Is it just us or was anyone else wondering if the March “special” occasion days would ever end?
We don’t want to be a party pooping killjoy, as that’s what
we pay our MP for, but we are sensing an increase in these days and fear that
the calendar will soon be left bereft of any “normal” days.
Obviously, we were as sad as everyone else to have missed out on the very special day scheduled for March 29th and have even revised our New Year’s Resolution of not mentioning the B word (see Resolutions Solutions) until……err whenever but, seriously, March was way too full of these days (even weeks) set aside for………. stuff!
We had Pancake Day a little later than usual which caused
conflict with us giving up pastry pleasures for Lent due to it being British
Pie Week.
A really nice pie we won’t be eating during Lent.
On top of that along came World Book Day and International
Women’s Day.
Not that we’re knocking either of them. We saw hordes of Hermiones, masses of Matildas and groups of Gangsta Grannies. But enough of our Thursday night in The Peahen, we at AL3 applaud anything that gets children to reed cos it helps with spulling innit.
Alice and her posse were off to the Peahen.
Seriously, by the time all of this had hit us, we were thinking of looking for respite
with some Special Occasion Day Ignorance Therapy or booking a Get Over National Awareness Days Session!
But, before we knew it, along came National Butchers Week
which strangely coincided with World Kidney Day (although we have since learnt that
it may have not been that kind of kidney).
Steak and not that kind of Kidney
Just to top it off and in case it was all so stressful it had you reaching for the Woodbines,
they threw in No Smoking Day!
Madness in March.
Thankfully today is free from any such worries and we can
move in to April and focus on the important stuff like National AL3 WTF Day on
April 1.
STOP PRESS – we have just been informed that not only are our clocks wrong but that it may also be wise to obtain some flowers and chocolates from the Shell garage on our way back from our lunchtime session at the King Will. How strange? We’ll update when we find out more.
So, January’s over and 2019 is in full swing. How’s it been for you so far? Well, if you fell in to the trap that is the New Year Resolution, chances are not too good.
Figures from the Ministry of Everything Socially Significant suggest a third of resolutions fail before the end of January. Feeling bad? Don’t. We are here to help.
Prof. Anna Lyze
According to Professor Anna Lyze, a Human Behaviour expert at MESS, “Most NYRs fail for two main reasons. Firstly, it is the New Year und secondly, it is a resolution. Ze timing is all wrong and you haff chosen something you don’t want to do”. (PS – We’re not sure why she talks like that as she’s from Luton?!)
We agree. You’ve just spent the Christmas Holidays acclimatising your body to excess food and drink and lounging around in your PJs, eating popcorn watching reruns of films you’ve seen before and now you’re going to force it into cold turkey (withdrawal not leftovers) mode and expect all be fine and dandy.
Bliss
Why give up chocolate when Easter is just around the corner and the shops are filled with egg or bunny shaped versions of every chocolate variety known to mankind?
The same goes for alcohol. Dry January? Why bother? It can only lead to an internal conflict of your liver’s health vs supporting the Save St Albans Pubs campaign (only one winner there!). As if that’s not enough, you’ve got a houseful of leftover Christmas booze that needs consuming before it goes out of date.
Besides, what kind of person waits all year to make a choice about something anyway? What were you doing for the other 364 days?!
That’s not to say you shouldn’t aim to change little things here and there. At AL3 Towers, for example, we committed to stop wasting.
Wasting leftover Christmas booze? Simple! Eggnog and bacon is an obvious choice for breakfast.
Wasting away? Eat chocolate!
Wasting time worrying about the future? Easy, don’t mention the “B word” until at least March the 29th.
This is an easy one anybody can do, especially when there are so
many other words beginning with B.
We were asked for a review of 2018. Now we’re the type of people who prefer to look forward but… We must deliver the will of the people.
NB – We are no slaves to time or truth so the content may not be chronologically or factually correct.
January – Dry. Kind of. More damp really, leaning towards wet. Save St Albans Pubs!
Trains – Bad. Ticket prices up. Although cancellations and delays were up too so there’s a kind of symmetry and order at play here.
Let the train take the strain.
Buses – Bad. Why aren’t they electric? Why aren’t they warm? You wait ages for one and then…
Sinkholes – Bad. You wait decades for one then…
Potholes – Bad. Efforts to rectify are on a par with bailing out the Titanic with a teaspoon.
New Mayor – Great. Cllr Rosemary Farmer. We say “great” but only because we feel a Mayor called Rose Farmer may do something pretty with the park flower beds. Plus, we can only assume that the Royal National Rose Society based at the Gardens of the Rose is her family business. Which is nice.
Police – Great. New Chief Inspector vowed to tackle the wave of burglaries. Chief Inspector replaced (repeat as necessary) We think we’re still on the 3rd one? It may well be Inspector Gadget by now for all we know. Tip – Never “vow” anything. It only leads to woe. Ask Theresa.
Tree Felling – Bad. They chopped down the tree at the Clock Tower. The tree had to come down for “safety reasons” not because it interfered with any planned projections of a Christmassy nature on the tower.
Christmas lights turn on – Enlightening. But if it gets any earlier then it’ll start to compete with Bonfire Night.
Christmas Fair – Fair. But somebody didn’t want it anywhere near where they live.
Housing – Fair. Plans for 15,000 in the district but nobody wants them anywhere near where they live.
Museum – Good (ish). But £7.75m? (could have built some houses). Does anyone else start singing “1-2-3 1-2-3 drink!” when they see the chandeliers in the Georgian Assembly Room?
We’re gonna swing from this chandelier, this chandelier.
UK’s Strongest Man – Good. But where, exactly, was the leader of the DUP? (Yes, we know).
St Albans Boy – V Bad. Fell “up to his nose” in Verulamium Lake. We never found out if this was head or feet first? One of which wouldn’t be quite so dramatic. We also wonder if, like Dr Foster, he never went there again?
Don’t drink the water!
Verulamium Lake – Bad. Still dirty. Ask the St Albans boy.
Heatwave – Good. Remember moaning how hot it was? Well, say “Hello” to burst pipes and slushy pavements people!
Back soon Folks! (After we’ve saved another St Albans pub!)
August 2018’s inaugural Meraki Christmas Festival was a huge success, selling over 4,000 glasses of mulled wine, 8,000 jars of locally produced cranberry sauce and 1,400 half-dozen packets of Redbournbury Mill‘s mince pies.
To avoid the confined space of the walled, sheltered, easy-to-reach, right-in-the-town-centre Vintry Gardens, and the inconvenience associated with the cold winter weather, St Albans District Council made the inspired decision to not only move the location of this year’s Christmas Market but to also hold the festive fair at a more user-friendly time of year during the summer holidays.
Ivor P Folio, council member for festive markets, said: “I’m going to see my brother, Keith, in Florida in December so I thought I’d get the whole inconvenient Christmas Market thing out of the way nice and early in August this year. You know how tricky it is when you’re trying to pack flowery holiday shirts and fritter away council tax-payers’ money all at the same time.”
Ivor P Folio
A wide range of stall-holders deemed the Merry-AKI (Albans’ Kristmas In-summer) festival a resounding winner:
Indoor comfy footwear retailers ‘All Saints’n’Slippers’ said: “Christmas is our busiest period so it’s great to get this event out of the way early. To be honest, we didn’t actually sell that many pairs, but we think shoppers were impressed with our quality as people near us could be heard commenting ‘Ooh, they’ve worn well, haven’t they’, which was nice.”
Never Ever (leave the label on)
From her gazebo selling pirate eye-wear, stall-holder Gabrielle thought she could make a good profit at the festival if it ran for longer: ‘Give me just a little more time’, she could be heard murmuring to herself.
Sales were patchy for some stall holders
The motorcycle spare-parts tent seemed a little out of place, but from beneath a Christmassy banner offering ‘10CC’s Dreadlock Festival Holiday Deals’, sales assistants were very happy to attend. “We’ve somewhat mixed views on summer sports so to be here instead is light relief; we don’t like cricket, oh no.”
The travel advisor selling sunset tours to a secret location (near a tree by a river, there’s a hole in the ground, apparently) was a fan of the switch to summer and the longer evenings. “I won’t let the sun go down on me,” claimed Mr Kershaw, at the same time denying that he was about to start selling NASA memorabilia at his permanent Christopher Place shop, SpaceNK.
Wouldn’t it be good?
Electrical retailers Dave More and Suzie Cheeba thought the summer event would get better and better every year, stating: “Rome wasn’t built in a day.” To labour the point, they added that this year’s event was ‘Way beyond’ their expectations and that its evolution was ‘Part of the process’ and that everyone should ‘Enjoy the ride’ and that those who were quick to complain were too ‘Trigger hippie’. They would have commented further but a customer called Mr Wikipedia interrupted.
A special Christmas auction was a huge success at the Merry-AKI. Although the most anticipated lot, a real-life Elf On The Shelf, was unavailable at short notice, the organisers sourced a last-minute replacement and there was furious bidding amongst men in their 40s for the right to have Pixie Lott 3A in their homes for 24 hours. Dad of six (or seven, he wasn’t sure), Brandon from Fleetville said: “I’ve had eight pints of Farr Brew and the missus is asleep in the circus tent, so I’ve re-mortgaged the house to bid for Lott 3A.”
Lott 3A: a Pixie
The successful Merry-AKI Christmas event ran over three days. Unfortunately, it only being mid-August and his red outfit still at the cleaners, Santa couldn’t attend. However, he did send his stunt-double, Noah. Fittingly, Noah arrived in a downpour of biblical proportions. We were informed that Noah was Santa’s stand-in, but we are now wondering if they are one and the same person. After all, you never actually see Santa and Noah in the same room, so I guess it’s plausible…
We sought clarification from Merry-AKI organisers about Noah’s lookalike status but a spokesman, Moses, refuted our hypothesis, claiming we’d got confused with the Council’s other summer outdoor event, ‘Larks in the Ark.’
fun in the sun
For many, the festive highlight was the Silent-Night disco where Christmas revellers could shake their jingle bells, getting them to ding-dong merrily on high whilst wearing warming ear-muffs.
It’s so quiet, shh shh.
AL3 thought it was a stroke of sheer genius to hold a giant game of ‘Ghost Bus’, where festival-goers had to search for hours for a mysterious pre-paid bus to transport them to or from the seasonal extravaganza. The Polar (National) Express was a resounding success as a way of keeping little ones entertained although, at £8 per ticket (excluding bus ride), it was a tad expensive.
