Maradona & the Scudetto - A Tale of a Man and a City

Naples, August 1989. It is a city in a post-coital daze.

Only a few months back the city’s football team celebrated it’s second league title in as many years and its second in its entire history.
Kicked out of its lethargic malaise by the fleet feet of an Argentinian not much taller than a barrel of wine. Diego Armando Maradona.


I was 9 years old. I can remember it as though it was yesterday. I’ve been to Naples many a time since then, but I can scarcely remember the city so aglow. It was like Rio in carnival time, a celebration of the people. At last, Naples – and Neapolitans – could be proud of their city. For so long, never taken seriously by any one who didn’t live there, derided and ridiculed in equal measure by the rest of the country (the north in particular).
And it all changed because of a football team.

People laugh these days if I mention it. Football’s not that important. But without sounding condescending – it can be and usually is.
The first time I felt any pride in my own abilities was when I was signed up as a 10 year old with a local youth team (Blue Star) and dribbled round the cones in the fastest time out of the group of boys in my age group.
It was exhilarating and empowering.

I was no way the best player but I performed the best on that test and I felt the sense of pride in myself, and my dad. And it was all thanks to a ball.

In today’s celebrity footballer age, the fans are as far removed from the lives of their idols that you forget that football is a sport that belongs to everyone particularly the working class.

Football is a mobilising agent in helping people transcend social & racial barriers – I’ve seen it as an effective glue firsthand when taking the kids at NACRO out for a kickabout, the street matches we played as kids, and even as team building exercises when you're involved in a Powerleague tournament.
We hear a lot about the negative aspects of the sport – the violence, the hooliganism, the shameless greed of the players and the club, the lack of loyalty and the exploitation of the supporters.

But on the other side of the coin, sensationalist headlines tend to ignore the positives – school programs, grassroots initiatives, donations to charities and sponsored events or when football is simply used to tackle delinquency and despondency in young people by simply giving them something to do and somewhere to go.

Where am I going with this? Back to 1989, Naples, specifically.

It was there that I saw up close and personal how football affected the lives of individuals of any age. I’m not certain on the statistics but I can bet cautiously that crime was slightly less in those intervening months between the Scudetto victory and my holiday. Social ills weren’t cured, and life was hard all the same, but people were made to forget their problems for a short time.
And for a while – football flags and Italian flags were hanging with the wet clothes on the washlines.

Life was as it always was – the people out in droves, spilling out from alleyways and stalls, car horns beeping, the din of voices haggling and shouting. People working, struggling, living…
But there was an air of optimism too.

I compare and contrast that to Naples today – older, and a little nostalgic for those days. A little heartbroken too…Maradona left, the good times over, only memories regurgitated in the soft-voiced conversations of old men playing cards on the street, of young boys too young to appreciate the cultural significance of what Maradona and his team had achieved, by the pride restored in this city, but since then with the emergence of the Camorra and the unaddressed poverty Naples is a harder place.

It’s less naïve, less idealistic, more realistic. Aware that promises can be broken and dreams can sometimes fade, been hurt too many times since.

But I’m hopeful for the city; the people there are optimistic, cautiously and mortally so, that changes can always come about irrespective of how things happened.

I see a kickabout between a group of street urchins, much as I used to kick about with boys my age, and I know that’s a good sign, despite the depressive climate. For a start, I know that while they’re playing football, they can’t be robbing someone.

Naples, despite it’s recent problems – the garbage scandal which revealed the extent of Camorra involvement in legitimate enterprises and the murder of a 14 year old girl – Annalisa Durante – again, by the Camorra (for those that glamorise gangsters please read up on this story), is at least acknowledging them (the first step to any recovery), and at long last we’re seeing progress (the garbage issue is being slowly resolved).

The story of Naples is the story of Maradona, small and overlooked, it grew in stature and took on the heavyweights and won, for a while. Then came the scandals, the failures, and the party was over. But, with time, it is trying to get better. As I type this Maradona is coach of the Argentinian national team – after years of ignominy, drugs and paternity suites. He’s returning to give back to the sport what he took from it.


As a footnote to all this I must add one final thing:
there’s a young man in Naples at the moment called Ezequial Lavezzi.
He’s Argentinian and he’s doing wonderful things for the football team. Is this history repeating itself?

Naples is getting better, starting with the football team.
It’s almost like 1989 again…

To Be or Not to Be...a question for the Philanthropist in all of us

Read recently about capitalist juggernauts like Warren Buffet and Bill Gates getting onboard the philanthropist express.
It’s a recent craze, and I’m glad to hear it’s taking root (and unlike most crazes, I believe this is here to stay).
The world has become more conscious of its social responsibilities and those that have profited the most from meritocracies can pause long enough to use their wealth to help out those left behind.

It’s a tricky subject to broach, no one wants to feel a charity case and even those on the lowest end of the social ladder still want to be treated with dignity and respect –which is a difficult interaction to manage when two people enter a relationship on uneven footing. But this is one of the challenges individuals and now organisations are tackling.

Organisations like NACRO, who offer basic skills courses and back-to-work pathways for young people who are outside the system, are facing increasing challenges to provide a service to the community and the individual, as well as meeting their administrative, housing and fuel costs.

Thankfully, organisations and charities are able to include businesses as partners, using the capitalist model to benefit their own ends, where previously close-mindedness prevented such a route. Government is also walking hand in hand with private firms and allowing philanthropy to thrive.

On a quantum level - more people are taking to the streets and running for charity.

Partly aided by an awareness of health issues and self-motivated goals to achieve something rewarding, average Joe’s are now raising money every year for many worthy causes.

This is a good thing. A world that is acutely addressing issues on a macro and micro level – a globalisation of philanthropy.

Philanthropy is different to charity – it is not a one-off handout or a merciful intervention on the part of the helper.

It is a trade-off between the skills of the philanthropist (and including his/her capital, contacts, access to resources, knowledge of the environment and situation as well as his/her general practises as a human being) and the involvement and dedication to change from the individual (or group of individuals) to make those changes occur.

Ashoka, an organisation I interpret for, provides individuals in otherwise economically challenged backgrounds, the opportunity to raise capital as well as the entrepreneurship skills to get ideas from the blueprint to the development stage. Hopefully, in the process, raising tangible assets such as money and improved resources for the community, but also intangible assets such as greater knowledge and the expertise for growth and development.

Everyone benefits in a society if more of its members are educated, housed, feel secure from crime and therefore better able to contribute to its running. Not to mention the dignity a person feels when they are able to secure a job and a living wage, put their children through school, and own their own home.

