.)

The price of progress
The appealing's Mutu-al
Flogging a dead horse (then rigorously washing my hands)

So, A-Level results time once again. And once again, it's a record-breaking year, with the pass rate topping 97% for the first time and more As being awarded than ever before.

Shit! Disaster! Continuing success! A-Levels must be getting easier. If seven-year-old twins can get a D in an AS-Level Maths paper, how hard can it be? Void the results. Better still, scrap the entire system. When one in four results are As and one in ten pupils are getting three of them – and when my old school comes first in the national league tables (schwing!) – something must be wrong. Right?

Or maybe – just maybe – schools are getting better, pupils are getting cleverer and those twins are just geniii. Maybe this reaction to A-Level results is the wrong kind of euphoria. I know it's terribly British to fail and everything, but when the Government is discussing plans to reduce the number of happy, successful pupils, it makes you wonder what they want from them.

To be fair, some changes in the A-Level system may be required. 5000 pupils who went on to get three As were turned away by Oxford last year, and that number is expected to have increased this year. Pupils are doing so well that it is becoming harder to distinguish the best of the best. But that's not their fault, and I resent the automatically negative response towards them, as if they have chosen an easier ride; as if they have taken advantage of the system; as if they have cheated in some way. No, their results are not meaningless. Regardless of how easy to attain good results may or may not be, most pupils have worked bloody hard for them and we can't – or shouldn't – take that away from them.

But while hard-working, intelligent pupils are missing out on university places because others are doing just as well (again, no one's fault), Something Must Be Done – but to help them out, not set them back. There needs to be a better way of setting apart pupils with similar results, even if that does mean more work for them. It's fairer on them in the long run.

So what's to be done? Here are a few suggestions off the top of my head, and off the tops of the heads of others (i.e. I've stolen them from existing plans).

--- Drop General Studies. It's pointless, nobody takes it seriously (least of all universities) and even if you don't revise for it, it takes up lesson time and exam period time that could be spent revising for real subjects.

--- Encourage universities to demand four A-Levels from a student instead of three. More results = a greater chance of differentiation. I'm not sure about this one, because although there's room in a student's timetable for a fourth subject (seeing as most drop one after AS-Level) it would increase workload and resultant stress to potentially harmful levels. Admittedly this would separate the men from the boys – statistically, the girls would probably be fine – but three A-Levels are stressful enough (in fact, pupils' stress levels are apparently higher than ever before). Still, one to think about.

--- One Government plan is a university-style dissertation to be taken alongside A-Levels, in the form of an extended project. I think this would be good. It's more suited to Higher Education, helping students to prepare for the intellectual rigours of university and helping universities to gauge who the more promising applicants are. It would also encourage A-Level pupils to show a bit of initiative, accustomed as they are to the highly specific narrow-field approach to learning, with practice papers and mark schemes telling them exactly what to write (though plans are afoot to change this). A pilot of the dissertation scheme saw pupils discussing global warming and voting ages (danger: General Studies!) but another approach could be to incorporate the longer study into a subject. This would avoid too much added workload (see above), though the current plans are for the projects to be worth half an A-Level, not a whole one.

--- Introduce an A* grade. This is probably going to happen in 2010 and provided it's hard enough to get one, it should help significantly. Incredibly, some big universities have said they'll ignore the A* system because it will favour better-prepared, better-educated students from more affluent areas. What the hell?

--- Interview more students. Whatever happened to the university interview anyway? If you have two or more students of precisely the same academic calibre, it only makes sense to compare their performances in an interview.

--- Leave the International Baccalaureate well alone. It's crap. Just say no, kids.

--- Most importantly, leave the poor sods alone. They've done what they were told, worked hard and achieved some good grades. What benefit is there in telling them they're worthless?

Sport often welcomes greed – just look at Michael Phelps' diet, guaranteed to get kids begging their parents for the right to eat handfuls of crap all day – but Chelsea FC really rolls out the red carpet. That's the common perception, anyway, and it's hard not to agree when the club tries to fine an individual nearly £14 million for an indiscretion four years previously.

And, to the probable indifference of Roman '£12 billion' Abramovic, it has succeeded. Adrian Mutu will have to pay the London club £13.8 million in damages

(depending which paper he reads – some reckon it's actually £13.68 million). Mutu, now at Fiorentina, was a bit of a scamp in his Chelsea days and in October 2004 was caught red-handed and white-nosed chin-deep in trough full of cocaine. All right, that's a slight exaggeration: he tested positive for cocaine after Chelsea got suspicious he was up to something, having put in some lacklustre training performances (not surprising: if you're being paid five-figure sums of money a week for doing very little you should at least look like you give a shit). Mutu was sacked by the club, banned from football for seven months and had to pay a £20,000 fine. Such is the price of coke these days.

And now Chelsea want £13.8 million from him in compensation. For what, though? What did Chelsea suffer as a result of Mutu's shenanigans that justifies demanding that amount of money from him?

Reputation is the first thing to spring to mind. Employing cocaine junkies isn't exactly keeping up appearances. But when you consider they're not exactly beloved by all anyway, how much did Chelsea's reputation really suffer from the bust? Not much. Not at all, really. Mutu got the flak, and rightly so. The PFA (Professional Footballers' Association) accused Chelsea of failing in its “duty of care” towards their players in sacking Mutu; after all, he'd committed himself to rehab and was having a difficult time of it, what with his wife and kids having left him (the reason he'd fallen into drugs in the first place). But Chelsea received almost universal support for their decision, because it made professional sense – they bought Mutu to play football and he got himself banned from the game for seven months. It doesn't matter that he would have spent most of that time on the bench. Harsh as it was, Chelsea made the right decision, and people knew it. And how cares what the PFA thinks anyway?

