Mark Wastell RIP

L to R John Knight, Mark Wastell, random interloper, Neil Arthur, Michael Taylor

I received some really sad news this week that an old pal had passed away. Mark Wastell, pictured above, second left at Wembley in 1992, died quite suddenly. I last saw "Tonto" as we called him, at Swansea at the end of the last season. I've got loads of great memories of playing football with him, travelling to Rovers matches all over the place, including, memorably, to Lyon in 1998 for the UEFA Cup game.

Our friend Martin Cook has written a lovely obituary.

When I was at secondary school Mark was three or four years ahead of me and it was his younger brother David Wastell who was in my class. It was only when I moved down south to that London, and joined the Rovers London Branch football team, that I recognised the surname.

‘Tonto’ was the eccentric chap I had first met on the terraces at Plough Lane one midweek September evening in 1985 as Rovers were humbled into an embarrassing 5:0 defeat in the League Cup, away at plucky Wimbledon.

As one of the 2,110 official crowd that night, and arriving directly from work, Tonto was be-suited in pin-stripes and carrying a black umbrella. Over time I’ve convinced myself he was wearing a bowler hat too (but that is probably just my memory exaggerating the rather plausible caricature).

Shortly after this introduction to the Rovers London Branch I travelled to Wormwood Scrubs fields one Sunday afternoon to make my footballing debut. I was shocked to see the team didn’t have a ‘proper’ Rovers strip and those who didn’t have their own shirts wore a second-hand navy blue Scotland team cast-off.

Tonto wore his old Rovers shirt with pride that day, despite it being riddled with holes, in need of a good wash and failing to comply with any FIFA regulations.

Those who didn’t know Tonto could be excused for thinking he was part of an upper-class elite from Oxford University, merely slumming it with the lumpenproletariat as part of some social experiment. He spoke the Queen’s English, he talked the talk and he introduced me to some big, accountant-speak words – I never knew a brand-new football team strip could be ‘amortized’ over a three year term (well, not as such)!

But Tonto was one of us; brought up in Blackburn, a proper Rovers fan, often distraught, sometimes delirious but nearly always there to follow the ‘world’s greatest’ as he would say often.

Despite all his later denials, he really did do a mini-breakdance routine, in front of Don Mackay, Steve Archibald, Ossie Ardiles, Colin Hendry, Howard Gayle and er…Tony Diamond in the Bishop Bonner pub, Bethnal Green, after Rovers had secured a play-off spot away at Millwall in May 1988 (4:1 away victory). We were all delirious that night.

Eventually I became player-manager of the London Branch football team from 1988 to 1991 and soon realised Tonto was one of the most reliable members of the squad. Virtually ever-present, competent around the field and a reliable stand-in goalkeeper; he even weighed-in with a few goals now and again.

We were an eclectic bunch but enjoyed three ground-breaking summer football tours; the first two to Brixham in Devon and the third to Brighton. Tonto was part of all three trips and played a blinder in goal at St James’ Park (May 1990) as we narrowly lost 3:1 to a far superior team from Exeter City supporters club.

In Brixham we had all stayed in the guest-house of a former London Branch member (Roger Snowdon) – an old friend to some of the more established team. Following some typically boisterous drinking behaviour from the younger element (of which Mrs Snowdon was most disapproving) the elders, including Tonto, John Knight and Allan Fell, retired to one of the rooms for a late night cup
of tea.

I shall always remember the incredulity that Tonto displayed when, upon the orders of his wife, Roger Snowdon burst in to ‘check the room for beer!’ Also, having been met by rather childish and muffled laughter from the elder statesmen’s tea party, they were all sent to bed for laughing about it!

Normally, what happens on tour stays on tour, but I can recall (summer 1991) Tonto happily taking part in that most vulgar of working class pursuits, the karaoke night in Brighton! His enthusiastic contribution was a very flat version of the Beatles ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’

I’m unsure of Tonto’s belief system, but if he is up there in the sky, he’s probably holding court over a pint of Thwaites best, with Noel Brotherston, Ronnie Clayton and Jack Walker and advising them on the pros and cons of equity differentials and the secured bond markets etc.

Over the years I have played football, darts, pool and cricket with Tonto and attended beer festivals, curry houses and countless Rovers matches, home and away. We were in Trelleborg for Rovers first ever adventure in European football and we have shared enigmatic tales of genuine wit and repartee, as often reported in the branch newsletter, Many Miles From Home.