This is something philanthropy aims to address.

To combine a person’s resourcefulness and allowing the opportunity for that resourcefulness to grow and develop within the individual for the benefit of the community.

So if business heavyweights such as Buffet can make a difference – so can all of us, whether we’re paid to or we volunteer.
It is very simple to develop understanding – it is a matter of application of intent and an ability to listen (multiplied by time).

Businesses are now acutely aware of their image in a more social conscious world (see the recent financial market problems, not to mention, the issues in Dakar, climate change et al) and I believe whatever motivates a business is the same as what motivates an individual to do something outside of their immediate realm – namely, the combination of interests and values.
It is in a businesses’ interest to display human qualities such as compassion and respect for the customer, the environment, the economic climate, just as it is important for it to address balance sheets, profits and shareholder dividends.

If a customer obtains a bad service, he won’t come back. If prices are raised without improving service, customers won’t be able to spend as much in the long run. A business doesn’t benefit by pitching itself against the world. Co-operation and integration are key.

The same for us as individuals and groups – if we turn the other cheek, mind our own business (it is a skill to mind your own business correctly), ignore a cause, leave it to someone else etc, then we help contribute to a society that will make it harder for us to go about our business unaffected. What we put out there in the world, on the whole, manages to find a way back to us.

I can only commend people who, in their small ways, attend not only to their own families and friends needs, but to the needs of society as a whole. If you learn a new skill, you can benefit by increasing the odds for a better salary, but you can apply those skills to give some other person the opportunity to do the same. It’s a chain that we form a part of.

So run and raise money as much as you can, donate as much as you can, get involved in your neighbourhood board, become a governor at your child’s school, become a boy’s boxing club patron, take ownership and accountability for yourself and the immediate world around you, join a society such as the Red Cross - help shape and implement change.

It’s a choice between "nothing" and "movement" and everyone has their part to play.

The warehouse project

Since September and heading into Christmas, the warehouse project is keeping Manchester's pulse rhythms ticking over with a steady current of top DJ's from all over Europe.

The Warehouse Project is a series of coordinated events staged in the city - from Drum n Bass gatherings, to House parties and techno master classes, featuring alternate luminaries in the guises of De La Soul, Florence & the Machine, Tom Middleton and the ubiquitous Jeff Mills, as well as European deck wizards Jamie Jones and Ame, amongst others.

For a comprehensive list of forthcoming gigs visit the website. Tickets are selling fast:

http://www.thewarehouseproject.com/calendar/

Bukowski

I came across this recently and chuckled to myself as I imagined the old poet Bukowski's take on modern technology...apt and rather observant I believe:


16-bit Intel 8088 chip

with an Apple Macintosh
you can't run Radio Shack programs
in its disc drive.
nor can a Commodore 64
drive read a file
you have created on an
IBM Personal Computer.
both Kaypro and Osborne computers use
the CP/M operating system
but can't read each other's
handwriting
for they format (write
on) discs in differentways.
the Tandy 2000 runs MS-DOS but
can't use most programs produced for
the IBM Personal Computer
unless certainbits and bytes are
altered
but the wind still blows over
Savanna
hand in the Spring
the turkey buzzard struts and
flounces before his
hens.

Charles Bukowski

Poem of the Day

To Know A Poet

I want you all to know,

To feel the coming of an age

When your children shall recite my name

Like the water they thirst for in the morning rays,

I have come to tell you freedom is my truth

The wind that blows in your ears.

I tell you this, Judge of conquest,

Judges and Mediators of poetry

You have not known what a poet is-

be either a Rimbaud or a Thomas that sings on cherub wings-

With thirst in his barbed throat

To be sealed in this age that knows not of heroes or teeth

These vengeful moments that ripe the fruit that feeds the soul

No - you many men of a single face

You know not a poet.

Copyright ©2008 Tristan Grey

Antigone

Antigone opened at the Royal Exchange Theatre on 15th October and will run until 8th November.

Chronologically the third of the three Theban Plays written by Sophocles, this tragic tale follows the tribulations of a woman trying to right a wrong.

When her brother is denied the dignity of a burial, Antigone refuses to bow to her ruler and prospective father-in-law and instead chooses to fight for all that she believes in.

A powerful tale.

Buy tickets online: http://purchase.tickets.com/buy/TicketPurchase?agency=THEROYALEXCHANGE&organ_val=23357

or alternatively, contact the Box Office: 0161 833 9833

http://www.royalexchangetheatre.co.uk/

Roll Up Roll Up & Roll With It

The dates for the long-anticipated Oasis home-coming have been announced. The bickering Gallagher brothers will be headlining at Heaton Park, supported by indie juggernauts Kasabian and The Enemy:

4th, 6th & 7th June 2009

OASIS (rock)
KASABIAN (indie)
THE ENEMY (indie)
Manchester Heaton Park

- ticket on sale 24th October - call 0844 847 2277

http://www.ticketmaster.co.uk/artist/766720?camefrom=CFC_UK_BUYAT_pomaffiliate

On The Road - Jack Kerouac

On the Road is for me, like so many others out there, a cherished masterpiece.

An autobiographical portrait of a young man's life - a snapshot of espresso-veined Americana - of chrome polished hot rods on the trail of something more...

Narrated with a raw, gutsy energy - Kerouac was a macho writer with an eye for the particular. Few, even to this day, can describe the ordinary and make it appear epic.

As leader of the Beat Generation - a role that Kerouac vacillitated between personal acceptance and outright rejection - he helped nourish the ideal that life is an open page and we've got artistic license to write what we want on it.

With a whole cast of friends, lovers and fellow travellers, Kerouac recounts his cross-country life as a restless soul in search of identity and freedom, littering the plateux of America's lands with broken promises, failed dreams, nostalgia for moments lost and excitement for moments yet to be lived.

You don't have to be on the road to enjoy this book and its inarticulate, yet profoundly moving, message. A piece of literature that inspires and entertains wherever you may read it.

Kerouac had little patience to sit still and slog it out and was pulled in so many different directions in life that he risked leaving nothing behind.

But that energy, that thirst for what possibilities life could bring to an individual is as refreshing as a breath of air...and significantly, perhaps miraculously, leave us something he did;

A vast library of words as important as any in our schools and libraries.

This book instilled within me a hunger for life from the moment I turned its first page (as it has done countless others before and after me) and this edition conveys the same energy that the author wished to transmit to his original audience and nails its essence to the door.