The real issue, of course, is that Chelsea want their money back. They feel a bit short-changed from the £15.8 million they gave Parma for Mutu's services (in 2003!), and want the player to reimburse them. But, come on, guys... really? Water under the bridge, man, water under Stamford Bridge. Besides, in the world of professional football faulty purchases don't have a warranty. You can't seek compensation for a signing that went awry. If you could, you'd think Chelsea would want some money back from the £10 million they paid for Chris '28 appearances, 1 goal' Sutton in 1999.

What it comes down to is that Chelsea want Mutu to pay for showing them up. That's pretty unreasonable in my eyes – and £13.8 million? That's just plain greedy (especially when you consider it was originally £9.6 million and Chelsea appealed to make it more).

Mutu is expected to appeal. Damn right. He's got himself clean – time to wipe the slate clean as well.

Blimey.

An article I wrote on obsessive-compulsive disorder that some of you may have read recently got snapped up by that excellent purveyor of high-quality journalism The Guardian and was in G2 last Monday (the 11th). Obviously I´m very proud, and not above plugging it wherever possible. But given that this blog is me commenting on what I read in the papers, I thought I'd share my views.

On the whole, the piece was fairly well-written and not too painful to read, but I would have appreciated more information on OCD rather than one individual's relatively minor battle with it. This, I understand, was in its original publication in Cardiff University's award-winning newspaper gair rhydd, but giving the readers what they want demanded a more personal approach, I hear. Never mind - it was interesting to read about the chap's issues. He clearly needs to get out more.

Not sure about the photo, either.

British politics has been very interesting this week. Even with a Cold War possibly starting thanks to the antics of Russia and Georgia, there's plenty happening at home to get the political pulse racing, or at least beating.

You may be wondering why I am steadfastly not writing about the Russia/Georgia situation, and the simple reason is that I don't know enough about the situation to comment without revealing my ignorance (please, no "that's never stopped you before" comments). Even after analysing the situation my conclusions are along the lines of "Naughty Ruskis" and "Silly Georgians", and that's the kind of political comment that helps nobody (Simon Heffer, take note).

But what I do have on offer for you is a hat-trick of opinions on British political stories this week, with some American election-spotting on the side for good measure.

Never say I don't spoil you.

Tories vs. Fatties
Let's talk about sex, baby
History lessons go back to black
The female of the species
Every little helps

Put down the pie, fatty, and listen up. If you are overweight or obese, you have nobody to blame but yourself. Not Bernard Matthews, not Colonel Sanders – it's YOUR fault you break the scales. Yours. Now get out of my sight and make a salad, chubbles.

This, as every reporter will tell you, is the gist of the Conservative Party's caring new approach to public health, outlined by the shadow health secretary Andrew Lansley last Wednesday. His speech to the think tank Reform, entitled No Excuses, No Nannying, attacked people’s failure to take responsibility for their self-inflicted health problems, claiming, "Tell people that biology and the environment cause obesity and they are offered the one thing we have to avoid: an excuse." Basically, the Tories are telling the overweight they have only themselves to blame.

What Lansley said is actually a little more complex than that. He unveiled proposals to fight obesity that include role models promoting healthy lifestyles, a clampdown on food advertising and asking the food industry to reduce portion sizes. Blimey, hold on to your seat – them's some radical ideas.

Not so much an unveiling as a shy reminder, then. The Tories haven't suggested anything new here, and it's not hard to see why the Government's health secretary Alan Johnson condemned them, saying, "Andrew Lansley is proposing to do nothing that isn't being done already and saying nothing that hasn't been said before." Still, the LibDems probably got carried away in saying the Tories just want to blame people for their obesity because they haven't got any ideas on how to tackle it. That's silly talk. Besides, the Tories are right: people should take responsibility for their weight and stop blaming external influences.

It is true that we live in an irresponsible compensation culture where nothing is anybody's fault (except paedophiles, who don't get to defend themselves). "Don't blame me – I'm only a monster because society made me that way." "It's not my fault I had a bad upbringing." "Jesus told me to rob that bank." We are constantly led to believe that we are all guided by social or even astrological forces beyond our control, that if you were born on the wrong side of the tracks then dealing crack to abusive teenage mothers is understandable and therefore permissible, and that anyone who actually blames someone for doing something wrong is a fascist – or in this scenario, a fattist.

Fat people cannot help being fat, we are told. But here’s the thing: most of them can. If there is a genuine medical reason for an individual’s obesity (e.g. glandular problems, physical disability etc.) and they literally have no option but to pile

on the pounds, then it's entirely reasonable to say, "They can't help it." But that's not the general argument; instead, we are made to believe that obesity isn't a lifestyle choice but an unfortunate affliction targeting the weak. There's just so much advertising for junk food, you see. And it tastes so nice. Oh, these poor, poor sufferers of the overeating disease. Does lack of willpower count as a vitamin deficiency?

Forgive me for being aggressive, but obesity is not caused by availability. Just because you can buy a tasty but sickeningly unhealthy burger for a couple of quid doesn’t mean you are contractually obliged to, in the same way that you can buy gallons of cider with loose change but you don’t have to drink it all in one go and become an alcoholic. It is a question of having some self-control. You can be flabby and still have a backbone.

The Tories' plans don't recommend anything new or useful, and should be disregarded for being largely pointless. But at least they don't protect gutless gluttons, who need to take the blame for their mistakes. It may not be easy for chronic overeaters, but at the end of the day, humble pie is still pie.

MPs are appealing to the Government to provide sex education as early as the beginning of primary school, meaning pupils would learn about the birds and the bees from the age of four.

It's easy to strip a complex suggestion down into headline-hitting hysteria – look, I did it just there and I'm not even a national broadsheet newspaper – but this plan is still concerning. The sexualisation of young children is becoming ever-worrying, and teaching them about relationships before they can even spell 'relationships' is a dodgy prospect. How sexual will this sex education be at that age? We don't know. It may just be a case of "Have you noticed how you like Mary in a different way to how you like John?" (or not, as the case may be), but until that is made clear, we have reason to be suspicious. Call me old-fashioned, but a) kids should arguably learn about relationships and sex from their parents or guardians rather than their teachers and b) they should definitely be able to tie their own shoelaces by that time.

