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.

23rd April 2007


Well I have nearly been back a week and I am getting itchy feet!


Firstly though, let me say thanks to all of the people that heave either put me up for a couple of nights, or have offered. I am not very good when it comes to accepting offers of kindness but I want you all to know that it is very, very much appreciated. Add to that the difficulty in getting my snapped off tooth fixed and it looks like I might be hanging around for a while.

The reason for my coming back to the UK was for histories most ridiculous doctors appointment at 3:50 on Friday. By 4:40 I was beginning to think that the waiting room was very well named indeed. Getting beyond fed up, I was thinking about heading for the door, when the doctor came back and lead me to an office. After discussing what the surgeon said in his report, this doctor stated that I did have a degenerative back problem. Well, no sh*t Sherlock! He also said that if I was "desperate" to continue operationally, then he wouldn't be able to rule it out on medical grounds. So pretty much as expected. On the one hand, he said that I was a greater risk of more frequent back difficulties, but on the other hand I might be able to manage a few more years. He effectively managed to not contradict the more highly qualified surgeon, yet at the same time tell me that if I was prepared to take the risk of more pain, then he could let me carry on. Very good of him eh? So we know what the fire service will do with that info..... ignore the risks and try to shovel me out through a loophole! Cheers! And to think that all I have to do is be "desperate" to be operational and then not moan when I get injured as it is my fault, thereby absolving the fire service of any responsibility. Best job in the World! To make matters more farcical, I was unable to get out of the building and get away from him as he had left the appointment so late that security had locked all of the doors and we were trapped in the building. Quite aptly I made my egress through the fire escape.

On to more pleasing things. I dropped in on the hospitality of John, Sarah, Harry and brand new Carter in Dronfield on my way up North. The jet lag soon kicked in and I soon until late morning. I did manage some sleep on the journey from Auckland, mostly in economy, but I was looking forward to some quality rest on the leg from Dubai to Gatwick, but I was sat next to a very nice, but very talkative woman! Neither of us could get the media jobby working properly and kept looking mystified at each other when the film turned to various different languages! And my Dad asks me for advice when he breaks his computer! I pity the fool!

Up to York and a couple of nights with Fen and Missus Fen. After busting Fen out for a couple of beers in the Marcia I was a little tipsy! Good old English beer! Can I also add that Fen still cooks a mean bacon buttie, after all, I trained him well. I even called Psycho and told him that I wished West Ham all of the best when facing the mighty Everton. I wished later that I hadn't as The Hammers romped through and might have dented our European aspirations, albeit for the saving grace of the other European hopefuls doing just as rubbish as The Toffees. Next post coming right up.

Dan