Leicester ticked off at last - and in some style

My 78th ground of the current 92 was Leicester City's King Power stadium, which I went to with my Foxes supporting pal James Armstrong and witnessed a shock win for Blackburn Rovers in the FA Cup.

It was a great atmosphere and a packed away end, which was helped in no small measure by the performance.

As stadiums go it was nothing special as a new build. Location wise it's within reach of the city centre, rather than stuck out on a retail park like some of the new builds are.

I've never been to a music festival

 

Do you want to know a secret? I’ve never been to a festival. 

I’ve been to mega raves, super clubs, dingy gigs in smoky rooms, stadiums, arenas and even the Witchwood in Ashton.

But never to a festival. The closest was a very muddy Milton Keynes Bowl in 1985 to see U2 headline a mega day of music that included REM, The Ramones, Spear of Destiny and Billy Bragg. It was great, but very, very wet and featured the one thing that has put me off ever going to a festival - awful toilets, and then the inevitable consequence of that, flying bottles of wee.

Ever since, whenever I’ve looked at the line-ups of a festival I think of what  the facilities and food will be like. I used to think that the handy festival guides in weekend newspapers should have had a graphic icon with a flying bottle of urine on, to denote whether it was somewhere that this was likely to happen. I understand why festival organisers wouldn’t support that. 

I didn’t even go to a festival I could literally walk home to, the annual Moovin Festival in Compstall which to be fair looks very good.

Lots of people my age say they want to try and get to Glastonbury at least once. Good luck with that. The waiting list is enormous and the scramble for tickets is an absolute bunfight. But if you’re nice to Thomas in Brenda Warrington’s office at the Town Hall in Dukinfield, he always seems to get a sniff of tickets. 

So this summer, I’ve found two absolute corkers to lose my festival cherry at. 

One, Kite Festival in Oxfordshire is billed as a festival of music and ideas. As much as I’m looking forward to dancing to Saint Etienne and Grace Jones, I’m also quite excited about talks by David Miliband and Delia Smith (let’s be having you!).

It will certainly be a new experience sleeping in a hired camper van for a couple of nights and obviously a lot depends on the English weather.

The other, Bluedot Festival, is closer to home, just down the road at the atmospheric setting of Jodrell Bank Observatory in Cheshire on the third weekend in July. 

It’s literally the Music Therapy set list in live form. Headlining Sunday evening with a UK Festival Exclusive and uniquely commissioned performance alongside Manchester’s famed Halle Orchestra is international superstar Björk.

Legendary Scottish post-rockers Mogwai will headline Saturday night alongside Indie-electro giants, Metronomy whilst one of the best-loved dance acts, Groove Armada will close Friday night.

The stellar line-up also sees Spiritualized, Yard Act, Working Mens Club, A Certain Ratio, Tim Burgess, Squarepusher and Anna Meredith amongst many more acts.

There’s even an appearance in the spoken word tent of so-called comedian Stewart Lee, talking about his music documentary film King Rocker.

I’ve really had my love of music rekindled over the last couple of years, since we’ve been producing Music Therapy for you, and so the efforts of people in the music business to put on very special shows like this is more welcome than ever. 

And it’s just a hunch, but I don’t think I’ll need to worry about flying bottles with this crowd. 

(column from the Tameside Reporter / Glossop Chronicle, 11 February 2022)

Francis, Kevin and Rachel

We pack a lot into our little holidays, and we always seem to learn a thing or two.

Full Irish breakfast to start a busy day, comes without baked beans, and soda bread is better than two slices of holy ghost. 

We had a lovely chat to Pat Casey, the manager of the Glendalough Hotel, who enjoyed learning about our visit to the former seat of one of his predecessors, Francis Slefer, Rachel's great grandfather. He showed us around the documents and the hotel diary, the reason why the name lost its Royal in the 1980s. 

Pat also pointed us along the way to the ruins of Derralossary Church, a Protestant chapel, where Francis and his wife Agnes and son Karel are buried. The grave is right next to the family resting place of Erskine Childers, the only President of Ireland to die in office in 1974, and his author and rebel son who wrote The Riddle of the Sands, and was killed by the Black and Tans in the Civil War. 

We took in St Kevin’s Church and read of the story of a blackbird nesting in the outstretched hand of the imprisoned Kevin of Glendalough, immortalised in a Seamus Heaney poem. It's self-sacrifice, doing untold good for others, no matter the personal cost, which on the occasion of the special birthday for the most generous soul I know is remarkably appropriate.

Maybe because I was raised tantalising close to the sea I have a thing for seaside towns, closed down, forgotten, or revived. Bray looks like the latter. Lovely, tidy Bray. The seaside town that refused to shut down. Inevitably, ill-equipped and under-estimating, we cracked on and walked a sharp route to Bray Head Cross on the headland above the town. Maybe I missed something dark, a few streets back from the shore, but I loved Bray and I think it's the town Morecambe could be.

We watched the sunset on a beautiful trip as the sky lit up red over Dublin Airport. 

Happy birthday,  Rachel. I don't think I could love you any more, but I'll keep trying. Keep stretching out that hand.

Back to live, back to reality - Richard Hawley at the Piece Hall in Halifax

We're all supposed to be reminding ourselves what it feels like to be normal and human again. You will no doubt be reading blogs and news pieces about the return to the office, about how town centre retail is busy again, and how we're experiencing different social spaces.

Last weekend we went to our first live concert since forever. I had to pause and think when the last gig was, and I genuinely can't be arsed to look it up, to be honest, but it was in 2019. I feel now, more than ever, that I was sleepwalking through life. I was passing opportunities by, saying no to things that we would enjoy, missing out on good times with friends that I so easily thought could be put off until another day. I think we've all been reminded there might well not be another day. Something else could so easily come along and strip us of all these opportunities to be human. 

