Author: bigdunc09

Two more months of highs and lows – ’twas ever thus – with myriad football kits, chance meetings with literary heroes, sad news about design ones, new series aplenty and a return to the eighties in terms of white socks making a comeback, TV (a night of ‘Boys From The Blackstuff‘, plus the wonderful ending (for now) of Stranger Things) music (Kate Bush on repeat) and various unions on strike, including the bin men which, coupled with the heatwaves, meant it felt a little like being in Naples at times.

Fathers’ Day was a non event too, as illness struck, but the family more than made up for that… it’s fair to say it’s been a busy and at times challenging summer so far. Along the way, however, I actually found the time to produce some artwork:

It was just a painted portrait, of a football sticker portraying a transfer that never happened, but it was nice to channel my inner student / Sir Peter Blake for a weekend creating an homage to a hero. Koulibaly then did actually leave Napoli, but not for Norwich, and it was great to feel part of something new; you can see the work online using the hashtag #TheNearlyMen and I’d also recommend you look at series such as Breeders, Il Blocco, Miss Marvel and the heartbreaking but still seminal Roadrunner about Anthony Bourdain, another hero gone too soon and I’ve written enough about him in the past but this offered some fresh insight into the man, his demise and his legacy from those who knew him best.

What’s bizarre is that I also got talking to a fascinating guy at a wedding last month who told me some amazing stories; being a writer himself, he’d worked with some A List celebs and had had a bizarre encounter with Asia Argento, but this isn’t the place to discuss that nor is it the right forum to share my views on a government schools’ inspection agency which paid a visit to work, either…

Talking of people who make things difficult, it wasn’t easy living for over twenty four hours without water due to a burst pipe a few miles away. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink – or wash with, or flush the toilet etc, and getting ready for a few days away meant this wasn’t exactly ideal preparation for a few days in Wales.

Still, we had a fantastic time with the family in idyllic surroundings reconnecting with nature and a more relaxed pace of life, at odds with the busy daily routines we’ve been accustomed to.

Small breeds farms, lovely old fashioned ghost towns and the real highlight was an amazing lunch in the countryside at a venue I’d recommend anyone in that neck of the woods ever should make a visit to a priority: The Riverside Inn at Aymestry really has it all.

Incredible service, including a waiter who remembered an awkward drinks order perfectly; fantastic food, from a simple-looking menu but with unique offerings such as Herefordshire snails (battered and deep fried, first time I’d had them that way) and an incredible blue cheese ice cream with walnuts. My main of steak sandwich with fennel, apple and truffle fries was pretty damn special, too: overall, perfectly befitting of a very special occasion for a very special person.

Back home, spending time at the library with the wee’uns to do their summer reading challenge led me into the poetry section and reminiscing: eras ending AOTS mean that not only has Elijah joined a footy academy, my barber embarked on a career change, and Big Dunc new challenges – even our local has changed hands – but also I too have changed roles and classrooms. I already miss some of the curriculum content, hence the verse reading of choice… anthologies of Seamus Heaney, Carol Ann Duffy and Simon Armitage, the latter of which reminded me of the word phenomenology and its relevance to so many recent sentiments.

Which brings us to the momentous occasion of taking Elijah to his first match and the tears it brought to all of our eyes.

I never really prepared myself for the enormity of the first game. I remember mine distinctly – Derby County, 29 December 1990, won 2-0 – but as a father, I knew it would be emotional and exciting but nothing like what really happened last Friday.

I couldn’t have chosen a better game. Well, maybe I could, as the first ‘Match for Peace’ was always going to be an emotive occasion against a Kiev team, with Mykolenko as our captain and with several thousand tickets having been distributed to Ukrainian fans, plus the fact it was my first sojourn to Goodison since that eventful night in May when everything was ok in the world for a short while. I even met up with a friend I’d formed a bond with over the last few years despite never actually physically meeting: we got on brilliantly and even found time for a kickabout in Stanley Park before the game, which added to the feeling this was a pivotal event.

