23rd April 2007 post 2

Having spent the night around different places, I zoomed to Clowne and Casa Del Woodhall and Saturday with the famous Scott from previous mooching. Although it was fab to see the old Warhorse again, it was a night out in Manchester that I was getting excited about. We arranged to go over the Pennines and watch UFC 70 at the Manchester Evening News Arena. Having arrived early to fit in 17 Starbucks Coffees (Scotts insistance) we filed into the vebue. Looking just like Mandalay Bay in Vegas, the Octogon loomed and the anticipation of the upcoming 10 fights grew. Head lining the bill was Mirko Cro Cop, an awesome striker and monster in the mixed martial arts World. Almost as eagerly anticipated was the second UFC fight of Michael Bisping. Only two of the fights were disappointing, but they weren't the talkig point in the car on the way back to Clowne.

I have had many opinions about the vocal nature of Americans on many different subjects. Although they do seem to have a lot to say, and say it far too loud, I now take my hat off and applaud Hank McBisonstretcher and his posse. Having been to UFC in Las Vegas, and Scott having been to UFC in Sacramento, I can now tell you that the English crowd who were gathered at the event were a total disgrace and made it embarrassing to be English. It could have been just the section that we found ourselves in, but it was a very stark contrast to excitable but friendly atmosphere we had felt in the USA of America. Firstly, we had paid for very good seats and were quite close to, not only the action, but also the tunnel where many of the fighters made their entrance. There were a couple of empty seats directly in front of us, but some loud, drunken and moronic lads from Belfast made use of them, even though it was clear that they hadn't paid for those seats and had decided to swan down from the cheap seats to try their luck. Having had the bare faced cheek to sit in seats they hadn't paid for, they then stood up the whole way through, whether watching the action live, on the big screens or just talking among themselves. They then started to shout obscenities and act like total idiots. As things were getting to a point where someone was going to have to shut them up, they moved, having seen even better seats that they hadn't paid for. All good? No!

Instead, 5 more scumbags, this time from Manchester and around 16 years old jumped in their seats and started shouting such stunningly insightful phrases as "Kick his f**king head in!" and "Yeah ...'it 'im ya cn*t" I can't tell you how proud it made us. The whole of the audience seemed to be there to see someone get seriously kicked and punched, whereas in America it was an event, a sporting event. The way it should be. Even adult men, skin headed and with all kinds of tattooes adorning their skulls, were sending a stream of swearing at no one in particular.

I therefore will never say anything about the American propensity to pass opinions about anything again. Ever. Well until another one of the over opinionated war mongers opens their mouths and lets the wind blow their tongues about. After all, they have nothing to say and they are saying it too loud, as always. That didn't last long!


One last thing before I go. While standing outside Scott's parents house, having a crafty cigarette, I kept hearing three high pitched bleeps periodically. After investigating the security light, burglar alarm etc, I was at a loss as to where the noise was coming from. I asked Scott who immediately grinned and pointed me in the direction of his Mum, officially known as Mrs Woodhall Snr. It transpires that after 5 years of loyal service, 2 carbon monoxide detectors had started sounding the end of their functional life with three periodic bleeps at set intervals. Obviously, this noise isn't ideal in the dead of night, so quite sensibly, Mrs Woodhall Snr placed them in the garden. Still able to hear the alarms, she decided that the best course of action was, not to remove the batteries, but to bury them in two plant pots outside the back door. So, if you want two second hand carbon monoxide detectors, slightly soiled in the very realest sense of the word, see Mrs Woodhall Snr, Clowne.