Pippi

I know a woman with a heart of gold
A flame haired legend with a story to be told
She lives in a 'hood known as M9
She eats ice cubes in an inn called The Vine

A sister; daughter; mother and wife
She speaks with a voice that cuts like a knife
She worked in an office next to tram lines
I first met her in a town of swines

She wears long stockings with a 50s dress
I know her as Pippi, I have to confess
Her circle of friends are many and loyal
She has on occasion made my blood boil

An ebullient character who laughs like a drain
She'll pray for you if ever you're in pain
A good heart these days is hard to find
This is a woman who's one of a kind

Second Hand Shop Shark

I am from a music buying generation that started with vinyl, then cassette followed by CD. This transcended the peak of my album buying which was the 1980s. This decade commenced with the music cassette catching up with, then overtaking, sales of vinyl records. During my last couple of years at high school, vinyl had become unfashionable, through it's scratches and cumbersome nature. The small audio cassette was then the trendiest way to listen to your latest Iron Maiden, Def Leppard (or if you were so inclined Duran Duran) album. The CD didn't arrive until around 1985, and when it did hit the shelves of HMV, they were outrageously priced compared to tapes (cassettes). When Ozzy Osbournes' The Ultimate Sin album was released I could have bought the CD for around £8 (silly money on my meagre £60 a week warehouse workers salary) or the tape for around £2.99. My choice was already made for me.

I didn't start to buy CD's until the 1990s so my tape collection was huge by then. I still listened to them for many years into the 90s (occasionally having to repair them with sellotape etc) but by the millennium something had to be done about them. I boxed them all up and stored them away as any that I still valued musically I then bought on remastered CDs. 

Around 2003 I found myself between jobs so just prior to starting my next crap job in an ocean of career mediocrity, I decided to sell most of my old original cassette albums as I had become financially embarrassed. I separated them into boxes of condition as I only intended to sell the best condition albums. This was years before on line selling so I took them down to a second hand record shop in what is now Manchester's Northern Quarter. I had purchased second hand merchandise from this shop before and they always had notices up offering to buy unwanted second hand merchandise as well.

I drove into town in my Sierra Sapphire, parked up in the back streets of, what was then, a very seedy part of the city centre, and staggered to the shop weighed down with my box of tapes. The owner was behind the counter so I placed the box on the counter and asked him if he was interested in buying the tapes. He grunted something so I emptied the tapes on to the counter and he started to go through them. He didn't look too impressed as there was the occasional tut and sigh. After a couple of minutes he said "Aah I can see a pattern now to all these albums". "Oh you mean they're mostly 80s Rock and that kind of thing", I replied. "No I mean they're all shit", he said. "Oh", I said

He picked about 20 of them out in the end and offered me 50p for each one, which meant I was going to receive the princely sum of £10 for my troubles. This wasn't going to pay off the mortgage. I didn't want it to be a totally wasted journey so I accepted this and went on my way still with the majority of the tapes. Around a month later I revisited the shop to buy a second hand book and decided to have a quick look at the tapes. I immediately noticed 5 or 6 of mine for sale priced at £1.50 each.  I didn't bother buying the book I went for....

Love And Peace To All

People of the world, I wish you happiness
a world of peace and nothing less
an end to conflict for warmongering's sake
leaving children murdered in it's wake

Live and let live
we all live in one world
few causes are worth dying for
leave your flags furled


As the months turn the world keeps turning
create joyful memories, don't chase wealth
you can't put a price on time with loved ones
you're wished good luck and good health

Christmas Blessings

It is only as an adult that I fully appreciated the sacrifices my parents made to ensure that I and the rest of my immediate family had a truly festive Christmas time. All memories of my childhood Christmas's still leave me with a warm glowing feeling and bring a smile to my face every time. I now realise I was truly blessed to have such a selfless, loving Mam and Dad who wrapped us up in a world of wonderment which captured my imagination perfectly, from Father Christmas, reindeer and so on in early childhood, to thoughtful, gift giving and festive atmospheres in my later childhood and into my early teens.

As a child, of course, one has no concept of money and wider financial issues. After my younger sister was born I had 7 siblings but I'm also now more aware that being the second youngest was a privilege. My younger sister and I didn't have to live through crying babies around us as we were indeed those babies doing the crying. Our elder siblings made sacrifices of their own which I never had to go through. They also fought battles that were won by the time I reached my teens. Despite this, my younger sister and I were never spoiled either. My parents and elder siblings never allowed this to happen so I was given the perfect balance between deprivation and excess. I was soon put in my place if I ever said I "wanted" something. I was left in no doubt that I had to deserve any rewards so good behaviour was recognised and anything less than that was not tolerated, either by my parents or my elder siblings. This coming Christmas Day, in line with many of recent years, I will pause for a moment, raise a glass of something festive, and give my sincere thanks to my Mam, Dad(R.I.P), siblings and all those who made my childhood Christmas's so special with priceless memories that I hope to take with me into old age. 

May all those reading this have a suitably convivial Christmas.

A Troubled Love

Two heads together on a west bound train
Storm clouds ahead promise heavy rain

Woolly hats and padded coats keeping out the cold
Eyes closed and lifeless as sleep taken hold

Fingers entwined in warmed gloved hands
Dreaming of shared times in far off lands

Rocking and rolling on the sodden rails
Landscape changes to the mountains of Wales

Castles; beaches; piers and Celtic signs
Cars racing on adjacent roads ignoring speeding fines

Reaching their destination, the lovers are awoken
Nervous smiles and exchanged glances, no words are spoken

The platform beckons, they share a final embrace
They tenderly kiss, he walks away, now a tear on her face

Gently weeping, her face contorted with pain
She may or may not ever see him again

Woman At The Bar

A woman sits at the bar
has she travelled far?
where are her loved ones?
do they know where you are?