Let’s just say he enjoyed the whole thing hugely, and so did I, even when he cried his eyes out at the noise of the crowd cheering the first goal of the evening and we were late getting home. Two days later and another match, a more relaxed affair of Tottenham Hotspur against Yorkshire Spurs in an exhibition match for a very good cause, meeting an inspirational figure from the Eighties…

Fine art, films, food and football. Meeting heroes. Over-elaborate title concepts.

Same as it ever was.

When last we met, things were looking pretty precarious on the football front. Thankfully, at the start of the month a combination of flares, ball hiding and a dog being carried through a crowd akin to an Egyptian deity brightened things up a little.

Then, at the end of the month, more relief – but it would be wrong to dwell on such events, when there’s much more serious things going on in the world – yet despite the celebrations, the three goals back from two down miracles all over the shop (including Marine) I was still accused of various things online (for having the temerity to tweet about footy for once, for having a sense of humour, of apparently supporting 25 teams – more of which later!)

We start with snakes – not those in Parliament, just at a kids’ party – and go on to looking at sport, nay life, being the perfect analogy of these two (also at the party – an analogy for current situations, the tortoise and the hare!)

Politics rose to the forefront of people’s thoughts this month, with yet more controversy meaning that I wouldn’t be surprised if there were more riots in the summer should things not improve drastically. To try to distract myself from the debacle, I had a listen to the new album by Kendrick Lamar (I felt old) then reverted to Cream Classics (I felt young again) then watched the surreal Romeo & Duet one Saturday night and just felt irrelevant to today’s contemporary culture. Also, the much anticipated The King, aka Il Re, set in a picturesque prison, and the very entertaining Liam documentary about his return to Knebworth, which evoked memories of him signing a bollard sign for me and concurring that he was ‘f***ing cool’ which had some dark moments with him opening up about not remembering much. Thankfully, there was some solace to be found: the ever impressive Inside No 9 series 7, perhaps not quite hitting the bizarre and surprising heights of previous episodes at the start of the series but still, special stuff… then the last one – Wise Owl – came and all those horror moments of childhood came rushing to the fore. the animations in this last episode were incredible and it was refreshing to hear their creator explaining the process on the ever-fascinating Inside Inside No 9 podcast, available now on BBC Sounds. I’m so glad that new series have just been announced.

Talking of number nines, I have to share an account of an incredible night that culminated in a diving header by our centre forward as so many great nights previously had done: the soundtrack to which, was the greatest chant to re-enter the matchday hymn book since time began:

It was the background music to one of my best football related experiences in 37 years. That night proved the game isn’t all about trophies, seen lifted on a screen, nor glorious failures in second place and not even fluked penalty shootouts.

I swallowed (not wallowed) the nostalgia, recollecting yesteryear in case things were about to change drastically. They even played the Rocky tune before kick off, as if to underline the underdog theme, which stirred up memories of Stallone’s visit back in 2007. But, like the Italian Stallion himself, I needn’t have worried about anything after all:

I’m still getting the blue from the pyrotechnics out of various possessions and items of clothing, and Elijah’s still re-watching the behind-the-scenes footage regularly, but it’s still difficult to fully describe exactly how it felt welcoming the – what some might say workshy set of b******s – but even if they are, as the kids of Grange Hill once said about their art teacher whose niece I had a brief romance with many moons ago, they’re still ours and that night they were representing – preserving – much more than their own reputations… and then the aftermath.

Oh, that aftermath.

I didn’t celebrate the survival as I might once have, running on the pitch, but did revel in watching the elation; I fully enjoyed it and am not at all embarrassed about it. The catharsis was palpable, the surreality of the whole situation, and those that don’t understand don’t matter – some will never experience anything like it and now, more than ever given the weird ‘homecoming’ others were given, one really does equal at least twenty and I’d argue that supporting 25 teams* is a far more positive lesson for my son, developing a love of football as a sport not just one club and far better than being tribalistic, causing trouble, getting into Twitter spats and letting your life be affected too much by something you have absolutely no control over or anything to do with, even for those travelling without thinking, believing they can do something about it all when even our interventions probably had no real effect.

I digress… but let’s remember that no matter what an oddbod might have once allegedly said, it’s just a game, after all.