Kerouac rarely lapsed into self-loathing and criticism or if he did, it was usually superseded by a renewed commitment to engage with the world. The rough was taken with the smooth, bitter pills were swallowed with a shot of espresso and back out the door to take care of business.

A man's writer and a man's manual; although his style is often irreverant and sometimes lofty, it always sweeps you along and keeps you turning those pages, asking for more of the same.

As Kerouac said, “Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.”

No matter, the road IS life.

Our Culture, What's Left of It: The Mandarins and the Masses

There are few men who write with such transparency these days as Theodore Dalrymple, the author of this book.

Our Culture, What’s Left of it, is a collection of essays on topics ranging from the breakdown of Islam to the legalization of drugs. Clear sighted and firmly opinionated, Dr Dalrymple offers a critique of the human condition in an intelligent, sober voice generously interspersed with his unmistakably acerbic wit.

His arguments unfold as the topic progresses and his insights into the mundane, trivial and overlooked, is a rarity in today’s critic.

Reasoned, impassionate arguments delivered with a cool, logical foresight from the mind of a man who lets experience and wisdom guide his thoughts.
Peggy Noonan wrote that Theodore Dalrymple is the best doctor-writer since William Carlos Williams.

On the basis of this evidence, few can argue with such a bold assessment.

A great read and one that you can turn to at any time;

valid, perfectly articulated and culturally significant – this author is a voice of reason at a time when reason is at a premium.

What Love means to me...

Love for me means that pic of Dylan and Suze Rotolo. Forget the fact they broke up and forget the fact it wasn't a happy one. But just look how they rolled together.

Even a cynic like me can smile. I refuse to understand it in any other way.

Katy Perry

Mademoiselle Perry stormed the charts recently with her single I Kissed A Girl.


I know opinion has been polarised and households within earshot of a radiowave have been divided about the merits of such a single and whether it is a litmus test about the mental condition of the nation as a whole.


Never has such a pop single generated such furore - more questions have been fired out at Miss Perry than Gordon Brown.


Is she a one-hit wonder a la Chesney Hawkes?


Is this single an act of desperation from the record label to reel the single-buying public with clever gimmickry - and do they really believe we're that unsophisticated in what we purchase that we'd simply swallow it and smile?


Is this song plain old drivel? And if I like it, does that make me an idiot with limited musical tastes?


So many questions, from a public facing so much uncertainty already.


So let me put this clearly across, just as I mentioned to the listeners of BBC Radio Lancashire recently, so that there can be no misgivings and hopefully, it will end all confusion hence-forth:


She kisses girls. And she likes it.

Now just buy the record and shut up.

Now Comes the Science Part...

Doctors at 25 UK and US hospitals will study 1,500 survivors to see if people with no heartbeat or brain activity can have "out of body" experiences.

The study, which will take place over the next 3 years, will be headed by Southampton University.

It's going to be the first real objective attempt at scientifically analysing this phenomenon and scientists will be hoping to discover a little more about the workings of the brain, mind and consciousness as a result.

The way they're going to do this is by placing pictures in surgeries, which can only be viewed from above - and so the next time a patient mentions they've had an out of body experience, the doc will ask him/her to describe what he/she saw in the room.

It will be interesting to see if this experiment works.

Personally, I’m a little sceptical as to the conditions of the test being practical….

Man in the process of dying: Oh God! I see the light it’s really happening!…

Heavenly Creator: Come to the light my son, come….

Man in the process of dying: Yes, yes, I see the light….wait…..what’s this? Who put all these pictures here…

Heavenly Creator: The light, follow the light…

Man: Wow, these are some really cool drawings …

Heavenly Creator: The light, you idiot! FOLLOW THE LIGHT! …leave the pictures alone and CONCENTRATE on the situation - this isn't a memory test or an art exhibit, you are about to enter nirvana, you are DEAD, pay attention...(sighing)

In all seriousness, there's so much subjectivity to the study that I doubt results from the research will prove anything either way.

Victorian Bodybuilding Championships

...and if the New York catwalk wasn't mouth-gaping enough, it was relatively tame compared to the sheer peacock-tailed spectacle of the Victorian Bodybuilder championships on September 14th.

Featuring all manner of Herculean males and Amazonian females, their oily, tanned bodies flexing and parading. Years of gym-honed physiques hanging like salami in a sausage shop.

You'd need an Ordnance Survey Map to find your way through all these contours.

The top performers will go on to compete in the Australian Bodybuilding Championships in Perth next week.

New York Fashion Week

I'm going to be featuring two events that may or may not have registered on your radar this past 7 days...

Firstly, it was New York Fashion Week...

That spectacle of high culture and wacky designs (how many watch these things with an emulsion of curiosity and horror).

Dozens of sharp cheeked models unfurling collections from all the top designers:

Mara Hoffman, Tommy Hilfiger, Custo Barcelona and Naeem Khan all presenting their Spring 2009 collections on the catwalk in front of the world's top socialites and fashionistas.

Not to mention dilettante's such as myself.

For someone who normally spends his time as far away from a high street without moving out of town altogether, I'd normally not even attempt to feign an interest.

But feign I must - this is where it begins and I've been given an oracle-like glimpse into what the girls will be wearing come May.

The Enemy Within

Here's a news bulletin for you:

Testosterone, that wonderful steroid hormone that virilizes a man and makes us what we are, is also partly responsible for why we, on average, last less than women on this earth.

Isn't that grand?

Doomed by our very genetic makeup to suffer a life of libidinal over-exertion and declination, as well as advancing nasal hair growth, we're on a ride that cares little for our well-being, only for our ability to produce offspring.

Once production has commenced - testosterone couldn't care less about you and wants only what's best for the propagation of your genes. Unlike the menopause, which is nature's way of protecting the female from life-threatening gestation as she ages, and instead tells her to "take it easy and enjoy things from now on".

No, testosterone forces us forever onwards, to repeat the same errors - just as the Gods forced poor Sisyphus (unfortunate name) to roll that boulder up the hill, only for it to come rolling back down again the other side.

Camus was astute, and definitely had a point about the absurdity of life.

Testosterone improves athletic performance - enlargening our hearts, lungs, liver and producing larger volumed brains (and I must make the distinction that although male brains are larger on average, there is a decreased connection in the hemispheres - so performance isn't necessarily greater than that of females) - but is this a fair trade off for a life of strife, followed by an early grave?

And an interesting fact is that whilst studies show that testosterone doesn't lead to prostate cancer - it will help it spread if it's already there. The traitor.

