grumpyf1

If I decided to clamber onto the parapet of Walney Bridge and stroll along, you’d hopefully tell me to get down immediately – it’s dangerous. If I fell off, you’d be forgiven for saying you warned me, and that I was a fool for putting myself at risk like that. What if I’d spent years practising on the top of a low brick wall? Or been trained by an expert? Or had the right equipment, did it when the conditions were right, and had a permit to do so? I’d wager that you’d still say I chose to put my own life in danger. Scaled up to a mountainous level, is there much difference between my hypothetical bridge wander, and someone choosing to attempt Everest? As far as I can tell, no-one who has died on the massive mountain was forced into going up – they did it out of choice, for personal fulfilment and adventure. To take on an incredible physical challenge and overcome the danger to achieve something amazing. It seems that a variety of reasons are behind the large rise in deaths

If you’d asked me this a couple of weeks ago, I would have undoubtedly have said yes. I’d only caught a few snippets of the show over the years, and in those brief moments was pretty horrified at what I saw. From my very limited viewing, I rapidly formed the opinion that this wasn’t my kind of show. Why would anyone choose to go on TV to air their dirty laundry, and potentially discover something hideous about another person? Wife slept with your brother? Your sister is in love with your best friend’s killer? Sure – find that out in a TV studio in front of a live audience. Apart from my bemusement as to why anyone would want to put themselves through that, I couldn’t grasp why anyone would want to watch that happen. Voyeuristic, ghoulish, gaining enjoyment from other people’s misery? I didn’t get it. But much as I watch F1 and others love the Footballs, we’re all different. It was the most popular of ITV’s daytime shows. It ran for 14 years. So, not for me, but it was certain

“Welcome” might not be quite the word I’d choose, but sure – let’s get Donny over to the good ol’ UofK and show him the true meaning of great British hospitality. He’s a polarising chap, isn’t he? At least with Marmite, people who hate the gloopy brown stuff have a choice of whether or not to consume it. With Trump, every time you look at the news, there he is – looking like he’s rolled face-first on the floor of the Wotsits factory, and spouting something that usually has people cheering or frothing at the mouth. On his trip to the UK last year, which was originally intended to be a state visit, the wave of public disapproval at the idea meant he popped over briefly, managed to ignore all normal protocols when he met the Queen (who’d have thought he’d be in any way disrespectful to a woman?) and brought us together as a nation for a rare moment. Whilst Brexit continues to divide us, Donald’s appearance meant the public united to protest about the Orange One’s arrival, launch a

This is a bit weird. I'm not a newspaper columnist any more. After submitting my foldy phones piece last week, I received an email saying The Mail are rearranging how they do things. Going forward, there will be a weekly "On the podium" section on a Monday, where a particular topic will be discussed. One week will be local MPs giving their viewpoint, the next the current columnists. Word count will be around 250-300 words (I was writing 400, originally 500, with that full-page period at 1000), so greatly reduced. Disappointingly, I had to ask if they wanted a final column from me for this week, before the new section starts on Monday. I was hoping I'd have a chance to say a kind of goodbye after seven years of penning my column. But they didn't. So, just like that, I'm no longer a columnist. In case they said yes, I wrote a farewell piece, so, for old times sake, here it is: One last Friday feeling Seven years ago, I was wondering what to write

Remember when mobile phones first appeared? Wow – you don’t look that old. The first civilian call was (kind of) made by Ernie Wise (yes, the short, fat, hairy-legged half of iconic comedy double-act Morecambe & Wise) on the 1st of January 1985. By the end of the decade, they were pretty common (phones, not Ernies), and now – well... try living without one. The model used by Ernie - a Transportable Vodaphone VT1, fact fans – cost about £2000. Ouch. Having said that, smartphones have been getting both progressively smarter and more expensive over the last decade or so. Roll back to 2010, and you’d have been pretty gobsmacked at the thought of paying £700 for a mobile. Now, the latest top-notch iPhone is in that expensive ball-park, and there’s more bad news for the bank account of anyone wanting the latest, smartest, tech. There’s a new kid on the block. The Samsung Galaxy Fold does what it says on the (alarmingly expensive) tin, and opens out to create one large screen, w