(*For the record, and in order, I’d say: Everton, Napoli, Barcelona, Marine, Boca Juniors, Wolfsburg, PSG, Marseille, Ajax, Preston North End, Lancaster City, Inter Miami, Argentina, Italy, France and Algeria – 16, maybe? UNLUCKY!)

Anyway, more important things to watch this past few weeks included: The Flight Attendant (intrigued how a second series will play out) the new lot of Stranger Things (slow, unconvincing start I thought but I’m growing into it and now loving the new style) and the much anticipated Obi Wan – episode 3 being absolutely incredible in terms of tension and excitement and overall replication of the style of the original trilogy, whilst episode four had me on the edge of my seat and was arguably better than anything the prequels and sequels have offered.

Much of what I have seen this month brought on symptoms of the titular infliction of increased heart rate, dizziness, fainting, confusion and hallucinations brought about by exposure to great sights. Said syndrome’s most common in Florence where people apparently regularly fall ill after experiencing the beauty and sublime of the artwork in the city, and it all reminded my nicely of my dissertation, now over twenty years old. It covered Ricky Fitts’ engagement with the plastic bag in the wind, and whilst a bouncing Goodison from pitchside, Kaley Cuoco, Dungeons & Dragons and Darth Vader aren’t quite as aesthetically pleasing as the Birth of Venus or the Mona Lisa (the latter of which was smeared with cake last month for some reason) they still brought on similar symptoms.

It wasn’t just viewing material, either. The beautiful, haunting new album by Michael Head (including that song about your phone running out of battery on a walk in Wales) had had a similar effect on my ears when first I listened to it, especially the lovely new versions of old classics such as Comedy, one of all my all time favourite songs.

Or maybe it was all just the long Covid, after all.

Much of the aforementioned was watched and listened to over half term, which started with a tranquil trip away – hotel, ice showers, spas and saunas, connecting with nature, great food, that sort of thing – and ended with a bizarre but brilliant street party for the Diamond Jubilee: now despite not being much of a royalist, I once spent the summer of the Queen’s Golden Jubilee working at Buckingham Palace. It was an incredibly memorable couple of months, which people still marvel at when I explain the details, and the myriad weirdoes I met there (working and visiting) meant I’ll never forget it either.

I do wonder what might happen to many of them, when this inevitably happens…

The people who stuck out the most were those who had a bizarre fascination with the family and a strong belief that they somehow should be part of it, either being born there or deserving part of the wealth and therefore being angry at having been apparently castigated. This obsession has always stuck with me but didn’t stop me allowing my own kids to start showing an interest in regal routines so I didn’t stop B sending a get well soon letter to Her Maj.

Indeed, we’d totally forgotten all about it until an envelope from Windsor Castle arrived on the carpet a few months later…

The post arrived in the week before our street party, and a great time was had by all. All very positive, until the sad news about Paula Rego’s passing.

On the anniversary of the death of another hero from my previous life, Anthony Bourdain – read my response here – I was saddened to hear that the genius painter had also died. I spent a lot of time studying her paintings during A Levels and Art Foundation and recognise that these are probably the more likely source of the syndrome I serendipitously named this blog post after. I loved the drama, the depth, the back story, the subtext and dual meaning which aren’t immediately apparent.

An obituary article in the I newspaper simply repeated a quote of hers:

“I always need a story. Without a story, I can’t get going.”

It also described her technical skill, creating images based on incredible narratives from Portuguese folk stories to Disney fairy tales. Meanwhile, she herself said that painting is like ‘being possessed with desire’; ‘What you want to do is make people look’ and she certainly did. I spent hours looking at this image in particular:

Her paintings, in her other obituaries, have been described as ‘visceral and unsettling’ which makes them almost the opposite to the ‘playful yet sincere’ comments made about some of my own artwork but we did have a link, after all.

I’d like to end on a real positive and my finally starting Stanley Tucci’s book, Taste. It’s started beautifully, replete with recipes for Negronis and his family’s ragu amongst other classics . As he explained his journey from America to Italy, his conversion from actor to bon viveur, they symbolised nicely the current signs of change.

