Referee!

'There's no point you being here if you're not going to do anything' screamed the lanky centre half as the opposition's centre forward whistled past him. He had claimed an off side. 'Don't you know the rules?' It was the occasion of the annual MRI vs Wythenshaw Hospitals football friendly, and I had volunteered to be referee.

Yesterday was not a good day to be a referee.

I finally got to use my BBQ that afternoon. It was, you recall, the first and last knock out round of the World Cup for England in an humiliating defeat by the old enemy, Germany. How the Uruguayan ref' missed the ball going over the line became increasingly difficult to understand with every re-play, and much much harder in slow motion. After the game, the BBQ. When we suggested it, well Sarah insisted it was at her house, we had envisaged no more than eight people. Suddenly there were twelve, but we had enough food. In fact we had way too much food, which is always what happens. Anyway my newly cleaned BBQ behaved excellently and, apart from the football result, the warm afternoon went splendidly.

The Wythenshaw-MRI game had not gone so splendidly. Wythenshaw went in 3-1 ahead at half time, they were playing much better and deserved, in my view, to be ahead. The MRI team were disorganised and foul-mouthed. I wondered aloud later whether they really were doctors representing their Hospital. I thought it was a disgrace actually, with repeated expletives and moaning about decisions. I gave Wythenshaw two penalties, but these were so blatant that even the MRI hotheads didn't complain.

The Wythenshaw captain has recently joined my football team, Stepping Hill, in the veterans league. He is coming on a football tour with us to Croatia next week. It's the first time I've met him. He's a moderately sound player and made few mistakes, but he too was moaning at the slightest contact. I don't know how these people go on in everyday life.

The purpose of the referee, in my opinion, is to allow the game to flow, blow up for blatant infringements, to stop people fighting on the pitch, and to be fair. Easier said than done. If I'd have given every slight foul and every moment of dissent there'd be nothing but free kicks all game. I was particularly pleased about being even handed, and the truth is I didn't favour one team or the other. If anything the MRI team were the more objectionable, but not much in it. There were several times I wondered if they new I was a GP colleague, and a pretty eminent one at that. I came close to saying 'excuse me, do you know who I am?' but didn't. It was a hot day, and at one point tempers over heated.

Half way through the second half Sarah arrived to see how it was going. The ladies on the line told her they thought the referee was rubbish. They were mainly MRI ladies. One of them did know who I was, she is a patient of mine. 'You can't say that' another said, 'that's Ivan'.

In the second half, the MRI got their act together. Their captain and over weight and over baring midfielder started to play, instead of shouting abuse. Wythenshaw crumbled. Comedy moment was when the scores had levelled. A ball was hoofed by the MRI and landed two yards in front of the opposition goal keeper. He hadn't judged the bounced, and oops, over his head it went as he grasped for thin air, into the back of the net. Oh dear, and he'd played really well in the first half. In the end the MRI extended their lead and won comfortably. The whistle went for full time.

I suppose I was expecting rather more gratitude. The game had flowed, the score was fair in the end. There had not been any fights (just). I was proud of my exercise of judicious impartiality. As the players came off there were a few grunts in my direction, but most ignored me.

Keith, the Wythenshaw captain and new team mate thanked me for doing my best. Faint praise indeed. Then followed up with 'although you were a bit biased'. I couldn't believe my ears. 'Hardly' I replied weakly. I was so shocked I forgot to ask him on whose side he thought I'd been biased, after all I had given his team two penalties!

Oh well, refereeing isn't for those of a sensitive disposition. Thanks Keith.

I don't think that Uruguayan will be refereeing again. Neither will I.

Fungus BBQ

I got my BBQ back, but growing fungus on the uncleaned grill. Note to self, don't lend stuff to people who wont look after then.

Mid-summer solstice

Mid summer solstice is just so wonderful. The long bright nights either side, but that night in particular. The night that goes on for ever. The magical, dreamy night. This night we went on a barge trip along the Bridewater canal, to the Manchester Ship Canal, past the Theatre of Dreams. The barge leaves from Castlefield Quay just off Deansgate. As the world cup is on there is a big screen showing the TV sports channel. People are slowly gathering for tonight's game. Spain against someone or other. The converted Roman amphitheatre takes fourteen thousand people, and for England games you need a ticket to control the numbers. The tickets are free. There's a beer stand, burger stalls and further along there's a beach. Yes, a beach with deck chairs and parasols. Along the canal people are rowing in a coxed four. It's like being on the set of 'Half a sixpence', I almost expect Tommy Steel to come bouncing along the edge and cartwheeling over the tables, the staff and punters alike bursting into song and a dance. When the weather is right, there's no better place than Manchester.

Pretty soon we're on our way. From the water you see a side of Manchester you never get to see by road. It's wonderful, even wondrous, magicking you back to the time when, a hundred years ago, the industrial revolution was in full swing, the co-operative movement was beginning, the suffragettes were changing politics in England and Marx was changing politics in the world. Manchester was the centre of the world, of the brave new world. I wonder if we're ever going to give Communism a try?