Let's get the obvious out of the way first. We saw Richard Hawley and John Grant at the Piece Hall in Halifax, a gorgeous open space that on a warm late summer evening felt like a Tuscan hill fort. You couldn't have asked for a better setting. I watched the whole operation unfolding around us, the people putting the stage together, the musicians, the people selling stuff, and just could have wept for how uncertain their life has been over the last two years, being unable to do what they do so well. The audience, for the most part (more later) were nice middle aged people experiencing, like us, that first tentative step into the reset of reality, of life as it's meant to be lived, not cooped up at home. 

We missed Stephen Fretwell (my fault), but John Grant was as emotionally raw and beautifully honest as I would have expected. Richard Hawley too, cool, effortless, humble. He was just viscerally, creatively brilliant. I could honestly not have scripted a better return to the live experience. I think he checked himself before he burst into Tonight the Streets Are Ours and spotted the profound relevance of what he was about to sing to us all:

Do you know why you got feelings in your heart? 

Don't let fear of feeling fool you 

 What you see sets you apart 

 And there's nothing here to bind you 

 It's no way for life to start

The writer Eamonn Forde has come up with some good suggestions for new rules about live music on the Music Business Worldwide website. It's a good indication of how we're all going to have to ease into this new reality. I dare say New Order this Friday at Heaton Park will be a bit different.

There was a guy standing near us who clearly enjoyed being back. He looked like a nice bloke who would no doubt enliven any party, especially with a couple of beers in him, and maybe I was forgiving of him because he looked a bit like the Blackburn Rovers player Bradley Dack. All the way through John Grant, and then Richard Hawley, he cackled away, roaring with laughter and taking up a lot of space, entertaining his friends with jokes and quips. After about an hour into Hawley's set I spotted that another bloke's patience had snapped. He had Dacky by the lapels and was telling him in no uncertain terms to dial it down. After that, an awkward stillness descended. I felt a bit sorry for him as he smiled at his friends, who also looked a bit sheepish at having contributed to the buzz, but saw Mr Centre of Attention had copped for a dressing down. At the same time, I was pleased that someone (not me) was prepared to police the boundaries of behaviour with nothing more than a bit of verbals.

We're stepping into new terrain; life feels brittle enough as it is. I hope we manage to hold it all together as best we can, to be tolerant, considerate and happy.

The meaning of football

It was always going to be an emotional return to Blackburn Rovers. For me, it’s been gradual. A long in the planning trip to Euro 2020 that took me and my friend, Steven, to his home city of Glasgow for Ukraine v Sweden; a pre-season friendly at one of the English non-league’s new challenger clubs, AFC Fylde, and another warm-up at home to Leeds.

For different reasons, they all had something special about them that rather brilliantly lined up the main event of yesterday.

It’s been an awfully long time away. It would have been very easy to give up all of what I’m about to say. The first home league game at Ewood Park felt remarkably like the last one some 500 sleeps ago. That it was also against sneaky Swansea and with a weak referee was but a coincidence, but that the full quota of regulars sat around our berth on row 11 of the Riverside was a moment of affirmation of a sense of belonging. The players led the 10,000 crowd in applause pre-match for all those we’ve lost in this dreadful pandemic. I daren’t look, or speculate, at the empty seats behind us, that these prime spots aren’t once again populated by familiar faces and, though nameless, characters with who we have formed a bond. And it was delightful to take our friend Ian Herbert as our guest, one of those many people who we have got to know through football and who is always great to be around.

It was also about the rituals. One of which is held in my hand, in the shape of a Clayton Park Potato and Meat Pie. On another occasion, we’ll pop into Leavers Bakery on Bolton Road for a fix of the very best pre-match pie in all of football.

But there’s been a heck of a lot to dislike about football lately. The greed, the scramble to appeal to the vanity of an oligarch to bail out every club in the great unseemly gamble to not fall victim to ‘beware of what you wish for’. The Euros represented the best and worst of football, even for this Anglo-Welshman. A blend of hope, pride, and shame.

As for our team, despite the optimism of Rod Liddle in the Sunday Times who seems to think the ever-improving Blackburn Rovers will finish in the top six, without acknowledging that we’re about to see our best player leave through the same exit door as ten other former first-team regulars, the mood amongst the fans is gloomy. Tony Mowbray seems to have lost what mojo he ever had and is at least honest enough to admit the financial situation is grim. Though we were good for the win yesterday there are still too many players out of position (Rothwell, Gallagher, Dolan and Diaz, notably), the late substitutions disrupt any capacity to control a game fully, and there’s an unhealthy obsession with giving valuable Championship playing time to squad members of the Under 23s, of Everton, Manchester City and Liverpool, rather than those of Blackburn Rovers. That said, the stand-out player for me yesterday was homegrown John Buckley, who at times looked Tugay-esque.

I could have said all of that from the comfort of my sofa. That I didn’t is a tribute to the powerful draw of football, its culture, its rituals and our friends. Between those two Rovers matches have been three new grounds ticked off the list - FC United (159), Hampden Park (160) and AFC Fylde (161). I have a few in my sights this season, but probably will only barely stay in the 80s in my quest to ‘do the 92’.

Steven, with whom I've shared so many great memories, also helped us make a new one as he took me to Cathkin Park in Glasgow to visit the eerie remains of the home of Third Lanark, once a real force in Scottish football. The three sides of a bowl of terraces remain, as are the crush barriers, the pitchside wall, and if I’m being spiritual, a presence of what went before. It’s a tale of corruption and sectarianism I’m keen to discover more about. It’s proof that it’s more than just an old building, but a relic of our true human experience. So yes, forgive the obsession, but I’m oddly fascinated by stadia, where they are and where they were. I still have a frisson of excitement and anticipation in Manchester’s Moss Side on the approaches to the old Maine Road. I always look up from the train as it arrives at Bolton and eye-up the site of the old Burnden Park. But this was something else entirely. 

