Cry God for Harry, England and St George!

I've had a tune stuck in my head for a wee while now.  What is it I hear you ask?
Is it some cultured piece of classical music?
No
Is it a piece of 70s prog rock because that's what I tend to listen to by choice?
No
Is an earworm that was played on the radio recently?
No
Some cheesy piece of pop that the kids were playing?
No.

Give up?

It is actually a piece of music that I shall prefer to refer to as "To Anacreon in Heaven".  Are you familiar with it? I bet you are.  It is actually an ancient British drinking song (so if anyone I know is familiar with it, then it's my brother) but we all probably know the tune better as the Star-Spangled Banner.  I always knew that the tune was British but imagine my unfounded joy when I discovered the origins of the tune.  There's all our American cousins singing along to a tune that would have been familiar in a London drinking club.

This set me thinking though.  What are the origins of our National anthem?  Unfortunately I couldn't find any reference to the origins, although (and I hate to say this as a true patriot) it is a proper dull tune to the point where the Welsh, Irish and Scottish have almost entirely eschewed it and even the English often substitute more rousing tunes such as Jerusalem or the jolly excellent Land of Hope and Glory, I am a big fan of Last Night of The Proms.

Now all this talk of National anthems got me thinking again (Russ you think too much) about patriotism in general.  As previously mentioned, I am a patriotic type of chap, I would even stand if the Queen came to visit and consider the most rousing piece of writing to be Henry V speech at Agincourt (I know it probably isn't historically accurate).  But you may be aware that there is a bit of a football tournament going on this year in South Africa to which some English players will be going to join in.  And what is my biggest fear about this tournament?  It is England winning.  Why?  Two reasons.  One, from my rather limited knowledge of football, they aren't good enough compared to some (many?) of the other national teams and is it right that our patriotic support, neigh fervour, is based on a bit of a lucky break?  The other reason is that I find it hard to believe that thousands of pis55ed up lager louts, lobster red and shirtless represents England or my personal view of what Englishness should be.  My preferred sport is cycling, so imagine my joy when Mark Cavendish and Bradley Wiggins put in such a sterling performance in last year's Tour amongst other races, not because they were lucky - that doesn't work over three weeks of cycling - but because they are genuinely good; or the trouncing that our track riders gave the rest of the world at the last Olympics and World competitions.  Yet this doesn't get even a few column inches in the popular press.

If I were to be a football supporter, I think I would have to support Gloucester FC but even they aren't proper local now, playing as they do 25 miles away in Cirencester.  In fact Cheltenham FC are more local now and we are right down to macro patriotism, if such a thing exists.  If you were to visit the website for our local press and look at the comments for stories with a good list of comments and you will see the local unhealthy competition between Gloucester and Cheltenham so, of course, being a Gloucester boy, how could I ever support Cheltenham?  Maybe we need a Gloucester National anthem (other than:
We can't read and we can't write
But that don't really matter
Cos we comes from Glos'ershire
And we can drive a tractor (pronounced tratter)

But Cheltenham even hijack that to Cheltenhamshire.

Do you have crabbies?

I like beer.
I also like ginger beer (even ignoring the obvious connotations).
An obvious product of these two facts was to try the advertised Crabbie's alcoholic ginger beer.  I decided to put this plan into action on a recent shopping trip to Sainsburys and celebrate the final weekend before returning to the metaphorical grindstone.  It made sense to me that such a delicacy would be for sale in the beer aisle.  After several minutes scanning the bottles, a young lady assistant approached:

"Can I help sir?"
"Possibly, do you have Crabbie's"

This could have gone one of two ways, I'm sure you understand.  Fortunately, I came out of the situation unscathed and was guided to the cider aisle, I'm sure that made sense to someone where I made a purchase of one bottle.  Why just the one?  Several reasons, partly because if it is skank I haven't lost much, partly because those who know me or indeed read one of my previous blogs will know that Russ and drinking don't go together well but also because I am as tight as a camel's arse in a sandstorm.  If you are interested, assuming you enjoy beer and ginger (d'uh), I must report that this was indeed a fine drink.

