Author: bigdunc09

“Naples exists inside me, and always will. Fortunately for me there is this treasure that I have inside of me and, when I need it, then I pull it out” said Sophia Loren (and she had a right to say this because she’s from there) but, now, it kind of applies to me, too.

Also, she was (famously) in a film called ‘Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow’ which nicely summarises what I’m about to say, too.

When I was a kid, all I knew of Neapolitan was the ice cream (still my favourite) and a vague recognition that one of the most hated men in England at the time – after what had happened in the Mexico ‘86 tournament – was winning trophies at a team called Napoli, but I was too young to join the pieces together.

Italia 90, though, saw things start to connect.

We had an Italian girl staying with us, who was in love with Toto Schillaci, and I became fully aware of the city of Naples for the first time as it was the location of several games in that tournament (the significance of which would only become clear, years down the line) as well as the home team of some of the stars of the tournament.

Calcio came to the fore, thanks to Channel 4, and my other education offered studies in Classics and Latin which included a trip to Italy in the spring of 1994. Vivid memories of the trip prevail: Green meat pies; teachers fishing retainers out of bags of sick; Vesuvius; Pompeii,  pizza and a day trip to a museum within a bustling, scary city.

I took a photo of the San Paolo as out coach drove past… the closest I’ve got. Friends and I saved our lire for a football shirt on the last day: ever the aesthete, I chose the Parma away because it was more lovely whilst a friend got Napoli away, and I forever regret my choice, although this was the real start of a love affair with the region (and a flirtatious attraction to its club)

Here’s a souvenir I have kept for over twenty six years…

I moved to Liverpool, a few years later: a city very similar to Naples for a lot of reasons. A people very similar.

For years, then, I marvelled from afar, watching the club reinvent itself, and although the chance never came to see the blues play the blues. In 2005, though, a new Argentine footballing hero came to prominence (whom I saw playing for Barcelona a year later, just like his idol had at a similar age) and I started to read up on the politics and culture of Argentina which, given the twentieth anniversary of his greatest moment, kept coming back to Diego.

A steak house with his shirt on the wall opened in town (went for my 27th). I tried (but failed) to see Maradona play in the first Soccer Aid. I started reading El Diego. Adidas even released an updated version of the no. 10 shirt from 1986, which I eagerly bought and wore proudly but will never forget a guy breaking off his phone call to loudly boo me for wearing.

I try to justify it now, by thinking maybe he was a Falklands veteran or just a devout England fan, but either way, my reading around the subject brought with it a different perspective on the handball. Maradona himself described his play as with ‘bronco’ meaning anger, fight etc, but I’ve also read about the culture of cheating, overcoming injustice and poverty using any means necessary and getting away with it made it the perfect act, given what came soon after… but many will never forget nor forgive.

Anyway, when the chance finally arrived to see the (other) Azzurri in the flesh, it came at Anfield, during the Hodgson era but what was soon to become a halcyon period for Napoli with the front three and revered coach, Mazzarri. You can read the match report to see what happened: http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/football/europe/9154975.stm

Personally disappointing, worse so to be witnessing it around gleeful Kopites, but it cemented my admiration for the Partenopei.

It was so exciting to see the fans, hear the chants, attempt to read the banners, though not so beforehand with the moody atmosphere and rumours of slashings, stabbings and more around the stadium. I’m currently reading a book about Ultras, as it was this experience that opened my eyes to what must go on every single week at their games. Not just their games, but a lot of games in Italy, it’s just that their reputation precedes them because of the other stuff that goes on in the city.

Talking of which: my second visit to the city, during my Honeymoon in 2012. We’d chosen the Amalfi Coast because of the beautiful scenery, food, architecture, lemons… and, I’ll be honest, proximity to the city I’d longed to return to for nearly twenty years. 

I took the train into the city on my own (WW being too scared) and watched the pickpockets going up and down the train carriage stalking their prey with a weird sense of excitement.

Yes, there was a smell, loads of rubbish and graffiti and dodgy characters…  but it was beautiful. I wandered the streets alone for a few hours, from the station to the historical centre and then worked my way back , savouring every sight, smell and sound of a whistlestop day trip. These memories lasted a lifetime… OK, I felt a bit intimidated admittedly, but in an exciting way.