You wait for ages then…
Packed with tinsel, roasted chestnuts and festive good cheer, Merry-AKI was lots of fun. AL3 is looking forward to the outdoor summer event that the same organisers are holding at Westminster Lodge this December. We’re camping for the full 23 days and will be packing swimming trunks for the giant water-slide and looking forward to picnics in the sunshine and relaxing outdoor massages.
A free service fully approved by our legal advisors Hardy, Tubs & Basket.
Our legal team need to work on their signage.
As the 18th century horticulturist, Walter La Plante, famously said
‘If you want things to grow, start with a good pile of shit.’
How fitting then that, now Spring is upon us, AL3 Towers has been inundated with piles of the stuff in the form of Canvassing Reports and Pamphlets – aka CRaP.
It occurred to us that, as responsible citizens, we could do the local community a huge service by actually reading the aforementioned CRaP (before adding to the compost heap) and thus save you the pain.
Obviously, we have no intention of swaying your vote (or more correctly “votes”) as we fully expect AL3 WTF to become an independent sovereign state by the beginning of summer so will no longer be affected by any of this nonsense.
One caveat is that we have received no CRaP from the Green Party, presumably as they don’t want to kill any trees (which is a good thing right?).
Anyway, here’s all you need to know about the Blue, Red & Yellow lot.
All 3 have gone A3.
Maybe there was no paper left for the Greens when then went to Ryman?
Three double-sided A3 sheets from the Yellows were nearly matched by the Reds with two A3s and an A4!
The sneaky Blues appealed to all paper size fetishes by going for two A3s and A4s with an ickle A5 just in case a dozen pictures of the candidate weren’t enough.
We say “sneaky” as the A5 says “WE MISSED YOU TODAY WHEN WE CALLED”.Really? Well, we were in the Towers all day but perhaps you were legging it across the drawbridge as part of some kind of knock and run game?
The upshot is that the 3 main protagonists now need to replant the equivalent of two Heartwood Forests to maintain their carbon footprint!
Free compost material
As for the content? Well….
Reds blame the Blues and Yellows.
Yellows blame the Blues.
Blues blame the Yellows and Reds.
Blues also accuse both Yellows and Reds of “blame games”.
We wait for the Yellows and Reds to blame the Blues for playing “accuse games”.
Topics covered included
Pothole free roads. Ok, Pinocchio! Infrastructure. There’s a plan. Honest. It will be shared. One day. Schools. Some nonsense about kids needing to eat at lunchtime. Social Housing. 2 new council homes by the recycling centre. Upkeep of pavements and verges. So we pay for that too do we?! Pollution. Less of. Presumably by driving car users away?
Our favourite bits.
Council candidates can’t bear the thought of you wondering what a verge/road crossing/inadequate road sign is and are therefore compelled to offer us a sequence of terribly composed photos:
Candidate picking litter = he/she is a man/woman of action.
Candidate next to missing street sign = he/she does not have satnav.
Local candidate next to same party county candidate = we are such a strong team.
If elections were decided by Tinder profiles, no local councillor would ever get selected:
swipe right/swipe far right/swipe left/swipe left of centre…
Err, if that’s how you even use Tinder?
The technical term is ‘pothole’
He said, She said.
“Parking is a huge issue”
And you thought they spent all day filling out expense forms.
(Say this one in a Terminator voice) “Salih isn’t interested in ‘games’ he wants to get the job done!”
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy Salih.
“Vote for Salih, he believes you deserve better!”
We do Salih, we so so do!
“We will complete a consultation to finalise the plan and then seek funding to enable delivery”
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, Oh sorry, what? Did we miss something?
“The shocking state of our roads is obvious to anyone who has visited Batchwood”
Last time we went to Batchwood we were in such a shocking state ourselves nothing was obvious!
“We have put in some verge protection. Muddy Ruts angers residents.”
We quite liked his 3rd album.
So, there you have it, dear reader. All you need to know.
As Walter La Plante would have said “Use your vote, you dig?”
STOP PRESS
The gatekeeper has just informed us of a late delivery.
An ‘independent’ candidate’s leaflet has just landed. A4 double-sided.
(plus points for higher gsm than previous competitirs flimsy flyers)
The candidate has gone for purple.
Now the last time we had a bag of Skittles other colours not associated with UKIP were available but maybe they have rebranded or disbanded?
UKIP not Skittles!
Now ‘independent’ sometimes conjures up a picture of ‘inexperienced’ but the photos show this candidate can mix it with the big guns.
Admittedly, she has made the schoolgirl error of thinking she has a great photo to use without realising that the picture of her next to a (now ex) Mayor is actually giving profile to a candidate from another party!
Aside from the Mr ex-Mayor, she’s also gone with herself next to a school sign; her with pensioner without his teeth in; her outside the Pioneer; her in a selfie with random man…or her husband…. or her brother…or …We’ll never know!
Our fave is the one of her standing by a lump of wood.
No, not the ex-Mayor, it really is a piece of wood.
We may vote for her, you know what they say ‘Better the Devi you know’!
Just to play fair we also have campaign slogans for other candidates which they can use for free.
Vote Mills and Boom! Young at Herts! Sali G indahouse!
Candidate and an ex-Mayor
Candidate and a lump of wood
In the pa rk
In the park
in the (car) park
PS – Don’t forget to shred your paper before adding to the compost bin! Genuine public information from AL3: for recycling, shredded paper goes in your green bin/bag with the garden waste. Not a lot of people know that. (Which is why you’ll have seen it tumbling down your road on a windy day when the people in hi-viz have rejected your neighbour’s attempt to put shredding in with their paper and card). Anyway, it doesn’t matter what political CRaP you shred, St Albans – be it from the Blues, the Reds, the Yellows or the Purple One – it all ends up Green in the end.
‘The Mind’ is the theme of this year’s St Albans Film Festival. All the mind-related films below are previous winners of the prestigious American film industry’s prestigious Golden Lobe Awards and are being shown at secret locations locally this weekend.
Brain Man – Dustin Hoffman plays an autistic man from Harpenden who is very specific about which airline he flies with – “EasyJet. EasyJet never crashed…” Billion Dollar Brain – a film documenting the decisions of the County Councillor who decided that the hottest day of the year would be a good time to get the contractors out to do tarmac repairs.
Inside Out – a woman from Bernard’s Heath can’t find the recipe for her toddler’s favourite Quinoa dish and goes crazy, turning the kitchen upside down in desperation, as she’s got an important lunchtime play-date with the new neighbours’ kids.
Citizen Brain – a story about a scarecrow from Flamstead who follows the yellow brick road to St Albans in search of something to put between his ears.
Singin in the Brain – the tale of man from Fleetville who attends every single tribute act gig at The Horn and can’t get songs by The Jamm, The Smyths and the Kings of Lyon out of his head.
2001: A Space Odyssey – a documentary detailing the problems encountered by just over two thousand cinema-goers in finding convenient parking facilities near 166 London Road. A Beautiful Mind– a woman from Beaconsfield enters politics and selflessly dedicates her time in office to campaign for the one thing that matters above all else to her constituents: poo-sticks.
The (Re)searchers – a story about a couple of agricultural scientists from Rothampstead who follow the main road to St Albans in search of genetically unmodified Native American brain food for their niece. Limitless– an extraordinary Council Cabinet meeting sees every member take mysterious pills in order to come up with a solution to Scum Lake (formerly known as Verulamium Lake). Mad Macs – a burger flipper at the drive-thru in Griffiths Way flips his lid and turns vigilante when customers repeatedly throw food wrappers out of car windows.
Genius – a docudrama about selling sausage sandwiches at recently opened DIY stores. 3 Idiots – an everyday tale about men who go to Batchwood every Saturday night with only one thing on their minds: the chance to meet shy, retiring librarians who want to settle down and have children. V for Vienetta – a man from Jersey Farm eats a whole ice-cream dessert and gets brain-freeze.
So, you lose one hour’s sleep every Mother’s Day as kids wake you up early with their creative attempt at breakfast in bed but this year is a double whammy and you will actually lose two hours as the clocks are springing forward.
On top of that at some point during the day you will lose yet another hour when you go around changing all the clocks.
As your breakfast starts to get cold, the kids will insist that you open the card.
This will take shape in one of two forms.
An insulting “funny” one that is a not so subtle message from your other half that he wants to see results from that gym membership he bought you at Christmas or, worse still, the one they made at school!
This will be on cheap (probably blue) absorbent material that wouldn’t be out of place in a washroom paper towel dispenser and be adorned with a simple black vertical line topped with a small squashed yellow mass of papier mache.
“It’s a daffodil mummy”.
Anyway, if you are lucky enough to be able to open the “card” (despite an entire Pritt stick being used to fix the white paper to the inside) it will reveal your child’s representation of their life. So pay close attention to the imagery.
Social Services possibly already have so you should too.
Warning signs are usually in the shape of
A – a cat/dog like image when you have no pets – check for neighbours livestock in your shed and your child’s bedroom immediately (this task can be easier if your shed is your child’s bedroom).
B – a small stick figure with huge amounts of red coming from it may indicate a soupcon of friction with a sibling/fellow pupil.
C – Any sign of a milk float or an Amazon delivery van means you’ve been rumbled so you may well get an insulting card too!
Card(s) done. It’s the present or presents.
Now, we’re guessing you have some of those bath bubbles leftover from Christmas? You know, the ones that make you itch. So, chances are it’ll be a box of the ambassadors favourite over-wrapped chocs or (and this really depends on the stocks at whichever petrol station is nearest to you) flowers.
Be grateful, it’s the thought that counts. Mind you, if the other half had thought about it 6 weeks ago, they might just have booked you in for a nice lunch then dropped you off at home while they took the kids to the park and ran them ragged so you could put your feet up and watch Love Actually. AGAIN!
Breakfast is stone cold now but the kids want you to eat it as they “made it speshul”.
Tell your offspring to snuggle up under your duvet while you go downstairs to warm it up.
IMPORTANT! Once you have deposited the breakfast in the kitchen bin do the following:
1 – Cover it up with something to avoid accidental discovery just in case anyone else in your household actually knows where the kitchen bin is. 2 – Advanced users only – smear chin with ketchup or egg yolk. 3 – Make yourself a decent cup of tea and return upstairs licking your fingers making “mmm” noises.