Still, on a similar theme, I’ll leave the final word to our Paula: an inspiration to so many artists (and not just female!)

Normally my favourite time of year, despite the constant travails and uncertainty, there has been much to celebrate recently: Spring has sprung, and out of darkness comes some light.

A metaphor for the difference a decade makes, perhaps?

War ravaging, barely affordable costs of living and constant doomscrolling meant we needed an escape: it would come, kind of, with the amazingly powerful ‘Naples 44’ (subtitled ‘An intelligence Officer in the Italian Labyrinth’) film (still available in iPlayer, I believe) and its emotive narration by Benedict Cumberbatch and haunting tales of what happened in the city during the war, what with cats disappearing and desperate women stood next to piles of tinned foods. Upsetting and beautiful in myriad ways, what stuck with me most were the end lines, as Norman Lewis announces ‘if I were to be reborn tomorrow I would choose to be Italian’.

Sharing this sentiment, I decorated my classroom entrance for World book day:

It was, of course, inspired by my love of all things Partenopeian. Dreams of sunnier climes transported us forward to 1960s Campania and the fantastic new series of My Brilliant Friend, courtesy of the beautiful words of Elena Ferrante (if that IS your real name) then took us to Malta for the intriguing ‘The Holiday’ before whisking us over to the cartels of South America via ‘Ozark’ series four (part one, with the remainder being released this weekend) before returning to a familiar setting and gripping ‘Our House’ which had clever twists and turns aplenty.

Talking of which: some amazing photos of us!

Great times were also had by all out of the living room: 50ths and 40ths with old friends, and an incredibly enjoyable trip to the West Midlands for a beautiful wedding with old school friends which took me back to 1995 for a day. My GCSE years were filled with Friday nights drinking and discovering music and film (often returning home to this question) with some great guys and it was so brilliant to catch up and reminisce.

How good it was to even have a dance in lovely surroundings… and with fantastic company!

The perfect way to start the celebrations for the tenth anniversary of our own special day, which I’d written about for the Empire State Building website and the folks there were so smitten with the narrative of our romance that they promised to send a little gift.

I kept it a surprise from WW, and it was a little bit like the shocking end of Seven (another nod to 1995, or was it the insomnia of Fight Club?) but even I was blown away by the thoughtfulness and generosity of the ESB when the FedEx parcel arrived… it all brought back such wonderful memories and really made us feel special.

Like ESB VIPs, in fact.

“You don’t work in the Empire State Building. You propose in the Empire State Building. You sneak a flask up there and raise a toast to the whole city of New York.” -Maureen Johnson

To resurrect other treasured, special moments we also returned to our favourite place: Britain’s Classic Seaside Resort. This time we encountered the Botanic Gardens for the first time, a lovely little place with its aviary and crazy golf course and beautifully colourful geranium beds. We also visited the newly renovated market, now a bar and food hall with a plethora of delectable delights we will definitely return to. That we only had a drink there this time was because we he had a prior booking to attend at The Vincent Hotel in Southport.

That’s where we celebrated our wedding breakfast and danced the night away in bespoke trainers, and, whilst we’ve been back myriad times since, we’d never gone for tea as a family of four. It was lovely surprising the kids with a trip to the beautifully renovated market (on the street where we bought the bridesmaid dress and tie material, and later the pram and car seat) before a fantastic meal with excellent service and a magical dessert (we opted for the limoncello, as enjoyed on the first night of our honeymoon!)

I’d emailed the hotel in secret, asking if we could view the function room if it was free, and thankfully it was being set up for a wedding the following day – lovely little kwinkydink – which meant we were able to show the kids the space where we cut the cake, have the speeches and performed our first dance. Five minutes of joy and reminiscence which was another perfect anniversary gift… This was such a lovely opportunity and we thank the staff there for the chance to share it with the weens.

The next morning it was up early for potentially the final school drop off for ages – mixed feelings, quite liked doing it but not sure I could do it every day, despite this one including seeing Allan leaving his own offspring at the school around the corner – and a trip to the intriguing CONSCIOUS show at the Bluecoat by Suki Chan, on the theme of dementia, which doesn’t sound very romantic but was certainly emotive and thought-provoking – before an eagerly anticipated lunch date and the more intimate celebration of our tin milestone.