Let it be stricken from the record that at the age of 21 I am really bad at tying my shoelaces.

There is also, I feel, insufficient evidence to suggest sex education at such an early will cut down on the unwanted teenage pregnancies that are plaguing Britain and precipitating such reactionary legislation. Hitting the problem early is always a good thing, but I can't see explanations of relationships to an infant preventing him from making a mistake many years later. One fear is that girls are beginning to have periods without knowing properly what to expect, but again, it's very unusual for that bodily change to occur before the age of 9 or 10, say, which would be a reasonable time for sex education to begin.

I just don't think this legislation would solve any problems, and I do believe it might taint the innocence of millions of young children. Colour me sceptical.

But for every absurd educational reform there's a decent one (that's probably not an official statistic), and it's definitely good news that the slave trade and the British empire are to become compulsory subjects in History lessons.

Pupils between the ages of 11 and 14 – meaning pre-GCSE students, forced in nearly all schools to take History for three years – will be taught about the likes of William Wilberforce and Olaudah Equiano and their roles in the abolition of the British slave trade (and to think, they could just watch Amazing Grace or read this blog and follow the Wikipedia links). The fall of the empire will also be dissected and the progression of civil rights for African-Americans most likely thrown into the mix as well.

It's an encouraging development for three reasons. Most obviously and most importantly, it will teach children about a massive part of Britain's history hitherto ignored by school syllabus-makers. Secondly, it shows a willingness to admit and discuss the embarrassing faults of our ancestors, rather than pretending they didn't happen and focusing instead on national triumphs such as Waterloo, the Battle of Britain and the removal of Margaret Thatcher from power. Finally and most thrillingly of all, it will end the domination of Germany, the world wars and the Holocaust over History lesson timetables.

My only concern is the idea that schoolchildren will learn about the slave trade "to help them understand modern-day issues such as immigration." Given the disgusting popularity of people having right-wing leanings these days, I wouldn't be too surprised if 'helping children to understand immigration' means 'helping children to understand that immigrants are all mass-murdering rapists'.

Still, that's just my cynicism kicking into overdrive. It's about time British kids knew the truth about slavery, before they start thinking that Sepp Blatter and Cristiano Ronaldo know what they're talking about.

John McCain may be an idiot, but he knows American politics. He's covered up his own inadequacies by focusing on Obama's supposed inexperience, he's guaranteed himself favourable press coverage by allowing plenty of exposure for most of his career and he

purposefully upset the Democratic hoedown by infiltrating their Denver conference with high-profile Republican speakers. And now, amid claims he's too old and doesn't appeal to the more simple-minded female voters as much as Barack 'Nice Smile' Obama, he has chosen a woman, Sarah Palin, Governor of Alaska, for his running mate and potential Vice-President. Shrewd.

It is, of course, reductive and even insulting to suggest McCain will receive more of the female vote than he would otherwise just by having a female running mate. But that's how it works. A level of 'one of us' affects every voter to an extent – black or white, rich or poor, male or female. Having a Hispanic running mate would secure McCain the Hispanic vote. Having a ginger running mate would secure the ginger vote. And having a female running mate is likely to secure him more of the female vote. Sorry.

Palin may also win McCain the Youth vote (she's 44), the Proud Mothers Unite vote (5 children, one with Down's Syndrome) and the Anti-Abortion vote (5 children, one with Down's Syndrome), although admittedly McCain already had that one sewn up. We also shouldn't underestimate the popular vote from Stupid Men Who Don't Care About Politics But Know A Pretty Face When They See One ('masturbatory voters', as they are known): Palin looks incredible for a woman who's given birth to five children and certainly generates more interest in the pants department than Hillary Clinton.

Palin was not as much of a no-brainer choice as she may seem though. McCain's most stringent and resounding criticism of Barack Obama is that he is inexperienced and not ready to govern America. Unsurprisingly given that he's 72 himself, McCain is playing the experience card very highly. Then he goes and chooses a running mate who has been in office for less than two years. Clearly the idea is to inject some youth and excitement into, well, the Republican party, and diversity and shoring up your own weaknesses is a major part of picking a running mate – hence why Obama chose Joe Biden, a famously experienced politician into his sixth term in the Senate. Picking Sarah Palin is at best a risky move and at worse blatant hypocrisy, but it is, of course, difficult for Obama to pick up on because any attack on her pedigree indirectly leads to doubts over his own.

It is always controversial to 'take the man, not the ball' and focus on a person rather than their politics. It is doubly controversial when that person is a woman, because you are accused of rampant sexism. But in American politics is hard to consider it any other way, because even when you are picking a future Vice-President you are picking personality rather than policy. The running mate is a means to an end; someone to help you to get into the hot seat, not share it with you when you're there. John McCain himself has repeatedly said the vice-presidency amounts to little more than "attending funerals and checking on the health of the President", so we probably shouldn't believe him too readily when he says he wants to work closely with her in the White House. She's his ticket there; not his bedfellow.

And it might just work. Palin will attract some of the disenchanted Hillary supporters from the Democratic camp, who don't need much persuading – many are of the 'Hillary 12' crowd, keen for Obama to lose the election so Mrs Clinton can take over after winning the next one. The idea of wanting your party to lose is, I think, inexplicable, but there you go. Palin's appointment is also helping the Republican party to provide a more united front than the Democrats are doing at the moment, thanks to Clinton & Co (though they have triggered one of the best acronyms in recent political history: Party Unity My Ass).

The sad truth is that John McCain is probably going to win this election. Seeing how he and Sarah Palin cope will be interesting. Personally, I'd have preferred Michael Palin. Now THAT would be a story.

Victory for pedants everywhere.

So, Matt Smith has defied all predictions to be named the next Doctor. If your reaction was anything other than "Who?", then you're either a shrewd telly addict, a Doctor Who insider or lying. Smith's announcement came out of nowhere.

