The people of the North-East have spoken, and they have said ’Ppfff’!

‘CAVA’ KENNY CORDINER – the football columnist who kicks back!

I was in two minds when Roy Hodgson got the England job last week.  On the one mind, I felt sorrow for my old mate ‘Arry Redknapp but on the other mind, when he had that spot of  bother with the taxman, I had stuck twenty notes on Roy at Ladbrokes.  It is a bit of a shocker though for ‘Arry, who most people thought was a shoeing.  The papers is all saying the suits chose Hodgson because of his experience with national teams like the Swizz, but my mole at the English FA tells me the other day the real reasons why they done it.  Apparently David Bernstein, who is the one what makes all the decisions, is a massive fan of Steptoe and Son.  Every time he heard Roy doing an interview he couldn’t not think of Harry H Corbett!  So he had to choose him – I suppose that’s why they cry it “Hodgson’s choice”.  It wasn’t on, though, the way the Sun didn’t not waste no time in taking the mick out of Roy’s speech impeddlement. Unfair play, I say. The tabloids has to give a new manager the chance. They shouldn’t be having a go at him until England has been knocked out of the Euro’s at the Quarter finals.

Scotland has never had that many world champions in sport. Chris Hoy, Jocky Wilson, and Eric Lidls, out of Chariots of Fire, are the only names what spring to mind. So when Stephen Hendry announces he’s hanging up his cue everyone must be thinking the same thing – why is he hanging it up? He should probably unscrew it and put it away in it’s case. Or maybe put it in a rack with some other cues. You’d think he’d have one of those in his house. Any road, not many people can say they’ve had a career like what Stephen has had.  World champion 7 times, 11 maximum breaks and sponsored by the Sweater Shop.  Of course, me and him has got a lot in common.  We both broke onto the scene with a face like a pepperoni pizza and we’ve both accumulated more than our share of straight reds.

 

OUR AIN FOLK – The people who make the North East what it is today. This week, retired gas-fitter ERNIE CHALMERS gives us his take on the local elections

In the run up to last week’s council elections, there wiz a mannie come to my door, seeking my vote.  He wizna fae ony o’ yer usual parties, he wiz standin as een o’ yon independent candidates.  And, given that The One Show was on, I chose to engage him in political discourse.

Fit he wiz saying wiz that the Council Tax freeze, that a’ the main parties is for, proceeds on a mistaken premise.  Files it appeals tae the voter in the short term, it’s really jist a recipe for unfilled potholes, school closures and Christmas decorations fit are hazardous in a high wind.

Fit he wiz saying wiz that fan ye think aboot it, increased local taxation should result in improved public services – presumin’ the additional revenue is wisely spent.

Fit he wiz saying wiz, if ye proceed upon a Keynesian model, greater public spending leads not only to the maist logically proximate good (the enhancement of local amenities) but can also help stimulate an itherwise ailing private sector ecomony.  Thus, counter-intuitively, not only aiding recovery, but simultaneously bringing  us closer to the establishment o’ a true social democracy.

So did I vote for him? Did I Haudigan! The theivin’ radge winted tae pit a tenner a month on tae my council tax!  That may not sound like a lot of money, but fan ye think aboot it in a wye that the common man can understan; in fags – with 20 Regal King size at £6.97 – at’s 28 fags a month! I mean, in February, that’s a fag a day, and that’s a month fan ye’r a’ready runkit efter Christmas! I says to him, ye come roon here, wi yer rosette and yer funcy talk, and try to steal the fags oot of my moo?  So I kicked him in the chuckies and I chased him doon the street! And then I collapsed. ‘Cause of my emphysema. Wi’ my smokin’.

So on pollin’ day itsel’, I looked down the list of candidates and did my best to pit them in order of preference, but I have to admit, I wiz stumped. Weel, there a’ jist as bad as each ither, are they? So, determined to fully register my dissatisfation wi’ the hale political scene, I calmly, and deliberately, soiled my ballot paper. It wisnae til I wis recounting the story in the Grill on Thursday night, for the benefit of Alfie Mutch and Bill ‘The Barker’ Barclay that I discovered my mistake. Though I dare say I made my point.

It wiz a great day for democracy, but a gadsy een for the returning officer for Linksfield and Seaton.