Despite being tagged as an ‘International Man of Mystery’ and regarded as ‘a bit of a boffin’ (terms which I suspect he was secretly happy to be known by) above all, Tonto was a friend, a loyal Rovers fan and a true Blackburnian.

Arte et Labore
Tonto, RIP

(Martin ‘the boy’ Cook – November 2012)

Writing about politics and business

This blog used to have a fairly clear identity and a sense of purpose. It was a chance for me to write about the stuff I didn't write about at work. A place where the work life balance played out. My work and my life now is a little more integrated and entwined. It also involves a fair amount of blogging and commenting for the different businesses and organisations I work with.

As the chairman of Downtown Manchester in Business I have a regular blog called Taking the Michael, which I update every Friday.

The standards of the Downtown blogs are first rate. I am humbled to be posting alongside one of the best political writers in the country in the shape of Jim Hancock. He absolutely knows his patch.

I also have to say that Downtown's chief executive Frank McKenna is a superb analyst of business and politics.

I've been blogging regularly on the North West Football Awards, some of which I have a been judge. Some of these have been crossposts.

On top of all of that I'm regularly commenting and blogging on the GrowthAccelerator website, providing a regular drumbeat of content and opinion about my mission to support growing businesses.

It's unlikely I'll talk about Marple's changing retail scene on the Downtown blog, nor will I prattle on about Rovers and family trips to Belfast on GrowthAccelerator. But this does chip away at what I used to use this site for. I'll get there, but bear with me.

Norwegian Branch: History lesson with uncle Bill

Norwegian Branch: History lesson with uncle Bill: The Vikings are alive and well and living in the North West of England, if we are to belive our friend William "Bill" Routledge. We asked h...

Greater Manchester Groundhopping

I miss going to my football club. I could just swallow my pride and start going back to Ewood Park, but I'm stubborn like that. One day I hope the Venky's will be gone, but until they do, then we won't go. To give my non-league adventures a bit of a purpose I'm going to try and chalk off the Greater Manchester grounds this season. I love the feeling of walking through the turnstiles at a new ground, sampling the atmosphere, tasting the pies, weighing up the balance of two teams of toilers at an unfamiliar standard and feeding off the crowd's knowledge of who is who.

My 134th ground was Ashton United's Hurst Cross, which had a tidy little main stand with a covered terrace opposite and open ends behind each goal. I sat in the main stand with FC United supporters around me, expressing their disappointment at certain players, especially in the second half when Ashton pegged them right back and should have wiped out the 2-0 half time deficit.

It was also the first time I'd seen the FC United rebels in action. The team play with a lot of energy and passion and don't seem to have the odd primadonna that blights most teams at this level. They were supported by hundreds of fans who sang all through the game with a fine spread of hyperbolic and colourful banners. I have to say I was a bit disappointed at their berating of Ashton players "you fat bastard" and the ubiquitous "this is a shit hole, I want to go home" that the modern funboy gobbie fans like to sing as part of the matchday 'banter'. I thought the co-operative principles of this club were above that sort of nonsense. It has to be said that the fans do give FC a lift, a desolate ground with only the home fans willing their team on may have broken the siege of the second half. You have to remember though, these fans are from a tradition of supporting the world's most arrogant football club.

Anyway, next up will be any one from Curzon Ashton, Radcliffe Borough, Ramsbottom United (steam trains too!) or Trafford. The real soul of football and not a "global advisor" to be seen.

Amy Macdonald at the Lowry - superb

We went to see Amy Macdonald at the Lowry last week. I thought she was pretty amazing. I think I saw her on Jools Holland first of all and just thought, what a voice, what well crafted songs and what a lovely girl  - I bet her parents are so proud of her. I know, such a Dad thing to say.

But the set she did was perfectly constructed. New, old, stripped down acoustic versions, signature hits, even a brilliant cover of Jackie Wilson's Your Love Lifts Me Higher. She ended the set with a stirring rendition of my favourite track off her first album - Let's Start a Band - a great song even without the horns and the choir. But I was curious as to what her core audience is - she does festivals, she is massive in Europe, Paul Weller has worked with her and yet she was ignored by the hip music press, and chose the least rock and roll venue in Manchester. The audience was more folky than rocky, which rather suits me. I'm well past that stage where I care whether something is hip or not, but I wonder about her - she's neither one thing nor the other. Far better than all that bland X Factor stuff, yet not folky hip either. Yet I think as her tour bus leaves Glasgow for a sell out concert at the Royal Festival Hall on Tuesday next week she's not going to be too bothered about whether Mark Ellen reviewed her album in the last issue of the Word.