We’re going to make more memories this season. Mostly in the company of Blackburn Rovers, but also Lancaster City, Matt Jansen’s Stockport Town and maybe a few other random days out too. Hopefully, the Rovers ones will be surprisingly happy ones, but to be really honest, whatever happens on the pitch, they are going to be far better being there than not. Ask the ghosts of Third Lanark.

This thing of ours - so lucky

I've said before how much I cherish our trips to the football with two of my lads. The rock on which this is built is partly our bond, but also the underlying foundation of football culture in our country. Sometimes it can be toxic and repellent, but for the most part we need to remind ourselves that it is a collective pursuit of a common good and something unifying in a time of division. Afterall, all living is meeting, and we have a really good laugh along the way.

We had a great fun day out in the sponsors lounge at Stoke with a mate and his business colleagues, who generously let the lads present the man of the match award to a gutted Joe Allen. He's probably our favourite Stoke player, though that's particularly for his international performances as the Welsh Xavi. 

Then the next Saturday, on the train home from our win over Derby, three lads from Finland got on my horrible Northern Rail train home at Manchester Piccadilly. They'd been to Everton v Chelsea, they were then heading for Norwich for a game the next day to see the Canaries Finnish striker Teemu Pukki. Clearly they were on the wrong train, having been as confused as I often am by Platform 13, and I so hope they managed to get to Carrow Road eventually. But in that short space of a journey to Stockport we talked about so much, mainly Shefki Kuqi, Stockport County and next year's European Championships, the first major tournament Finland have qualified for.

"You are so lucky," one said, while his mate shuffled anxiously through the Trainline app to find another route across our rail network. "To have this football culture in your country. We have nothing like this." He's so right, we are lucky.

Have an awayday, Glasgow Rangers away

I’m often reminded on a football related trip to a city that I barely touch the surface, but that those you do tend to be a bit sticky.

We were early for our agreed rendezvous in a location near the station, so ate first. Given we were meeting my mate’s son, wife and baby grandson, it wasn’t going to be a ‘Spoons or a spit and sawdust bar. But we ended up spending only the briefest of time in Platform under the arches, with its artisan craft stalls and interesting ethnic street food.

I like Glasgow, I’ve been for work a few times, and was best man at John and Rachel’s wedding 21 glorious years ago, all full of happy memories. The grand and imposing industrial centre, and the embrace of the Clyde is redolent of Newcastle, and the people have an easy charm.

The experience of taking the miniature Subway to Ibrox and the stroll around the ground before the game were probably bereft of the everyday edge you’d get from a Rangers fixture in the season. Certainly I couldn’t imagine getting away with unfurling a flag outside the Louden Tavern would be acceptable to fans of Aberdeen or Hibs.

Then again, much as it fed the occasion to be amongst 1600 travelling Rovers fans, most of whom seemed to have been on our four carriage Trans Pennine Express train that morning, it really wasn’t much more than a glorified training session. Rangers were the better team in the first half and Defoe showed class in how he put his goal away. All my frustrations with several of our regulars picked up where they left off last season. Happily too so did my ever so slightly irrational love of Lewis Travis. The second half featured more of our exciting crop of young players and I saw more to like about the skilful and industrious John Buckley. Ben Brereton and Richie Smallwood have wilder hairstyles, the latter I hope because he’s on a journey to becoming the Redcar Pirlo, effortless style, a “brio”, “sprezzatura”, a different sort of axeman.

By the way, I’m over the horrid away kit. It is what it is.

We couldn’t not go today. We also couldn’t not go into the heart of darkness that is the Louden Tavern for a quick drink after the game. It was everything I suspected and worse, I hadn’t realised that this scene in T2 was a documentary. But we were greeted as friends and comrades, a secret handshake away from joining in the loud renditions of battle songs. When the early chimes of Matchstalk Men piped up I thought it was a nice touch to embrace their Lancastrian visitors. Nah! Old tune, different lyrics and papist bashing.

Fulham away is next, and I do love a London trip. There won’t be time for a stop over at the Design Museum for the Kubrick exhibition, but it won’t detract from a pleasant pre-match refreshments around Putney Bridge, nor will it feel like a missed opportunity. That said, to keep things consistent, we squeezed in a personal Glasgow tradition; a curry.

And of course one of the reasons for these trips is it’s a taster for a return. You couldn’t say that about Scunthorpe or Northampton.

Viva Marseille

We had a tremendous time in Marseille. It all came about after meeting a lovely French bloke who worked in the hotels world. We wanted to go away in early June to somewhere neither of us had been before. He recommended Hotel Dieu in Marseille. What a glorious surprise the whole city was. As a port city you expect a certain grit, but it was nothing like as rough as I feared. In many ways it felt like somewhere that is changing and modernising, while trying hard to preserve its edge, without having the swish elan of Nice and Cannes, which I've been to many times before.

We took in the sights on the first day - Notre Dam, the harbour, Mucem. Then we headed for the small coastal town of Cassis on day two.

Getting around, as it is in so many European cities, was easy and safe.

To quote my favourite film, one ought to have a room with a view on the first visit. As you can see, we certainly had that. But we also treated ourselves to a real quality hotel, way above what we'd normally go for. Poached eggs at breakfast will never be same now we've had them cooked by a Michelin starred chef.

The only disappointment was Boullabaise. We felt obliged to try it, but fish soup is fish soup and wasn't worth the tourist premium we got fleeced with.