Warming the cockles
At an open roaring fire
Children's voices heard from the street
Flames dancing higher and higher

Sipping the water of life
In the shadow of the hills
Sun glinting off glass buildings
Where once stood mills

It's bustling outside
on this biting winter afternoon
the fray soon to be rejoined
as I'll soon depart the saloon

A furtive glance
the scene remains unchanged
workers keeping busy
as chairs are rearranged

She looks sad and alone
is she a fallen star?
so what's the story?
of the woman at the bar

Small Footballer, Big Heart

As a young boy of around 6 or 7 years old, my life revolved around football. I loved watching it, of course, but my greatest enjoyment was playing the game with a passion. I was small for my age (I still am) but overcame my stature with a heart as big as anyone's when playing for my school team. I used to practice for hours on end in my back garden keeping the ball off the ground with my head and feet and generally honing my close control and ball skills.

When I was 8 years old I broke into the school football team, mainly as a striker, but also occasionally as a left sided midfielder. My mentor was the PE teacher at my Roman Catholic primary school in east Manchester. His name was Mr Edgar. He was a passionate Ulster man and encouraged and developed my team mates and I into a decent team. Our home pitch was an all weather red shale surface which tended to give us an advantage as all other teams we encountered largely played their home matches on the grass-less mud-heaps of the 1970s. Our home kit was the Celtic green and white hoops which had been the school football team's colours for many years. They hadn't bought any new kit for our age group for several years so the shirts were like rags. On home match days Mr Edgar would empty the newly washed ragged kit out of a bin bag onto the floor resulting in a mad scramble to grab the least torn shirts. The ensuing pushing and pulling would usually rip them even more !

I stayed in the school team for the next 3 years. We never won a trophy but did have some excellent results along the way. Our away colours were all royal blue and in better condition than the home kit and the away days were always an adventure. We would be split into different parent's cars to take us to such exotic, far flung places as Longsight, Ardwick, Ancoats and Newton Heath.  My best ever performance was in a Catholic Cup match away to St Anne's, Ancoats, when I scored a genuine hat trick i.e left foot, right foot and, unbelievably for me, a header. I was all of 4ft something but still scored with a header direct from a corner. As I moved into the last year at primary school, aged 10, I wasn't growing at anything like the rate of my team mates and the opposition lads. I had developed my football skills even more, however, which kept me in the team but also regularly found me wanting in physical battles with opposing kids. This was the 1970s and, even in the professional game of that era, players weren't protected by referees like they are now. Despite regularly getting kicked all over the place, I stuck at it leading Mr Edgar to have a quiet word with me after one match.  There were 2 Chris's in my team so he used to refer to me as "Little Chris". He said "I've picked you for a trial for Manchester Boys". This was the most exciting moment of my life so far. I ran home to tell all the family. Some were impressed but others remarked "You?! How did that happen you little squirt?!" and such like. This didn't bother me as I was going to be the new Colin Bell !

There were 3 others from my school team also picked for trials which, initially, was for the east area district. In my first trial I was played out on the left wing (possibly Mr Edgar's input) but I didn't usually play in this position for my school team. Despite this I had a decent game and dribbled past the full back a few times and got a couple of good crosses in. My real success came though when I scored a goal.  We had an attack down the right hand side, on the opposite wing to me, resulting in a shot from the edge of the box. I followed in the shot as the goalkeeper parried the ball which rebounded to me. I took one touch then slid it past the goalkeeper into the corner of the net.  I was elated as I ran back to the half way line. There was a large crowd of parents, scouts etc on the sidelines but I could see Mr Edgar on the side closest to me. After the game he said "Well done little Chris. That goal may have just got you in the next trial".  Mr Edgar was proved right and 2 of the other 3 of my school team mates also got through. He also told me it was 50/50 for me up to the point where I scored, however, I had done exactly as he had always told me, which was to always follow a shot in for any rebounds etc and this had shown the scouts that I had a natural instinct as a goalscorer.

The second trial was for 22 boys, cut down from the first trial. There was to be one match, 11 v 11, to determine the final cut. I was played on the left wing again with one of my school team mates in midfield (Jon Grisdale) on my team. I was happy with this as we always played well together in our school team.  As we lined up though, my heart sank. On the opposite side was Joe Cipolla.  He was a defender on our school team and a good friend of mine. I was gutted.  It struck me straight away that it was unlikely both of us would now get through. Joe is of Sicilian descent and was really strong. I played ok but felt like I let myself down a little in this game. Neither of us made the final cut but our unfeasibly talented midfielder, Jon Grisdale, did and he went on to successfully play for Manchester Boys for several years.

My secondary school didn't have the same interest in football like my primary school had. I was forced to play rugby, go on ridiculously long "cross country" runs through the mean streets of Openshaw, and even play bloody Lacrosse! but very little football.  As a result my development suffered and as I continued to grow only very slowly (eventually reaching 5 ft 7in !) I convinced myself I would never make a professional footballer. I still had a kick-about with mates and later played for works teams etc but my heart had really gone out of trying to take it any further.

In the modern game, of course, we have had small skilfull players get to the very pinnacle of the game. The likes of  Maradona, Messi, Aguero and half the current national Spanish team are diminutive and have all proved that small stature is not an obstacle today. In the 1970s I grew up in, big and strong seemed to be the foremost attributes. Of course, I'm not saying I would have been a world beater but in the modern era (together with a supportive secondary school football network, which I didn't get) I may have had a better chance of progressing in the game. Oh well, what might have beens etc.