Did some shopping, took some photos, ate some pizza. Fell in love again. Today I’m even wearing a badge I bought in the Galeria Principe, a wondrous shopping centre.

We returned home and, through married life then parenthood, I developed a love for daily Espressos (and the odd Campari Soda) plus the food of Gino di Campo (who hi-fived us both the weekend B was conceived, fact fans) and the merchandise of Hally Ink and Classic Football Shirts, to keep my Neapolitan fix going.

Watched every TV cookery programme that went near, shopped for and cooked all things Neapolitan (Buitoni being a particular favourite) ate pizza at every opportunity… Oh and I fell for the greatest TV series of our generation, Gomorrah. I’ve spoken enough about it, if you’ve not watched, get off this blog and get streaming NOW. The same applies to the beautiful My Brilliant Friend which we’ve both fallen in love with, too.

We seriously considered Enzo as a name for the boy… and last year, I even took a (male) colleague on a kind of date to the Everyman cinema to watch Asif Kapadia’s documentary on the man himself and educate him (he’s a lot younger than me!) which I’d also encourage everyone to see ASAP.

Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more Neapolitan, Trickett somewhat serendipitously came into my life… again, anyone who has yet to see their beautiful stuff, get on it straight away!

Regularly, on a Thursday evening at 7pm you’ll find me online purchasing – or, as is often the case, attempting to purchase alongside several other like-minded individuals – something wonderful, often made in Naples or linked to the culture. Like the Joker nearly said in the best Batman, I often ask of Iain and his team, “where do they get those beautiful things?”

When you get the product, be it a T-shirt or some coffee or even a pair of Maradona socks (a romantic Valentines gift to myself a couple of years ago) you also get some collector cards, postcards, stickers and a handwritten message thanking you for your support. If you’re lucky, at the minute you get a religious card to frame, too… this is the patron saint of Naples:

Recently, I’ve also been fortunate enough to join a few Trickett Napoli / Now in Naples Instagram tours of parts of Naples I vaguely recognised, a free gift with the purchase, virtually walking around the city, asking Joe the guide questions along the way as you meet the locals, swoon at the vibrant streets and their graffiti, dream of another time when an escape might be possible again.

These tours were a real inspiration for my most recent love letter to the football,  art and food of the city – and its most famous adopted son – and I based my own homage to Maradona on the street art there as well as the works of Banksy (who stencilled a famous Madonna with Pistol in the Forcella area of the city), Holbein and the location itself.

It all began last September when I saw a Neapolitan pizza place opening nearby.

Excited, we went for my fortieth and were blown away by the quality (and service) meaning several return trips and recommendations (to friends who’ve all concurred with me) and, just before lockdown started, the owner commenting on this photo (taken with a life size cutout of the great man, on the last night of our honeymoon, back in Sorrento) I posted in advance of the film being on terrestrial TV later that evening:

He said he was considering having a mural done in the restaurant; I offered to paint it for him.

I’ve not really done much art (as in drawing and painting) out of the classroom since the London exhibition in 2012, and certainly nothing on this scale. But there was something so perfect about this opportunity: the site, the subject, the story, that I just had to see it through.

Home Teaching and Schooling offered a few extra opportunities to do some research into suitable images and some sketching in the sunshine, and eventually we agreed on the elements it would include.

I developed an idea that it should be: lifesize (like the cutout) using the ideas of perspective that Leonardo da Vinci’s ‘Vetruvian Man’ inspired; as intimidating and moody as possible (incorporating the theory of the uncanny) and also using the photo realist / illusionist approach so excellently explained by James Fox in the recent documentary Age of the Image, with the trompe l’oeil approach championed by the likes of Holbein hundreds of years ago, so that it looks 3-D and the eyes follow you around the room… also, in the style of the Impressionists and Cubists, I’d simply be painting for the love of it and would be paid in food and drink (incredible pizza and wine!)

I spent time looking through the honeymoon pics, other artists’ interpretations of him in his prime, and at some pretty mad old photos of Diego from his days at Napoli, as this would be the most authentic time period to focus on.