Something horrible I need to get off my chest

A long while ago, I worked with a lad who told another lad on the team that he was serially abused from a young age by one of the senior men in the organisation. I then witnessed another lad asking what to do after the same bloke propositioned him - "be a man about it" came the reply. It was a horrible atmosphere around the place and I was relieved to leave. These were all consenting adults, even though there is something deeply unpleasant about abuses of power and sexual relations. I never heard directly from the lad who had supposedly been abused. In fact he told me, in glowing terms, that this man was his mentor. The guy even rang me once and offered some career advice - if I hadn't heard the rumours I'd think he was kind and generous. Maybe he was, maybe the whole 'dark other thing' was imagined and made up by gossips.

Equally, I've worked in other places where junior people see demons and devils around every corner. Charismatic bosses must be sexually corrupt or on cocaine. They must be at it, because that's what fertile imaginations demand.

So, in the light of all this sickening stuff about Jimmy Savile, you start to think what is the right thing to do? Apparently everyone knew about Savile, it was an open secret. He was dropped from Children in Need because he was a bit creepy. Well, is that enough? Of course it isn't. And if you do tell, then who do you tell? What do you tell?

A city break in Belfast with the family

The kids were thrilled when I told them we were going away on a plane for the half term break. There was a certain disappointment when they learned it was to Belfast. The birthplace of the Titanic still carries the baggage of the recent past, even with pre-teen kids. But having hopped over there on business myself I am positively evangelical about the place and was itching to show them around a city I have got to know quite well and grown rather fond of.

The Titanic Belfast visitor attraction is brilliant. It is one of the best of its kind I have seen. It manages to span a huge range of touching points that the Titanic opens - starting with the history of the city itself, to the empire, trade, maritime engineering right through to emigration and social class when the exhibits got to the maiden voyage.

In the city centre we enjoyed Linen Hall Library and the City Hall and compared how it is so similar to Stockport Town Hall! We looked around the new Victoria Square centre, which was very pleasant.  It was fascinating how Halloween is so enthusiastically supported, probably as the Guy Fawkes celebration of the next week - with all its burning parliaments and Catholics is a little too raw.

The open top bus tour in the rain wasn't such a hit. It gave the kids a perspective on the city, but the sights of armoured cars, peace walls and derelict buildings were hard to take in as we were rather rushed from one place to the next. As one of them commented as we wound our way up the Shankill Road - "it's like Brinnington with murals".

I think seeing this important part of British history is educative. I want Northern Ireland to be normal and happy. All the lovely people I've met over there want to embrace a new future away from the turmoil and madness of the past. But breaking with that past, but still appreciating its impact on people's heritage is important. We took a bus ride out to a sweet emporium in the Castlereagh Road area of East Belfast. Next to the bus stop home was a mural we had been led to believe had been phased out and replaced with George Best and CS Lewis tributes. Not so.

We left with a sense that we'd had a good old look around and were still left with a few more things we could have done. But Belfast is a city with a lot of energy and the Titantic may have been a tragedy 100 years ago, it's an opportunity now.

I bought a car on the back of a Jeremy Clarkson review

I love my new car. I like how it is economical, sleek and comfortable. I like too that although I'm not that bothered about cars as totems, it nevertheless says something about me. Not much, you understand, because it is only a car.
Yes, I've bought, or should I say leased, a Toyota Prius. In the first month I've already been to Newcastle, Liverpool (twice), Nottingham, Sheffield, Derby and all around the North West. It has never felt like hard work and has been easy to drive through the night. It handles well. I nearly ran over a couple of pedestrians in Chinatown today as they don't sense it when it is in silent EV model at 10mph. And I know this seems so incredibly minor, but it seems to work with my phone and music player and sat nav. Something that somehow didn't happen for me with my previous cars (Audi A4 and Fiat 500).
But more than that, I also have to say too that I was tipped over the edge by the vendetta waged on this car by Jeremy Clarkson of Top Gear. I love that he hates it.