So, the celebration marks the end of Christmas and new year celebrations, for our household at least.  How was Christmas for you?  I enjoyed it very much, thanks for asking.  A few highlights.  Firstly, to open the Christmas celebrations for 2009, we all got absolutely soaked watching Father Christmas turn on the light, yes singular, we only saw one work immediately, in Gloucester City centre.  Then there was much excitement Christmas morning, excitement with the realisation that Father Christmas had been and emptied his sack all over our living room - the kids were quite happy as well.



Another highlight is, of course, the time spent with family and friends.  Christmas day was spent at my brother and his wife's house where Sharon laid on an excellent dinner and Darrel provided the musical entertainment by demonstrating his prowess as a rock queen.  Invitations to other family and friends houses, notably my mum's and Wendy's over the next couple of days ensured that not only did we enjoy good company but also vast amounts of food was consumed and, even better, we didn't have to cook any of it.  Now, if you are anything like me and eat everything in sight before a busy day doing stuff all, you might have put on a couple of pounds, or possibly stone.  Now, I'm guessing that my readership doesn't qualify as one of the beautiful people of the internet but if you are then having to cut back for a while and get off your lazy arse may be the least of your worries.  You may find yourself being visited by the fat police and being excommunicated and deemed too fat to find your true love.  Harsh.

Food Glorious Food

All together now...


Hot sausage and mustard!
While we're in the mood - 
Cold jelly and custard!
Pease pudding and saveloys!
etc., etc.


Christmas and New Year.  Whatever your beliefs, so long as you are from the Western world and fortunate enough, then Christmas is, amongst your personal beliefs and traditions, a time to eat and drink.  More specifically time to eat and drink stuff that you don't eat the rest of the year.  And why don't we eat it the rest of the year?  I don't know.  I like turkey but even that isn't as widely available between January and November, does Bernard Matthews take a holiday for ten months of the year?  In some cases the very name of the food suggests you can't get it in summer, say.  Christmas pudding a fine example, and a superb food yet we decide to eat this heaviest and stodgiest of puddings after the heaviest and stodgiest main course ever invented.   Then of course there is Christmas cake.  In June, you could happily buy an iced fruit cake in Sainsburys (other supermarkets are available) but in the run up to Christmas they will stick a wee icing holly leaf on it, bang the price up 25% and call it Christmas cake.  I'm sure very few of my readers care particularly about sell by dates - if indeed your eyesight is good enough to read them - but shopping in advance for Christmas fayre way back in November I couldn't help but notice swathes of blatantly Christmas products with sell by dates of, say, 12th December.  Think mince pies.


Then there is the 'you're eating what exactly' question.  One of my particular Christmas only things is piccalilli.  I know you can get it all year but I only tend to partake at Christmas.  Allow me to make you privy to a conversation I had with step-daughter Beth, who is 12, regarding this particular delicacy:


"Beth, do you like picalilli?"
"Whassat?"
"Well it's a kind of pickle"
"Never 'eard of it.  Wass innit"
"It's pickled veg"
"eh?"
"Well, Cauliflower, gherkins and onions pickled in mustard type stuff"


At this point I cut my losses, I realise even I don't find my own description appealing.  Cook a good roast dinner with cauliflower and I will leave the cauliflower at the side of the plate.  Take me to McDonalds (other nasty American burger 'restaurants' are available) and buy me a burger (actually, I'd rather you didn't, but if you did), I would meticulously pick the gherkins out.  Yet for a couple of weeks of the year I will eat this montage with crackers and mouldy cheese, all of course washed down with port, and thoroughly enjoy it.