We have a few other European cities in our sites for visits soon. Recommendations welcome.

A tourist in my own youth - a great day trip to Edinburgh

Edinburgh has so many good memories. Day trips, the Festival, and when our pal Dave Crossen lived in the city, we had weekends, New Years and I even had a week long holiday up there.

Yesterday we added another as we enjoyed a day out for the football, watching Blackburn Rovers win 2-0 at Paul Hanlon's testimonial against Hibernian at Easter Road, another new ground I'd not been to before. You can read very little into friendly matches, but Scottish football must be in a bit of a mess if that was the fourth best team in the country. It seems to me the SPL is basically Man United (Celtic), Leeds (Rangers), Forest (Aberdeen), Birmingham City (Hibs), Ipswich (Hearts) and half a dozen random teams from League One. But the city was the attraction yesterday, glorious and welcoming. Stunning to be around and it seems to be growing in self-confidence and modernising since the last time I visited.

Hopefully that's something to do with the efforts of Paul Lawrence, once of this parish, who invited us along to West Princes Gardens to see a delightful new fountain.

It was a great trip up and a rubbish journey home as we had cancellations and delays which stretched the day out. But you can't fault a day with the people you love, deep fried Mars bars, City Cafe, Leith Walk and the Royal Mile.

The season's over - the view from the Riverside

We've recorded a BRFCS / Rovers Chat end of season podcast, which was a real blast.

It's got Rich Sharpe from the Lancashire Telegraph, Tom Schofield from Rovers Chat and the 1875 podcast, Scott Sumner from 4000 Holes me, Mike Delap representing BRFCS and superbly pulled together and edited by Ian Herbert.

We even try a Blackburn Rovers-themed "Defend the Indefensible" round.  It's all so massive we've done it as a two parter. Part 1 and Part 2.

In his typically modest and understated way, Ian has thanked publicly all of our panelists and guests this last season who all give their time for free. Their support is greatly appreciated. I'd like to thank him, it's no small effort getting us match fit and ready to be vaguely coherent. Hopefully you enjoy listening. Please spread the word if you do... The link on iTunes is here.

I think I've pretty much exhausted everything I can say about this great, great season. It's really been a lift and I'm chuffed to have made some good pals along the way. There's more than just the team to be proud of, as I say on the podcast the club is in good shape behind the scenes, the media is as good as it has been for a long time - Rich Sharpe at the otherwise dismal Lancashire Telegraph is a true pro - the social media team at Rovers are top drawer, 4000 Holes fanzine is really good (though the quiz is too hard) and I always look forward to Jim Wilkinson's Blue Eyed Boy blogs - very, very special.

I did promise to mention the home games after last week's blog about the away trips. We usually go the same way, we always park in the same place, we try and get a pie from Leavers, but in its own beautiful way, every day is different. As a fall back, an overpriced Hollands on the ground is alright, I suppose.

Best performance: Shrewsbury. That was great, it had everything including a dreadful referee. But we properly marked out our intent that day.

Best atmosphere: First half against Wigan. Amazing.

Most ashamed to be a Rovers fan: Never. I even can't be bothered to summon up the energy to be angry about the dicks that invaded the pitch before the end of the game on Saturday. I know we did it at Doncaster, on the whistle, but Saturday was a bit different and not very spontaneous. Quite liked the righteous disgust from the rest of us.

Best pre-match scoff: Leavers on Bolton Road is still the king of the pie. I'll take whatever they have by the time we've got there, potato and meat for Joe, or chicken and bean for Louis. I like their traditional meat pie best.

Best visiting supporters: You'd expect the North West clubs to bring a few, and they did, contributing some real energy to the season, Oldham and Wigan both did so. But Plymouth brought a fair old contingent for a Tuesday night when they were bottom of the league.

Most shithouse team: Northampton Town at home, as they were away. I'd sign John-Joe O'Toole just for the devilment.

Best team we played: The teams that beat us at Ewood deserve respect for doing just that - Doncaster and Wimbledon - but Bristol Rovers were robbed, frankly. They should have beaten us fair and square, they were brave and athletic and maybe like a few others (Southend, Peterborough), just lacked that consistency and X Factor - we've been so blessed with Bradley Dack and Charlie Mulgrew to pop up with some magic when it's needed.

Best thing about League One: We won most weeks and I'd forgotten how that feels.

Worst thing about League One: the referees have been absolutely dreadful. Most are unfit, all are inconsistent, they are either ludicrously fickle or stupidly stubborn. It evened itself out over the season though.

Best known faces in our stand: Tim Farron MP, fashion guru Gary Aspden, Councillor Dave Smith and former Deputy VC of UCLAN, Alan Roff.

Best thing about BBC Radio Lancashire when we jump back in the car: Tony Mowbray's interviews. I could listen to Mowbray all day. He describes a game I actually watched and he doesn't whinge or come up with lame excuses. He has genuine enthusiasm for the game and conveys that real authentic belief in his squad without ever coming across as one of the lads. He's probably the best Rovers manager at the post-match interview that I can recall. Dalglish never gave much away, Souness was great, but often lost his rag, Allardyce and Hughes very predictable, Bowyer dour, Lambert incomprehensible, Kean and Coyle spouted nonsense. Tony Mowbray is peerless, actually.

Second best thing: Morecambe boss Jim Bentley's interviews. "Three lads out there lost limbs today. Two actually died."

Grimmest day: Hull at home in the FA Cup was awful, but it turned out I was seriously ill at the time. Spent the next few days in hospital.

Best day: The build up on a glorious sunny day to the last game against Oxford was special.