First awayday for the kids

I took two of the lads to their first trip out on the road with the Barmy Army. I wouldn't contemplate it with the Kean Out vitriol of recent seasons - stories of fans arguing and fighting wasn't worth it to me.

We chose a short drive to Pride Park to see Derby County against the Rovers. The game should have been wrapped up within an hour. Despite some huffing and puffing Derby were palpably weaker in all departments than Rovers. After Jordan Rhodes put Rovers ahead, everyone in the stadium expected the dominance in midfield to show, but with 5 minutes left on the clock Derby slotted a deserved equaliser. I say deserved because a complacent and lazy performance doesn't ever deserve a win.

And I took the flag, but it was inspected before I was able to display it.  What if it said "Love Rovers, Hate Venky's"? or "Forever Rovers - Never Venky's"? then Derby's stewards would have prevented me from putting it up. Not unexpected, but out of order.

Literature and football

A novel or a film about football can't match the genuine sense of jeopardy or drama of sport. It can exaggerate it, or even explain it. But it only ever seeks to use sport as a backdrop or as a very dominant proxy character. I say all of this after spending a very engaging 90 minutes discussing two books at an event at the Manchester Literature Festival with their authors. The writers in question are David Conn (Richer Than God) and Rodge Glass (Bring Me the Head of Ryan Giggs), both were funny and gave great anecdotes about their books and their personal relationship with football. 

I would recommend both books. 

David Conn writes expansively and draws on a depth of research and social analysis that marks him out in a world of football writers that rather hang off the coat tails of the machine. He's rather earned the freedom to do that and in so doing imparts some uncomfortable truths. Though football is the starting point, he makes incisive observations on flows of international capital, how Manchester's poor haven't gained from the riches of football and leveraged buyouts. But I found myself disagreeing with some of his economic conclusions, and rather looking forward to a more searing attack on Abu Dhabi's riches and the politics of oil, which never came. That said, there are none better. I also sensed a deeper story on his personal journey, but that's his choice.

Rodge Glass similarly researches hard. There is little to fault the detail of the story of Mikey Wilson, an authentic Manchester tale of disappointment. Some have said he resembles Zadie Smith and Hanif Kureshi, but I liked his monologue on the reality of sport which was resonant of John Niven's dissection of the music business in Kill Your Friends. There's also something of David Peace's reality fiction.    

But have a peek at these reviews of the event.

On my events website.

On the Manchester Literature Festival site.

On the Manchester Review site.

 

Watching Chester's revival at Stalybridge

We fancied some real football on Saturday so took in a trip up to Bower Fold, home of Stalybridge Celtic to see the visit of Chester, a club which has fallen through the leagues only to bounce back again.

As I've been to Hyde a few times this season it seemed traitorous to go on the home end of their bitter enemies, so we joined the 800 or so Chester fans behind the goal. The first half was horribly, cruelly, one sided with Chester setting up a 4-0 half time lead. The second half was a 2-2 draw, which is all the Celtic bench of Jim Harvey and Tim Ryan could have hoped.

I liked Bower Fold, a nice little stadium, two stands and two covered terraces. It's my 133rd ground on which I've watched senior football. These trips are fun, a glimpse into a slightly more joyful and honest version of football. It's also heartening to see so many fans rally to the flag of their club after everything they've been through.

The cowboy has gone, now let's chase the Indians out of town

I don't feel like celebrating Steve Kean's resignation from Blackburn Rovers. And I genuinely fear what the next act will be in this hideous circus.

Don't get me wrong, I had no regard for Kean as a manager or in the way he conducted himself. I was suspicious of Kean's comments recently that Shebby Singh had bought certain players and he hadn't seen them. His self pitying reaction to Singh's comments at an open evening also smacked of a man looking for excuses. It all rather exposed the sham of his "man of quiet dignity" persona he has cultivated.

It cannot be healthy for someone to be so hated and so blamed. In fact it is wrong the way he has been singled out by the fans, and even more shameful that the owners allowed him to be the lightning rod for such discontent.