Well trained children will ask what else they can do for you but, if you’re lucky, yours will ask what you are making them for breakfast?
You will suggest Maccy D’s as by now you are really hungry and you’ve only had a Ferrero and cup of tea for breakfast – win win.
That’s it, the rest of the day will be like every other Sunday unless the other half actually did start planning 6 weeks ago!
Well if you’re reading this on Saturday 21st January it is. The day we at AL3 Towers have been waiting for all year is St Dunandusted’s Day! A day that has somehow been lost in history. Perhaps discarded as it didn’t have the marketing potential of the “special” holidays like Christmas, Easter, Pancake Day and Valentines? Jan 21 is equally as special here at AL3 and we feel duty-bound to share it with you in our never ending effort to educate and inform.
St Dunandusted is the patron saint of “Normal”.
While “experts” argue about the origins, or even the actual existence of this forgotten saint, the facts are that this day marks the return of “normal” for many people throughout the civilised world or, as we like to call it, St. Albans.
Blue Monday – Survived Christmas Day – Done New Year’s Eve – Done New Year’s Day Hangover – Gone (Nearly) Twelfth Night and the decoration packing away – Done. First day back at school and/or work – Survived. Now back to “Normal”.
First task is DUMP (Dispose Unwanted Man Presents).
Yes, it’s the day you can officially get rid of the Limited Xmas Edition Dove for Men Gift Box without guilt and safe in the knowledge that Aunt Mabel is unlikely to pop in uninvited and ask why the aforementioned gift-pack is lying unopened under the coffee table. In reality, you either have no room in the bathroom cabinet as it’s still got last year’s in there or you hate the smell of the stuff. Incidentally, it’s also safe to store away novelty puzzles and amusing cat sketch books until you get time to drop them off at the charity shop or re-wrap as presents for anyone you know who is unfortunate enough to have a birthday in January.
Next up, of course, is ETC (End of Timetable Confusion)
The day also marks the time that all the wheelie bin days are back to normal. No longer do you come home from work and suffer feelings of self-doubt when you see next door have put their bins out. You hurriedly hunt around the house for the recycling calendar to check that you aren’t losing your mind and repeating the mantra “One day later last week, two days later the week before, back to normal this week” over and over again. Then you relax, your neighbour was wrong and you were right (but inwardly you thank them as you actually thought it was general waste and not paper, plastic and glass week). Cue replacement of the calendar back under the coffee table on top of the Dove gift pack. Speaking of timetables, you’ll see the council sending out the gritters. Usually on the wrong days, and always missing the side roads.
Crucially, St Dunandusted Day means the implementation of SHH (Stop Happy Hellos).
Now then. You really can (REALLY CAN!) stop saying “Happy New Year” to anyone you happen to meet when taking your unwanted gifts to the charity shop. Let’s be honest If you haven’t said it by now the chances are you aren’t that bothered how happy their 2017 is or you consider them “covered” by your Facebook post or that text you sent early on New Year’s Eve to all the contacts on your phone (yes, even the ones you meant to delete after last year’s text).
It’s a worrying time of year for the WIMP (When Is My Payday?)
Yep, it still seems as far away as it was when you got paid a week early in December. You check the bank account and see that little minus sign.
For one, albeit brief, moment you consider selling Aunt Mabel’s gift on eBay to raise funds but you remember last year when you tried to offload the shoe polishing kit she got you and the one bid you got was for 49p with the proviso you paid £6:20 for sending it to them recorded delivery.
You are skint, you are always skint on St Dunandusted’s Day, don’t worry.
But you do worry, Dunandusted Day means Valentines is coming and you promised yourself you’d do flowers and chocolates (even Hotel du Chocchy Woccy ones) this year. Mind you Easter Eggs are on the shelves now so maybe you could combine the two?
Oh, and last, but by no means least, it’s the day that 74% of you have already broken at least one of your New Year’s Resolutions.
We’ve already broken ours at AL3 by mentioning Wheelie Bins, Recycling, Easter and Valentine’s Day but good luck to you all with losing weight, eating healthier, stopping smoking and/or drinking (actually let’s make that “drinking less” no need to be silly) , going to the gym, spending more time with family and friends, having more me time, learning a new skill and finding the love of your life. All of which you should be doing anyway as it’s normal and that’s what St Dunandusted’s Day is about after all.
It’s the time of year to recognise those who have made notable contributions during 2016. So, acknowledging buffoonery, incompetence and all forms of complete numptiness across the district, we give you
The AL3 WTF New Year’s Honours List
St Albans Council Environment & Waste Dept. MBE – Many Bins Emancipated
Anyone who has been brave enough to dip a toe intoVerulamium Lake The Order of the Bath (and pronto, we suggest)
All residents of Fontmell Close OBE – ‘Ole, Bloody ‘eck
Anne Main MBE – My Brexit ‘eaven
The majority of people in St Albans OBE – Our Brexit ‘Ell
Nicholas Freestone MBE – Mars Bowie Elegy
James Hanning BEM – Brickyard Eventually Muted
Thameslink CBE – Calamitously Bad Expresses
Paddy Delaney, accordion player MBE – Music By Elbows
Priceless Roman mosaic in Arena foyer CBE – Carpeted By Elves
Butterfly World BEM – Butterfly Exit Mess
The Xmas Market CBE – Closed Bloody Early
Frank Leclezio, General Manager, Alban Arena For hosting a fab panto (‘oh, yes, he did…’) he becomes a Dame
All that remains is for us to wish everyone a happy and healthy New Year.
========================================================================= Christmas is all about traditions and here at AL3 WTF we, like families across St Albans, like nothing more than repeating exactly the same festive habits year-in, year-out. In fact, so much so that it is customary for us to re-issue the same blog every single year. We’ve been doing this each December since our formation so that, err, actually means this is only the second time. We’re ahead of the curve, to be honest. TV is all about repeats at this time of year and we’re blazing a trail for blogs to replicate that successful formula… Here are eight ways to tell it’s almost Christmas in St Albans. Apart from no. 2 (+ 10 pts credit to the Council, the light turning on ceremony this year was actually pretty good; bigger, better and more spread out) they all hold true. Actually, no.6 is even more true this year: we thought it really odd that the Christmas Market finished on the 20th last and this year it shut on the 18th (deduct 15pts from the Council – tut, tut, tut – must try harder) ===========================================================
It’s Beginning to Feel a Lot Like…Easter
…which means that it must be almost Christmas. We’re only few days away from Cream Eggs being beside every till, and rows of over-packaged chocolate oefs glaring at us menacingly from supermarket aisles.
Anyway, I’ll be surprised if anyone has the time to read this blog in the pre-Christmas rush. I’ll also probably be regretting spending valuable time writing it when I’m covered in Sellotape, garish ribbon and sparkly bows come midnight on Christmas Eve, but enough about my festive fetishes…
Eight Ways We Know it’s Almost Christmas in St Albans:
1) The staff in Metro Bank are all wearing Santa hats. I love a Santa hat, but there’s a time and a place for everything. I know that Metro Bank is working really hard to be ‘different’, but Santa hats from 1st Dec onwards? Really? Mr Banks from Mary Poppins would turn in his grave (if snooty banker characters from films had graves, that is).
2) The Christmas lights are on. The Christmas lights are on! St Peter’s Street never looked so joyful. Apart from last year. And the one before. When it comes to lights, we don’t exactly push the boat out, do we. The turning on ceremony was some time back in August, I think. Basically, it was an event more about hope than delivery. Security guards at each end of the pedestrianized zone were only letting through people with pushchairs. I didn’t actually see this security cordon, but it must have been in place as there’s no other way that such a high concentration of buggies could have come to be in the same crowded, noisy, dimly lit zone. It was like a Bugaboo convention. There’s a rumour going round that next year the council are going to turn the Chrissie lights off at dusk to save money and the town centre will be illuminated solely by the glow of pub-door cigarettes.
3) Every third house has an estate agent’s sign up. No, there’s been no sudden upsurge in the property market; these boards are to promote local schools’ Christmas fairs. If you need your annual fix of tombola action and the chance to get your hands on a ticket ending with a 5 or a 0 then this is the time of year for you. Mind, you’ll only win something you don’t want like lavender bath salts or box of monogrammed hankies (not the correct initial, obviously), but it’s the winning that’s important. Oh, and the raising of funds for the school. Oh, and it gives estate agents the opportunity to feel like they are part of the community. Yeah, right.
4) You’ve received an ‘exclusive’ mailer from every other shop on the high street inviting you to an ‘exclusive’ event where the only other ‘exclusive’ people attending will be absolutely everyone else in town. You probably got this much-prized invite because of some loyalty card you signed up for seven years ago just to get an extra 10% off some vaguely significant purchase or other. The thing is, we’ve all got loyalty cards for pretty much everywhere nowadays so they are hardly reserved for the diehard faithful. There’s no loyalty any more. We’ve all got disloyalty cards for everywhere.
5) The most frequent person to knock at your door is not a relative, friend or neighbour, but the postman or some other delivery driver bringing you stuff you ordered online late one night after too much wine. Still, you can always donate it to next year’s tombola. I got a dreaded ‘while you were out note’ the other day from well-known (but not well-respected) delivery company. In the comments box it said ‘Package left over side gate’. Thing is, we don’t have a side gate.
6) You really, really know it’s Christmas when the Christmas Market is shut. Closed. Geschlossen. Finished. Have I missed something or am I not alone in thinking a festive market might actually benefit (both stall-holders and visitors) from being open around, err, Christmas and not shutting up shop on the 20th. I don’t know about you, but my propensity to drink warm, spiced wine and eat German sausage always increases the closer I actually get to Christmas.
