We love you Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!

It's been a roller-coaster season for my beloved Leeds United and it ended so nearly in extraordinary triumph but it wasn't to be: Doncaster Rovers beat them, 1-0, in the play-off final at Wembley this afternoon.

I watched the match live on my computer thanks to Sopcast (make that Sobcast after the final whistle blew).

Leeds had done incredibly well to get to the play-off final considering they were docked 15 points at the beginning of the season.

Leeds United in League One for a second season! This is against the order of things. Only a few seasons back we were in the Champions League semi-finals. How the mighty have fallen.

But we will come back. In the meantime, sing along with me to the Leeds United anthem.

What's that I hear you cry: you don't know the words to Marching on Together? Here they are:

Here we go with Leeds United

We're gonna give the boys a hand

Stand up and sing for Leeds United

They are the greatest in the land

Every day, we're all gonna say

We love you Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!

Everywhere, we're gonna be there

We love you Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!

Marching on together

We're gonna see you win

(na na na na na na)

We are so proud

We shout it out loud

We love you Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!

We've been through it all together

And we've had our ups and downs

(ups and downs!)

We're gonna stay with you forever

At least until the world stops going 'round
Every day, we're all gonna say

We love you Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!

Everywhere, we're gonna be there

We love you Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!

Marching on together

We're gonna see you win

(na na na na na na)

We are so proud

We shout it out loud

We love you Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!

It’s a cat’s life

If it’s not one blogging thing then it’s another.

Especially with blogger.com. This time they’ve managed to disappear my videos (see right-hand column).

I noticed the problem yesterday and thought it was just one of those glitches that happen from time to time for no apparent reason and then right themselves in due course.

Not this time.

And, after popping into Blogger Help Group, I discover I’m not alone; bloggers across the world are wailing and gnashing teeth.

Someone called Preconcruiser wrote this comment:

Just to update you all on this continuing saga as now some clown has started spamming this site with the 'Escorts' tripe. Videos crashed simultaneously on ALL blogs just after 2.am BST on Tuesday 20th May. It was not until 7 pm some 17 hours later that a Blogger employee picked up on it. An hour later, he posted that the problem might be resolved and all bloggers had to do was clear their browser cache and cookies. A flood of bloggers came back immediately stating that it didn't work! Now the Blogger employee has disappeared into cyberspace along with all our videos......I stated right at the onset of this drama that it was a MAJOR crash and, unfortunately, this does seem to be the case. It looks as if it has now turned into “ostrich time” in the absence of any further updates from the Blogger Team...

He or she says ALL blogs but I’ve noticed that some blogs don’t seem to be affected.

I only have seven videos but they were handcrafted lovingly by Brainbox and me. Of course, I have copies on my computer.

Meanwhile, Scabby the cat dozes on unaware and totally unconcerned of my plight.

Meanwhile, as our cherry tree that issues the best cherries in the world is being relentlessly plundered by birds, Scabby dozes on not giving a fig. (Well, it is a cherry tree in fairness).

What’s the point of having a cat if it doesn’t launch itself like an Exocet missile on the avian population?

Bloody poor investment.

Anyway, what will be the next “surprise” that blogger.com drops in our laps?

I don’t want to be alarmist but might we one day wake up, log on and discover that all our lovely blogs have gorn poof! Into some blogosphere black hole, never to see light of day again?

We can hardly sue – blogger.com is free.

In fairness, I’ve found blogger.com easy to use but is it time to look at other servers just in case?

Scabby, as I write, is sunning herself in the backyard, gazing at the cherry tree. The cherry tree that has birds in it nibbling away at the cerises.

“Live and let live. Chill out, Dumdado,” she seems to be saying with her eyes.

Yeah, you’re so right, my beloved Scabby. Cool cat. Cat food, tin opener, where are they? Who cares? I'm chilling.

Banging on about baguettes

A French blog isn’t worth the paper it isn’t written on if the subject of baguettes doesn’t come up, oh, at least twice a month.

In March last year when I’d only just started this blog and would be thrilled if my statcounter showed seven hits I wrote a post about baguettes, entitled Desperately seeking baguette. You can tell how new my blog was because I only got two comments and they were both from my sister. Ah, happy, innocent days.

Anyway, I realise that I haven’t mentioned baguettes since then and I feel that’s very remiss of me.