Which, only slightly tangentially, brings me on to another point.  Does it really matter what is in our food if it tastes good?  Many years ago, after drinking a couple of pints of 6X at the New County Hotel long before it became a swingers club, honest, I used to go for an Indian along with a couple of friends of mine, we shall call them Dan and Matt; after all that was there names.  Dan and I would, almost exclusively, order a meat phall, Matt would have Chicken and chips, he was never one for curry.  This particular Indian was closed down for serving dog in the curry.  Should this make me feel bad or squeamish?  If it should it doesn't.  It was a good curry and so far as I can tell not mis-sold.  Had they described it as lamb curry, they would be lying; but no it was meat.  I always assumed goat or some such but does it really matter that it was alsatian?  Dogs are made of meat aren't they?


Anyhow, it is now two days after Christmas.  At the moment I find it hard to believe I will feel in the slightest bit hungry before June but that's gluttony for you.

Busy blogging if nothing else

First let me introduce you to this, my shiny new blog.  Kind of like the second chapter.  Chapter 1, as you are no doubt aware was Russ' Redundancy Blog a roaring success with at least three readers.  Now I am less redundant, at least for Job Centre and government statistics purposes, a new chapter and a new blog title was needed so a competition was thrown to the wider populace and 'Grand Busy Scoundrel' was chosen as the winner.  Bucket loads of kudos to Mick Long for anagramisng[1] Russ' Redundancy Blog to come up with this here title what you can see now.  Although I have added my name to the start, in no small part in the hope that when I put my name into Google (other search engines are available) it will be listed.

This is where I will fill you in if you care to be filled in on my new working life, training to be a driving instructor which will, no doubt turn into Confessions of a Driving Instructor, general ramblings on life and observations all laced with a healthy sprinkling of grumpiness.

So, what have we been concerned with this week?  I shall tell you.  The Muppets.  By which, of course, I mean the most excellent 1970's onwards TV series and spin off's.  I'm sure many of you have seen the appeal for the Muppets version of Bohemian Rhapsody to beat the X-Factor drivel to Christmas number one.  Now, let me set my stall out; I really don't give a stuff who or what is number one for Christmas, it strikes me as an irrelevance but I must implore you to watch (just listening doesn't do justice) this superb production; you can do so here.  On a Muppet related note, Vic watched The Muppet Christmas Carol at school, another excellent production.  I felt the need to confirm my belief that Michael Caine played a supporting role as Scrooge and imagine my delight to find an interview with Dr Rowan Williams - Archbishop of Canterbury, you don't get much closer to the boss than this guy - listing this as one of his favourite films along with Andrei Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev.  I'm sure they're very similar.

Last night I had a few beers with my brother (I refuse to be drawn to the obvious and call my brother a muppet here) and learnt a couple of things.  Firstly, dodgy pubs in dodgier neighbourhoods can be pretty good.  We were a little uncertain about the Pakend but what a cracking local boozer.  We did, however, leave when about 50 zealots came in to sing carols.  Please don't get me wrong, I love Christmas Carols and support the Christian view of Christmas but overwhelming a pub with half a dozen drinkers in doesn't strike me as best way to get your views over.

Secondly, drinking on a school night when you're pushing 40 is stupid.  I can't handle my drink and whilst not really drunk and didn't drink enough to suffer from a hangover this morning, bugger me was it difficult to get up for work today.

Finally, consider the scene, you see a bloke in a bar, you're sure you know him and can't place him.  Several things race through your mind; Do I owe him money? Have we met in very different circumstances that may compromise my professional integrity? Maybe I'm just plain wrong.  I start chatting and we decide that he used to drink at the very salubrious Northend Vaults some years ago when I was working the bar.  I'm not entirely convinced this is the case but at least he is going to be looking for a driving instructor in a couple of months.  Might be worth knowing that.

[1] Anagramising: -adj.  [an-uh-gram-ising].  To take a word or phrase and create an anagram that hopefully makes sense.  Apparently performed largely by project managers who obviously have far too much time on their hands.

(Extract from the excellent yet to be published (or even written) Russ version of the English(ish) dictionary)