So, chaps, if you hear a lady complain that life has dealt her an unfair hand because of her sex, simply explain that she will - on average - live longer, healthier, and with less chance of dying from pretty much everything life has to throw up at us mortals - car accidents, suicide, heart disease, stress-related illness, violent attacks etc.

To paraphrase Tammy Wynette (for there are no valid male alternatives, they all passed away) "Sometimes it's hard...to be a...man."

Khan v Prescott - The Post Reaction

It was a result largely unexpected here in the UK - due, in part, to the twin deceptions of partisan hopes and a blinkered understanding of Khan's opponent.

But already, as quickly as the nation was saluting a British champion in the making, the critics were out to pillory their ex-Golden Boy after the loss against Breidis Prescott on 6th September 2008.

It was the speed and manner of the defeat that left the viewing public and ringside spectators shell-shocked.

There is no doubt that Khan failed to impress in this stern test of his credentials - but the speed within which we built up Khan as a hero and then derided him as a bum, is disconcerting (but alas, not unusual).

Barely had the last blow from Breidis Prescott registered, than witnesses - reporters, pundits, TV analysts and other "experts" - were drawing their swords, ready to dissect a young man who's career so far had featured a Silver medal at the Olympics and a fight record, going into the fight, of 18 wins (15 by KO) and no defeats.

One tactical misoperation against Breidis later and the the sparkle of Amir Khan's light dimmed in the nation's eyes.

The fight plan was all wrong. Prescott is an expert hitter and a hard puncher. Khan's enthusiasm to take the fight to him, opened him up and allowed the Colombian to gain leverage. Once the blows started registering, the momentum swung in favour of the aggressor. Khan had no answer.

It is no secret that Khan has found it difficult against heavy handed opponents in the past- he has already been dropped to the canvas in prior fights (although, in those instances, he managed to rise up and win).

It is also a truth that there are many boxers with great amateur records who have failed to reach the summit when they turned pro. Many are now asking whether Khan has reached the limit of his capabilities.

Is Khan a genuine force in World Boxing? Who knows. How good he is is a question he may be asking himself right now, although there were positive comments emerging from Khan post-fight. He knows he has a long road to recovery ahead and I'm sure he's already thinking about walking it.

There's no doubt that boy will be doubting himself. He's going to need to address his weaknesses (namely his chin) and learn to be patient (a lack of which caused him to come unstuck against Prescott).

The jab was absent and the movement behind it jittery and ineffective.

These are things Khan will work with his trainer to iron out come his next fight.

Khan is only 21. He's still young enough to recover from this setback. Unfortunately, in a culture that demands success instantly, time is something some of us are reluctant to hand over...but we must if we want to see him go far.

One fight does not make a champion - and by that same token, nor does losing one prevent you from becoming a champion.

I am convinced it is all hyperbole fuelled by the media - both in building Khan up to mythological proportions and in dismantling him when he failed to live up to the Goliath reputation.

The boy is a good fighter, no doubt, but is he the best?

Let's give him another opportunity to prove himself. Then we'll be closer to knowing the truth.

Khan's next move will be crucial, question marks will hang over him until he meets a smililarly dangerous opponent as Prescott - and wins.

Nothing short of a convincing victory against a tough opponent will be enough to change the public's splintered opinion of him.

Khan lost his head that night (both metaphorically and literally) and struggled to keep up with his opponent and adapt to the game plan.

He lost his head under pressure, and suffered for it and it's important we, as supporters, don't lose ours either.

He has had a taster of defeat, seen how difficult it was for him to maintain his thoughts under the heat, but he knows he's got to keep his cool from now on.

It's a cliche precisely because it's a truism.

The onus is on Khan to ignore both his detractors and those that praise him. He's going to need careful management and rebuild his confidence. He'll need to discipline himself and pore over those tapes and get back to working quietly and surely, one thought in mind: to convince us he's a champion in the making.

We have to let him.

Nando's And Me - A Love Affair

Nando’s and me. A love affair that blossomed despite our differences and the worst start imaginable.A place that allowed me to shed my prejudices like a snake sheds its skin and become a better, humbler person.
The first time I came here, I actually walked out in disgust. I caused such a scene – “What JUST chicken???!!” that my company trailed behind me in silence, upset that I was upset, and I became the party-pooper that night.

Prima donna that I was.

All that changed though. Like St Paul on the road to Damascus one evening, I saw the light.
I don’t know what possessed me – perhaps some cosmic force, perhaps Quetzelcoatl the original feathered chicken-snake-man-whatever.

But that night, I let my obsession with red meat slip off me and decided I’d try out some chicken. And it changed my life.

Like going to the BBQ of the Madagascan uncle I never had, who grilled the chicken (skin included) in a lemon & herb flavouring –a gentle coating that made me hungry for succulent chicken skin and succeeded in absolving me of my childhood squeamishness, something that a qualified therapist never could.

And the sauces! Peri Peri in all guises – garlic, mixed herbs, scold-your-colon-hate-yourself-in-the-morning hot to gentle-caresses-by-moonlight mild it caters for all.

Peri Peri sauce is an aphrodisiac.

It makes you feel better about yourself after digestion – something about how the chemical works its way from your stomach to your brain and down to your crotch – and makes you a better person.
Like a normal version of you, but a thousand times sexier and with heightened awareness of the holy good Jesus light that comes from you and the other kindred souls who choose to come here for gastric nirvana.

Do you know I now put Peri Peri in everything? Including pastas, toasts and hog. It makes everything taste better.
That’s why supermarkets now stock the stuff – we’re in the middle of a cultural revolution and you guys don’t even know it. Soon, demand will exceed supply and there’ll be a Peri Peri narcotics trade and we’ll all be Peri Peri addicts, like crack addicts, but healthier and full of sexual energy. And to think, it all started from this place.

“I don’t get it, all they do is chicken!” - I still hear that from some people.
“Yes, but technically, all Eusebio - that other great Madagascan export - did was kick a football and yet look at what legacy he left us”.

Go in, get your menu, find your table, place your order at the till, and await the food.

Simply thought out and simply executed.

Colonel Sanders, for years you told us that chicken served fast HAD to come sizzled to death in a dune of breadcrumbs and oil. That stuff is surely full of toxins and carcinogens (comments are my own, and not based on sound science) but Nando’s came along, and rewrote the rule books.

Exposed you for a liar. Showed you how it’s to be done.

How those happy Madagascan people eat their chicken and wanted to share it with the world. I see the vision now….

A piece of Madagascar, complete with palms and smiley folk, and great food and great sauces.
If you don’t like this place you are a loser and should never get laid.