Clearly now he is holding out for his big pay off for constructive dismissal. He will be assisted by his pals in the managers' club crying crocodile tears for one of their own, knowing full well that if he was sacked for poor performance - as he should have been - and not paid up to the end of his contract, then it would set a precedent. Football management is the one professional job you can be rubbish at, and still be rewarded. They all get massive pay offs. I rather suspect the surprise that Venky's experienced on learning that Sam Allardyce was going to get a cheeky million or two has been looming large in their minds as they wonder what to do about Kean.

If the boycott was the catalyst that pushed Venky's to fire him, then it must continue. They must learn that fans do not support their twisted vision of using a community football club to promote chicken, if that is what it is. I still suspect darker motives.

I've lost track of who's in charge at Rovers. It almost doesn't matter. Derek Shaw doesn't know what is going on. Shebby Singh is a joke appointment, the Mark Lawrenson of Malaysia. It breaks my heart to see what is happening.

So, no, I don't feel like celebrating. This is not a new beginning, but hopefully it is the beginning of the end of Venky's.

Dropping a division

Phil Jevons, Hyde FC hat trick hero on Saturday

Form is temporary, class is permanent, so the saying goes. One of my earliest memories of following Blackburn Rovers as a kid is the different reactions to older players joining the club on the downslopes of their career. John Radford, ex-Arsenal, used to get dog's abuse for his lack of goals, while the crowd were far more forgiving of Duncan Mackenzie. Some are perceived to be living off past glories and picking up a meal ticket, others bring a new exciting dimension and valuable experience.

What must it be like for a player realising his pace and fitness has dropped, but he still wants to keep on playing. To do so, he drops a division so he can be effective. Sometimes the pressure can be greater than when playing in a higher league. The game is different and so therefore are expectations.

I was thinking of this on Saturday when I went to see Hyde play at home to Hereford. The Tigers have found it tough in the Conference, having won the Conference North last season. To bolster the promoted side they signed Phil Jevons. I saw him play against both Barrow and Southport and felt for him. I also felt for his strike partner Scott Spencer, who banged them in last term, but had an equally barren start to the season. Their runs weren't being picked up - I sensed Jevons had some clever flicks but Spencer wasn't seeing them. Both were getting bullied a bit too.

Well, on Saturday it all came together. Jevons got a hat trick and Spencer scored a wondergoal. The interplay between them was excellent. In fact, once Jevons got his first it looked like he'd score every time he had the ball at his feet. Confidence is everything.

There are lots of examples around the divisions of players who've made the transition, up or down, and we'll certainly be bearing all this in mind as judges of the North West Football Awards this year - it's the mark of a quality player how they respond to change.

A friend in need?

One of the things that strikes me about the people who know each other through work and their businesses in and around Northern cities is they look out for each other. Friendships strike up between the unlikeliest people. As we become absorbed by our families, we may have less time for friends, even less for new ones, but we still meet people we grow enormously fond of.

We sometimes never know what troubles, what demons, can lurk beneath. All I have to say today, is this. If you know who I am, if we have shared time together, then you'll know I care about people. I look out for my friends and love my family. But if you're suffering, if you are agonising, and that you just need someone neutral to talk to, someone uncomplicated by longer attachment to you and whatever it is that's troubling you, and you do know where to find me, then do. I'm the father of five sons, so I worry about this constantly. There's a phrase that chills me: most men lead lives of quiet desperation. While I accept that men aren't very good at all this soft stuff, please, if you need a friend, then call me.

Ted Smith - a true pioneer of football and an inspiration

Ted Smith, left, coach of Benfica

All of us have important early memories of our lives as football supporters. The noise, the crowds, a particular player, the cold night air, a sense of a special occasion, or the emotions of the people around us.

I was fortunate that my Dad wanted me to watch games from an early age. We'd take in matches at Preston, Blackpool, Blackburn as well as Lancaster City. But he was always keen to take in European nights and that meant a trip to Anfield or the Racecourse at Wrexham. One was a complete write off when a game against Anderlect was swathed in fog, but we particularly enjoyed a 3-0 win over Trabzonspur in about November 1976.

Obviously we never became Liverpool fans. But the root of my Dad's love of European football opens up an extraordinary story of an English football coach who played a vital role in the shape of the game in the 1960s as club competition became more intense and styles collided.

My Grandfather, Stan Taylor, had been a Commando in the war, served his country heroically and was a man of some stature in the community in Lancaster where he moved to be the manager of Woolworths. He became friends with a man called Ted Smith, pictured above, who at the time was the landlord of a pub in Skerton, just over the River Lune from the town centre.