7) Christmas is almost here when half of St Albans has attended ‘Carols on the Hour’ at the Cathedral. With six consecutive sell-out performances of over a thousand people, you wouldn’t blame a clergyman for thinking ‘Where are you lot the rest of the year?’ Unlike the Christmas Market, the Cathedral has wisely decided to remain open for Christmas… We folk of St Albans clearly loved COTH (Carols on the Hour). I am a man of the COTH. Makes me think there’s a winning formula here and that St A could get a few brand extensions going: Barrels on the Hour – all the pubs kick everyone out every sixty minutes so it’s like an enforced festive pub crawl with people continually seeking alternative hostelries. Darrlys on the Hour – every time the clock strikes the hour, some unfortunately named child of the 80’s is forced to run naked through Wilko’s with only a piece of tinsel to cover his modesty and a paper hat to adorn his mullet, whilst being squirted with limited edition Christmas-spice scented Mr Muscle by bargain-seeking shoppers. Quarrels on the Hour – every sixty minutes local married couples are given a different topic about which to argue – from whose turn it is to put petrol in the car to whose relatives are the rudest. To provide the most conducive atmosphere for high-intensity quarrelling, this event will be hosted by a local supermarket. Parallels on the Hour – this activity will be a synchronised slot parking event on Holywell: 23 cars, 23 empty spaces and 1 minute in which to all be neatly parked up. Local traffic wardens will award points for Style and Artistic Interpretation. Each hourly winner secures a place in the Grand Final to be held in the 20-minute only waiting bay outside the main entrance of the station.
8) Christmas is here when people are desperately buying last-minute books, CDs and DVDs in the supermarkets. Time was when these items were your stock Christmas presents: you’d be guaranteed to get a couple of each every year. Now, with the mass-ownership of Kindles, Spotify subscriptions and Netflix the people who buy you these gifts either don’t know you very well or panicked to get you something on Christmas Eve. Owners of e-readers, music subscriptions and film-streaming services are selfish: they think nothing of cutting off the gift life-line to which distant relatives have so desperately clung for years. Me? I’m old-school: I’ve actually asked Santa for book (with pages) and a CD (complete with lyrics printed on a tiny booklet); it’s my way of showing I care about my present-buying relatives…
Have a fabulous Christmas and see you on the other side.
Following three years of somewhat mixed success, coupled with the Brexit vote, St Albans District Council has renamed the European Christmas Market. Henceforth, the seasonal pine-chalet convention will be known as the Non-Aligned Snorbens Town Yuletide Xenophobia Main Anne Street Market, or NASTY XMAS Market, for short.
This year, the NASTY XMAS Market will sell only British goods; the alpine chalets have all been returned to B&Q, the left-over gluhwein from 2015 has been poured into Verulamium Lake to help disperse the algae, and the German sausage stall has been sold on eBay to a sour kraut. The traders will now peddle their wares from traditional pale grey British Portakabins. Each Portakabin will be adorned with a trademark festive yellow drainpipe and seasonal graffiti greetings such as “Nigel woz ere” and “sh*t market” will be sprayed on each unit courtesy of local tag-wearing young offenders working under a council-funded community expression scheme called OIKS – Offering Insolent Kids Spray-cans.
Free from the prohibitive EU red-tape that restricts and spoils Christmas markets Europe-wide, the NASTY XMAS Market is now entitled to draw up its own laws and regulations so expect: fire-eating classes for the under 5s; a bye-law that ensures alcohol is only consumed by people who are armed with a freshly sharpened sword, and the wearing of highly flammable Noddy Holder masks will be compulsory for everyone entering the Vintry Gardens. Also be aware that every single food item sold at the market will have a silver sixpence hidden inside it.
The NASTY XMAS Market will sell only: – Fish & chips – Warm beer – Flat caps – Subscriptions to the Daily Mail – Thameslink branded memorabilia (n.b. due to a shortage of staff, these items may appear smaller than promised, arrive later than timetabled, and will cost much more than they are worth) – NASTY XMAS Market merchandise such as “My parents went to the NASTY XMAS Market and all they bought me was this t-shirt with a sh*t slogan on it” and mugs proclaiming “NASTY XMAS Market – the only place you can get sleighed and Slade and slayed”
To ensure mass appeal, successful high street retailers will also be hosting pop-up outlets at the seasonal vintry-fest. After a fierce bidding war for the prime spots, prominent Portakabins will be mis-managed by: Bhs Ratners Woolworths HMV MFI Kwiksave
Interestingly, on the official website for the market, the FAQs section contains a full and thorough list of no less than two (for those of you reading in black and white that’s ‘2’) key questions telling you absolutely everything you could possibly need to know about the 2016 market and planning your visit.
Q1: Can I take my dog? (A; yes, but please don’t is the advice) and Q2: Are the same stalls there throughout the 24 days (A: No, there will be “different stalls every time you visit” – this is assuming, we imagine, that you don’t visit the market twice in the same day. Plus, the market is actually open for 25 days, but here at AL3 WTF, we’re not ones to split hairs…)
More to the point, are these the only two questions in the minds of any potential visitor to our City’s outdoor festive offering? We can think of a few more obvious ones.
– Why does the market finish a whole week before Christmas? – Will there actually be any signs or advertising this year? – Is it true that Donald Trump will be Father Christmas in the market’s grotto?
Council Portfolio Holder for Festive Markets, Ivor Bigsack, said: “We want to make this the biggest and best Christmas market in Britain. To maximise the festive feel and spread the Christmas love as widely as possible, the 2017 EVEN NASTIER XMAS Market – Every Vendor Earns Nowt Non-Aligned Snorbens Town Isn’t Even Ready Xenophobia Main Anne Street Market – will open for business on 2nd Jan 2017, giving our town the year-round non-festive feel that it so richly doesn’t deserve.
”Roy Wood and Wizzard wished it could be Christmas every day, and with our new January though to December seasonal market strategy, in St Albans it can be. Of course, in 2016 the market itself finishes on 18th December, giving plenty of time for local people to do their traditional last-minute shopping on-line. I mean, here at the Council we’re not daft are we? We’re not going to go and do something really stupid like have the Christmas Market actually open near to Christmas; that would be absolutely plain sensible and way beyond our remit.”
Annie Brewster, Council Portfolio Holder for Tinsel and Glitter, did not say: “If I dress up as a fairy and sit on top of the tree do you promise not to take my picture and not to syndicate to every publication in Hertfordshire?”
AL3 WTF surveyed 200 St Albans men earlier this week to find out what they wanted from their partner for Valentine’s Day. The results are quite revealing (for women), but quite obvious to men.
Firstly, let’s deal with the things men said they really didn’t want to receive/do. In reverse order:
5th place: Any permanent item with a heart on it. This means a mug (in fact, this especially means a mug); a t-shirt (‘Hey guys look at the cool t-shirt my missus bought me so that I can display my love for her even when cruel life separates us and I have to go to play 5-a-side with you lot’, said no man ever to his mates.); a ‘witty’ slogan on a piece of fake driftwood to hang up in the kitchen as a sign of undying love (or at least until Tinder pays out). Basically, anything that can’t be consumed whilst watching Match of the Day 2 on Sunday evening and has a life expectancy of more than 24hrs won’t be appreciated.
4th place: Jewellery. This is too much. And too soon in the relationship. Even if you’ve known him 20 years.
3rd place: Any card bigger than 12cm x 16cm. A card of greater dimensions will embarrass a man as it will, unfailingly, be bigger than the one he’s bought.
2nd place: A double mitten. This item allows couples to hold hands inside a giant double mitten. It really does. They do exist. They are for wearing in public. In public! Men fear receiving a double mitten more than the onset of erectile dysfunction.
1st place: The last thing any man wants to do is go to a restaurant that has a ‘Special Valentine’s Menu’. To men this simply means three things: – exactly the same food as the normal menu, just with sickeningly re-named loved-up descriptors. – rip-off pricing – a room full of couples who’ve run out of things to say to each other
So then, what do men want to receive:
5th place: Alcohol (preferably something only he likes so he won’t have to share).
4th place: A night out with his mates as a reward for being such an all-round great guy for the last 12 months.
3rd place: Anything at all that arrives in the post on Monday 15th. This late arrival will put a man at ease all day on Sunday; watch him relax and enjoy the whole day. At the moment he’s told that his personalised/special gift hasn’t arrived, a smile will appear on his face, his shoulders will drop and the anxiety of the weekend will disappear as if someone has opened a pressure valve. He will love his partner all the more for her poor planning. AL3 WTF suggests choosing second class delivery for any item bought for a man and, perhaps, don’t order anything at all off Amazon until at least Saturday afternoon, just to be safe.
2nd place: A sexual favour. Don’t worry, this need not necessarily be performed by you if you’re not in the mood. If it suits more to provide a substitute then feel free; perhaps you have a sister or friend who could stand in for you and lend a hand (or other appropriate body part)?
1st place: The remote control. The man in your life will happily endure While You Were Sleeping on BBC1 on Sunday night, if you let him have full and uninterrupted use of the TV in the afternoon and all the following weekend so that he can watch the rugby on Sunday and then all the live 5th Round FA Cup matches the weekend after. This will cost you nothing. Our research shows that he will love you more than life itself as a result of this gift.
In the spirit of equality, AL3 WTF also surveyed local women to find out what they wanted. We had planned to ask 200 ladies, but it became very clear after speaking to only seven respondents that they all had absolutely 100% identical requirements for Valentine gifts. These were:
– a large card purchased from a specialist card shop, not a supermarket, a garage or Wilkos
– something to keep forever with a red heart printed on it (preferably a mug or t-shirt or sign for the kitchen that can be shown-off to envious friends)
– flowers. Preferably red in colour and in a bunch that’s bigger than that received by any visiting friend/sister/neighbour. If the floral arrangement necessitated an extension to the family mortgage than so be it; you are worth it, after all.
– chocolates. So what if it’s only five days into Lent. It’s bloody Valentine’s Day. What are you supposed to do. It’s not your fault. Eat them. Eat them all.
– a meal out. This must be somewhere with a Special Valentine’s Day menu. Nothing else will do. ‘Ooh look, they’ve cleverly changed all the names of the dishes so that they’ve got romantic descriptors…’
Happy Valentine’s Day. And remember, even if no-one else does, AL3 WTF loves you.
…which means that it must be almost Christmas. We’re only few days away from Creme Eggs being beside every till, and rows of over-packaged chocolate oeufs glaring at us menacingly from supermarket aisles.
Anyway, I’ll be surprised if anyone has the time to read this blog in the pre-Christmas rush. I’ll also probably be regretting spending valuable time writing it when I’m covered in Sellotape, garish ribbon and sparkly bows come midnight on Christmas Eve, but enough about my festive fetishes…
Eight Ways We Know it’s Almost Christmas in St Albans:
1) The staff in Metro Bank are all wearing Santa hats. I love a Santa hat, but there’s a time and a place for everything. I know that Metro Bank is working really hard to be ‘different’, but Santa hats from 1st Dec onwards? Really? Mr Banks from Mary Poppins would turn in his grave (if snooty banker characters from films had graves, that is).