But one aspect isn't such a surprise: the new Doctor's age.

A return to the older Doctors of... old was mooted, but it was always going to go the other way. Doctor Who has always been a children's/family programme, and so the target audience is clearly children. And I don't know whether it's a recent phenomenon, but these days children prefer younger role models: less of the cool dad of Jon Pertwee or the mad perverted uncle of Tom Baker, and more David Tennant or his young sidekicks – people they can imagine themselves being.

And as such, it's natural for the producers of Doctor Who to choose a younger face. Matt Smith is only 26, and/but looks young enough for children to model themselves on him.

He's also quite posh – my online journalism blog has an interesting discussion relating to this – and therefore all set up to be much-loved by mums.

In short, he's the Blue Peter choice: someone the kids can idolise as a character and watch as an actor in CBBC interviews. I don't want to call him the safe option, because that would be naïve given my little knowledge of his style or what he'll bring to the role – plus the safe option would presumably be someone better-known and with more screen experience – but he is certainly the sensible choice for the BBC to make. He's young, and he's going to get people talking.

Job done.

I may have allowed my fervour towards an opt-out organ donation system to take over the blog this week, so please accept my apologies if it's not as diverse as you have come to expect. It's a fascinating issue, though, and I hope that you will read it and become as passionate about it as I am.

And I've included two quickies after it as well. Generous, that's me.

Hart's in the right place
Commercial breakdown
Who You Gonna Call?

Leave it to Wales to inject some hope into the state of healthcare provision in the UK. Leave it to Wales. And it seems the British Government is quite happy to do just that.

In the interest of fairness, I should say that this isn't always down to Westminster being rubbish – well, sometimes it is – but the Welsh Assembly being brilliant. Thanks to the Assembly, Wales has free prescriptions and free hospital parking. Good, innit? And now it may have an opt-out organ donation system ahead of England as well (not that it's a competition or anything), allowing every dead person's organs to be used for donation unless they specifically request they are not, instead of the current process of getting organs just from registered donors. When it comes to healthcare, the Welsh Assembly pulls out the stops the British Government seems happy to leave in.

Seeing Edwina Hart, Health Minister of the Welsh Assembly, refuse to dismiss the possibility of an opt-out donation system is more than encouraging – it's inspiring. Often, the Welsh Assembly seems braver than its bigger brother; more adaptable to new ideas and readier to make controversial decisions, especially in healthcare. This may be because any outcry in Wales is smaller than in England – the Welsh, as a rule, aren't big on political activity (look at that turnout: a quarter of the Welsh population actively wanted a devolved parliament) – and it may be because the Assembly's jurisdiction is simply smaller, but the fact is that on a political level, healthcare in Wales looks rosy.

And in this case, it has taken some balls – ironic, since Edwina Hart (presumably) doesn't have any. She has essentially overruled the Assembly health committee's decision not to apply for the right to adopt an opt-out system in Wales. Rejecting a committee's recommendation is a statement of intent and then some: the aptly-named Hart has told politicians that a change in organ donation is going to be discussed whether they like it or not.

Personally, I can't wait. Like TV licensing chiefs, I love hearing people's excuses, sad as they are. "We have a right to keep our organs when we die." "It's wrong to take from a dead person even if it might save a life." None as yet have beaten the excuse raised by John Reid, supported by many and picked up by a writer in The Telegraph a while back (sadly, I can't find a link but rest assured it was probably Simon Heffer because the man's an idiot): "I am not giving my organs to the state." No, you're not. You're giving them to a dying person who needs them to live. Listen to yourself: surely you cannot believe what you are saying. Leave 'the state' out of it, you tit, and stop dragging politics into this simple case of life and death.

Chairman of the spurned committee, Conservative health spokesman Jonathan Morgan (boo hiss) accused Hart of ignoring "the hypothetical reasons why presumed consent could prove difficult to introduce". Hmm, not overly specific. That sounds like a pretty poor excuse to me: an excuse for an excuse, even. And the conclusion to this article – "It is possible to make a case for an opt-out system that favours the living over the dead, but it is not consent and let us not pretend that it is" – is absolute nitpicking.

People may be coming around to the obvious benefits of a system that presumes consent to donate your organs after death unless you deliberately opt out. Prospects aren't as bleak as the future for thousands of patients under the current system. Gordon Brown has given the thumbs-up to an opt-out system, and a "UK Government taskforce" – whatever that may be – is due to report on the matter in a few months. If Wales can lead the way, the rest of Britain may follow. We can only hope. Maybe in just a few years, all of Britain will be able to enjoy an opt-out organ donation system, free hospital parking and prescriptions without charge.

Then again, maybe not.

Everybody's talking about it: Lloyds TSB is ready to take over Halifax Bank of Scotland (HBOS). Halifax is just the first stop on "the journey" Lloyds TSB keeps promising us, and we can all look forward to them picking up Nationwide, Bradford & Bingley and Alliance & Leicester at various stations nationwide (including Bradford and Leicester, presumably) on the way to oblivion.

And all the repercussions of the Halifax-Lloyds merger are being considered: job losses, market shares and even the name of the new merger (I propose Lloyds TSB: Bank of Scotland, Halifax, or LTSB: BOSH for short).

One thing people haven't thought about is the adverts. Merging the incredibly irritating "Hoh hoh hoh hoh, hoh hoh, hoh hoh hoh hoh, hoh hoh, hoh hoh hoh hoh, hoh hoh, hoh hoh hoh hoh HAAAAAH" Lloyds TSB tune with the even more irritating Halifax song-and-dance adverts could be the most damaging symptom of the recession. It's bad enough that Thomas from Leeds singing "Something tells me I'm into something good" has taken on ironic quantities usually reserved for standing ovations at the Liberal Democrat party conference, without badly-drawn women with big noses elbowing him out the way and yodelling melodiously at the tops of their voices.