Here's the amazing story. Ted Smith had been a player with Millwall and Crystal Palace. For reasons and circumstances I can't fathom, but am eager to learn more about, he became the coach of Benfica. The foundations of the team he built included the legendary Jose Aguas, the lynchpin of the side that went on to break Real Madrid's dominance of European football in the 1960s. Ted had brought Aguas from Angola to Portugal and the two had a strong bond. I know this because my Dad witnessed their emotional reunion outside the Park Lane Hotel in London in 1962 when Benfica were in town for a European Cup semi final at White Hart Lane against the double winning Spurs side.

Such magical memories, such a proximity to the extraordinary lives of ordinary people has become part of our family folklore, even if I didn't realise it. These exotic influences on my Dad's life - a trip to London, seeing the greatest club side in the world at the time, meeting such legends. These things weren't accessible or easy to find back then. They shouldn't be now, either, but somehow television makes them rather less mysterious. That memory, those moments, encouraged my Dad to seek out such experiences for me. Maybe that what was also behind the first Subbuteo sets he got me, Juventus and Ajax - after the 1971 final.

I notice that Google puts a previous post by me about Ted Smith fairly high on the search criteria. I've been contacted since by Ted's son Harvey, and by a bloke writing a Millwall A-Z. Beyond that the trail is cold - I've found newspaper cuttings from Lancaster that rather coldly reports how "Mr Ted Smith, the former Benfica coach," became the manager of Lancaster City FC in 1967, as if that achievement was on a par with Barrow or Bamber Bridge. But what more can we celebrate and know of these pioneers, these adventurers who saw football as a route to a new life and amazing experiences that shape our culture today. People laud Terry Venables for what he did at Barcelona, but surely this was greater?

Harvey has told me via email that his father passed away in 1993 and is buried in Lisbon, where Benfica looked after him in his final years, respect and love from a fine club who remembered a hero of their history.

Where great minds meet

It was the trailblazer event for the Manchester Literature Festival last night. Zadie Smith read from her new novel NW, and was then interviewed by journalist and broadcaster Anita Sethi.

To me though the real stars of the show were the Manchester public - smart, clever, engaged and enquiring. It struck me this is just what Stuart Maconie was referring to in his chippy love letter to the North in the New Statesman recently - yes, sure, London has loads of intellectual events, but we have them too. It's also given me tons of inspiration to do more.

While I'm banging on about the festival, make sure you book early for my event - an audience with David Conn and Rodge Glass, two authors talking about Manchester, football and literature.

Northern Monkeys - a book about growing up

Next month will see the publication of a book I've been working on for the last few years. It's called Northern Monkeys and it's a journey through working class social history in the North of England.

At its centre is the "casual/dresser" scene of the 1980s - lads going to football in gangs, dressed to the nines in designer sportswear and often with violent motives. For me and Bill Routledge, the prime mover and guiding hand of the project, it's the period that defined and changed everything. Fashion, sport, work, pride, politics and it all came together in this uniquely volatile period of recent history. The book covers where it was all rooted, what it was like to be there at the time, who was first, how the looks of the time quickly mutated and how the key figures at the time went on to use that mindset to influence music and fashion to this day.

But to see it as a book about football casuals is an epic understatement. Its central core is a way of interpreting that movement and putting it slap bang in the context of some seismic social and cultural changes.

We start with tales of post-war austerity, moving through the sharp suits, the Teddy Boys and the Cunard Boys - Liverpudlian seamen who would stock up on rare fashion items on their international jaunts - clearly influencing their sons and heirs in the Transalpino era. Male narcissism and looking good was nothing new, of course, and the pack look of football lads of the 1980s clearly cocked a nod in the direction of the Mods and even skinheads of the previous two decades. Different scenes also fed into it - we've got a whole section of memories from Northern Soul devotees and the look and lustre of nights at Wigan Casino and Blackpool Mecca.

Where this look differed for those of us in Northern towns was that it was more DIY than many have previously acknowledged. The early Scouse pioneers tracked down rare Adidas trainers in Germany, the Manc innovators plundered market stalls for flares and leathers as the look evolved. But my early memories of the developing style was rooting out a Fila tennis top at Lancaster University sports shop, finding Pringle in old man's shops and a Peter Storm cagoul in an outdoors shop. For many it was about buying the look off the shelf in Hurleys in Manchester or Wade Smith in Liverpool, for early adopters, it never was.