We then added a couple of extra touches to fit the restaurant name, logo and theme, too. I loved looking at images of Diego’s halcyon days, what with how his life unravelled since then and now seemed to get partly back on track recently. Of particular help were a couple of Trickett’s books, and the tours, and I re-honed my drawing skills for the first time in a generation.

The unprecedented period went on (and on) and we settled on a date, just in time for restrictions being eased and the restaurant re-opening.

Excitedly I did a rough, packed a back of materials and said goodbye to the family, knowing this was an incredibly important moment and opportunity which I really appreciated, which celebrated a lifelong adoration and which might just kickstart a restart for my productive processes.

It took me exactly five hours to complete – the longest I’d spent on a painting since probably my art A Level (‘Still Life with Oranges and Marlboros’) and I loved every minute. I really think Diego might be the catalyst for me taking up portraiture and other art again, if and when time allows in the new normal.

Honestly, it was amazing to take the kids and WW to see the painting (and have yet another fantastic meal) a week later and, in the words of High School Musical, this could be the start of something new.

Watch this space.

You can go and see the mural for yourself in the toilet of Il Capitano’s, St. John’s Road, Waterloo (the idea is he watches you as you enter and do your business) now they’re re-opened. They’ve done fantastically as a takeaway in that time, but now here is a new talking point for new visitors. Indeed, the first weekend after I did the painting, a couple from Naples came to eat.

I hope they liked seeing a piece of their home here: further proof of what Sophia once said.

Oh yeah, it was the start of the summer, and oh yeah, it was the start of forever…

School was out, shops reopened, masks were on and the non-socially-distancing-yet-ever-more-crowing ‘Kopites’ made it more difficult than usual to enjoy the freedom at last:

Exhibit A: This is my neighbours’, a sight I’ve had to endure for weeks already. Exhibit B is all on Twitter, you can look that up yourself as I don’t want to further compromise someone’s security.

We heartily congratulate some of the excellent footballers who won the league back in November, and some of the fans who have waited a long time to see it happen again (and by that I mean see it with their own eyes, in the stadia said team were playing in) but not the idiots who claim it as their own success when IT HAD ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. Although you’d think it did, what with the arrogant bragging and mindless celebrations which jeopardised a city again.

Anyway, pubs & restaurants reopened too – timely – and it was nice to see people again although the circumstances and procedures in place were a little awkward and uncomfortable. Thankfully, I saw my best man and mate for thirty years (down the beach, not the pub) and met his son for the first time which was a lovely reminder of times that have gone before.

I’ll talk about restaurants in a separate blog, but let’s just say I’m excited to see how places we love are preparing to reopen and I hope it’s not too long before we can experience the special times again. Until then, it’s keep calm and masks on (and keep cooking) which has been one of the personal highlights of the past four months for sure.

I keep getting positive comments on what I’m baking, making and documenting and apologise profusely if it does anyone’s heads in; it’s all for posterity, but also to show that self-teaching can be successful, plus it all might be useful should Masterchef come calling again one day.

In terms of culture, we loved watching ‘Dead to Me’ which brought back great memories of ‘Don’t Tell Mum The Babysitter’s Dead’, a favourite film of early teens (mainly because of Christina Applegate, an early object of my affection) and I enjoyed a chance viewing on Amazon Prime about Spanish footballers ‘Living Abroad’, well, just one episode, Juan Mata‘s guide to Manchester. It’s funny that this month I was nominated to name ten footballers who’ve influenced the way I play the game, and he was the joint eleventh on the list alongside David Silva as both players are cool, creative, quiet, considerate gents like myself who clearly have a cultured side to them. I think Silva recognised this last year.

Although I’m yet to set foot back in a museum or gallery, painting has been a priority. The artwork is also mentioned elsewhere: the other focus of recent weeks has been listening, I’ve mentioned most of my podcast recommendations before and I have got back onto Desert Island Discs (Simon Armitage was particularly interesting) and The Kitchen Cabinet (full of useful tips and suggestions) but have had the radio on throughout our spending warm summer days indoors, so here’s a little Lockdown Soundtrack for those of you interested in what I’ve been listening to…

It’s kind of like my own Desert Island Discs, having felt a bit like being stuck on an island for months, or even a mixtape like the one in High Fidelity, although this is a love letter to lockdown instead. There are thirteen songs, because – despite all my positivity – I’m well aware that this period has been more than unlucky for some.