PS Bring friends along, enjoy the conversion.

BAM - Manchester's response to Banksy

Writing is about scratching and imprint. Making dents on medium in the hope that they'll be preserved for an age.
What comes out of our mouths evaporates, dissipates and moves away from us. Writing is our way of pinning down our thoughts and giving them shape.

Art, that other medium of immortality in a world very much mortal, is all about manipulation, chipping, hacking, swishing and stroking - see the way a sculptor chips away at a block of stone to reveal the form within or a painter slides his brush across the acrylic.

All mightily impressive. I remember a child at our school who was good at drawing and like a shaman in our midst, we'd cower round him, staring at the blank sheet of paper before him as he ran his pencil across it and an image would appear.

We loved watching him...CREATE: Something came out of nothing.

And similarly, something is exactly what BAM, Manchester's street artist, creates out of the familiarity of our environment. Taking what is there and changing it's meaning, altering it's makeup and making us double-take.

I wouldn't call him shocking, or necessarily provoking, nor politically motivated. Perhaps the best way to describe him is as a bloke who's good at taking things apart and showing us the components of the structure and we take from it whatever we want, if anything at all.


The thing about BAM's art is that, unlike a politician, it can say whatever it wants and in as many ways it wants, without sounding ridiculous. He's poking a finger in the eye, rearranging furniture, prank calling us in the middle of a busy meeting.

BAM is worth checking out, he's certainly interesting enough, whether you have time for art or not .
If you like the tongue-in-cheek, cool Britannia rhetoric of Banksy then you'll feel at home with BAM.

Some would call it graffiti, others vandalism, others art, and others won't care. And that's that the point I think.

Edgy, raw and unpolished - if the bloke on the street learned how to Picasso he'd do it like this.

The Stag Do

Forgive my cynicism but at what point in the proceedings of a stag do is it deemed appropriate to stand up and, with a solemn face, ask the question “Just what the hell are we celebrating here?”

For the groom-to-be/hen-to-be, it’s the relinquishing of his/her freedom for a life in captivity and for the rest of us - a bunch of grown men having the excuse to act 11 years old again (our wives/partners will say we rarely act any different).

Expensive, cheesy, farty and usually ending up in a fight or vacuum packed into a pair of speedos, naked and shrink-wrapped to a lamppost.

It’s the ultimate con perpetrated on mankind.

It’s the antithesis of manliness - it’s a package holiday of a night out. Indiana Jones travelled to places off the beaten track, on his own, daring to do what others before him and since wouldn’t. That is manliness.Not the cattle-graze of a stag/hen-do.

Dildos, L plates, novelty T shirts….consumerism at it’s worst.
And we do it because we are told we must.
Without questioning, following tradition (and what is tradition except a cultural Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?).

Most of us hate the damn things but pretend we don’t for fear of coming across as the party pooper.

No offence to anyone who thinks they’re cool - but James Bond never turned up at a Casino in a Big Bird outfit and placed 500 big ones on black.

I have had the good fortune (tongue-wedged in cheek) of having organised two stag do’s in my short but spectacular life so far - one local, and one not so local and both involved a lot of headache (and not only of the whiskey-induced kind).

Itineraries to follow (but we are men, we are supposed to follow nothing except our football team), making sure everyone is where they’re supposed to be; drink, drink, drinking until that washboard stomach is a dune of man-blubber; you end up feeling like a holiday rep in an 18-30 camp.(incidentally is it just me or is the age-bracket “18-30” slightly disparaging. I’d like to think a man has evolved somewhat from the 18 year old adolescent he was by the time he’s 30).

The stag do originated in ancient Sparta, as a series of festivities for betrothed Spartan warriors - and ever since then, man has felt compelled to humiliate and demean his fellow man by exposing his weaknesses (re: his willy) where he is most vulnerable (re: in the presence of females).

Boys will be boys they say. And men will be idiots.

Personally, I am stating here-on in that I am officially retiring from stag do’s. I’m not going to spend £300 plus (minimum) whilst being HERDED around like lobotomised cattle from one event to the next, with no sense of joy, just impending dread; as the minutes tick by, the wallets empty, the mind spins, the tongue loosens, the dignity abandons and we forfeit our right to be taken seriously forevermore.

Which brings me back to the point of “What are we celebrating?”

Possibly the realisation that it’s our last chance to act the buffoon in the company of other buffoons, knowing full well that the next morning, hungover, with toilet paper stuck to our cheeks, we must arise and become men - with all that comes with it: mortgages, relationship problems (just how long did you think that honeymoon would last for?), children, bills, jobs, and a life filled with occasional hints of brilliance, but more often than not, plain old mediocrity.

I saw a young couple the other day, they have that university freshness, you know the look - that together, with a little luck, they can take on the world and change it for the better (I recommend a walk through uni campuses just to top up on this vibe from time to time).But that’s a million miles before the crossing line of the stag/hen-do and a world far removed from worry, anxiety and fighting over dishes.

I smile to myself; they’ll learn, we all do…

"I see the truth inside her lies"....

We live in an age where we aspire to be as everyone else around us. It's true.

We crave celebrity and adulation because, basically, we want to be admired. It is this, that makes us the same.

We want what everyone else wants and that's why we create unions, guidelines, policies, legislation. We come together and we thrash out rules, otherwise we'd never get along.

This guiding principle of competition and envy is what, in this day and age, helps drive progress.

And progress is exactly what I want to drive.

When I sat behind the stearing wheel of a Ferrari 360 for the first time, it was a triumph of spirit over mediocrity.

I was in control of a car that was the idol of my childhood. The prancing horse, always at the ready to gallop off.

I took it round for a few laps and hit 160mph on the straight. I'd never felt such torque in my life. The car, hugging the asphalt, with a low centre of gravity and 6 speed transmission, growled and roared at my every touch.

It was incredible. Breathtaking.

Like being in one of those volatile relationships that leaves you thirsting for more.

Kicking it's hind up in the air, 400bhp @ 8500rpm this mid-engined, rear-wheel beast, let me have all 275lb/ft of it's power and told me that any stupid move and I'd be struggling to control it round the chicane.

Wow. I was breathless. 0-60 in 4.5 seconds. I felt like a cowboy trying to stay in the saddle at a rodeo.

Man and machine as one....

It's after an intense ride like this, which warps space and time and makes you finally understand Einstein's Theory of Relativity, that you understand just how slow our lives really travel.

Everything afterwards is played out at 1/8th of a pace.