The compiler of this has been a lad I'm now proud to call a good friend, Bill Routledge. He's cajoled and persuaded a huge range of mates and contacts to contribute various tales, some going back to the post-war period of austerity and community building in Northern towns like Preston, others are boot boys, skinheads, rockabillies and the most dominant cult of them all at the dawn of this movement - the punks. Bill and his crowd in Preston in 1981, like me and my Lancaster mates (pictured, right, in 1984), made a transition from punk to "football lad" - it was a remarkable transformation. This was the closest I ever got to being in a "firm" - Lancaster, Morecambe and Carnforth lads all supported different teams, the picture above covers lads who followed Blackburn Rovers, Morecambe, Manchester United, Blackpool, Rangers and Spurs, from memory. Can you spot me, by the way?

I've always carried this look on. During Fresher's week at University in 1985 I was turned away from the goth and punk night at the Ritz in Manchester for wearing chinos, deck shoes, a Lacoste polo and a red Italian chunky jumper. It didn't have a name then, but this was the emerging Paninaro look. By the time of our third year my mates were well into looking smarter too - we liked Chevignon, Chipie, C17 and Timberland for a night at the Hacienda or the Venue, way before the Madchester druggie rave scene. By the time we moved to London, the treasure trove that was Shop 70 on Lamb's Conduit Street in the 90s was a delight, and a few pieces of Stone Island and CP Company still adorn my wardrobe as a tribute to that era and that look.

For my bit of the book I've interviewed Robert Wade-Smith, Barry Bown from JD Sports and Gary Aspden, the former brand director of Adidas, as well as commissioning a few tales from lads who were there with stories to tell. The stories are long and revealing and I like to think I get what they're about, the journey they've been on and how their interpretation of brands and street fashion influenced the high street today.

One thing Northern Monkeys is certainly not is hoolie-porn, there's been enough of that to be honest, but it doesn't try and sugarcoat a movement that had football violence as one of its core identifiers.

So, here's the Northern Monkeys website, have a nosy at that. There's a Northern Monkeys Book Facebook page which we're using to gather some extra pictures and messages and you can join in this majestic nostalgia fest on Twitter by following @MonkeyNorth.

Toast Deli in Marple is no more - very sad

I was saddened to see that Toast Deli in Marple has shut its doors for the last time today. They offered a pleasant ambience with a modern foody feel. We had a delicious cooked breakfast there one Saturday and their coffee was excellent. The chicken liver pate (pictured) is a delight, though I last bought mine from our butcher in Romiley. Toast also worked hard on the community events and there were rave reviews for the tasting evenings. But, it must have been tough competing with All Things Nice, just 30 yards away, and though I divided my loyalties between the two, this does nothing to assuage my feelings of guilt that I didn't go there more often, or genuine sadness for the lovely staff in a place that tried to be new and different.

But the grim reality of the demise is what it says about Marple. Toast would probably thrive in a different location, not so far away. Dutsons and Libby's are doing well in nearby Marple Bridge, while Bramhall has quite a restaurant scene these days. Toast would have done so much better there, it would seem.

As one door closes two more open - a cafe and sandwich shop called Truly Scrumptious on the old site of Grenaby Farm Bakers has just opened; while Rileys, a new newsagents and butty bar opposite Costa Coffee on Stockport Road, is up for it. I'd argue that Grenaby couldn't live with Greenhalgh's and Greggs for cheap pies and bread, which leads you to think why do more of the same. While the popularity of Costa must have really hurt Toast and near neighbour All Things Nice, it has gained a certain magnetism even with grumpy staff. I wish the two new businesses well, but it is a tough market with the ever creeping presence of multiples making it harder for quality independents.

I also posed the question on this blog last week as to whether Marple was a Waitrose or an Aldi kind of place. I rather think we've just had the answer.

Empty seats at Ewood Park

Here I am, pictured, surrounded by empty seats at Ewood Park, home of the club I have loved since I was 11 years old. Obviously I'm not qualified to sit in that particular seat, but...
I didn't go much last season - three times in fact - I managed more than that in 1988-1989 when I lived in Australia from September. Last season's stayaway wasn't a boycott as such, partly it was because of the toxic atmosphere that the angry fans had created, but frankly, I just wasn't enjoying it anymore. Now, it's more straightforward. I refuse to give the club a penny of my money while Venky's are in charge.