Tonight, the sun is bright as we chug rhythmically along ever widening man-made water. We seem a hundred years away from Communism, and so we are as the child Chancellor prepares to make us all pay for the failure Capitalism and bloated greed of Capitalists.

Much of the waterside has been redeveloped now, and very tastefully I think. The old warehouses are now lived in. The new high-rises house thousands of young singles and couples in modern flats. We reach Salford Quays and it looks every bit a modern and exciting as Darling Harbour. The Lowery Centre and the Imperial War Museum show off the best of modern Manchester architecture, the Hilton Hotel is still visible on the skyline, and the Theatre of Dreams itself of course.
Long summer days, not that you'd want to strip off and dive into the water. Well not this water. The rat traps were out when we got back to dry land. But stripping off, on hot nights, well mornings, that's for the younger ones, and it's another story altogether

The Manchester Day Parade

The longer I live in Manchester, the more I love it. Today was the Manchester Day parade. The first I think. There was much nervousness when first suggested many months ago. Would it work? How would people react to it? Would anyone actually do anything for it? I hadn't seen much about it, and didn't see any advertising of it. But one of my patients is leading a drum and percussion band and I promised to go along to see him.

It is Father's day today. One of two days in the year when dad gets to choose. The other, of course is my birthday. So today I chose to have lunch in Castlefield before going on to the parade. It is a lovely bright sunny day, and we catch the bus into town. A short walk through the centre and along the canal, and we emerge at Dukes 92. The place is packed, but amazingly there's a table right in the sun. A BBQ is on , so that's what we go for. The meal is over priced and awful, but it's such a nice day we don't really mind. It must be awful being famous and not being able to go out into town on such an occasion, and just taking in the atmosphere.

Note to self - get BBQ back.

Then on to Deansagate. There are thousands of people lining the street. Many many more than I was expecting. As we walk past a man in a yellow jacket, he calls 'doctor Benett. You're my doctor init'. I shake his hand a try to remember if I've ever seen him. He does look familiar, but I can't recall his name.

'See what I mean about being famous' I whisper to Rachel.

As the parade begins a sense of excitement spreads through the crowd. Everyone stands just a bit taller. Well we might, for the procession lasts over a hour, with too many exhibits to count, but may be thirty or more. There's a Chinese dragon and further on a tiger, Scots bag pipes, Irish dances, Jamaican calypso amongst many others. The Empires' Storm Troopers at one point march menacingly down the main street led by Darth Vader himself. They are followed by a bus carrying what looks like a load of Christian feminists singing something that is totally drowned out by the rest of the noise.

My patients' troop also took the parade by storm. Their rhythmical drums being lead by Samba dancers. Their brass section is conducted, rather incongruously, by a white man in a suit.

The whole spectacle was magnificent. A brilliant tribute to Manchester and it's people. And the weather helped for once. I love Manchester.

A perfect baguette

Nick threw a party for Jo yesterday and many of the usual faces were there. It was fun and we had a great time. Relatively early on Sarah asked me what a perfect baguette was. I have mentioned it in an earlier blog.

The idea of a perfect baguette first came up, for me anyway, when I went on a cycling holiday about five years ago with Tim Ade Chris and Simon. We cycled in France in the Dordogne region. At lunchtime we would stop for a beer and baguette. Tim and I came up with the idea of searching for the perfect baguette as each successive one we had got better and better. We wondered if they could continue to get better and better and, indeed, whether we would recognise the perfect baguette when we had it. So we thought of doing a sort of travel book and call in 'In search of the perfect baguette'. It would be, of course, a metaphor for the search for happiness, the questions being whether we would recognise it when we saw it and whether it was, in any case, achievable at all. In the end Heidi explained to Sarah what I had meant.

***

The Policeman glared through the car window to see two boys with bleary eyes staring back. The thought that the Devil himself was about to take us away had turned to rabbit-like paralysis as the torch shone in our eyes.

'Who's driving this car' he asked sternly.

'I am' I replied in as un-guilty a tone as I could.

'Have you been drinking?'

'N no' I stuttered indignantly.

'Well who's car is this?' asked the still sceptical Policeman.

Silence.

Spud looked at me.

I looked at Spud.

Then completely inexplicably and at preceisely the same time I pointed at him, and he pointed at me.

There was another silence, probably shorter than it seemed, as the absurdity of what we had just done, sunk in.

'May I ask you to step out of the car sir?' said the Policeman in a Yorkshire Dixon of Dock Green sort of way' 'I shall have to ask you to breath into this bag'. I tried really hard, and succeeded, in not saying 'certainly ossifer'. I was trying, by this time, not to giggle nervously, as the farcical nature of our predicament became clearer. I was confident about the breathalyser test as I'd only had one pint that night and that was about four hours ago. Sure enough the test was good.

'I'd like you to accompany me to station, for a statement'. We protested of course, but there was no way of changing his mind, he needed to know that what we were saying about the true ownership of the car was in fact correct.