Do you think your latte is a lotta money? Or your cappuccino needs a price cap? Spare a thought for Boston Tea Party (BTP), an independent coffee chain, who voluntarily banned single use cups last year. It was an expensive decision – to the tune of £250,000. From June 2018, the chain’s 22 stores decided to put planet before profit, and told their customers they had to bring a reusable cup, pay a deposit on one that they could return, or drink their hot beverage of choice in the branch. v A bold decision and one that has proven costly. Owner Sam Roberts realised this would happen, and included the loss in his plans. With normal annual sales of £1m worth of takeaway coffees, a 25% drop is a big hit for a relatively small organisation. Finding that offering 25p off for customers with their own reusable cup didn’t really work (just 5% showed up with cup), BTP decided to really go for it. Roberts has challenged the bigger chains to follow-suit, saying “We felt this was a financial

Two words can strike terror into the heart of any parent – School play. If you’re lucky, it’ll be a tolerable affair, with some half-decent acting and not too many fumbled lines, set disasters, or one of the actors falling down and/or throwing up. At their worst, they can feel like they’re going on for days, and you start to wonder if the drama teacher is deliberately trying to get themselves fired. The choice of play often doesn’t help. An earnest Shakespearian outing, Guys and Dolls with awkward faux-American accents, or an ill-advised performance of Grease, anyone? Thought not. A school in the US has upped the stakes somewhat, by performing an adaptation of scary 1979 sci-fi blockbuster, Alien. Yes, it had the chest-bursting junior alien scene, too. Originally starring Sigourney Weaver as tough-as-nails spaceship Nostromo warrant officer Ellen Ripley, the film did a fine job of scaring the hell out of cinema-goers. In the following four decades, the alien-slowly-wipes-ou

I like things to be neat and tidy. Half the fun of playing with toys as a kid was making sure I’d packed them neatly away in the box afterwards. Take Monopoly; banknotes in denominational order, all the right way up and round. Property cards in the order they are around the direction of travel on the board (although I always had an existential crisis about the utility companies – mixed in with the streets, or grouped together as a set? I can feel my anxiety levels rising just thinking about it). Thankfully, I’m all grown up now, and if you’re presuming that my record collection is filed in alphabetical order of artist, then sub-ordered by year of release, and that I iron my underpants then you’re wrong. Only one of those is true. It’s comforting to know that it isn’t only other humans that have a need to keep things tidy. There’s a mouse near Bristol who seems to have taken it upon itself to keep Steve Mckears’ shed neat. After mixing up some bird seed, Steve was surprised

Formula 1 roars back into the lives of armchair motorsport fans this weekend, with the first race of 2019 taking place in Australia on Sunday. If you’ve paid up to watch the races on Sky, congratulations – you get all of the races live, and an extra Button too, with the former F1 champion, Jenson, joining their presenting line up. If, like me, you’ll be watching it on Channel 4... well, there’s less to be excited about. Only the British GP will be live, as a deal signed by former F1 supremo Bernie Ecclestone kicks in, giving Sky the rights to show all other races exclusively live in the UK. Instead, Channel 4 will have highlights only. Cue the tricky task of trying to avoid picking up your phone, turning on the laptop, or watching TV/listening to the radio for half a day after the race has finished, to try and avoid an unwelcome “and the winner was...” situation. Plus, some awkward late-night timeslots. Formula when..?! Sky’s big promo film also conspicuously used Fleetwood M