I'm not a glory hunter, who will only go to Premier League games. My first season as a regular was 1977-1978 and Rovers were a mid-table Second Division side with an average crowd of about 7,000. We were in the same division as Blackpool, Burnley and Bolton. Preston were in the division below. I chose this. I made a conscious decision to support a local team instead of Manchester United, Leeds or Liverpool. All the good times were a bonus, an unexpected gift from a rich fan who helped this club do great things. Without him, well, we'd be in the Second Division, on a level with the rest of our Lancashire rivals. So no, I'm a realist and I'm not a spoilt child, but what the Venky's are doing is as poor a job at running down an institution as football has ever seen.

There is hardly anything worth saying on the subject, because there is nothing they can do to change my mind. Even if they do things which on the surface seem like good moves.

Signing new players It may well be that by chucking a few quid at the squad that Venky's believe they can get back up. Some of the signings seem OK, but my heart and head says they have absolutely no chance. Steve Kean's record speaks for itself.

Communicating better The connection to the fans was lost a long time ago, gimmicks and stunts have backfired, I have never rated Paul Agnew either as a PR man, or anyway capable of running the club. This new director of football, Shebby Singh, came across as a bumbling buffoon on TalkSport. The reaction from the manager that his comments at a Fan's Forum were "disruptive" was further evidence of how manipulative Kean is with the media and how he engineers every situation for his advantage. Always the victim, never his fault.

Colin Hendry The recruitment of Colin Hendry as a coach is far more complex than a hero returning, in fact it's as tangled as Hendry's financial affairs.

Winning games Last night was the first home game of the season. And it had the lowest crowd since 1993 when Ewood was a building site. I had no excuse for not going, and I missed being there and I was glad they won, in fact, I hope they win all the matches at Ewood. If anything I'm quite looking forward to an away game soon - though I couldn't possibly take this moral high ground and go to the next one - MK Dons away!

Sacking Steve Kean This seems unlikely, but it is their ace card. The fans have worked themselves up into a frenzy on this issue and his sacking would make them happy, but he's not the problem. I want them to go, and take him with them.

Lack of performance on the pitch hasn't persuaded Venky's to give it all up, but lack of corporate, sponsor and commercial support will hit them where it hurts. That, and the sight of all those empty seats.

My holiday reading

Remember beach and villa holidays where you'd read a book a day? Vaguely. I ambitiously took a stack of books I've been looking forward to reading. I was mildly disappointed in them all.

Dom Joly's Dark Tourist wasn't as funny as I expected it to be, nor as angry about the way places like Lebanon, Cambodia and North Korea are like they are. It's a strange juxtaposition, an anarchic comedian known for his irreverence visiting places that require sensitivity and reverence. That said, I enjoyed his anecdotes.

Reading Owen Jones' Chavs is like sitting opposite someone on a train who just goes on and on, and you end up just losing the will to argue anymore and end up agreeing with them. His central premise that the white working class have been unfairly demonised is fair enough. Where I dispute his argument and his conclusions is his ascribing a raw agenda of class war to Conservatives and a rather rosy view of unions and their role in workplaces. As a polemicist he's entitled to use any device he likes to make his point, but it tends to come across as rather shrill. In his new introduction, and lately on Twitter, he's addressed the riots of last summer. It was not a protest, it was raw criminality. To fail to acknowledge that is the politics of fantasy.

I enjoyed Nick Cohen's book, but his punchy style left me exhausted. There's too much "yebbut" - who are the people he is attacking, through such a wide subject as freedom of speech and censorship? 

"Because they believe the real enemy is at home, Western radicals ignore the victims of dictatorial states," he says. I'm not sure what some idiots on Comment is Free have to say is that important, to be honest. I loved What's Left?, his broadside on the decline of the moral left in Britain, but there are bigger subjects involved and far more deserving of scrutiny.

The whole issue of freedom of speech is currently at the centre of so many warped and undeserving starting points - Julian Assange, people who set up fake Twitter accounts, racist footballers, internet trolls. The moral maze is complex indeed.