This Must Be Stopped.

Here's an interesting one: a millionaire being chased out of his 52-room mansion by ghosts.

Obviously my heart goes out to Mr Rashid and his family, but some of the supposed supernatural activity does sound a bit... well... natural. Sounds of tapping on the wall? Voices? Mysterious figures? Ghostly presences taking the forms of their children? Is there not the slightest chance this crazy activity could be less due to Casper and his mates and more attributable to their children?

Rashid doesn't sound like he's the sharpest tool in the box. "The ghosts didn't want us to be there," he said, "and we could not fight them because we couldn't see them." I have this vision of Rashid charging around with an axe swiping at thin air. That might explain the blood stains.

Actually, yes, "unexplained blood stains on bedclothes" was another puzzle. Apparently the house dates back to the Norman period; I reckon the stains date back to a normal period. It's not much fun coming of age when you're a young girl, but I'm sure Rashid's seven-year-old daughter doesn't appreciate a national story being made out of it. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd been the one who told her dad it was a ghost in the first place, rather than her own body. Obviously she's a bit young to be experiencing that rite of passage at the age of seven, but they did call the blood stains "unexplained" and besides, it's never easy to tell your parents about that kind of thing – I should imagine "unexplained" isn't the half of it.

Alternatively, it's a bunch of racist landowners frightening off the rich Rashid family by dressing up as ghosts Scooby Doo-style (I heard the programme's become very politically aware these days). "Paranormal experts were unable to solve the problem." Strange, that.

My money's on an insurance claim. And so is his.

Well, this sucks.

BBC Brandishes its Daily Mail morals
McCain waits on Murphy's Law
Glock pulls Hamilton out of the fire

Sigh. The Daily Mail wins again.

I'm sure you all know what’s happened regarding Russell Brand, Jonathan Ross and the 'satanic slut' granddaughter of a certain Fawlty Towers star, but for those deaf, blind hole-dwelling Martians amongst you, here's the gist. Russell Brand invites Jonathan Ross to his Saturday night show on Radio 2, and before long the two start discussing Brand's relationship with Georgina Baillie, the granddaughter of Andrew Sachs, who played Manuel in the classic sitcom Fawlty Towers. Brand mentions that she belongs to "a baroque dance group called the satanicsluts.com", and that he and she had done the dirty. The pair leave four messages on Andrew Sachs' answerphone, in which they such things as "he fucked your granddaughter" and "She was bent over the couch." A condensed transcript is here.

Since then, all hell has broken loose (this is the good thing about doing this blog only once a week: even if some things aren't up to date, you can look at a whole story as it develops – here's a useful BBC timeline of the affair). Jonathan Ross has been suspended from the BBC for three months without pay, Radio 2 controller Lesley Douglas has resigned and Russell Brand has voluntarily left the BBC. Gordon Brown and David Cameron have waded into the affair. Even Noel Gallagher has an opinion, though why he thinks we should care is beyond me. This is the mountain of all molehills.

People's opinions on the broadcast vary. Some say it's sickening and Brand and Ross should lose their jobs. Some say it shouldn't have happened, but the level of outcry is ridiculous. And some say the broadcast is brilliant. Personally, I just don't think it's very funny. Brand's a hit-and-miss comedian, and this is not one of his finer moments.

I do, however, have renewed respect for him that he fell on his sword, leaving the BBC, not because he should have done – and I don't think he should have done – but because he took responsibility for something only partially his fault (the show being pre-recorded, the producers have to take some of the blame). As for Ross, he'll suffer more from the incident, and perhaps correctly: the transcript will show you that he basically started the whole thing and has very little comedy to add to the proceedings anyway.

But the long and short of it is that their punishments were triggered by The Mail On Sunday, which started a campaign against them (and also ran ridiculous non-stories with badly captioned pictures such as this). There were only two actual complaints about the show – both against Ross' language. Then The Mail got involved with its sense of moral outrage, raised the pitchfork-wielding masses into action and two talented men have their careers in jeopardy for something admittedly stupid but so inoffensive that Andrew Sachs himself didn’t feel it was necessary to do anything about it.

And now The Mail gloats. I don't think I could hate that paper more.

So, it looks like Wednesday's headlines – or, given the epic counting process, more like Thursday's or even next week's – will be 'Obama wins election in historic landslide'. Or, if you're a tabloid reader, 'MCCAINED'. Or, if you're a Daily Mail reader, 'Terror sweeps nation as black man holds world at his feet'.

Everyone needs to calm down a bit. It's not won yet. I know it would take something approaching a statistical miracle for Obama to lose now; that he has a six-point lead and the Republicans are already planning post-election strategies. McCain even looks like he's going to lose Arizona, his home state. Regardless of who is your incumbent, if you're losing Arizona to the Democrats you're really not having a good election.

I'm just saying: don't rule out a freak McCain victory. The main principle of Murphy's Law stipulates that "if anything bad can happen, it will happen" – and I can't think of anything worse than this.

McCain does seem to be trying his best to lose though. He's even talked about his plans to retire and spend more time with his family after the election. Don't say that! Never talk about what you're going to do if you lose. What makes it even worse for him is that the main concern for Republican voters is over his age – telling them you're all set up for a white picket fence and a rocking chair is the worst thing you can do. I'm all for honesty in politicians – sometimes, unrealistically so – but even if he was asked a direct question to this effect he wouldn't have to lie. Just say, "We can still win this" – which they can, even if it has to involve meteorites, a strangely specific outbreak of plague among Democrat voters and, in the words of Oliver Burkeman in G2, Obama having "an extramarital affair with a gay terrorist".

I'm less optimistic. McCain can still win this election, and stranger things have happened. If Obama wins, you've got plenty of time to celebrate – four years, if he doesn't cock everything up somehow. I know it sounds stupid to worry about tempting fate, and that is literally all I have this argument based on. But, at least for me, if not America and the world, just keep that champagne in the fridge for now, OK?