SIDE A

1. Wandering through local streets was strange enough, so I can only imagine what it would have been like to be in a big city at the peak of Lockdown. All very 28 Days Later, I expect.

2. The kids seemed to watch at least one of the trilogy every day for a couple of months, learning the lines, lyrics and dance moves,  and they grew on me again having initially loved the first one when it was released. I’d say the second one is my favourite now, a bit like a summery Empire Strikes Back, and it has some of the better songs… Here’s a megamix for the uninitiated: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIeDvDmWEbU but I’ll stick with this because it sums up the mood of the family right the way through, and the country for a while at least.

3. Obligatory Courteeners track, this one being a bit different and a lot like some of the stuff that Craig Charles played during his excellent twelve week stint on Radio 6 Music ages ago. And, it features a two word line, that sums up Certain People I Know pretty well.

4. Every weekend I like listening to Frank Skinner and Jason Manford in the mornings (I know) on Absolute Radio 90s and come teatime, the Indie Disco which takes me back to GCSEs and the halcyon days of the Sugar House, Medication & Liquidation. Those of you who know… know.

I could have chosen myriad tunes. Ash, for example, whose gloomy lyrics opened this article. Shed Seven, Longpigs, Echobelly, a plethora of other bands seminal to us in our salad days but probably obscure to many. This though was on last week and I hadn’t heard it for decades. It also reminded me of how much I swooned when Louise Wener read out my name at a Sleeper gig (until I discovered it was because my mate had fallen into a door and smashed his face open)

5. 6 Music is really eclectic but this song by Fontaines D.C. seemed to be on repeat for months, and I’ve heard good things about their new album. Radio 1 are playing it a lot now too, so I must be down with the kids. The lyrics, the repetitive refrain, and the title, are pretty relevant too…

6. Home schooling brought with it the need for de-stressing and I liked the mix on Scala Radio of film & musical soundtracks, birdsong and opera and also spent ages reminiscing Italia ’90 so this song brings an end to the first side because it brought classical music – and football – into the homes of millions for the first time. Obviously, I could have chosen Pavarotti but this is one of the greatest football moments in recent years, in case anyone hasn’t seen it…

SIDE B

7. We started listening to Kissstory on a whim and stuck with it because, whilst repetitive, on summer days in the garden it’s so evocative – holidays abroad, drunk student nights out, and I could have chosen myriad songs that are seemingly on every hour: Busta Rhymes, evoking a messy end of term night out in Concert Square – not this year! – or a mad Groovejet / Moloko mashup which automatically takes me back to 2000 whilst in 2020 we’ve been celebrating everyone’s 40ths. I could also have picked Another Chance as it conjures up memories of Bugged Out, or even My My because it reminds me of how much I’ve missed ‘properly’ teaching, more specifically my first GCSE class sixteen years ago – but I choose this as it was on earlier, and it’s a lively opener to the second side plus it always reminds me of our raucous anniversary party which was exactly ten years ago this week!

8. Next, a song which many people think is about a dodgy supply teacher and a questionable crush but actually is about Social Distancing!

9. Now, I’m writing about my love of all things Italian in my next blog, but have included this song as I’ve been busy making and eating pasta and pizza for what feels like ages and also have had to ask bored kids to be quiet on more than one occasion (way more politely, of course!)

10. I’m also really proud of learning the art of baking, as many people will have, despite there being no flour or yeast around for ages back in the day. I’ve had a go at various doughs, pizza and even pie pastry but the bread is, literally, the bread and butter. This theme tune also contains the line, “oooh gotta get up, gotta get out” which represents the frustrations so many people felt (and some still do) at not being able to venture out of the house for such a long time.

11. This song represents the times of self-reflection, possible loneliness and probably isolation most of us have felt since the middle of March. But in a cheerier way.

12. A catchy pop tune my son keeps wanting to watch on YouTube, but I’m not embarrassed to say I actually love it because it’s arguably the most feel-good music video I’ve ever seen. The looks of astonishment and happiness on some of those couple’s faces are a sight to behold.