Thanks to everyone again. All the people who sit round us make for a great occasion too. The old fellah behind with his dry asides, the young bloke who is so well-informed about other results he seems to have Jeff Stelling in his ear, then there's the loud bloke who berates the linesman every match and some berk who screams "Referee, get him off, he's an animal. He could have killed him!"

None of this would be the same without you, Rovers fans. It was even worth getting a speeding ticket on Grane Road on the way to the early Wigan game. Roll on next season.

Still upbeat after clash of the Rovers at Bristol

It’s never a pleasure to come off a game when you’ve looked at the clock and it’s 1-0 and it’s 90+4, and then in the blink of an eye and the swing of a boot it’s 1-1. And at this stage of the season I’m not in the mood for fair results overall or laments over wasted chances. Part of me wants it to end. Another just wants this season to go on and on. More new grounds, more trips with my lads, more lunches with friends in nice pubs and cafes in parts of England I haven’t been to before. But also that feeling of pride that I’ve somehow got back in this football club.

I can’t feel anger at these players, only disappointment at a result. Sure Derrick Williams should have scored. Payne could have done more with the ball running at defenders. As a team they would have looked at how they might have done more to kill the energy of the game at 1-0 and into the last few minutes. Could have, should have, would have. But this team is still noticeably better than most teams they share a pitch with, and they seem to be able to avoid defeat remarkably well. As a club, we are clearly still in a very decent position. Last week against Southend was a horror show in the last few minutes, but we won. Today we looked comfortable on the ball, stronger going forward, but just missing a bit of brilliance from Dack and Armstrong. I think we owe them an enormous amount and the pressure to perform miracles must be huge. But any analysis of a football match can’t just take into account one team without acknowledging the ability of the opposition to also influence the result, so fair play to Bristol Rovers for chucking everything at us right to the end.

Some of our fans don’t half come out with some nonsense, but I’m going to hold back from repeating the extremities of what I heard from people today as I’ve no desire to fuel this debate as it’s just not helpful. But I will confess to being disappointed that the whole mentality of the team is that we’re edging closer to the finish line, rather than flowing out in pomp and with a swagger.

I enjoyed another good day out today, except for that shot from Chris Lines at 10 to 5. The Inn on the Green on Gloucester Road was a fine spot to catch up with my pal Neil Tague. I used to live in Bristol but on the opposite side of the city, and have never been to the Memorial Ground. That’s the point about this season being about discovery. It also brought back a few memories of the first long distance away trip I did on my own – the second day of May 1981 – when we missed out on promotion despite winning at the old Eastville stadium. Subsequent trips were to their temporary home at Bath City’s Twerton Park.

It’s a funny wee ground. The stand behind the goal looked like it was on loan from Chatsworth Country Fair, the terrace behind the other goal looked packed and raucous, and I liked that they call it the Tote End as a nod towards their history at Eastville. Our terrace in the corner lacked a bit of atmosphere, but the view was OK. It’s odd that a city like Bristol doesn’t have a more successful club, maybe the “Gas” getting a new stadium might be the spur that worked for Swansea and Brighton.

That makes it another new ground I’ve watched football on, the 156th. I’m still on 83 clubs out of the current 92 (the Punk 92), and I’m up to 78 of the current 92. Onwards to Doncaster. I still think we’re going up.

Wimbledon, Wromantic, but wrong

Worst view ever . Away terrace at AFC Wimbledon

Who can't be impressed by the story of the fall and rise again of AFC Wimbledon? I know I am. For a tiny supporter created club to have born again after their club was handed over as a franchise to Milton Keynes takes some doing. That they now compete at the level of League One is remarkable.

I usually just roll my eyes and cringe with embarrassment when my fellow away supporters try and find the most offensive thing they can say in order to taunt opposing supporters. On top of the usual tedious claim that a place "is a S*** hole, I want to go home" (to luxurious East Lancashire, no doubt), this season we've also had comments on the ethnic make-up of Bradford, that Blackpool are poorly supported and using MK Dons to taunt AFC Wimbledon. As the bloke trying to start an MK Dons chant was right in front of me at the Cherry Red Records Stadium, I felt compelled to call him out and say "enough".

I say all of that because I really didn't enjoy the away fans experience on our trip to Kingston to watch our 3-0 win over AFC Wimbledon this week. The view in both halves was probably the worst I've ever experienced. In the first we were tucked behind the dugout and could get no sense of the game at all. It was like standing on a packed concourse of the Riverside. In the second we moved to a piece of flat land in the corner where Rovers were attacking and couldn't see anything in the half we were defending at all.

So we must all surely wish the club well in their quest for a new stadium in Wimbledon. Kingsmeadow isn't acceptable for football at this level. Apart from anything else a team can't expect to grow on crowds capped at 4,000, let alone sustain a presence in this league. Neil Ardley mentioned the difference in budgets of the two sides and though they beat us at Ewood, the gulf in quality was really evident in the return match. The style of play was akin to a 90s Wimbledon tribute act, but one that Mulgrew and Lenihan were more than capable of absorbing and coping with, despite another woeful refereeing performance.

The two pieces of action we did have a decent view of were the two goals. I've been shouting "shoot" at Elliot Bennett all season, when he's found himself in such scoring positions, so to see him lash one in for the first time this season was a delight. I still don't get his angry celebration though. It seems contemptuous of the fans, in defiance of us, rather than an expression of communal joy.

With a trip to Walsall chalked off on the Saturday before, this marks another two new grounds. I make it the 154th and 155th grounds I've watched football on, I'm now on 83 clubs out of the total, (the Punk 92), and I'm up to 77 of the current 92.

Visit Auschwitz, it's hard, but necessary

It's been almost a year since Rachel and I took our youngest son to Krakow in Poland for a city break. Absolutely central to the trip was to visit Auschwitz and Oskar Schindler's factory in Krakow. I haven't been able to find the words to express what we experienced, but not a day has gone by that I haven't been haunted by what I saw, what we all felt and why it's important.