You lucky, lucky bastard.

'O Brother, Where Art Thou?' The Soundtrack - Various Artists [2000]

The record that launched a thousand careers.

This compilation, soundtrack to what I personally think is the most perfect film ever made (but let's put that aside for now because that's another list no one will agree with), collected the finest crafters of folk and bluegrass the world has to offer, and in return for their rewarding viewers and listeners with unbelievably good music, rewarded these masters of their art with recognition not before known or appreciated.

Sorry, that was a sentence more unnecessarily long than Nelson Mandela's. Heigh-o!

Legends such as Alison Krauss (God, I love her voice), Gillian Welch and even Emmylou Harris do feature, it's true, but it was wonderful to see some appreciation for producer T-Bone Burnett, Dan Tyminski and, yes, Ralph Stanley. On his 75th birthday, he sang O Death - a capella - at the 44th Grammy Awards. I'm sorry, but I just find that unbelievable. In retrospect, it's a miracle Kanye West didn't turn up promising to let them finish but first adding by gum, Bob Dylan was robbed.

Yes, Dylan lost out to the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack for Album of the Year. I imagine he was very happy about it, actually. Fellow losing nominees OutKast and U2 (hah!) were probably less thrilled.

The award, and Stanley's, were just two of five Grammies won by the record - and deservedly, fully deservedly.

Anyone who knows the Coen brothers' films know they care deeply about their soundtracks, and each song fits its moment in the film perfectly, but it works so well in its own right too. To hear modern legends recreate classic bluegrass songs and make them their own is no less than incredible in effect.

Highlights? Ooh, not easy. The Soggy Bottom Boys' acoustic and full band recordings of Man Of Constant Sorrow both go down as classic versions of the song, and rightfully so, thanks to Tyminski's artful arrangement and damn fine singing.

The aforementioned O Death is another fantastic song, crooned with such fragility by Ralph Stanley it's like hearing his soul be ripped apart with his ageing body. But, y'know, more cheerful. Stanley also turns up on album and film closer Angel Band, which is just bloody lovely.

What else? Down To The River To Pray and Didn't Leave Nobody But The Baby are much-admir'd thanks to Alison Krauss' involvement, and they are both beautiful renditions, but credit must also go to Chris Thomas King for his heartbreaking version of Hard Time Killing Floor Blues.

John Hartford is responsible for two gorgeous string-laden instrumentals, there's a brilliant rare 1920s recording in Harry McClintock's Big Rock Candy Mountain (corking song) and actor Tim Blake Nelson has a more than decent stab at In The Jailhouse Now. Give that man a recording contract.

To be honest, there's only one recording on this 19-track album I would call any less than wonderful, and that's because it's excruciating - three pre-teen girls murdering In The Highways. Still, they're young. I'll forgive them.

What an album. What bluegrass. What gospel. What brilliance.

So I suppose the final question is: does this count? I wasn't going to include the album on my list because I wasn't sure if a soundtrack created by various artists should be included on an albums of the decade list. But then I took away the rules and thought about it simply: it's one of the best records of the decade. Simple as that.

How nice. My 100th post on this silly little blog, set up well over a year ago, and I get to celebrate my favourite film as well as one of my favourite albums.

Tomorrow, I'll probably pick the Being John Malkovich soundtrack (does it have one?) just so I can drone on endlessly about the film.

Spotify link.

I was in Tuscon last week for the Gorilla Multisport Winter Training Camp. My original intention was to blog every day while at camp to give the daily update on the experience. But, frankly, I was too tired to manage it. So, now I am typing this from home in San Diego after a few days of recovery and decompression.

I had been looking forward to this for a while... five days of nothing but training, learning and hanging out with some other like-minded triathletes.

We arrived on Tuesday, I'll call it Day 0. After the long drive I was pretty wired, so I went for a quick run before some grub and bed. Our hotel was about 2 miles from the Kino Sports Complex, which is where the Arizona Diamondbacks do their spring training... made for a nice turnaround for the out and back route. Workout #1 in the books.

Day 1 - Wednesday
The other campers were not due to arrive until mid-day, but since we were in town and had some free time, my friend and Gorilla Multisport Coach DeeAnn and I went to a Masters workout at the University of Arizona. They run a nice program over there and the pool is amazing. With the week of heavy training ahead, I was glad to find out that the workout was an easy one. Lots of fast 100's and 50's with lots of rest, along with some technique work. I ended up with just over 3000 yards for the workout. After some coffee, breakfast and a short rest, I headed out for a run out to the Kino Sports Complex again. One of the campers from Florida, Joseph, had arrived, so he joined me. We ended up with just over 4.5 miles of easy jogging. After lunch and "registration", the entire crew convened for the first ride of the camp, Gates Pass. The ride began with a flat stretch through urban Tucson, which was not great due to all the stoplights. But once we were out of town, the scenery was amazing... spectacular views of the desert and endless miles of cactus and beautiful landscapes. The highlight of the ride was the climb up and over Gates Pass, which has a section at the top that rivals some of the steepest roads I've ever climbed on a bike. Out of the saddle in the 39x26, just trying to keep the pedals turning over. After a photo opp at the top, we bombed down the backside and back into town. Total ride was 38 miles. After getting back to the hotel and cleaning up, we were treated to a nutrition presentation from Bob Seebohar (www.fuel4mance.com), elite coach and sports nutritionist for the 2008 US Olympic Triathlon Team. I learned a lot about metabolic efficiency and picked up some tips that I will definitely incorporate into my own training.