It's made me thirst for more and I'll be behind the wheel of another soon. A car that refused to be saddled and broken into, that riding required energy of my own and in doing so, exposed to me the truth of our species: that no matter how we travel, we can always go that bit further, that bit faster.

I love my Lucy; She's a Toyota Avensis. Red and pretty and she's big. She's capable of around 130mph (if any officers are reading this rest assured I have not tested this on a UK road), and I know she's been designed with safety and comfort in mind.

But I wonder, with safety a prerogative and the Euro NCAP breathing down manufacturers necks, with Health and Safety a priority when designing anything (and to a great degree, rightly so) have we sacrificed a little too much daring-do? Has this compromise of safety and excitement dulled our roads, our passageways in between destinations and, as a consequence, dulled our wits and senses and our very ability to move?

I don't know.

In any case, I will say that a man should drive a very fast car, very fast (in a controlled environment like a race track), at least once in his lifetime.

It's a right of passage greater than the first time you ever had sex, acquired a mortgage or stepped up a peg higher on the career ladder.

A man only develops an appetite after he's eaten and I'm hungry for more -

Plymouth-Dakar race next. Watch this space....

AFRIKA! AFRIKA!

From Wednesday 23rd July until Saturday 6th September 2008 The Trafford Centre will be pumping out a synthesis of African athletic and living art, like a heart that has found it's rhythm.
Over a 100 artists, dancers, singers and musicians will be demonstrating their unique and special talents.
These artists were discovered across 17 different African nations, speaking 23 different dialects from a multitude of different religious backgrounds, so this shows just what creative combination AFRIKA! AFRIKA! has assembled.

Promising to deliver an African journey through the human arts, it is an event that many will be looking forward to.
Bringing together life-affirming exuberance, this is as much an expression of the continent's vitality at odds, and in defiance of, the political machinations which pigment much of our Western impressions of the Third World.

AFRIKA! AFRIKA! will feature a unique and extraordinary combination of dance and acrobatics, high wire artists from Tanzania - not to mention master contortionists, hip-hop break dancers and an exhilirating Gumboot dance. Audiences' breathes will be caught in their throats.

Times of performances are as follows - No performances on Mondays, Tuesdays - 8pm, Wednesdays - 3pm & 8pm, Thursdays 3pm & 8pm, Fridays - 8pm, Saturdays - 3pm & 8pm, Sundays - 1pm & 5.30pm.

Manbags and Gladrags

It’s not often a man get’s the opportunity to discuss handbags - or should I say man-bags - and having returned to the north after a 7 year hiatus, I definitely thought I wouldn’t see them up here.

But as Dylan stated "The Times They Are A-Changin" and Manchester stores are stocking them precisely because someone, somewhere, is buying them. It’s simple economics.

Fashion is a great thing. It clothes us on the whole and, when donning a great suit, empowers us beyond our everyday means.

Women have known this for years, as did Mr Benn who used outfits to transform into anybody he wanted to be.
It’s all image, and the power is merely skin deep, but the point is we buy into it and it’s big business.

And now, it appears, the focus has shifted towards the other half of the population. The half that traditionally spent very little sums of money on accessories. The fashion industry noted this, and like a spurned lover thirsty for revenge, it has turned it's full attention to men and decided they must PAY. Or something along those lines.

And so it is with the latest fad - the man-bag. No homo sapien is complete without a bag the size of Santa's sack to carry his gadgets around in. A common sight nowadays in the city.

Admittedly, it’s going to be a long, slow process for fashion to seep through and penetrate the layers of ideological rock between the catwalk and the factory floor.
Perhaps the man-bag is here to stay, settling finally at the bourgois layers but I don’t believe it will make an appearance on a council estate any time soon. That’s just my own observation.

Given it’s popularity amongst men that moisturise, perhaps it’s slogan, to paraphrase Marx and Engels, should be “metrosexuals of the world, unite”.

You’ll definitely be in an exclusive club carrying one of these around. I don’t see miners or builders taking their packed lunches to work in them any time soon. But maybe archaic attitudes towards machismo take longer to iron out in some people and eventually, we'll all be donning them.
Wherever aesthetics is prized – sports stars, celebrities, affluent city workers, then this is the accessory de jour.
It’s the opposite of understated style, mind. Elegance is about subtlety and nothing advertises your assets like a man-bag.
I can already see the sudden surge of men reporting their handbags stolen. Mascara running from their eyes, chiselled jawlines contorted in a Droopy Dog scowl, crying about the expensive makeup they could never hope to replace.

Crime will increase and the Home Office will be under additional pressure to tackle it. It's the dawn of a new age alright.

Once upon a time the pockets in a pair of jeans was ample space enough for a man to carry all his belongings and tackle the day like a demin clad Tarzan. The man-bag is a sign of an age when Jane is left to fend for herself because Tarzan is too busy filing his nails and far too pretty to risk grappling a hungry leopard.
Fashion has absorbed us all in and tapped into a new market.

Perhaps, I’m being too critical of the man-bag. It's not entirely offensive and does have a practical purpose, even though it sounds off about it with much aplomb.

But it boils down to the traditional makeup of what it means to be a man:

Fashionably low-key and laissez-faire, traditionally understated and classic with minimal effort and no extravagances - it's what has allowed Roberto Cavalli, Hugo Boss and Giorgio Armani to corner the market for guys.

Could you imagine Bogart or Cagney carrying a man-bag?

My own opinion is that men's fashion has always been about off-the-cuff cool. We don't want our identities challenged but reaffirmed time and time again - which is why the question "Was he better than me?" is so often on our lips. Know this and we're going to get along just fine.

Perceptively, it has the subtlety of a bag-pipe with all the noise and clamour and effort.

It screams of "I'm trying too hard".

And a guy who is trying too hard looks like, well, a guy who is trying too hard.

Say what you will, it'll certainly be a piece of man-kit that will have people talking and opinion divided.

The man-bag - Coming Soon to a Boyfriend near you.

Of Wine and Men

A man goes through many stages in his life; the pre-adolescent tree climbing, den builder; the angsty adolescent with bad acne riding his surfboard on the giant hormone wave; followed by the late-teen punk or cock-a-snoot cool guy, cigarettes, girls, denims and little else besides.

Eventually, all these guises are to be superseded by the career-driven yuppie with money and mortgages on his mind. Such is the way of the world.

One thing that never changed with me however, despite the haircuts and the musical tastes, is how much I liked red wine (never been a fan of white). Being Italian, I grew up knowing that a dinner at the table without a bottle of wine was as incomplete as Joanie without Chachi. A meal was made or lost by the wine that washed it down.