I cycled this morning in Bois de Vincennes (blue skies, friendly sun, not many people) and stopped at a boulangerie we use from time to time near the RER.

It was 10.15 so the place was empty.

“Je voudrais une tradition, s’il vous plait,” I asked.

The nice lady said they didn’t have les traditions* anymore.

I pointed to what looked suspiciously like une tradition and told her so.

“Non, c’est une Parisse,” she corrected me.

“But it looks the same,” I riposted.

She admitted that it was almost identical but it was a Parisse not a tradition.

Okay, whatever I’ll have one, I said.

As you can see from the photo one end of the Parisse is pointed. Indeed, it is very sharp and in nanny-state Britain this would no doubt be deemed an offensive weapon and you could be fined for being in possession of a Parisse.

Scene from The Bill. Title: Baguette Man Goes Bad

PC Plodder: “Okay, Dumdad, don’t do anything stupid. Just give me the Parisse.”

Dumdad: “No, it’s mine and I’m not afraid to use it!”

PC Plodder: "Easy now, don't get any half-baked ideas."

Dumdad: "That supposed to be funny copper? You'll be saying next you want me to return the dough."

(Fade out, end credits)

And so to lunch. I picked up Princess Perfect from school and we lunched on pintade and lentils that I’d prepared earlier. And some hunks of pointy, delicious Parisse. We had a dessert, a Kiwi fruit and I had an espresso. Then it was back to school for PP.

*The Frog Queen informs me that une tradition is made with a traditional flour different from the flour used for une baguette.

Six of the best

You can’t have too much of a good thing and that is especially so when it comes to blog awards. Fellow bloggers over this past year or so have been very generous in bestowing some fun awards to me and so in November last year I decided to hand out my own special award for services to the blogosphere.

My award, which became known as a “Dummy”, is not of the pass-on variety. It’s yours and yours only. I designed the award but the actual construction was by my son Brainbox wielding his box of visual tricks.

Recently, I’ve had the pleasure of running across some new bloggers on the block and very entertaining they are too.

So without more ado (drum roll) here are six new bloggers who have been awarded a “Dummy”. The cheque for $5,000 is in the post.

THE LEHNERS IN FRANCE: Debs, aka Pud, is a delight and her adventures in the countryside and with the French language are enchanting. If I mention some episode to my wife and she asks which blogger is that? I reply: “You know, Purple Bum Who Speaks to Chickens.” Sounds like some Red Indian chief. Possibly she is.

ANTIPO: Firstly, Antipo isn’t a new blogger but I met her in the flesh for the first time a few weeks ago and she was great. I wrote of our all-too-brief meeting here. Her slightly naughty blog is fun and full of joie de vivre. This Dummy award is long overdue.

GIRL WITH A MASK: A brash, big-hearted blog that is packed with great writing and insights. And a lotta laughs. How can you not like a blogger who says of herself under Essential Information: “I cannot sneeze when I have got my glasses on” and “I have a deep-rooted hatred of businessmen in suits”. And she also remarked: “I've just given myself a fifteen minute imaginary interview by jonathan ross. Is that weird?” Well, yes it is but that’s fine by me.

GONEBACKSOUTH: Bloggers’ profiles usually make tedious reading but GBS wrote in hers: “At the little school where I once was a daughter, I am now a mother. Some people morphed slowly from one to the other, without setting foot outside this town. I see them in the mornings, ghosts from school-days past, looking exactly the same. Only 30 years older.” I know the feeling. This is an eloquent and clear-thinking blog. And fun. I also learnt from her that Jupiter has 63 moons. So educational as well.

MEMARIE LANE: Great name for a blog for a start. She also looks like Winona Ryder, which isn’t bad for another start (But she doesn’t have shoplifting issues as far as I know). She writes on a myriad of subjects and her viewpoint is refreshing and humorous but she can do serious too. Check her out if you haven’t already.

RED, WHITE AND BLEU: Parisgirl and I commented on each other’s blogs before it dawned on both of us that we actually knew each other and had met on quite a few occasions (we’re both Brit journos). We both live in Paris and are married to Frogs. She now tries to spend half her time in London to make sure her young daughter gets the benefit of both cultures. Drop into her blog and see how she’s doing – you won’t be disappointed.

So, after my last post highlighting a blogger who received a pram-load of hurtful comments, let’s celebrate our unique blogginess with some nice comments and pats on the back.