1745. That’s how many CDs I own. Yeah... that is quite a lot, isn’t it? Whilst prices vary enormously, at a rough estimate that means I’ve spent around £10,000 on music. Of course, that ignores the cassettes, CD singles, and vinyl 7”, 12” and albums. If only there had been some handy way of just paying a sum each month and listening to whatever I wanted – I wouldn’t have a wall full of shiny silver discs. Just to depress myself, let’s assume a streaming music service (like Spotify) costs £10 a month. On that basis, I could have used it for 1,000 months for the same outlay as the CDs alone. Or about 83 years. Ah. Still, there’s something nice about having a physical product, and I’d always presumed I was the righteous one – until I got the calculator out a couple of minutes ago. For those of you fortunate enough to be growing up in the time of streaming services for music, and video content, you can get just about anything recorded, ever, to enjoy whenever and wherever you w

There’s a pretty good chance that you’ve never heard of Mark Hollis. Even though he was in the news this week, following his untimely death at the age of 64, the passing of the 80s musician briefly made the front pages of news websites in the UK, but was quickly displaced by Brexit shenanigans, the unseasonably warm weather, and yet more Brexit. Hollis was the lead singer of the band Talk Talk, who formed in 1981. Over roughly the following decade, they released a couple of dozen singles and a handful of albums, with top chart positions of 13 for a reissue of the “It’s My Life” single and 8 for the “The Colour Of Spring” album. Somewhat hard to categorise, calling them “synth-pop” somewhat unfairly implies an overtly poppy, lightweight, sound – and they were far from that. As their music became more experimental in the mid-eighties, “post-rock” or “art rock” might be fairer. They did sound different to everyone else – and hypnotically so in some cases, with hints of early Rox

They don't write 'em like that any more, do they..? I don’t want to imply that I’m some sort of tough guy, but I didn’t even sniffle when Jack slipped into the icy depths at the end of “Titanic”. There was no lip-trembling when Bambi’s mum died either. Excluding the time I realised I’d run out of coffee and the shop was shut, I’ve avoided tears for some considerable time. A story from America tested my resolve this week, though. A chap called Matt, from St. Louis in Missouri, sold a VHS player on eBay. (Don’t laugh – we only got rid of ours last year.) His old-school tech sale received a similarly vintage-format response from the buyer, in the form of a letter through the post. It came from an 86 year old man In Phoenix, Arizona, who praised Matt for “your care, your efforts, and your promptness”. Wow –someone actually thanking someone for something. That’s got me pretty emotional already. The old chap’s story is so much more than that though. Having found a pile of

Cumbria is home to many amazing visitor attractions. The county boasts myriad places to go and things to do, including delights such as the World Of Beatrix Potter, the Ravenglass & Eskdale Railway and historic Dove Cottage. Hell, we’ve even got the Cumberland Pencil Museum. But lurking over the border in North Yorkshire, something new is coming, something so daring, it could steal away our valuable tourist trade. It is... ‘Sausage World’. Go on, admit it – you want to go already. Food producer Heck have had plans for a visitor attraction and expansion of their factory in Kirklington approved by councillors, and the new building for groups will doubtlessly draw in the crowds seeking a sighting of sausages, or cheeky chipolata-based action. It’s bound to go with a bang(er). Co-founder of the company, Andrew Keeble, reckons it will attract “loads of school trips”, before revealing that their machine can turn out a staggering 1,300 sausages every minute. Who doesn’t want to

Big, isn't it..? A long, long, time ago, I was on holiday on a Greek island, whose name eludes me – it probably had a “thos” at the end.  Out for an al fresco meal one night, the power went off, plunging all of the local area into darkness. As we were close to the sea, there was an total absence of man-made light. It was like someone had flicked the switch on a celestial light show. In an instant I saw more stars in the sky than I ever had before, eyeballed the Milky Way in all it’s glory for the very first time and experienced a quite stunning, humbling, moment - utterly beautiful. True, several large glasses of cheap local retsina may have helped enhance it, but it’s stayed long in my memory... a bit like the aftertaste of the bargain booze. Friends Of The Lake District want a piece of that sweet action (darkness, not budget plonk) and are hoping to achieve ‘Dark Sky Reserve’ status in three years. The plan is to limit artificial light pollution, which will make the a