Day 2 - Thursday
AM - 50 mile ride out to Colossal Cave Mountain Park. Coach Bob and Seton Claggett from TriSports.com joined us for the ride. Both are great guys and strong athletes. Overall, an moderate ride with lots of false flats and gentle inclines. The best part was that all the climbing was in the first 30 miles and the entire 20 mile return trip was a gentle descent. Immediately upon returning, our group headed out for a quick 20 minute transition run. Coach Bob rode and ran with us and gave us some great tips on run cadence. After a quick bite to eat, I put my legs up for an hour to rest up for the afternoon ride.
PM - 38 mile ride, the bottom half of the El Tour de Tucson route. By this time, the day had turned hot and windy... so we were treated to a pretty tough ride, starting out in urban Tucson, than out to some less-traveled roads in the north part of town. As soon as we could get our bikes in the hotel rooms and showered up, we headed over to a strength workout with Coach Bob. We focused on a concept he calls neuromuscular activation... essentially a series of pre and post-workout movements that activate the key muscle groups. Again, I learned a lot... great stuff.

Day 3 - Friday
AM - The Shootout is a regular Saturday hammerfeest that has been taking place in Tucson for over 30 years... its a fairly challenging route famous for attracting the most competitive cyclists and is typically full of attacks and counterattacks. We choose to do The Shootout ride on Friday on our own to get a sample of the route without the blistering pace and a big peleton. Seton Claggett from TriSports.com rode with us again. It started out with an easy 15 miles in town than a long 15 miles of false flat... nearly dead straight... before it finally kicks up with a final short steep climb. I was feeling pretty strong so I kept the pace high on the false flat, but once the hill came Seton dropped me like a rock as he disappeared up the steep incline. The local knowledge proved to be pretty handy! After regrouping, we headed back into town at a pretty good clip (22-24 mph) thanks to the mostly flat and gently descending route.
PM - Late Friday afternoon, I had a swim analysis and video scheduled... but beforehand, for the first time in three days, I had a couple hours to relax. So I napped by the pool. After my nap and a shower, I headed over to TriSports for my swim video. They have a sweet two-lane Endless Pool set-up with underwater and above water cameras. The instructor told me that my stroke was pretty solid (I hope so!), but gave me a few suggestions that I think will be helpful. In particular, one thing that I discovered is that I tend to pull up short with my right arm on the pull. So I need to concentrate on finishing my stroke on that side. Good feedback and something I probably would have never figured out on my own without the video feedback.

Saturday - Day 4
AM - This was the big day. Mt. Lemmon. A 26 mile climb rising from 2500 ft to a peak over 8200 ft. I've ridden San Diego's big climb, Palomar Mountain... which is tough. But the top of Palomar is at just over 5000 ft. When climbing Mt. Lemmon, the 5000 ft mark is not even halfway up the climb. Palomar is steeper, but it is the length of Mt. Lemmon that is killer... over 2 hrs of consistent work going up the mountain. We started the ride with an easy 15 miles of riding through Tucson and regrouped at a coffee shop about 2 miles from the Mile 0 marker at the base of the climb. After some pics and a double shot of espresso, we started up. There were 5 of us (myself, Norm, Manny, Joseph, and Greg) in the group that agreed to ride the whole mountain... the rest of the campers would climb for 90 minutes as far as they could go and then turn around. The summit team (sounds cool, eh?) all exchanged numbers and arranged to text or call each other if for some reason we needed to turn around. Otherwise, we would all meet up at the top. We got going and could see the road twisting up the mountain ahead of us... it was pretty intimidating. About 50 yards past the Mile 0 sign, Norm informed me that my rear tire was flat. Crap. He stayed back to help me get it changed while the rest of the group proceeded ahead. Once I fixed the tire, we proceeded again. The first 5 miles of the climb were tough, there were some killer headwinds that made it tough just to stay upright on the bike. I thought to myself that if the entire climb was this windy, it was going to be a very, very difficult day. Fortunately, as the road twisted and turned up the mountain there was some shelter from the wind and it got easier. I made a concerted effort to keep my HR in high Zone 2 (130-140) and just stayed on my 39x26 gear keeping the cadence high. This netted me a blistering pace of about 10-11 mph. Ha. Every few minutes, I shifted up to my 25 or 23 and climbed out of the saddle to give my hamstrings and lower back a rest. At Mile 7, I caught Manny and Joseph and we all took some pictures from the Seven Cataracts viewpoint. Spectacular. After the short break, I continued up the climb and quickly separated from the other guys. The views up the mountain were simply unbelievable, incredible rock formations and of course, the view of the valley falling further and further away... the closest thing I can relate them to is the Grand Canyon. It's hard to do them justice with words or even pictures. The rest of the climb went pretty well. Every time my legs were screaming for a break, the slope softened a bit and I was able to recover just enough for the next tough stretch ahead. Finally, I got to the first peak at Mile 21 and was treated to a descent. A descent? Wait, I'm not at the top yet! The final few miles of the "climb" were a bowl that drops about 400 ft before re-ascending to 8200 ft at the village of Mt. Lemmon. At the base of the final climb, I caught Greg whom I hadn't seen since I flatted two hours before. We laughed about how tough the climb was, and rolled into town together. A great sense of accomplishment that we indulged by getting some hot chocolate (it was cold!) and huge pieces of banana cream pie. About 10 minutes later, Norm rolled in and about 30 minutes later, Manny arrived. Shortly thereafter, we got a text that Joseph had turned around. So we finished up our good, got some pics and then headed back down the mountain. It was about 30 degrees cooler at the top, so I put on my arm warmers and shoved some loose paper (the cafe to-go menus!) in my jersey front to block the wind. It took about 25 minutes of work to get back out to the first peak, which after the long break and food was tough. But once back to Mile 21, it was literally all downhill from there. The descent is somewhat technical and super-fast. By the time I got to the bottom, my hands were cramping from constantly being the brakes trying to moderate my speed. On several occasions I was touching 40 mph and that was trying to be conservative. Finally, after regrouping again at the bottom, we headed back for the final 15 miles toward home. The full day was 85 miles, about 8000 ft of climbing. A great day on the bike and one that I will remember forever.
PM - Once we rolled back into the hotel at about 3pm, we slammed our (late) lunches and got ready to head over to the University of Arizona pool for a swim workout. I was tempted to bail and just relax, but the idea of splashing around the pool for a drill workout sounded good. Finally at 5pm the tough day was over and we all gathered around the hotel pool for pizza and beer. Good times.