2) The Christmas lights are on. The Christmas lights are on! St Peter’s Street never looked so joyful. Apart from last year. And the one before. When it comes to lights, we don’t exactly push the boat out, do we? The turning on ceremony was some time back in August, I think. Basically, it was an event more about hope than delivery. Security guards at each end of the pedestrianized zone were only letting through people with pushchairs. I didn’t actually see this security cordon, but it must have been in place as there’s no other way that such a high concentration of buggies could have come to be in the same crowded, noisy, dimly lit zone. It was like a Bugaboo convention. There’s a rumour going round that next year the council are going to turn the Chrissie lights off at dusk to save money and the town centre will be illuminated solely by the glow of pub-door cigarettes.
3) Every third house has an estate agent’s sign up. No, there’s been no sudden upsurge in the property market; these boards are to promote local schools’ Christmas fairs. If you need your annual fix of tombola action and the chance to get your hands on a ticket ending with a 5 or a 0 then this is the time of year for you. Mind, you’ll only win something you don’t want like lavender bath salts or box of monogrammed hankies (not the correct initial, obviously), but it’s the winning that’s important. Oh, and the raising of funds for the school. Oh, and it gives estate agents the opportunity to feel like they are part of the community. Yeah, right.
4) You’ve received an ‘exclusive’ mailer from every other shop on the high street inviting you to an ‘exclusive’ event where the only other ‘exclusive’ people attending will be absolutely everyone else in town. You probably got this much-prized invite because of some loyalty card you signed up for seven years ago just to get an extra 10% off some vaguely significant purchase or other. The thing is, we’ve all got loyalty cards for pretty much everywhere nowadays so they are hardly reserved for the diehard faithful. There’s no loyalty any more. We’ve all got disloyalty cards for everywhere.
5) The most frequent person to knock at your door is not a relative, friend or neighbour, but the postman or some other delivery driver bringing you stuff you ordered online late one night after too much wine. Still, you can always donate it to next year’s tombola. I got a dreaded ‘while you were out note’ the other day from well-known (but not well-respected) delivery company. In the comments box it said ‘Package left over side gate’. Thing is, we don’t have a side gate.
6) You really, really know it’s Christmas when the Christmas Market is shut. Closed. Geschlossen. Finished. Have I missed something or am I not alone in thinking a festive market might actually benefit (both stall-holders and visitors) from being open around, err, Christmas and not shutting up shop on the 20th. I don’t know about you, but my propensity to drink warm, spiced wine and eat German sausage always increases the closer I actually get to Christmas.
7) Christmas is almost here when half of St Albans has attended ‘Carols on the Hour’ at the Cathedral. With six consecutive sell-out performances of over a thousand people, you wouldn’t blame a clergyman for thinking ‘Where are you lot the rest of the year?’ Unlike the Christmas Market, the Cathedral has wisely decided to remain open for Christmas… We folk of St Albans clearly loved COTH (Carols on the Hour). I am a man of the COTH. Makes me think there’s a winning formula here and that St A could get a few brand extensions going: Barrels on the Hour – all the pubs kick everyone out every sixty minutes so it’s like an enforced festive pub crawl with people continually seeking alternative hostelries. Darryls on the Hour – every time the clock strikes the hour, some unfortunately named child of the 80’s is forced to run naked through Wilko’s with only a piece of tinsel to cover his modesty and a paper hat to adorn his mullet, whilst being squirted with limited edition Christmas-spice scented Mr Muscle by bargain-seeking shoppers. Quarrels on the Hour – every sixty minutes local married couples are given a different topic about which to argue – from whose turn it is to put petrol in the car to whose relatives are the rudest. To provide the most conducive atmosphere for high-intensity quarrelling, this event will be hosted by a local supermarket. Parallels on the Hour – this activity will be a synchronised slot parking event on Holywell Hill: 23 cars, 23 empty spaces and 1 minute in which to all be neatly parked up. Local traffic wardens will award points for Style and Artistic Interpretation. Each hourly winner secures a place in the Grand Final to be held in the 20-minute only waiting bay outside the main entrance of the station.
8) Christmas is here when people are desperately buying last-minute books, CDs and DVDs in the supermarkets. Time was when these items were your stock Christmas presents: you’d be guaranteed to get a couple of each every year. Now, with the mass-ownership of Kindles, Spotify subscriptions and Netflix the people who buy you these gifts either don’t know you very well or panicked to get you something on Christmas Eve. Owners of e-readers, music subscriptions and film-streaming services are selfish: they think nothing of cutting off the gift life-line to which distant relatives have so desperately clung for years. Me? I’m old-school: I’ve actually asked Santa for a book (with pages) and a CD (complete with lyrics printed on a tiny booklet); it’s my way of showing I care about my present-buying relatives…
Have a fabulous Christmas and see you on the other side.
I know, I know. The weather boffins say winter starts at the end of November but, here at AL3 Towers, the solstice chart says winter starts on December 21st this year so it’s still autumn for a few more days as far as we’re concerned but, thankfully, it will soon be over.
Autumn. The outhouse of all seasons and the sooner someone flushes it away the better. Make that the full flush not the eco-friendly small button one.
Does anyone really look forward to autumn? Really? Does anyone think “Yay! Goodbye summer, ’tis the season to be gloomy”?
if the Eskimo people have dozens of words for “snow” they only need one for autumn. Mind you, it would still have four letters and begin with ‘s’.
Autumn, Seriously, what does it have to offer? You have to mess about with the clocks.
Ooh! An extra hour in bed. That’s sixty minutes that you didn’t ask to have in return for what exactly?
Well, getting up for work in the dark and coming home in the even “darker” for one thing. But then, the “extra hour” is very much dependent on what age your offspring are as they work on kidstime.
Speaking of younger members of the species, what spell gets cast that sees responsible caring parents send the little (in some cases literally) “devils” out onto the dimly streets to beg for sweets from complete strangers?
Yes, Halloween, one of autumn’s ugly siblings. Not satisfied with setting off a sugar fuelled frenzy that keeps my dentist’s Aston Martin on the road, it’s also deemed to be the time to boost the local farming economy by buying a ridiculous amount of that autumnal horror, the pumpkin.
All those good intentions of carving a masterpiece without letting the stinky flesh go to waste.
‘Pumpkin pie anyone?’ ‘Mmmm, lovely. No, no it tastes nothing like soggy “any vegetable” mixed with burnt sugar at all.’
Of course, after it’s all over, there’s the carved carcass of your smelly overgrown orange tealight holder to deal with. You leave it just outside the backdoor.You are, naturally, going to recycle it but it’s dark, wet and windy, BECAUSE IT’S AUTUMN, so you leave it until the weekend. Then the weekend comes and the pumpkin has collapsed because that’s what they do. You lift it up carefully and it disintegrates in your hands with a ‘slop’ sound onto the patio. You then spend the next ten minutes in the dark, wet and windy conditions clearing it up. BECAUSE IT’S AUTUMN!
As if Halloween isn’t enough, we then foist the 5th of November on the sugar laden little people. Having already allowed them a day of begging and glucose gluttony, it is now time for doting parents to thrust flaming sticks of chemicals in their hands and encourage them to wave them about! Yes, those very same elements your chemistry teacher made you wear goggles for are given to children.
Autumn. Yes, people will say ‘look at the beautiful golds and reddish-browns of the leaves though’. But think about it, when else does the colour ‘russet’ get used? ‘Russet’ ,an autumn word, a poetic colour for autumn that can only rhyme with……….?
That’s right. Autumn the gusset of the seasons.
Besides. Do not be fooled by the leaves.
At best they are dead foliage. Mother Nature’s blockages-in-waiting. At worst, they are camouflage for the lazy dog owner, a slip that is yet to be discovered.
Leaves here, leaves there. You sweep, you rake, you remove from the gutter but turn your back and there they are again. And while the leaves are falling to their death the grass is still growing! Taunting you because it knows it’s too wet for you to cut it and anyway the lawn mower is right at the back of the shed because you didn’t think you’d need it again because it’s AUTUMN and it’s when things stop growing!
Autumn. As welcome as David Cameron at a Peppa Pig party,
But it’s not all bad is it? I mean look at all those Autumn plus points.
You can get a flu jab. You’ll need one to feel safe sitting on that steamy windowed bus full of sneezing commuters that takes you, in the dark, to the train station to get in the damp carriage on the train that’s 30 minutes late because it was delayed by russet leaves on the track.
Um, oh yeah, it’s grey, wet, gloomy and windy so you’ll be comforted by the TV schedule that has “I’m Strictly an XFactor Celebrity Dancing in Downton Out of Here” to entertain you before all the good stuff comes back in the winter.
If autumn was a “Strictly” contender it would be Anne Widdecombe. ‘Autumn dahhling you were a gloomy damp dreary disaster”
The TV adverts change for autumn. Yes, you get the usual Xmas ones with huge tables of food and everyone having a good time, in large family groups that cover every demographic possible and make you wonder how many milkmen one house needs but you also get the autumn only “special ones”
They start advertising Xmas saving clubs in November? Handy.
The hair dye adverts with Davina Willabooby and the like start featuring feckin’ russet coloured hair! (As an aside – do you ever wonder how they get 86% of 137 women agreeing? We’ve done the maths and there’s at least one woman who’s not all there!)
But pride of place goes to the central heating ad with the tag line “tired of your old bolier?”
Now hands up how many ladies out there turn round to see if their other half is smirking when that comes on?
Nope. Autumn is the old boiler of seasons but, thankfully, ‘Winter is coming’.
Back next week and in case our paths don’t cross until next year,
AL3 wish you all a merry, peaceful and above all healthy Christmas.
I am in a mixed marriage: my wife is vegetarian, I’m not.
Actually, technically speaking, she’s a pescatarian as she eats fish. (I find the term pescatarian a bit of a stumbling block as it conjures up images of the closing scenes of old Scooby Doo cartoons. You know what I mean: the bit at the end of every episode where the culprit’s mask is yanked off and he declares ‘I woulda gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for you pescatarians!’)