We’d agonised over where to go, based on previous excursions, and couldn’t see past the perfection of our previous foray into town and the amazing Barnacle. You can read all about our first visit here…I even wore my wedding shirt for the first time in years – it was bespoke, based on Pep’s 2012 style, and not my 2022 Dad Bod – and actually a payment for a blog I’d written for a now-defunct bridegroom website and now only just fits!

There’s more detail to come, but a 12.30 lunch so we could get back to pick up the kids meant that, whilst I wasn’t drunk at all, made some quick notes on the train home and typed out the following:

Emotions of the absence

Amazing camaraderie with Ben and Jack

Choice of wine to go with the pork

Passion for the local produce and the honest comments about desserts

Easter eggs next year?

Best serving double act since Fred and Merlin

This all made sense the next day, thankfully!

We were genuinely upset that we couldn’t go back the next week, and the week after, given how wonderful a a welcome we received (and a farewell, hugs and wedding invites included!) but we’ll be returning in the summer. Honestly, the staff there are simply incredibly good at their job and know the food and wine inside out but also feel like your mates instantly.

The food: incredibly sumptuous oysters, designed to be chewed; the lambs tongue, with raspberries for a new combination; the chowder, even better than last time; the perfectly cooked pork, with the jus that begged to be supped from the jug; the succulent chicken, with the delightful hen of the woods mushroom; the panna cotta with bay, thyme & honey… the cocktails (my maritime martini was incredible…) and the after eight inspired gin drink with a shard that WW devoured and should be an easter egg… There were just so many stand out dishes and drinks that I’ll just share the pictures and leave it there.

Paul Askew, thanks for all you do for the city and the region! Ben and Jack, thanks for the impeccable service,

The food itself is just perfection and we couldn’t have wished to have made a better decision for both legs of our culinary celebrations.

Back home then, for the remainder of the holidays and streaming selections brought more success. In no particular order: Moon Knight and the returning notion of having an alter ego. My childhood hero, Pat Nevin, on Celebrity Mastermind and losing to one of the reviewers on Gogglebox (despite his autobiography making him sound like the most knowledgable and articulate footballer that ever lived – an outstanding read!)

Now, for a brief interlude and honorable mentions to other highlights of the last couple of months:

A fantastic breakfast at our new local, with the coolest branding around, The Oxford, whom we wish well and urge all to attend.

Then there’s the visits to farms, Acorn Farm and St Michael’s, which again were a lovely reminder of Spring and nature on our doorstep, and exactly why Easter really is the best time of year.

There also came Turning Red – great music, beautiful design, clever and very close to home – and finally getting what everyone was saying about Killing Eve, what with its graphic violence and stirring romantic undertones yet the plot promoting even more longing to travel when you saw those exotic locations.

And, Tyson Fury – great fight and got me thinking of not just meeting him last summer but the journey he has been on; I sat re-watching the highlights with the littlest one the following day and he’s starting to show an interest in pugilism that then brought back older memories of this magical movie moment from Bugsy Malone:

And then, the football and three Marine FC games as their run towards play off success progressed – E really is developing a keen interest in the game, getting to know players and club colours and practising out in the garden all the time. Also, he;s always asking questions such as ‘who is this playing?’ ‘Is Neil Kengne better than Leo Messi?’ and deciding which kit to get for next season… I’ve never pushed it with him, but now it’s glorious to see things taking their hold and he’s really caught the bug (next to The Bug, for those who know)

Taking the family to the last game of the season was just brilliant and, even though they lost it, they won the ones that mattered. I listened to the play off final via YouTube and marvelled at the scenes when the squad returned to the stadium in celebration, feeling a sense of pride and excitement for once, and so we might even get a season ticket for next season!

Evertonian turned Sky pundit and impartial commentator JC was even at the last game, stood near us and clearly intimidated more than I’d seen him since facing up to Duncan or even our encounter in town one night at Easter 2001.

As always, bigger issues and events await ominously… but they can wait, for now.