Sunday - Day 5
Final day of camp... no cycling. After four tough days of riding, it was nice not to be getting on the bike first thing in the morning. Besides I was running out of clean cycling clothes. Actually, I ran out of clean stuff on Friday... but was able to make do with some Woolite and the hotel room sink. Anyway, I digress. After a quick breakfast, we piled into the cars and headed out to Saguero National Park for an amazing trail run. There is a 8 mile loop that is simply spectacular. Everyone was on their own to decide how far they wanted to run, we simply had a two hour time limit. Most choose to do one loop. My legs were pretty toasted from the riding, but I wanted a little more than 8 miles. My lower threshold for a "long" run is 12 miles, so I ran one loop and did a 2 mile out and back to bring it up to the requisite dozen. The quads were not happy with me as I climbed back into the van for the 20 minute drive home. After some more breakfast and a shower, we packed up the gear, said our goodbyes and got on the road back to San Diego.

Overall, it was a tremendous few days. Training wise, it was my biggest week ever... with over 270 miles on the bike, 30 miles of running and about 7k of swimming. To think that pros do that every week!! Aside from the training, the other campers were awesome... good people all of them. It was great to spend some time hanging out, we had a blast.

Here are some pics from the rides.

Entrance to Colossal Cave Mountain Park

Joseph, Manny and Me - The Shootout Loop

Heading toward Colossal Cave Mountain Park

The Mt. Lemmon Summit Crew - Manny, Norm, Me, Greg, Joseph... before the climb

At the base of Mt. Lemmon, right before I flatted.

Somewhere near Mile 10 of the Mt. Lemmon climb

Mt. Lemmon - Looking down, around Mile 14.

Banana Cream Pie and Hot Chocolate at the top of Mt. Lemmon - delicious.

Taken while descending at 35+mph. Not recommended.

Sometimes there is nothing better than a hot plate of starchy carbohydrates to start your morning. Particularly in the form of a tall stack of pancakes. I'm a bit of a tinkerer in the kitchen and I came up with the following recipe for multi-grain pancakes after some trial and error. I think they are pretty good and my wife and kids like them, so my bet is that you will too.

While I realize that it's not always the healthiest thing to eat (in fact, it's usually not), I'll assume that if you're reading this blog (all two of you) that you've either preceded or will follow your big breakfast with a hard workout to burn off all this excess glycogen. For the sake of balance and a more complete breakfast, I'd also recommend some protein. You can never go wrong with some thick sliced good quality bacon. If you're trying to avoid animal fat, or don't eat meat, the Morningstar brand veggie sausage patties are also excellent. And of course, some fresh fruit... strawberries, blueberries, peaches or what you can get your hands on or is in season.

Here's the recipe.

Get two large bowls out and pre-heat a griddle or skillet to 350 degrees.

In the first bowl, whisk together the following dry ingredients:

• 1/3 cup corn meal
• 1/4 cup quick cooking or old-fashioned rolled oats
• 1 cup whole wheat flour
• 3/4 cup white, all purpose flour
• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• pinch of ground nutmeg

In the second bowl, whisk the following wet ingredients:

• 1 3/4 cup milk (I use 1%... whatever type you normally keep on hand will work. As for almond, rice or soy, I haven't tried those in this recipe, so you're on your own)
• 4 tablespoons butter (1/2 stick), melted
• 1/4 cup honey
• 3 large eggs
• 1/4 cup honey
• 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla extract

Pour wet ingredients into the dry and gently whisk together until combined. Don't overmix or your pancakes will come out dense and chewy.

Using a ladle, pour about 1/4 cup of batter onto hot griddle. If you like nuts, sprinkle chopped pecans, almonds or walnuts on each pancake while it cooks, before flipping.

They will be ready to flip when large bubbles appear on the top and start to pop. Serve right away or keep warm in a 200 degree oven.

Serve with pure maple syrup.

Enjoy!

I was gutted to hear yesterday that erstwhile Britpop survivors (until now) Supergrass have decided to call it a day after 17 years. Busy as I was, it almost consumed my day - I listened to I Should Coco on the walk home from work and remembered how good a debut it was, and would have written this blog last night except I was PLUG a bit PLUG busy writing PLUG this one first.

There's not really much for me to say, either, except that their departure from the scene is a great shame. It's true their star faded a while back - most people I've spoken to thought they'd split years ago - but they kept making good music that was, above all, great fun. Even their deliberately downbeat Road To Rouen had a wonderful sense of mischief about it. Indeed, though they released a considerably happier album a few years later, Road To Rouen was really their finale. It even ended with a song called Fin.

But it was good to know they were still around. And now they're not. All we can do is listen to their lasting classic, In It For The Money - surely the best name for a follow-up album ever, not to mention its opening song and chorus - and remember the good times.

I was going to put a Spotify playlist on here for anyone unacquainted with Gaz, Mick and Danny's (what names) particular brand of joyful guitar pop, but my friend's theory that a greatest hits collection is the best introduction works better for Supergrass than it does most bands. Supergrass Is 10 is an ace party album, if nothing else (and even if it does only have tracks from the first four of their six albums).

Supergrass Is 10: The Best of 94-04

Give it a go. And if you've heard it all before, psht - stick it on shuffle and remember the good times. If you don't like it, well, fine. But fewer bands created such a sense of fun as Supergrass, and for me, that's something music needs on occasion.

Anyway, times change and with a fond, lingering memory, we - fine, I - should move on. Ironically, perhaps, Supergrass put it best themselves way back in 1995, when they closed their debut album with these words:

Thanks to everyone for everything you've done
But now it's time to go
You know it's hard
We've had some fun
But now the moment's come
It's time to go

Who could ask for more?
Who could ask for more?