Anyway, my wife and I are just back from holiday in the land of the free and the home of the brave (no, not Hemel – went there last year and it’s a much cheaper way of getting a tan – only takes 6 minutes in a booth to go the same colour as Shaggy’s hair), and it quickly became apparent that in a country where you can be anything you want to be, one thing it’s quite hard to be is a veggie.
Day 3 and my wife had already sussed the need to be clear about her food requirements when ordering. We’re sitting on the sunny terrace of an independent burger joint – a restaurant’ish one, not a drive thru – we are on holiday after all. It’s lunchtime. I’m happy and would eat anything on the menu.
Wife: I’m vegetarian.
Shaven-Headed, Body-Builder Owner/Waiter Who Looks Like He’s Going To Burst Out Of His T-Shirt: You can have any of the burgers with a vegetarian pattie instead.
Wife: I’ll have the Swiss Cheeseburger.
SHBBO/WWLLHGTBOOHTS: Great choice.
Me: (silently salivating at the thought of meat for the third day in a row)
Wind forwards ten minutes and my wife is enjoying her burger. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that she’s particularly enjoying her burger – more than I’ve seen her enjoy a veggie burger for a very long time. Wind forward two more minutes and she is no longer enjoying life in any way, shape or form.
Wife: That’s bacon. There’s bacon in my veggie burger (points to three unmistakable rashers).
Me: Can I have it?
Wife: (dark stare)
Me: (poor attempt at cheeky smile)
Wife: (even darker stare)
I dutifully take the offending burger back inside and speak to the barman-come- manager-come-waiter. He (unsurprisingly) apologises and, somewhat stating the obvious, says ‘that shouldn’t be in there’.
SHBBO/WWLLHGTBOOHTS: Sorry, man. I do everything here except cook. I’m truly sorry.
I walk back outside.
SHBBO/WWLLHGTBOOHTS arrives a few minutes later looking rather sheepish (it was actually quite amusing to see a testosterone-filled, protein-packed body-builder look quite so coy, his brusque persona eroded by veggie-gate)
SHBBO/WWLLHGTBOOHTS: (to wife) Let me make amends. What can I do to make this up to you? Anything at all.
Wife looks pensive.
I’m intrigued as to how she’ll respond. What would I want if one of my defining beliefs was compromised so publically by a stranger? What if something I was so passionate about was undermined in such a way? I’d want something of note to compensate.
Wife: I’ll have some onion rings to take away, please.
SHBBO/WWLLHGTBOOHTS: (knowing he’s got off lightly) Absolutely. Absolutely. No problem at all. I’ll make it a large box and make sure they are really hot.
The next time I do something (allegedly) wrong – it shouldn’t take long, probably be when my wife reads this post – I’ll know that the price of redemption is not flowers, a Champneys voucher or a child-free meal out at Lussmans, but a box of onion rings. Everyone has their price; I have found hers.
Before we leave the restaurant, our daughter’s diaper (see what I did there – gone native) needed changing. I volunteered, despite my scepticism that such an establishment would have changing facilities. Actually, that’s why I volunteered, to be honest: safe in the knowledge that if there was a changing table anywhere it would certainly only be in the Ladies so, unfortunately, I’d be prevented from my fatherly duty.
Me: (after scouting around inside holding a smelly toddler): Do you have baby changing?
SHBBO/WWLLHGTBOOHTS: No way, dude; this is a dive bar.
Hmm. So a ‘bar’ that has high-chairs doesn’t offer the full spectrum of facilities? Anyway, I walked away happy; it’s a very long time since anyone’s called me ‘dude’.
Wind forward ten minutes and the nappy has been changed under a shady tree and the still half-full box of volcano-hot onion rings is in the (ahem) trash.
I tried to make light of the whole incident by telling my wife that I thought her choosing the Swiss Cheeseburger in the first place was one of her rasher decisions. She didn’t laugh.
She’s been a veggie since she was ten. Then again, I reckon most of us would review our meat consumption if at a tender age we were shown around a family abattoir in Ireland by a mischievous older cousin. His intention was to scare her; it worked.
While we were in the States we saw several of my wife’s relatives (being Irish, she has the classic large contingent of rellies Stateside). I was somewhat amused to discover that another (different) cousin we visited was also converted to vegetarianism by being shown round an (American) abattoir at a formative age. The very same life-changing experience, but thousands of miles apart. Well, as they say, blood is thicker than water. Now, I’m all for family traditions, but this is an absolutely offal one.
Said American cousin was the attractively named Johneen, a name I’d never come across before. I quite like it. It’s the feminine version of John; a bit like Noel/Noeleen, Joel/Joeleen or Philip and, err, Philippeen.
Which brings me – conveniently – back to St Albans.
Quorn – the meat-substitute – used to be owned by St Albans-based Premier Foods (their HQ is by the roundabout at the bottom of St Stephen’s Hill, just past the offices with the traffic-cone wearing Roman soldier statue outside). Premier Foods sold Quorn in 2011 and it’s this month been sold on to a Philippeen company (sorry, that should read Philippine company).
Quorn is sold in 23 countries; my guess is that America isn’t one of its larger markets.
Announcing the purchase, the new owner’s CEO, Henry Soesanto, genuinely said: “Quorn represents an important new leg in our offering” which, I think, was a rather unfortunate choice of words.
Mr Soesanto (that’s a surname you can’t say out loud without doing it to the tune of Sinitta’s 80s hit So Macho) would have been disappointed to hear of UK research findings revealed this week which state that 37% of vegetarians eat meat when drunk. Really? 37%?
Next time you’re in a pub with a veggie friend and they claim that they’re ‘just popping out for a fag’ you might want to check up that they are not actually popping outside for a hot faggot. (As we’re in the UK I can use that term; I’m confident that AL3 WTF’s readership in the States is non-existent. And if there is a random American reader, just think how confused they’ll be and what a hot-bed of non-discriminating promiscuity St Albans will appear!).
As far as I know, my wife has never eaten meat when drunk. However, it’s her birthday next week so I’m very happy to put this to the test.
If anyone knows of a good veggie restaurant in St A that I can take her to then please let me know. Failing that, I’m thinking Prime Steak & Grill on London Road and go heavy on the onion rings…
We have been ‘away’. No, not at Her Majesty’s pleasure (although that would have been considerably cheaper). Besides, we have dirt on the judge so that was never gonna happen.
Where have we been?
Well, maybe we were at the publishers working on a book deal, or perhaps we were trying out some stand-up material at the Edinburgh Festival? We could have been mixing with stars of stage and screen (The Krankies are still big aren’t they?) making preparations for the release of our first film.
Or perhaps we were abducted by aliens?
All, any or none of these may be true but, what really matters is, we’re back and – by the look of things – just in the nick of time.
Something has been going on. Yes, right here, in St Albans, under your noses and frankly we’re a bit surprised and a little bit disappointed you haven’t done anything about it!
Admittedly, you couldn’t have done much about the first “change”.
You see, we arrived back at AL3 Towers and the very first thing we noticed was that we’d been “unburgled”!
For those of you not familiar with this phenomenon, this is when you arrive back home to a place that’s cleaner and tidier than when you left. So startling was the transformation that I had to go outside to check both the colour and number on the front door were correct.
At first we let it go. We figured, that as we had left in a hurry under the cover of darkness, that we’d actually left the place a lot tidier than we initially thought.
But paranoia is a powerful thing and it had a disturbing effect for the rest of the day until it casually cropped up in a conversation with “The Perp”. I say “casually” but it’s difficult to use the phrase “Have you noticed your cutlery tray is clean” in a casual fashion.
It was the mother-in-law.
We hadn’t noticed but, as soon as we got back to HQ, we checked the aforementioned tray and it was indeed spotless. We also noticed we had 29 teaspoons. The tray has never had that many teaspoons in it! What was going on, that’s one for every cup with leftovers for ramekins and still some to spare?
That night, in an attempt to relax and put the “unburgling” behind us, we sat down to watch some TV. Now remember, we’d “been away” so hadn’t seen anything for a while.
The adverts were on. Nothing strange there you’d think and, to start with, there wasn’t. Shiny hair because she’s “worth it”, “been involved in an accident at work?” then, wait a moment, rewind, play. What did he just say?
There he was, our (third) favourite Barry, emerging from a slide on primetime TV saying “Wow, I’ve never been through a pipe quicker!” Really? (Apart from the fact he probably has) WTF?!
As if that wasn’t enough, before we’d recovered, a toy monkey with a vajazzle then tried to sell us tea!
Seriously, we thought that maybe the “unburgular” had used a cleaning product that contained some hallucinogenic chemicals (maybe the sort that 3rd fave Bazza tries to flog?).
We needed some fresh air to clear our heads. A walk, surely that would help and bring some normality back. So off we went, we even took some sandwiches with us wrapped in some newspaper.
First signs were good, very good. The grass verges were still too long but that was good, that was “normal”.
We headed towards the park. It was a mistake, how long had we been away?
There it was. The Lake. How could this be? What had happened? Why had nothing been done?
The air was no longer fresh, we peered at stagnant liquid that was now fit only for The Creature of The Black Lagoon.
Our appetites gone, we threw our uneaten sandwiches in the lake* and began to read the newspaper they had been wrapped in.
*It’s ok, the ducks ain’t gonna eat the bread cos the ducks have sodded off refugee-stylee in search of cleaner waters. Actually, maybe there’s a quacking “unburgular” that will save the lake, do ducks have mother-in-laws?
Anyway, hopes were fading, we thought we would manage to find a small morsel of normality in the shape of a letter in the newspaper from our (second) favourite Barry.Yes, it was written in the style of one who is inebriated with the exuberance of his own verbosity, but actually it was quite sensible and not likely to wind anyone up.
Nothing, not even Bazza 2, was normal. We were fading fast. We had been away and everything was different. This isn’t what it was meant to be like.
Wandering into town, we are ashamed to admit, we had given up. Nothing would ever be the same.
Then it happened, we arrived at the market. The market! Of course! Why didn’t we think of it sooner? But wait, what if it had changed? That would truly be the end.
Well, it was busy – that was normal.
There was the smell of fish and fromage – that was normal (nicer than the whiff of the lake!)
But what about the real test?
Were they there?
The litmus test. The Grumpies. Were they there selling their wares?
Holding our breath, hardly daring to look through the fingers of our hands covering our eyes we peeked.