So that's how we got to spend the night in Malton police cells. We were allowed a phone call, so we decided to call Spuds brother, and I called my friend Phil. I asked him to let my parents know that I was out for the night and would be back in the morning. He promised to spare the details. To this day I'm not sure if they know about the truth of that night.

But it wasn't over yet. We still had to get back, and I still didn't know my 'A' level results

***

Nick and Jo look like they may have found their own perfect baguettes. I hope so, they make a great couple

An encounter with the Devil

OK enough suspense. What happened between Scarborough and getting my 'A' level results?

Travelling back from Scarborough was fine, but we'd forgotten one thing. Petrol. Suddenly one of us noticed that the petrol gauge was desperately hovering around the 'empty' point. 'We'll have to stop for petrol' one said to the other. But there was nowhere to stop, as we rushed past a sign to Malton. Maybe there's somewhere open on the way, but come to think of it, all of them had been closed so far.

'We'd better stop at the next lay by and get some in the morning' I said to Spud, or he said to me. So we stopped. Spud got in the back and I stayed in the drivers seat, and we settled down for a broken nights sleep. I thought we were both in the front, but Spud thinks he was in the back. Anyway I don't think it matters too much, but visually it works better if we were both in the front. So you decide.

There are no street lights. The stars are extra bright, the extra bright they are when the rest of the countryside is the colour of pitch. We're in a lay by in North Yorkshire and of course all the weird horror films you'd ever seen suddenly come to mind, especially when you are two rather overtired and excitable young men. Eventually, after seeing off ghouls and ghosts and werewolves we settle down.

You know what it's like, you're just dropping off to sleep and something wakes you with a start. You're already a bit on edge. It doesn't matter what it is but you're just not with it for a couple of seconds, and for a brief moment you think something terrible is happening. So we'd just dropped off into a deep weary sleep, a dreaming sleep, a sleep when weird things happen. Suddenly there's a loud bang on the window.

There staring through the window is someone dressed in a blue pointy hat and shining a torch at us, so that his face is distorted in the light. It is, of course, a policeman, but for a moment it could have been the Devil himself. I've learnt since then that the Devil takes a female form, but then I still thought he was male. Both of us are completely startled AND paralysed. 'We're not bad boys'. 'We're really sorry, but we haven't done anything wrong' thoughts rushing through my head, you know, when you see a policeman you feel you must have done something wrong. Then we realised that we actually hadn't done anything wrong, and all he wanted was for us to wind the window down.

But we had done something wrong.

Scarborough by night

I've been to the gym this morning in an attempt to regain a little fitness for the up coming bike ride from Edinburgh to Newcastle. Apparently, people normally take five days over it. Why the hell we're doing it in three I don't know. I don;t suppose once a fortnight is going to help really, but I've paid my membership and I feel good after it. I'm banking on everyone else being enthusiastic amateurs. I'll wrote about it. You'll see.
I had an encouraging message from Kim in Australia, welcoming my return to the blogosphere. I didn't think anyone still read them.Better be careful what i say. Already got into big trouble.

Alright I haven't forgotten. The day of the exam results thirty five years ago. We set off to Scarborough. Me and Spud, and Spud's dads car and very little money. The roads were clear and we got there by 3.30am. We stopped on the cliff over looking the bay. The moon was full, and glistened on the quiet water. The lights lined the streets. Quiet. At three o'clock in the morning, I can report, Scarborough is silent. Even a simpering ghost would have disturbed the tranquility. Scarborough was dead.

We looked at each other. Spud lit a roll up and we looked at each other again, and repeated the earlier conversation. 'What do we do now?'... 'We better get back then' two 17/18 year olds told each other. And that's what we tried to do.

***

I went to my home group tonight for the first time in ages. I don't know why I have missed them I guess they weren't in my diary. The home group is a group of people attached to the church, it's a sort of Bible study /social group. Tonight was a social occasion. We went to someones house way outside Manchester in a little Cheshire village called Nether Peover. The house is beautiful and we are entertained to wonderful food and sparkling rose wine. It is good catching up with them and I intend to restart going. They are mostly medics or headteachers and people like that, and they have a bit of an evangelical fundamentalist bent, and they can be a bit overpowering to people not from that social stratum, but they are good people with sharp and inquisitive minds. They are also funny, which helps a lot. I like them.

My spiritual life has been rather neglected recently and, prompted by Spud, needs reinvigorating. Spud is the guitarist for his church band, would you believe. A most unlikely convert, although, come to think of it he has always had a spiritual bent. I think he was a 'Christadelphian' when we were young. He, or his church anyway, were on the morning service last Sunday and he sent me a link to hear it. The programme was very good, although I only listened to the music. Fortunately I new all the tunes since they are much the same as the ones played at my current church. In fact both churches are called Emanuel, his in Norwood and mine in Didsbury.

Anyway the link to the podcast is as follows: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b006qnds

And that wasn't the only link of the week. Try this one, it's funny http://en.tackfilm.se/?id=1274644354921RA41