Mum's not the word for this blogger

In scanning The Daily Telegraph’s online newspaper this morning I noticed an article about blogging mothers finding fame and fortune. One such mother, Dulwich Mum, has even been given her own column in the newspaper. Wow.

What really caught my eye, though, was the viciousness of the comments. I shan’t say what I think about the new column as I don’t intend to add more blogs to my long list of things to read.

I hope Dulwich Mum is thick-skinned because here’s a selection of the adverse comments:


“Surprisingly bad, unoriginal and 1990s!”

“Could someone please highlight the bits on this blog that are funny as despite three readings I have failed to see it. The woman comes across as a bored housewife that fills her blog with the vaculus trivia of her middle class everyday life togetther with a peppering of cliches. She need to get a good dose of reality!”

“This is mediocre writing; why it's featured on the front internet page of the telegraph is a mystery; i could run up something wittier, more original and more substantial in 5-10 minutes. anyway, it just confirms what a laughing-stock this once superb paper has become."

“Is this the result of the Telegraph taking on journalists from the Mail ? You're dumbing down rapidly, this column is appalling!"

“The trouble with Dulwich is that it's a boring, twee location - like Sevenoaks. No surprise then that we get a boring, twee self-satisfied column such as this. Yawn."

“You got paid for this? Sorry, not at all funny, just full of the same old lazy cliches trotted out in chick lit by umpteen writers since Bridget Jones. Stick to spending the old man's money luv."

“How tedious (yawn!) Absolute drivel of the first degree. Does this really pass for a column? Is there really no-one in Dulwich who can do better than this? If I was a house-wife, I'd feel betrayed."

“Trying to be witty? A self-parody perhaps? No, just utter drivel.”

“What utter rubbish!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Assuming that was an attempt at satire, that was quite the most appalling, clunky, tedious piece of writing I've ever read in a broadsheet newspaper.”

You get the picture. There were also some commenters who liked the new column but they were heavily outnumbered by the haters.

What interests me is why people bother to write nasty things about the column. If I don’t like a blog then I quietly leave and never return; if I like the blog I usually leave a comment saying so.

But, of course, this new column is now in the public arena and the rules change dramatically. It's open season and everyone and his dog can take pot-shots at it.

Let it be a warning to anyone of us who decides to take the plunge professionally!

Whether or not Dulwich Mum’s blog/column is good or bad I rather think some of the commenters have a point about the subject matter being a bit passé. The blogosphere is heaving with mummy blogs, some of which I read (see my blogroll) and are excellent.

Still, I wish Dulwich Mum luck. And she can take comfort in saying to herself: "Well, I've got a newspaper column AND a successful blog and you don't. So there! Blog off all you knockers!"

And I hope the Daily Telegraph is paying her pram-loads of money.

A day in the life of a poet

Today I’m going to let someone else do the talking on my blog.

You think you’re having a bad day because the car won’t start, the kids are playing up, the bills are unpaid and you're worried you might have added a smidgen of weight around your waist?

Paul Bura was struck down with polio when he was seven years old and his early years were spent in hospitals and special (read: brutal) schools for handicapped children. He could have been a wonderful stage actor (nay, the Brad Pitt of his day, n’est-ce pas, mon pal?!) with his deep booming voice and his gift for all things thespian. But it was not to be.

Instead, he has concocted himself a fascinating life that has embraced poetry and live performances and crop circles and the spiritual world and many other things.

Throughout all his ordeals, he has kept a smile on his face and joy in his heart. I remember when he used to run Manna, a health food shop in Herne Bay, many moons ago and people came to him with their troubles and fears. They always left uplifted.

As if he hadn’t had enough physical hardship inflicted on him, about 10 years ago he started having fits and it was discovered he had meningioma, a tumour on the brain. It was a terrifying ordeal for him and yet he somehow kept his sense of humour throughout.

He wrote in his book, The Stranger on the Threshold, that his brain tumour was the size of an orange:

“They did not specify what size of orange: a Jaffa or the smaller Spanish variety!”

Typical Bura. Deal with adversity with a quip and move on.

I’ve featured his poetry TWICE in my Pause for Poetry section and if he keeps on bribing me I think I can run to a third appearance or even a seventh. (I can dream, mon geezoid pal!)

Anyway, he wrote the following piece recently and I wanted to share it.