There they were. Grumpy 1. Arguing with a customer who had handled his wares. Grumpy 2. Moaning about people standing by her stall.
Normal service resumed! Not that we’d ever buy anything off either stall as we don’t tend to walk around town dressed like..
But, sometimes, it takes something bad to make you feel good.
We were back and we felt good.
So we went to The Boot (other pubs are available) for a welcome home pint.
And, on the way, one of the stalls near the end of the market was playing music. Did our ears deceive us? Could it be magic? No. it was our (1st) favourite Barry singing.
And we sang along because we were ready, “Ready to take a chance again, Ready to take a chance again with you”.
There are certain occasions in life when one has to make the odd sacrifice.
You know? Like when the other half comes home with complimentary tickets for the opening night of her best friend’s niece’s experimental contemporary dance group production and you simply ‘have to go to show support’?
Think incomprehensible floor writhing, starkly lit stage, a wooden tea chest as the sole prop and a soundtrack that will either make your ears bleed or induce a deep sleep followed by loud snoring until other half digs you in ribs. Two tortuous acts of modern movement
each 1 hour long with an intermission just brief enough to have a pee or a warm can of lager – but never both.
And then there is SCHOOL SPORTS DAY.
The annual gathering that brings young and old together for a few hours of what’s-the-pointism.
Of course, you ‘
have to go to show support’.
This years ‘event’ was to be my last ever Junior School sports day, bar any surprise family additions or becoming a teacher.
Still it was sunny, I wouldn’t be at work and I’d be getting tanned.
So, the usual last minute decision re appropriate attire had to be made.
Despite blisteringly hot conditions, shorts and trainers were a no-no. Turning up looking like you are actually
hoping there is a parent’s race is a sports day social faux pas. Then again, wearing jeans and sensible shoes would leave this, slightly competitive, dad at a distinct sporting disadvantage should there actually be a race.
Decision made – jeans and trainers. A look that said ‘I really do NOT want to be picked for the parents’ race but, if I am, bring it!’
Mind you, I imagine the whole Sports Day fashion choice must be sooooo much worse for mums.
Apart from potentially looking like Mrs Way Too Keen if you turn up in your running gear, Ms Glam Boobs aka Jimmy’s Mum is bound to be there to cheer him on all fake-tanned in ripped jeans, crop top, high heels and designer shades isn’t she?
Don’t fret Ladies. The situation is lose-lose. Just, for pity’s sake, wear a sports bra if there is even the remotest possibility of you ending up in the sack race.
‘Lose-lose’?
That’s totally unlike sports day where ‘Every One’s A Winner Baby, that’s the truth (that’s the truth)’.
The formula for this particular school was simple.
It was a non-competitive, competitive, team event decided by individual performance where there are no winners or losers just those who get points for their team and those who don’t.
Really? I know there’s no ‘I’ in ‘Team’ but there is in ‘Win’?
As usual the 1:30pm start was delayed which meant trying to find shade, a drink and avoiding having conversation with other parents for half an hour while the kids are sorted into their teams.
Still it was sunny, I wasn’t at work and I was getting tanned.
As mentioned, just to make sure there’s absolutely no danger of competition rearing its non-pc head, each competitor, err I mean participant, was sorted into a team that was clearly identifiable by shirt colour. I say ‘clearly’ as the Green Team comprised of shirts that were green, dark green, light green, bluey green, greeny blue and yellow. Yellow? ‘Molly, you’re supposed to be with the Orangey Team under the other tree!’ Anyway, 20 minutes later and all teams were sorted and looking suitably disinterested.
A whistle from the headmaster and the groups were each led to their respective ‘event station’. Well 5 of the groups were. For, yea verily, it was written that the 6th team shall rest and drinketh cups of water as part of a rotation system that not even the headmaster could fathom.
The head blew his whistle again and the fun began.
‘Fun’? Really?
First event.
3 Bean Bags. 3 Hoops. One hoop very close, one not so close, one impossibly far away.
Objective? Throw bean bags in hoops.
Points? 1pt per bean bag in hoop.
(Make that rewinding tape noise in your head here. Hell! Make it out loud if you want.).
WTF?! Yep, any bean bag in any hoop was a point. Didn’t matter if it was – near, far, wherever you are………..this event was so
not about risk and reward.
The kids were bored, the parents were bored.
Still it was sunny, I wasn’t at work and I was getting tanned.
Next up, pointless side to side jumping that deserves no further description.
Blow the whistle headmaster, please blow the whistle.
Welly throwing next. This had promise after Jimmy, son of Glam Boobs, threw it over the first marker, over the second marker and narrowly over someone’s Granny. Unfortunately this lead to the teacher explaining that you got a point for throwing the boot anywhere between the two markers. Distance wasn’t actually the factor.
Perlease! In my day that would have been the signal for targeting any adult you could then quickly declaring ‘Oops! It slipped out of my hand Miss!’ (A phrase I’ve used many times myself over the years).
Two buckets. One with water, one without, 5 metres apart. Objective? Move water from bucket A to bucket B using a sponge which also acted as team baton.
Hot sunny day, kids, water. Surely this was a cue for a soaking? Nope, one by one the Green team members dutifully loaded the sponge and carefully transported water to its destination. Until it was Jimmy’s turn. If it was on purpose it was genius. Little Jimmy arrived back at the changeover with more water than he left with and the sponge receiver got soaked. The Greens immediately changed tactics which involved dipping sponge in bucket A, soaking team mate, re-dipping sponge running to bucket B and back before handing over sponge in a style guaranteed to dampen. This is what the crowd wanted but the whistle blew too soon and it was off to the final event of the rotation.
Team Green’s final event was kicking the ball into the goal. Something that could be highly recommended for those who play at Clarence Park stadium on a Sat afternoon.
This was the only event where the team were told what the target score was. 15 the score to beat. A purpose! Suddenly they came to life. Things didn’t start that well when first greenie (my youngest daughter) stepped up and kicked the ball over the crossbar, the fence, tree and halfway down the field! Fret not, Greens had a secret weapon. Yep, little Jimmy couldn’t miss. The boy had an eye for goal, 10, 11, the crowd and kids actually got excited, 12, 13, 14, hit the bar, 15 then just before the whistle went, Jimmy hit the winner! Big cheers from all concerned.
There were some relay races (which Jimmy’s team won) and some egg and spoon races (Jimmy won his). The sack race didn’t take place (much to my daughter’s disgust) there were no parent races (much to my disgust).We didn’t find out which team won and, at time of blogging, still don’t know! (Much to everyone’s disgust).
Still, it was sunny, I wasn’t at work, but I got sunburnt!
Things You Think On Sports Day
Mum & Dad – Do I have to go?
Mum & Dad – Why does it never start on time?
Mum & Dad – How long is this going on for?
Mum & Dad – Why don’t they use real eggs anymore?
Mum & Dad – That ginger kid is burning.
Mum – What does she think she looks like?
Dad – I really should congratulate Jimmy’s mum on his performance.
Mum – Do you really have to congratulate Jimmy’s mum after every event?
The wait is finally over and, after the big build-up, it’s here at long last: the general erection is upon us.
The five-yearly competition to see which political party can collect the most semen and run the country is under way. Across our great nation, men have been like coiled springs in recent months in anticipation of the event.
From 7am – 10pm, men file into booths to discretely make their donation. Size is not important; it is all about taking part and making your pathetic, whimpering voice heard. Try as he might, no man can win this competition single-handedly; it’s all about uniting and pulling as one.
Over recent months, potential participants in this erection have been urged to get their fingers out and register to donate. Some have opted to take part by post. Although legal, this course of action is not much liked by the Royal Mail and is particularly out of favour with postal workers who have to sort the mail by hand.
The great leaders of our country have been busy with rallying cries for mass participation and imploring the whole nation to come together. The coalition government has finished its five-year sperm and it is time to restock supplies. Despite being considered by most as a bunch of w*nkers, the politicians have literally run out of spunk.
This erection has been a long time coming and it is down to every man over 18 to lend a hand for the great cause. Without restocking supplies through the erection collection programme, the country will be on its knees and staring down the barrel of a loaded weapon.
Politicians want us to come forth; to stand up and be counted. It is time to shake up or ship out. We have been instructed not to dither willy nilly, but to get involved and lend a hand where it matters most.
Some of you may wish to sport colours to support you favourite erection candidate. Many men find an appropriately coloured handkerchief in their pocket will come in handy when they make their donation. Should you wish to take a friend with you to help you donate, that is perfectly acceptable, but they must be over 18 and promise not to reveal what went on in the booth.
Party donations are allowed, but you must fill in a form so that your donation is transparent and can be viewed by all who wish to scrutinise it. (This is to ensure that there’s no repeat of previous underhand tactics when illegal donations from horses and livestock were used in a bid to bump up the nation’s semen reserves.)
Party members have for many months been trying to tie the erectorate down; trying to find out where they will aim their donation. Some say that these activists have been premature and that all that matters is what happens in the final spurt of the campaign.
AL3 WTF believes in democracy. AL3 WTF urges you to put your hands together and be a V.O.T.E.R. (Volatile Oscillation To Ejaculate Repeatedly). While you are busy supporting your local handidate, you can be assured that there will be a Cabinet shuffle (and even reshuffle) at the same time. A word of caution: if you are a floating voter, please do not cast your vote at Westminster Lodge.
Now a few words of reassurance for first-timers: donating to a political party, or ‘voting’ as it is euphemistically called, is not dirty. It is quite natural and you should not be ashamed at having gone into a cubicle and ‘voted’. You will not go blind as a result, although too much politics can make your opinions somewhat blinkered.
If you’ve read this far, I’m sure it’s ok to mention that, irrespective of the result of this month’s erection, it is sure to cause much public discussion; a mass debate will ensue, many believe.
It would be wrong to reach the climax of this piece without mentioning women. I know that as men across the nation cast their votes, women will be uppermost in their thoughts. Women fought long and hard to secure the right to enter those cubicles. What they do in there is a mystery, though. There are few things in life that men have the upper hand on. See men, women have handcuffed themselves to all sorts of things in order to secure the vote. Should you spot a woman with handcuffs loitering by the booths as you enter, then be sure to give her a hand.
As prospective Prime Ministers have oft said in the past ‘Cometh the hour, cometh the man’. Men of the United Kingdom, your time is now. Do what comes naturally.