Therefore, I couldn’t enjoy a meal without a glass of red wine.

My grandmother used to insist upon telling me that wine “gave you blood”. It’s an Italian saying which is to be interpreted literally in meaning – a glass of wine adds a shot of blood to your system. Blood being the elixir of life, you can gauge the importance of a tipple.

But there my interest with wine ended. I try and keep things simple, so knowing I liked red and knowing I didn’t like white, was the extent of my knowledge.

I preferred it that way – the reality is that I’d love to be impassioned about wine and know what I’m talking about but, like many people, I never knew who to turn to for advice.
My ignorance was a comfort blanket from facing this dilemma.
Which is why the world of wine tasting always struck fear into my bosom.

All that changed recently, when I had the opportunity to spend some time with someone who could distinguish the apples in a dry white and taste the oak in a red. This chap would make recommendations such as ”chilled fino is the best all-rounder sherry on the market” and sound like he knew what he was talking about. Opening up his world to mine, and using plain English, I began to understand, slowly, the nuances of wine. I began to relax and appreciate it. I became comfortable around grapes and barrels and the process of wine-making easier to comprehend. (for those Italians out there, you may share a childhood memory with me of seeing an uncle or your own father even, squashing grapes using his feet – the traditional method of wine pressing – which may account for the large-scale conversion of Italian 20-somethings from wine to lager).

Understanding wines requires meticulous research, a knowledgeable insider to show you the ropes, a patience to sit through waffle and an ability to spend many an hour sniffing and gargling wine and not actually drinking it.
At times it felt like scaling Dante’s layered Heaven trying to get at the summit.

Enjoying wine, however, is less taxing. It's a case of picking a vintage you like and if it's good enough, sticking with it.

After decrypting the jargon and finally getting an opportunity to drink, I did discover that there is a wealth of information out there for the non-cognoscenti from books to the ubiquitous Google search to help you out.
With barbecues and dinner dates to go on, choosing a good wine is important. A bad wine can sour a good meal, so with the maxim “white for fish, red for meat and champagne for hot tubs” I’ve discovered a few sites which list some decent vino for you to enjoy (bear in mind, these lists change yearly).
Grab a few off the list, stick them in your wine rack and come party time, deliver the killer bottle with a knowing smile. Easy peasy. Things that from a distance appear difficult, are quite simple close up.

Here’s the Observer list of great vintages for 2007.

http://observer.guardian.co.uk/foodmonthly/story/0,,2172443,00.html

And for those interested - a history of wine is available to read on Wikipedia:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_wine

Manchester Jazz Festival

Manchester has been possessed by the spirits of Chet Baker and Duke Ellington this week and there’s not a priest in the city that can exorcise it.
For those already in the know, Manchester’s Jazz Festival has taken over the city. This is the 13th edition of this musical showcase of sax power.
An amalgam of Northwest and worldwide talent, this festival features 60 bands in 10 venues, day and night until the 26th.

Performers such as The Troubadours featuring Kirsty Almeida; the Tom Sykes Quartet, Alex Douglas and Steve Grossman – the US Sax player from Miles Davis’ late 60’s jazz-fusion band - will be out there pouring sweet musical syrup into your ears, making your head swing to the heights and grooves of Bossa and bebop.

As a non-smoker it’s the only time I’d endorse lifting the smoking ban, purely because I grew up with images of smoky joints and trumpets; the two seemed as necessarily accompanied as Sonny and Cher.

Conceived in New Orleans and moving up the Mississippi River to Memphis, St. Louis and finally Chicago -Jazz is an artistic phenomenon, weaving together African tribal music, French hornets and scales, African-American rhythms and a dash of myth and folklore.

Jazz, like no other music, offers unprecedented scope for improvisation, ad-libbing, and exploration of the human condition. Structure is torn apart and what remains is a free-flowing beat of the conscience. Jazz is perennially cool and never irrelevant. Unlike many musical styles, it transcends eras and is never a fad.

The Beat Generation couldn’t exist without it and much of our inspiring and prophetic literature would remain unwritten. That’s something you could never say about the Cheeky Girls or Britney.

The events and venues are scattered around the city, so whether you’re a real jazz fan or simply a jazz tourist, there will be something to entertain you – from photographic exhibitions of jazz history to jam sessions that you can join in.

If you get the opportunity get out here, don’t let it pass – head out to Manchester, a city that’s currently performing as a New Orleans drag act, and get your groove on.

“Why all the fuss?” you ask.
As Louis Armstrong once said, "If you gotta ask, you’ll never know"

Festival runs from 18th-26th July. For a programme visit www.manchesterjazz.com.

BodyWorlds 4 Exhibition

When this exhibition first came to Manchester I was in two minds to go see it. Gripped between an attraction to see something new and "controversial" and wondering whether I'd have the stomach for it.

I had read and seen many articles and TV clips of Professor Gunther von Hagens' pioneering work on plastination - halting decomposition and allowing human bodies to be preserved for medical studies and was always intrigued by it.

It was all impressive to the layman and to be honest a little morbid too. Obviously themes about death always seem to twang our mortality chords and it's not something many people fancy thinking about, letting alone surrounding themselves by it.

But death isn't the theme of this work and whether you believe in an after-life or not, you should definitely check it out.

Rather than pondering the big question of "What does it all mean?" etc, I found myself being amazed by the way we're formed -each specimen on display is arranged to show how our body dynamics operate, from the guitar player attempting a lick, to the "soccer" players leaping in the air kicking a ball. I began looking at these models like a mechanic views a car engine.

I was assured that every exhibit had, prior to his/her death, consented to allowing their body to be used for medical and scientific study. This point was underlined throughout this tour - in fact, at the end of the exhibit you can even sign up to allow your own body to be used as a canvass of human questioning and reasoning.

I declined, perhaps influenced by my own semi-religious upbringing of allowing one to return to nature etc.

But I will say, that it is thanks to exhibits like this that we gain a greater understanding about how we move, how we operate, how we are constructed and made, how our systems operate, how diseases devastate us and how we can cure them.

I'm personally going to stear clear of tackling any moral issues brought up by Professor von Hagens' work but judging by the popularity of his work amongst all sectors of society, we cannot ignore that it is important nonetheless.

This is something we should be exposed to from time to time - something to hold up a mirror to "what" we are ("who" we are is a topic theologians and philosophers are busy tackling).

I came away understanding my own body a little better and how I could improve it - it's limitations as well as it's ability to perform outside of them too.