And finally:
13. Thankfully, many people have used this as a positive time and been good friends, neighbours and community members, doing good turns, offering help and services and I’ve been especially grateful to those who’ve done so for my parents.

Despite all the negativity, we end on a high…

Last week, E and I went out on an adventure.

We set out early, replete with WSAG sun hat, for a couple of hours’ fishing, throwing stones in puddles and exploring the beaches five minutes away from where we live. We even saw Ancelotti’s house – and, I think, the great man himself, or a good lookalike, on a bike ride – and lots of businesses happily back trading, having re-opened to the relief of their owners and no doubt the government. Things felt good: soon, pubs will be open (I enjoyed my first pint the other day, probably too much… thanks, John!)

Also, shops are now re-opening and slowly other services return. People can even get their haircut. It would appear that things are going back to normal.

But it’s not normal, really, is it?

The masks on the faces we saw on buses and trains during that walk; the spaces between people on the pavements; the scared looks on people’s faces whenever there’s a cough.

Not to mention the horrendous few weeks we’ve had all around the world, involving continued injustices, statues getting pulled down or protected, violent clashes in every city it would seem, and frustrations really getting the better of people. A bit like 1968, then, but a less arty and cool version.

An R rated Black Mirror... Will it be this way forever?

The walk was a way of trying to do something positive with the little man, after a particularly difficult week of tantrums and toilet troubles, which after twelve weeks of lockdown weren’t just from him (joke) but parenting two little ones whilst trying to home school, keep working and remain positive despite myriad anxieties and missing people hasn’t always been easy… when possible, podcasts have again helped, particularly the Italia 90 reminiscences of Vincera which brought nice memories flooding back (more of which, later) and then Lockdown Parenting by Josh Widdecombe / Rob Beckett, featuring several special guests who just discuss what it’s been like with little ones this past three months.

At the end of each interview, with the likes of Jason Manford (whom my folks once met in Waitrose) Jon Richardson (who went to my school) and Chris Ramsay (no links other than Geordieness) they ask the guests to share their ‘Highs and lows’ and I’ll be honest, I’ve imagined being interviewed and would admit to having had loads of both. There was the uncomfortable moment when I got talking to the wife of a very famous local ex-footballer and now Sky TV pundit, because my little girl rode her bike quickly across his drive whilst said wife was guiding him out of the gates… all good stories to tell in the future.

Oh, and I locked us out of the house and had to hand over £120 to a locksmith to get back in.

Anyway, the highs. There have been many, and I know that makes me very lucky. Special moments with the family, discovering new skills, getting quality sleep in, lower workload (only just, mind!) perfecting ciabatta thanks to my new favourite chef, Barney Desmazery (also responsible for helping me through managing a week-long sourdough adventure) celebrating friends’ 40ths from afar and a film challenge on Facebook which got me thinking about the twenty or so most important films of my life so far.

I forgot a few, so by way of apology, these are they:

Other highlights included: White Lines; an amazing (and timely) evening of TV courtesy of the incredible James Baldwin documentary; a Trickett virtual tour of Naples courtesy of Now in Naples which has mad me start rewatching Gomorrah from the very beginning; Monaco on BBC2, bringing back lovely memories; the excellent and insightful Age of the Image with James Fox (it’s on iPlayer and features the wonderful work of Ron Mueck amongst other fascinating analyses) ; Lady Bird with the impeccable Siaorse Ronan; the discussion of Epicuras in one of the final (and best) episodes of The Trip; a Keith Haring documentary I’m currently watching on BBC2 and the ever lovely Reunited Apart series, the most recent of which was for a Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and was magical… and then a fantastic, personalised message for Lisa’s birthday from Richard Hawley:

I’ve achieved a lot… built two double wardrobes myself. Taught the kids to ride their bikes, Elijah to write his name. Made some chorizo for the first time. Forged friendships with new people in my life who’ve been very helpful, setting challenges and offering generously. Rekindled relationships with others from the past.

Stayed positive through troubled times.

The kids really helped.