Part of the reason for the blockage is that there are far more eloquent witnesses than I. There are books, documentaries and witness accounts. Anything I can say also sits badly with the rest of what I warble about on this blog. Anything I could possibly express about a place of such bleak barbarity and profound evil will just look awfully crass and unfeeling. I'm sorry for that. We didn't take photographs. We took only our memories and what we were told by a tour guide who managed to describe everything in an incredibly descriptive, powerful and mesmerising way.  But I can't skip it any longer.

On a fairly regular basis friends and colleagues pop up who are planning a trip to Krakow. And to each one, I look them firmly in the eye and say that they absolutely must visit Auschwitz. It is one of the most important things you can do today but it forces you to remember and it forces you to reflect on what happens to people because we let it happen.

This week we have had Holocaust Memorial Day, the day that marks the liberation of the death camp from the Nazis. On this day, many of us remember; we share social media links, sign memorial books and light candles. Others still feel it necessary to question why we need to, question why we should and, outrageously, deny that there is even a need for us to do so. One of the reasons I have found it so hard to write anything about the experience is the sickening prevalence of Holocaust deniers. I followed the earlier trials of these attention-seeking truth twisters with horror. Their insidious motives drip feeding insult upon the injury and industrial scale cruelty of what happened.

I also despair at the hasty "yeah" and the insolent "but" that prefaces a breathtaking rant that lacks both awareness and shame. I lament the numbers game that history forces us to play, but at Auschwitz it's simply too overwhelming to contemplate engaging with anyone who offers a desultory "what about?".

I'll be honest, my primary senses weren't assaulted by either the stench of death or the intense humming of evil. What you see, what you hear and what you feel are far more overwhelming. The first horror is the piles of spectacles, suitcases and shoes in the brick built barracks behind the barbed wire and the notorious Arbeit Mach Frei gates. These mountains of artefacts betray the treachery and deceit that many of the victims were lured to. Then there's the sheer mechanised bureaucracy that sustained the vast camp itself.

On its own the death camp is hard enough to take in. But the context and the brutality of the Nazi occupation of Poland confronts you profoundly in the tour of the Jewish ghetto in Krakow and Oskar Schindler's factory. A people erased from life, eradicated like vermin, reduced to being the "other".

We won't forget that this happened, we can't. The greater danger is that we forget how. That we stop believing in love and give in to hate.

Peterborough away, creating memories and a chance to moan about trains

Seeing the sights of Peterborough, pre-match

Sometimes it's better to travel than to arrive, said no-one ever after being crammed into a two-car East Midlands train from Stockport to Peterborough for the best part of three hours. The Championship and League One fixture list clearly remains a mystery to whoever plans the allocation of trains in December.

But even the noisy accompaniment of Preston and Bolton fans on the way home couldn't take the shine off another good day watching Rovers at another new ground.

Part of the enjoyment remains the company of old friends and new on these trips. On the way down was the bloke who first took me to Ewood in 1977, Kevin Bradley. On the way home we were sat with former referee Tony Leake, sharing stories, memories and opinions about all things Rovers and reffing, particularly good for our Louis who is enjoying being the man in black at Stockport Metro League matches.

At the Blackpool away game last month I found myself behind Tony Brierley, a lad I used to go away with in the 80s; like me he now goes with his sons. They were wild times back then, and very different experiences to now. Apart from anything they were sparsely attended trips, us Rovers fans were usually numbered in our hundreds, not thousands. As we left Bloomfield Road we shared a few memories of friends of old, which necessitated me breaking the news that one of the old crew had passed away. Tony shared the thought with me that though they were great days, we were "true fans, too soon".

In a way we were, but I constantly dwell on the collective memories I'm now involved in shaping for Louis and Joe. Getting relegated last season was hard, but I felt it was coming. This season at least is a chance to enjoy a better team, winning games and playing decent football. It's certainly been a while since we've had a player like Bradley Dack to get excited about. Cairney, possibly?

It was also the first time this season that Rovers have gone behind and yet I thought we'd still win. There seemed to be the same feeling running through the packed away stand. I was massively annoyed at some of our players for getting involved in personal tussles (Samuel) and for getting booked for diving (Antonsson), but I just never thought we'd lose. Mowbray must have talked some sense into them at half time and our counter attacking breaking play was superb. Dack causes havoc among opposing defences, they can't take their eye off him and he seems to want the ball and torture them with it. Anyway, Louis has done the player ratings for Rovers Chat.

I liked that Peterborough have a ground near the city centre, where we could walk back to the station and have some food and beverage beforehand with our pals Mushtaq and Smithy. I'll call the ground by its rightful name, London Road, but it's a mish mash of styles and clearly a work in progress. Though the away end is now in the old wooden main stand, we had a decent view and enjoyed the raucous atmosphere.

It marks another new ground chalked off. I make it the 152nd ground I've watched football on, I'm now on 81 out of the Punk 92, and it marks my 74th of the current 92. I've said before that doing the 92 isn't just a way of chalking off identikit grounds, but a way of rediscovering this land. This season in particular it's also about creating memories, even if they involve learning that "the RAF from Bolton" shot down 10 German bombers. Sigh.

First World Problems put into context in Shrewsbury

The impressive stained glass window at Shrewsbury's small but stunning Catholic cathedral depicts the desperate and gory history of England's Catholic martyrs. Tortured, executed and persecuted for their faith. Being able to take that in and then order a cup of herbal tea and a freshly baked cake in a beautifully appointed cafe underneath speaks to the progress towards civilisation we have made.