Lunch out? Not unless you want snow balls... I’ve got a confession to make.  Lean in a bit, because I’m going to whisper it. Bit more. Did you have curry for tea? OK, good. I’m a weather nerd. There, I said it. When I was growing up, I didn’t want to be an astronaut or a fireman – I wanted to present the weather on the TV. I was lining myself up for a career at the Met Office when, at about 18 years of age, I discovered I was allergic to studying. Anyway, despite a jam-packed and varied career over the subsequent years, I still have a fascination for the world of meteorology. I even have one of those clocks that projects the time and the external temperature onto the ceiling at night, so I can see how cold it is outside whilst lying awake worrying that I might have wasted my life and been more successful with girls if I’d been more into cars than clouds. So far this year, I’ve gazed at a chilly reading of -5C a couple of times, and been grateful for previous sensible choice

"Knock knock" - "Who's there... AAAARGH!" If you’re off to Liverpool any time soon, and were thinking of bagging yourself a budget overnight stay in a hotel, you might want to check they’re open. And not wide open. An almost-completed new Travelodge in the city is a bit more open plan than intended after an irate digger driver trashed the reception area with his machinery this week, leaving the place notably more light and airy than was intended... and very badly damaged. It appears that the aggrieved digger operator was taking his revenge on a sub-contractor of the construction firm for £600 he claimed he was owed. I suspect that this impetuous course of action will wind up costing the disgruntled digger dude notably more than that, although he is to be commended for some skillful driving – he had to get the mini-machine up the steps of the building before quite literally breaking, entering, then breaking some more. He took his time over it too. One w

Sorry, just checking... where are we meant to be blessing the rain again..? What was the most streamed song in 2017? Something by Ed Sheeran, maybe? Or Adele? Nope. It wasn’t even a song from that year. It was quadruple platinum, soft-rock, 1982 epic “Africa” by Toto. Yes, the vintage track saw off all the newcomers a couple of years ago, continuing it’s relentless march through a rhyming desert landscape of baffling lyrics and impassioned vocal pleas. And repeated blessings of the rain. Definitely in the ‘Marmite’ category (you either love it or hate it), the classic continues to make the headlines, and there’s nothing a hundred men or more could ever do to stop it. Just two months ago, a DJ in Bristol went for the “ultimate guilty pleasure” track as his choice for a same-record-all-night charity gig. After five hours on loop, I bet the drums really were echoing that night. Even the band’s Steve Lukather suggested in a Tweet that the Africa marathon “could be worse than wa

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but obviously words could never harm you, right? I’d suggest we need to review our reliance on this particular old chestnut – words definitely can harm you. It seems MPs in Westminster would agree with that too, with some of them receiving hugely unpleasant and aggressive abuse and, in some cases, being jostled and intimidated by protesters. Think they’re being a bit ‘snowflakey’ about this? That they’re paid loads to be in the public eye, and should toughen up a bit – it’s all part of the job? Well, imagine this. You’re walking towards your place of work when a group of men block your way and start shouting at you. Stuff like “You’re vile, I bet your parents are ashamed of you! You’re lying scum! You should be ashamed of yourself! You’re a Nazi!” I know I’d be terrified by this. Hounding people going about their work is unacceptable – it’s bullying, and we sure as hell wouldn’t accept it in our own workplaces. You have an absolute ri

Once upon a time, a disappointingly relatively brief time ago, you could sit down in front of your TV, and be surprised at what you saw. Not shocked by a trashy dating show (or an even worse naked dating show), but surprised by almost any drama, soap opera, or just about anything non-factual. Before the proliferation of TV channels, the tell-all internet, and a constant battle for viewers, it was perfectly normal to have almost no idea what was going to happen when you watched your favourite TV show. Sure, the Radio Times, or your newspaper, might have hinted at what was going to happen – but crucially without giving any major clues. How times have changed. Now, you see endless trailers for what’s going to happen, with major plot elements shown, so that you more or less know what you’ll be seeing before you even watch. Worse still, all serialised shows seem to have a ‘Next Time’ section at the end, which often resolves the cliff-hanger you watched just seconds beforehand. You