What do former Liverpool, West Ham and England goalkeeper David James, ex-England fast bowler Devon Malcolm, and former Luton, Chelsea, Wimbledon and England striker Mick Harford have in common? Toughie, eh? Ok, here’s a rubbish clue: the former chief executive of the England & Wales Cricket Board, Tim Lamb, and Star Wars characters also have the same common ground.
Ok, it’s impossible, I agree. The answer is that they are all involved with a charity cricket match taking place in Clarence Park this Sunday afternoon.
Yep, if you want to see some top quality sportsmen play with some random local cricketers, while spectators are entertained by www.jokersquad.co.uk in their screen-accurate Star Wars costumes, face-painting, a band, a barbecue, a bar, the best raffle this side of Singapore and the opportunity for some free cricket practice in the nets then get down to Clarence Park this Sunday between 1pm – 7pm. Rumours that Storm Troopers will be manning the barbecue and that Sith Lords will be getting their faces painted as kittens are unconfirmed. (To be honest, AL3 WTF doesn’t even know if a Sith Lord wears a mask and is feeling a bit out of its depth with all this Jedi-like stuff.) Best of all, entry is free. Yes, FREE.
Actually, the best bit isn’t that it’s free; the best bit is that this family friendly event is all for charity. Sunday’s match has already raised a stunning
£12,000 for Peace Hospice Care.
Now, whichever way you look at it, Sunday is a busy day: celebrity cricket and family fun in Clarence Park; the longest day of the year; the Alban Street Festival in the city centre; and it’s Father’s Day. Some would say that’s one huge clash; the wiser amongst you will see that it’s a great opportunity for fab day out on your door-step. Remember, there are no trains to London from St Albans on Sunday (yes, that’s NO TRAINS on Thameslink) so best you stay local and enjoy the fun.
And as if all that wasn’t reason enough to amble down to Clarence Park on Sunday afternoon, there’s another key reason: Sunday’s event is in memory of a local sporting hero. No, not someone who made the headlines, but someone who worked tirelessly behind the scenes to make sure children (boys and girls) had the chance to play cricket and football locally in fun, friendly environments where they could learn about the sports and, more importantly, enjoy themselves.
That man was one Phil Milton. Phil died from cancer, aged 56, in 2011. Sunday’s event is to raise money for the Peace Hospice where Phil spent his final days.
Now, Phil didn’t like downbeat; he’d not have approved if this piece focused on grass-roots sport’s sad loss. Instead, he’d want you to pop along on Sunday and have a drink or three in the sunshine, eat too much from the barbecue and heckle the cricketers. He was all about making sure others enjoyed themselves.
If you knew Phil – maybe your kids were part of the hugely successful St Albans Cricket Club Friday night cricket sessions he was the driving force behind – chances are you’ll be going along on Sunday. If you didn’t know Phil then there’s even more reason to go because we all know an unsung hero: someone who makes things happen; someone who just gets on with stuff – often not even the nice stuff – to make things tick. And these kinds of people – and, thankfully, in today’s me-me-me world they
do still exist – are really, really missed when they are gone.
Phil was larger than life. He was a big part of the cricket scene in St Albans. He was a big part of everything he did. On Sunday, players who knew him and some who didn’t will enjoy a great day in his memory.
AL3 WTF doesn’t normally like to beg (beer and ice-cream aside), but:
–
Please share this post. Please. Cricket/celebs/face-painting etc etc might not be your thing, but you might know someone who’d love to go.
– Come along. Loads of money has been raised already so you’ll not get over-pressured on the day. Of course there’ll be chances to donate; we think you’ll want to…or at least buy an ice-cream, a burger or a glass of wine.
– If you come then you’re definitely going to want to buy some raffle tickets. This is a
local event with national-scale prizes. Too many to list in full, but here are a few tasters:
§ England cricket shirt as worn and signed by test captain Alastair Cook
§ Football Signed by Harry Redknapp, Ossie Ardiles, Alan Smith, Mick Harford, Graham Roberts , Glenn Hoddle, Brian Stein, Kingsley Black, Cyril Regis and many more
§ Signed John Hartson Celtic shirt
§ Signed Ian Poulter golf shirt
§ Superb suite in a Hotel in Cyprus (to visit, not to keep, that is)
§ A signed Saracens shirt
§ Voucher for a hand-crafted cricket bat
There are going to be all sorts of food and drink concessions; the UK’s premier Star Wars costume group will be on hand for photos and high jinks; five-piece band
An Absolute Shambles will be rounding off the day with covers of the Rolling Stones, Black Crows, Queen and REM, to name but a few; a match commentator from Diverse FM will be make sure the crowd knows what’s going on on the pitch, even if some of the cricketers will appear clueless
If you can’t make it along, then you can donate via
https://mydonate.bt.com/fundraisers/sjfcc All the money raised goes to Peace Hospice Care. We all hope that none of us nor our friends or family will ever need to draw on a hospice’s services and care, but the harsh reality is that some of us will. Fact. What better way to make a little contribution and make someone else’s end of life experience just that little bit better than by having some fun in the sun.
Happy Longest Day. Happy Father’s Day. Be there Sunday.
Lies, damned lies and statistics: AL3 WTF brings you the key numbers that make St Albans tick.
3 The number of neighbours you know by sight, but not by name, who you’ll bump into when you’re in the 99p Store. Don’t worry – just remember that they were there, too. Time was when you felt embarrassed like this about being spotted in Wilkos; now you think Wilksons is positively upmarket. (And such good value for toiletries, don’t you think?)
5 The amount of mini-scooters that will whizz around you per 100m travelled within AL1 between the hours of 3pm-4pm on a school day. Once your shins have been bashed 11 times or more in any seven-day period you are eligible for funding from the council for protective clothing, apparently.
494,777 Is the average price of a house in St Albans. Feeling smug? Just wait until you actually try to move to a property even 5 sq ft bigger than your house, that will wipe the smile. Your humble abode might be worth a silly % more than when you bought it…but so is everyone else’s.
Yes, it is ok to now start looking at properties in Royston instead.
7 Is the number of grown adults (as opposed to ungrown adults, who are technically called ‘children’, I suppose) you’ll see riding bikes on the pavement during the course of the average working week. Growing up, I was told that it was ‘illegal’ (even for teenager) to ride on the pavement and that, if spotted, a policeman on the beat would sternly tell you off and make you walk your bike. (No, this was not the 1950s.) Nowadays, adults ride their bikes on pavements safe in the knowledge that they’ll never be accosted by the boys in blue (or, as they are more commonly now known, the BoysAndGirlsInFlourescentReflectiveSafetyWorkwearWithPocketsAndEppaulettes). The chances of seeing a Bobby (or even a Roberta) on the beat in St Albans being slimmer than the likelihood of Weightwatchers holding their local group meetings in Dunkin’ Donuts. If an actual panda car did stop you while you were cycling among pedestrians, you’d have fair cause to argue that if the pavement is wide enough for the police vehicle then it’s big enough for you too. To be honest, 9 out of 10 times you see the police helicopter hovering above AL4 it’s because it’s tracking a middle-aged credit controller in Hush Puppies who is riding his bike too close to people’s front gates. Said ‘off-road’ cyclist will, of course, be wearing a helmet and, probably, a mini hat cam thingy as well. (Well, you never know when some pesky scooter-riding pre-schooler will come hurtling dangerously around that next corner, and you’ll need some video evidence for the ‘trauma’ claim.)
2 Is the number of local pubs I walked out of on a recent night out with a couple of mates without even having had a drink. I’m not actually that fussy when it comes to pubs; I like variety and I quite like going to different places, but there are two things I absolutely insist on in order to purchase a beer: 1. Beer actually being stocked 2. Someone being behind the bar to serve it. Is that too much to ask? Clearly, for a couple of local hostelries, yes. What sort of pub doesn’t serve draught beer (just the one – any sort at all – not asking for a cast [cask?] of thousands)? What sort of sales-based business doesn’t actually have people to sell the product? Whatever next – bakers who don’t sell bread and vegetarian butchers?
41 Is the number of seconds the average person in St Albans spends scanning the ‘Court Report’ section of the local paper in the hope of seeing a name they recognise (and, preferably, of someone they don’t really like – possibly that neighbour who spotted you in the 99p Store). Discovering someone who’s been convicted of watching TV without a licence or, better still, caught trying to steal a joint of honey-glazed pork from Sainsbury’s, gives one a lovely warm glow inside, doesn’t it?
0.01 This is the percentage of friends of the average reader of this blog that will proudly admit to having voted Tory. Hmm, strange how that doesn’t quite stack up with a 25,000 majority. And they say it’s the politicians who are the dishonest ones…
N.B. AL3 WTF does not accept donations from any political party. We’d love to, however, it’s just that no-one has ever offered.
93 Is the number of steps to climb in order to stand atop the Clock Tower and enjoy one of the best skyline views in the world: the Christopher Place Car Park roof. The Clock Tower is definitely worth a visit. Go soon as rumours abound that the council is considering making the steps a one-way route in order to ease congestion. In future, the only way down will be via zip wire. The zip wire is to be sponsored by the Starbucks store opposite and the descent will go through the (hopefully open) bi-fold doors and finish in front of a smiling barista. Or, if the glass bi-fold doors are closed, in front of a smiling no-win-no-fee barrister.
68 This is the percentage of 2014 residential conversions in St Albans that involved the fitting of bi-fold doors. Nothing says freedom and self-expression like a bi-fold door. These glass concertinas are much favoured by naturists, phlebotomists and people with shares in Windolene.
39 This is – genuinely – the percentage of respondents in an online poll who thought that Ye Olde Fighting Cocks should be renamed Ye Olde Clever Cocks. (I know, it’s the least believable of the whole blog, isn’t it.) According to the front page of this week’s Review, a campaign group is urging the pub to change its name ‘to reflect compassion to animals’. Now, omnivorous AL3 WTF does not and never has condoned cock-fighting, but we’re wondering if the campaigners have taken a glance at the pub’s menu. If it’s animal compassion they’re after, might they be better to focus on ingredients: “our game may contain shot”. Just a thought.
At the time of going to press, a spokesman for the newly named
Slug and Pellet was not available; neither was comment forthcoming from the relaunched Mare and Mounds. No-one was able to respond to our request to The Three Horseshoes to explain why the poor horse’s fourth hoof was never shod.