BodyWorlds 4 Exhibition will be featured at the Museum of Science and Industry until the 17th August.

open late Thursday to Saturday until 9pm (last entry 8pm)
Tickets now available to buy online or Tel: 0871 231 0847
Under 16s must be accompanied by an adult.

Visit http://www.mosi.org.uk/whats-on/body-worlds-4 for further info.

The Real Summer Sports Story

As I myself begin preparations to compete in a triathlon this September, I've been casting an eye on Manchester's own Olympic superstar in the making, Victoria Pendleton to learn something from her performances. At least, that's the excuse I've been using.

Undoubtedly, the talk in Manchester may have been about the two Ronnies (Cristiano Ronaldo's will he-won't he's proposed move from Utd, and the optimistic bid by Utd's rivals City in attempting to reel in Ronaldinho), but the real story of the summer will be about Victoria's attempts at securing herself a gold in Beijing.
There will be something of a point to prove this August, as four years ago the Wythenshawe Wonder returned from Athens without the gold.
The 27 year old cyclist has since been dominating every event she has entered, winning a total of six world championship gold medals, including two on her home track in March.
As the red hot favourite for her event, the pressure will be on in front of the billions watching.
However, given her dedication to her training and going on her current form (no pun intended) there is little doubt that this eostrogen-laced rocket will triumph for Britain and more importantly, Manchester.

If you do get the opportunity, please check her out - this incredible athlete really has brought back the sex appeal into cycling and may motivate you to get on your bike (no pun intended). Getting your friends to join you and starting your own BMX gang may be taking things too far though....

A Beautiful Day Out Festival

Arley Hall, Cheshire - 12th July 2008

Music lovers are spoilt for choice with two all day festivals in the region (Summer in the Park being the other one). Pick of the day is this folk music picnic festival at the picturesque Arley Hall, just 30 mins from Manchester.

A talented and formidable line-up has been assembled for this gig, boasting : The Levellers, who are headlining the prestigious Cambridge Folk Festival two weeks later, Seth Lakeman, Dreadzones, 3 Daft Monkeys, an acoustic set from Chumbawamba and Nick Harper, the son of Manchester born music legend, Roy Harper. Let's hope the weather will be equally as great as the acts.

A BEAUTIFUL DAY OUT featuring...

THE LEVELLERS

SETH LAKEMAN

CHUMBAWAMBA
DREADZONE

NICK HARPER
3 DAFT MONKEYS

Tickets available online : http://www.ticketmaster.co.uk/event/1F004053B7D65F77?camefrom=CFC_UK_BUYAT_pomaffiliate&brand=uk_partner;

or alternatively call 0844 847 2277

The Big Summer Six Pack Question

Summer is at last upon us and nothing signals the arrival of this warm season than the hordes of shirtless and oiled men who walk down our High Streets.

Forget the image of Glastonbury, beer gardens, girls in short skirts or the sight of BMX riding kids devouring Calypso lollipops on their summer holidays. Forget all that.

The champion icon of the British summer is now, without question, the Topless Male. He is now a species unto himself.
Speaking as one who’s body has lapsed into a state of catatonic atropism it may sound like Jealousy Herself rearing it’s head, but it is not.
I too, once ever so briefly, achieved what insiders in the business would call “developed abdominalis” and the rest of us merely a “six pack”.
My abdominal muscles were so solid, that even professedly heterosexual males would touch and think of the word “steel” (some would utter it aloud). And boy did it stroke my ego like a little girl would stroke her favourite kitten. And being on the whole human and male and full of testosterone, I would invite grown men, from time to time, to punch me in the stomach, as a demonstration of strength. Boys will be boys unfortunately and some will behave idiotically.
But still, even then, I largely kept my six pack under wraps, to be unleashed only in times of urgent necessity. I viewed my six pack, knowing how much effort went into obtaining it, not as a superficial mirror I could reflect my vanities upon, but as a byproduct of training my core muscles to improve my balance, and improve my training output. The fact there were lumps in the middle of my body was nice, but not the whole story.
Showing off is the preserve of the peacock and a peacock, though beautiful, is ultimately useless. It will not discover the cure for AIDS anytime soon.
Now, the big question of the summer, is not so much whether Big Brother has reached the apex of trashiness, nor whether the combination of a slowing housing market and rocketing oil prices will leave many people feeling the pinch. No, the question of the summer will be - is there far too much man-breast on the average street?
If you are a male who spends a lot of time in the gym, naturally I can understand your need to show off the fruits of your labour. I know that whilst a lot of people are safe in the comfy confines of their homes, you toil in a smelly gym with poor ventilation and rusty equipment, straining under the weight of gravity and your own ego.

No-one to say “well done son” or “my your handsome” etc. It sometimes feels like it’s all for nothing.
But I urge you, this summer leave the shirt on. Please.

Of course, many women will disagree with me on this issue. But shame on you - you're only encouraging this smorgasbord of man-flesh.

Then again, I really may be jealous after all...

El Grande Pablo

Another act this month whom I wish to feature is Pablo Francisco.
A brilliant young American comedian making his debut in the North West. Pablo Francisco has developed quite a cult following through his Myspace comedy page and his YouTube videos. An immense and original talent who combines stand up, impersonations and technical trickery. He hosts his own Special on “Comedy Central”, provides voices for “The Family Guy” and has appeared on “The Tonight Show With Jay Leno”. An innovative entertainer with a very radiant future ahead of him.Pablo will be appearing at The Lowry, Salford Quays, on Thursday 3rd July at 20:00hrs.

Buy tickets online at: http://www.ticketmaster.co.uk/artist/787269?camefrom=CFC_UK_BUYAT_pomaffiliate&brand=uk_partnerOr alternatively call: 0844 847 2277

The Month of Kylie

July should be rebudded - THE MONTH OF KYLIE

Like that spaceship in the movie Independence Day, you can’t help but notice the looming presence in Manchester of Kylie.
The pixie-sized pop princess who continues to defy age and preconceptions by gyrating like a Whirling Dervish on a pogo stick, is here once again to entertain and scintillate us - the masses of insatiable pop consumers.
Her appearances are always welcome these days, having overcome the big C with a smile and her hotpants intact.
Her on-off relationship with Olivier Martinez will not prove a distraction from the professional business of looking good whilst delivering her lyrics and dance routines to beat-perfect pop tunes.
And with 43 singles under her belt, there’ll be bound to be one in there that’ll have you delivering your own (slightly less impressive) dance routine.

She will be appearing at Manchester’s MEN Arena from 12th-19th JulyTickets on sale now. Ticket price £49.