DAY IN THE LIFE OF ME

I usually wake about 7ish, the dreams still pulling on me, repeating their song. For instance, I was playing piano at some sort of party and felt pleased that I was getting applause (I used to play a little but with Post Polio Syndrome dragging at my fingers I can no longer do so - my guitar playing days also are far behind me. Hey, I’m not looking for sympathy. That’s just the way it is!).

Then some singer joined in and she was good! But she was drowned out by some rappers giving it some, so she and I stopped! Such a shame.

Anyway, now fully awake I then take my tablets and usually have an electric shave in bed as I can’t shave sitting up (arms again). Then usually strapping my mobile phone around my neck I get up and make my way to the toilet.

Blast! I’d forgotten to strap my mobile around my neck! Never mind, I’m not likely to fall over now. Wrong! I found myself sprawled on the floor my weak leg trapped under me and me yelling: “NO! NO! NO! NO!” and “F**^”*+-~****!”

It was a mixture of pain and anger, anger at my stupidity for forgetting my mobile (cell-phone to you Yanks out there). The pain I was used to – actually you don’t ever get used to it but you kind of accept it. Now I had to drag myself to the home-phone (land-line) which takes me about ten minutes, hence the expletives.

I remembered the last time that I got all the way to the door of the lounge and forgot to take my ‘grabber’ to open the door with, so I was not going to make THAT mistake again. So with my grabber in my teeth I inched my way to the lounge door and with the grabber I pulled the handle down and opened the door, dragged myself over to the home-phone, deliberately knocked it off the table by pulling on the cable and dialled my sister.

However, Frank, my brother-in-law, answered the phone, I explained the situation and then he in turn phoned my nephew Quen. I settled down to wait! Of course I’ve done this little bit of business twice before and broke my ankle, my foot having lodged between armchair and table-leg. I screamed at the top of my voice but my mother being a little deaf failed to hear me!

So – wearing my phone this time – I dialled for my nephew. 10 minutes later Quenton rang the front door bell AND knocked – remembering that grandma was a little hard of hearing! My mother opened the door and was surprised when Quen – gently pushing past her – explaining to her as he went that I had fallen over!

“Well I didn’t hear anything, dear” she said, and immediately felt SO bad that she hadn’t heard me call her, then I felt bad because of her failing to hear me…and so on. I was six weeks in hospital that time! What an idiot.

The second time I tripped and in the process of trying to prevent myself from falling, smashed my elbow on a mobile gas-fire. My other nephew Joel (a musician who plays drums) and his mate Phil came to the rescue this time – mother having phoned on this occasion. They found me sprawled in a corner. They got me up but my arm was making a crunching, grinding sort of sound and hung limply by my side. Joel put his ear near to my arm and said: “Yea, I think it’s broken, Paul!” Another six weeks in hospital!

However THIS time was just another run-of-the-mill fall! Later on in the evening I put oven chips, veggie sausages and onions on a tray in the oven. 45 minutes later I fried some eggs - my mouth already slavering at the prospect of what was to come - and put them on a plate. I opened the oven door and with one hand balancing me, and, with the other hand, carefully took out the tray containing chips, sausages and onions with a cloth and placed it – the other hand still balancing me – on the table.

With the same hand I gently closed the oven door (still with me?) and without looking leant on the table - a reflex action as my balance is so crap…but I also leant on the tray containing chips, sausages and onions and in the blink of an eye flipped the tray and its contents all over the floor!

“AHHHHHHHH!” I screamed. “F***++!!!^^**!” (a similar expletive to the above expletive), I raved. And then a profound peace and calm descended upon me. I instantly accepted the situation!

With my trusty grabber I proceeded to pick up every chip, every sausage and every piece of onion, putting them all onto my plate of eggs. Did I eat them? Well it was a VERY clean floor….

Ronnie grabs title and Princess's heart

Ronnie O'Sullivan duly won the world snooker championships last night, beating Ali Carter, 18-8.

It wasn't a very memorable final as both players performed below their best. Ronnie never soared to the heights of "snooker perfection" as he did against Stephen Hendry in the semi-finals.

Still, Ronnie won't be complaining. It's his third world title and he's also regained the No. 1 world ranking spot for next season.

Anyone who's interested in snooker already knows this result but I'm writing this post to record that Princess Perfect first took a real interest in this game during these championships.

And she rooted for The Rocket from the get-go. Every day she'd ask me how Ronnie was doing. Her snooker prince never let her down once!