It's also a reminder that we live in a society where we do what we want, say what we want and live within rules, for the most part. Our discourse dwells endlessly on our divided and fractured society. Social science focuses relentlessly on breakdown, schism and threats to the social order. I'm frankly amazed at how it actually holds together for the good most of the time. My anger and frustration at the sight of broken lives sleeping in doorways is not that society can't prevent this, but that the solutions are so remarkably within our grasp.

I got to know how to get around the country by train at a remarkably young age, taking summer holidays by buying British Rail runabout tickets that took me from Wales to the Scottish border, just because we could. I'm also reminded now quite how much of our country I want to see, either revisit or see for the first time. Either way it's a journey of discovery. At different stages of life you view places as through a lens. I first wandered the streets of Shrewsbury as a teenager, bored with the frankly pointless collection of train numbers on Crewe station, so I jumped on a train to Shrewsbury and looked around the town. I was on the hunt for record shops, probably, and somewhere to eat. I certainly didn't go to the Cathedral.

Shrewsbury is a lovely place for a day out. If you've come to this blog to read about the football match I went to, then can I politely direct you here, where Old Blackburnian, who we sat next to at the New Meadow, summarised it perfectly.

The New Meadow is another new ground chalked off. I make it the 151st ground I've watched football on, I'm still on 80 out of the Punk 92 as I went to the previous ground, Gay Meadow a few times, and it marks my 73rd of the current 92. Doing the 92 isn't just a way of chalking off identikit grounds, but a way of rediscovering this land.

We were the future once - our trip to Brighton by the sea

In the early 1990s our newly built Ewood Park was full, the team were flying and the cry from the opposition fans was always about where we were before all of this. Or as a West Ham fan sung on the tube in 1995 - "that shirt, looks awfully new." To this day, some fans of other Lancashire clubs refer to Blackburn Rovers as "plastics" - a fan base that is younger, more middle class, glory hunting and yes, female.

Our trip to Brighton yesterday reminded me of that. I genuinely don't think I've ever been part of such a civilised, gentrified and polite football crowd. Maybe it was the sunshine or the success of the local team, but actually I think it's the onward success of a club with potential in a prosperous area, something that you'd struggle to attribute to Blackburn. Even the Rovers fans seemed mostly to be marketing managers and investment directors, originally from the Ribble Valley, on a day trip from the London suburbs to see their home town club.

The Amex Community Stadium is one of the most impressive of the new builds. The stand the TV cameras are in - which you don't see on TV - is enormous, similar in shape and tiers to the Etihad. The quality of the seats even in our little away fans corner were of highly superior cushioning. The local train service was convenient, quick and well organised, and without wishing to mix two obsessions on one day, the Southern Railways trains are in a different league to what we suffer on Northern Rail.

The pre-match build up was more like that for a community arts festival than a Championship football match.  A little contrived, but at least the brass band rendition of Sussex by the Sea is more fitting for them than a limp Coldplay effort which we endured for two seasons. Every club has their own way of piping in rousing music, something I could frankly do without at my vintage. What it didn't do was make it a cauldron of hatred. If I'm honest Brighton should slip nicely into the increasingly southern and very shiny Premier League, so they can renew their rivalry with the "stripey Nigels" at Crystal Palace. They won't have problems attracting international talent to come to the south east and they clearly have a coherant and sizeable fan base to fill their stadium.

On one other occasion this season we've found ourselves directly across the segregation of the webbed seats from the home supporters. At Huddersfield it was pretty feral and intense. Yesterday, they were practically sharing their hummus dip and discussing the parliamentary performance of Brighton's Green MP Caroline Lucas. One chap at the end applauded us for longer than the Rovers players did.

You can read match reports elsewhere, from people who do it for a living, but they will no doubt tell you that we played alright but didn't create enough chances. I thought Emnes should have done better with his chance, Mahoney needs to be more deadly and we probably missed Danny Graham's poaching. Brighton aren't twenty odd places better than Rovers, but they have the luck and the persistence to win games like this.

Another new ground chalked off. I make it the 147th ground I've watched football on, I'm still on 82 out of the Punk 92 as I'd seen Brighton at the Goldstone Ground quite a few times, but it is my 72nd of the current 92 and the full sweep of this season's Championship. It was a long day out, but I was also reminded why I do this, what keeps me at it, the memories, the friendships, a little bit of the football and not a little obsession with doing the 92.

Me and my Dad at Deepdale, 1972 - 2016

The crowd around Deepdale was excitable for the derby game, boisterous rather than violent, beer had been drunk, the police were very much in evidence. After an incident where rowdy fans blocked the view when they should have been more considerate, family duties being what they are, the father and son moved to a safer spot for a better view. The role of protector requires wisdom, experience, but more than anything a firm desire to make this experience a treasured one, placing comfort and enjoyment of the match ahead of a desire to bounce around with the lads.

My Dad could have written that about taking the 6 year old me to Deepdale for Preston North End v Burnley in April 1973, my first ever match. As it is, I'm writing today after taking him, aged 72, to see the Rovers. We missed the first goal, due to boozy young lads blocking the gangway, so moved, just as we shifted to the front in 1973 when North End fans flooded onto the pitch to celebrate the goal that ultimately kept them up (pictured).

We've shared so many memories of watching football together over the years - there's a link here about my 20 strongest football memories - but as Rovers have got worse, and as Dad's got older, we've been to fewer games together.

Before the game Dad explained to his North End supporting pals that we used to come to Deepdale, but I chose Rovers. I shuffled from foot to foot as I would being introduced to a girl I used to go out with in my school days. Not shame at having caused hurt, or embarrassment, just a shrug and a look as if to say 'it's not you, it's me'. That was then, and this is now.