And of course, enjoyed a fantastic Father’s Day when I got some amazing gifts and even managed to watch another instalment of the official film of Argentina ’78 whilst in the promised land of a bath… then came the derby, as a part of Project Restart. As disgraced rappers might sing, Return of the match.

On one hand it’s football in its purest form, players against each other without distractions… but on the other, completely artificial. The fake sounds and OTT commentary. The shirt symbols after myriad players – including one of our own, I hasten to add – had made a mockery of both initiatives during the peak… need I go on?

I digress. You see, there’s so much more to talk about. So much more to life.

An oxymoron of lockdown was my weekly quiz, bringing together via WhatsApp as it did a diverse range of men (and their families) who took it in turns to prepare and deliver a quiz at 4pm every Sunday. Technology only really got used correctly in the final week, meaning that every week we’d frantically upload videos of ourselves asking questions into the abyss and hoping people were out there watching. Mine were said to be too difficult, too cultured, but still it was a nice pick-me-up we all looked forward to and a chance to check in / have the drinks we would normally have been doing together at that time and learn something along the way.

I also celebrated absent friends’ fortieths and reminisced some of your and my halcyon days, Italia ’90. So many nice memories, both personally and collectively, some of which I collated for an article elsewhere. Here are but a select few:

The real highlight of lockdown, though? 25^th June… a big day in my life.

For fifteen weeks, due to their age and health issues, I’d not seen my folks and them not their grandchildren (and vice versa) so nothing… until the good weather brought with it the chance for a barbecue and their good fortune at being able to be tested negatively for Covid-19 the previous weekend finally changing my dad’s mind. It was weird, but wonderful, for the kids and for me but most of all for them. The memories of that reunification meeting will stay with me forever; of course, for those of a different persuasion, it was an important milestone date too.

The crowds – very wrongly – gathered, and they all shared photos of their nights partying, thinking the rules didn’t apply. Tribalism begins at home: we objected, we got called rude names, they did even worse the following night but still, I thought not just of my own family but those who have died in the past fifteen weeks, what would they be thinking when they saw the crowds gathering at Pier Head? Aiming fireworks at – and cheering when they hit – the city’s motif? A building I recall looking up at whilst driving to the hospital for my first born’s birth (and on the return journey) and then a night of violent celebrations completely ignoring the previous four months of sacrifice from normal people like us AND those we stood out to clap?

The stupidity of football (and a minority of its fans) came to the fore and, whilst I acknowledge the brilliance of the team that won the league, I laugh at the idiocy of those celebrating it in certain ways and just hope – pray – their behaviours don’t bring around a second spike.

I’ve been more vocal about these events elsewhere, and don’t want people to get the wrong idea. It’s easy to get sucked into the vortex of negativity, but also hard to ignore a city getting vilified by a notable few… especially when it’s not for the right reasons. The majority are sound, whilst the others deny, excuse, reject, then begrudgingly accept and thankfully quieten down.

Merseyside, Merseyside and all that.

Thankfully, the month ended with a lovely little surprise message from an old friend about a very important person retiring. Therefore, I’ll end on a positive, and wind the clock back twenty two years to my A Levels and someone who made a huge intervention in my life possibly when I needed it most.

That notebook of film reviews…
The red v neck sweaters…
That admiration for Greta Scaachi…
The promises of cheese and wine (on which he duly delivered, I’m happy to say as it’s too late to get him in any trouble…)
Those conundrum questions at the start of the lessons… one of which making me admit I’d choose sleeping with Elvis…
The comments on my artistic titles…
The encouraging me to sit with a younger student every week and suggesting a future career path…

For these reasons and more, I would always say that Mr Novell was the reason I became a teacher. You only have to look at my well-thumbed and incredibly well annotated copy of Great Expectations – and my recent badge for World Book Day – to see the impact his teaching had on my understanding and my career.

How lucky we were to have him behind the desk at the front.

I hope DJ enjoys his retirement and watches lots more films, reads anything he hasn’t already, listens to new music, drinks loads of wine and feels proud of the impact he had not just on my life but countless others over the years. It’s funny that his name fits a fellow English teacher so perfectly… spellings and stories, the stories of our lives.

These past few months have been a story and a half, let me tell you…

But then you already knew that.

Until next time.