Running my Dad through the unrecognisable Rovers team yesterday I quoted Jim Wilkinson's description of Jason Lowe and Corry Evans:

They are the generic, faceless, run-around-a-lot but contribute-little, jobbing 21st century huffers and puffers who will leave no indelible mark whatsoever on the memory save for the pub-quiz moments when they contrived to score their once/twice a decade goals. 

Keep your eyes on Graham though, he's a poacher, a cut above, I said. The ball can stick to Emnes' feet if he gets the chance, Williams is a decent defender. Both our centre halves are playing out of position, Charlie Mulgrew's getting better, I hope he stays fit, I said. Liam Feeney wouldn't have got in the Rovers Full Members Cup Final side we watched lift the trophy in 1987, let alone the Wrexham team we saw draw with Roma in 1984.

We know how it worked out. Rovers are a team with goals in them, but are a couple of players short and lack a proper game plan.

Before the game all the songs were about Burnley, obsessively, defiantly so. As if to say to Preston, we don't care about you. "What do this lot think of having an ex-Burnley manager in charge?" my Dad asked.

At the final whistle, with him long gone back to meet his lift back to Lancaster and me reunited with my teenage lads, I saw the response to Owen Coyle as he made an attempt to applaud the travelling fans. Put it this way, it's not language I'd use in front of my Dad.

An outstanding Freshwalks hike up Kinder Scout and Edale

I've done a fair bit of walking in the Lake District, but all the toughest walks I've done have been in the Peaks. Even the names sound daunting - The Dark Peak, Bleaklow and Black Hill. This Saturday the Freshwalks tour did the Edale Circle, a good 16km in some fairly hostile conditions. It was at times unbearably hard. As a symbolic celebration of completing Jacob's Ladder, I slipped onto my arse.

I took the potentially irresponsible option of taking my 14 year old son. I am sufficiently worried that he doesn't get enough exercise and that he needs to find more things that he's good at, and that get him out of the house. And I thought he'd like it. For large parts of it he really didn't, but then none of us really enjoyed the lashing wind, the swirling rain or the hazards of the marshy bogs of Kinder Scout.

It was like the Revenant, without the bear, but no less harsh.

I'm no expert on building personal resilience in kids. I try my best. God knows I was hardly brought up in a favella myself and didn't want for much. And I worried that this was a step too far. But there was also a profound sense of euphoria and excitement when we yomped up the last hill before a smooth descent into Edale.

A word too on the company. I was involved in the very first "netwalking" expedition that has now developed into the hugely successful Freshwalks, led by my pal Michael Di Paola. Timing has conspired against me joining further expeditions, but it is clear that something truly special has been created here. The levels of support and friendliness are astounding. The kindness so front and centre.

As I cuddled up to Matt on the train heading home, trying to congratulate him on an awesome personal achievement, he just looked relieved. While I was trying to understand the mix of teenage hormones, his own unique characteristics that I can never truly comprehend but will never stop loving him for, I swear I had something in my eye.

On the match with the Cod Army at Fleetwood Town

Me, Andrew, Paul and Ian join the Cod Army

It wouldn't have been right to have prawn sandwiches in the posh seats at Fleetwood, so we did what the locals do and had cod. If you'd said to me 15 years ago that I'd be notching off my 70th football ground of the current 92 at Fleetwood I'd have laughed. But here we were. On the way we passed what could be ground number 80 of the 92 as we looked at AFC Fylde's ground taking shape. Another disgruntled Blackpool supporting business man who has decided to back a different club on the Fylde after being snubbed by the hated Oyston family.

The ground is decent. The stand we were in is impressive from the inside and out. A towering view from the front row isn't for anyone with vertigo. The rest of the ground is a standard upmarket lower league set up - seats along the sides and terraces at either end.

The match itself was good. Fleetwood played a classy passing game throughout, resisting all temptation to hoof it. Midfielder Eggert Jonsson was a standout in the first half. Walsall soaked up the pressure and were always going to hold on to their lead once they nicked it, though Andy Cole's son Devante came close near the end. There's a link to a match report here.

So that was the 70th of the current 92 and the 143rd ground worldwide I've watched football on and I'm up to 81 in the Punk 92.

Boro away, days like these are ones to savour

Wow. What a difference. Against the team at the top, who just stole our top scorer, I have to say we bossed that game.

1-1 was a good point for Middlesbrough because frankly Rovers deserved to win. Jordi Gomez is the player we've missed all season. Tony Watt is more tenacious than Jordan Rhodes. Saw a decent shift from Cory Evans and Tommy Spurr too.

With ten minutes to go the line of defence was on the half way line. Pushing, pressing and looking forward. Even when we beat Preston in Paul Lambert's first game in charge we desperately parked the bus. Not today. We could have and should have won. If those late loose balls had fallen to anyone but Hope Akpan or Elliot Bennett it would have been in the back of the net.

In town pre-match it's clear this set of fans think they are a team on the up. And all around us as we stood in the home end agonising as we disguised our amusement at such an excellent performance, the home fans grew more frustrated. They may still go up, fair play to them if they do, because as a group of fans they are supportive to the end. 

But not on this evidence. I thought David Nugent is so similar to Rhodes it's a mystery why they spent so much on him. And what an insult to him to be introduced as "Jason Rhodes". You had one job, Mr Announcer.

But days like today are about so much more than 90 minutes of football. Lunch and a tour of the town with an old mate, meeting his son, stories, nostalgia, memories and hopes for our families and their bright futures. That is if we survive the heart attacks induced by a Parmo, the Middlesbrough signature dish of a chicken escalope smothered in cheese.

I rather think I've tortured my lads Louis and Joe by taking them to an away game and standing in the heart of the home end. Promise we won't do it again lads. Certainly not at Burnley.