Wednesday, January 31, 2007

On Your Knees For King LeftLion the Fifteenth, Peasants

Nice, in't it? The latest issue of the only free mag in Notts that's too good to put under your dog's ringpiece while he's curling one off in the living room is OUT NOW, youth - and will you just take a look at that sexy, sexy cover? Roll it up in the pub and mek aht that you've just come back from Skeggeh, or stick it under your armpit and try to convince girls that your Primark jacket is really Paul Smith. Or you could just read the bastard, I suppose, rammed to buggery as it is with interviews of some of the vanguard of the Trent Tempo and some other people. If you can't wait, here's the PDF.
And ohh ahh yeah - the LeftLion Pub Quiz is back tonight at the Golden Fleece on Mansfield Road from 8.30 onwards. It was heaving last week, mainly because the Post were there to write an article on pub quizzes, and various alt-media types were falling over themselves trying to get their pic taken to impress their Mams (tsk). So get in early.
(and I'd like to welcome all new readers of MCN who followed the link from my news section in the latest issue of the Lion. But I can't, because the bell-ends put the wrong fucking link up. Cha.)

Monday, January 29, 2007

'Broadsheet Journo Writes Decent Article About Notts' Shock

Dunno if you caught it yesterday, but this article in the Observer is a very rare example of reportage about our lovely home town. Yeah, so maybe he does the usual let's-go-to-St-Anns-and-Radford-to-see-if-anyone-gets-shot routine, but it makes a nice change to see someone bothering to talk to local people who actually give a fuck about where they live. This segment is what we usually get...

Another London magazine has been up in the past, offered them a few hundred quid to get their knives out for some photos, asked them if they can find some guns to pose with. They wonder if the Observer might up the ante.

(That'll be piss-poor ponce mag Vice, then)

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Sorry, I've been working

(for real money and allsorts)

So what's been moving it, shaking it and glassing it in the City of Peas since my absence? Well, there's been the usual twattiness in Bulwell, the Mapperley Sock Thief, more politicians sticking their nose up Nottingham's arsehole, a shooting in the groin, the obligatory shooting incident of the week, and Forest's yitneyesque performance in the FA Cup.

Oh, and there was this in the Post yesterday. I offered to buy them a gallon of beer, honest, but they said they'd get it themselves on expenses. Nice chaps.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Celebrity Big Brother: The East Midlands Connection

Hardly anyone seems to be watching Celebrity Big Brother (and my interest dipped considerably when I found out that Su Pollard wasn't going to be in it, after it was rumoured that she would be), but fret not, youths and youthesses - there is an East Midlands element. Britain's Favourite Fishwife Jade Goody has revealed that she couldn't be arsed with practising what her fitness DVDs preached and went to Leicester to have her fat lasered out, the lazy cowbag.

Putting aside the question as to why thousands of people thought that being screeched at by a trollop with the mental capacity of an orangutan that has been licking paint all day would help them lose weight (instead of wanting to use a razor blade to make Spyrograph images on their own faces), one has to ask; why did she choose to go to JumperTown when there was a perfectly good clinic in London, the sucky bint?

Jade is thought to have opted for the Leicester clinic because she stood less chance of being recognised there than in London.

Very perceptive, Jade, because as we all know, no-one in Leicester reads Heat or watches rubbish telly (because they're all far too busy going to art galleries or reading Foucault). The only other reason I can think of is that she was labouring under the huge misapprehension that all women in Leicester look like this. What a slur on that great city.

MCN: On That News Thing Like One-O

* Man with comedy Dutch Ladyboy name gets busted with a quarter-mil of weed. Note the mention of the 'Lenton Triangle'. I'd love to hear Barry Manilow do a song about that.

* and stick this right up your arse, London; forgot to mention this last week, but Nottingham has been named the second most cultural city in the UK, just behind Hull, er, Newcastle.

The Vomit-Inducing Hypocrisy of the Nottingham Evening Post

Ooh, this makes me mad. The Post have started a campaign to stop fat bastards in our city from cramming more fistfuls of Cheesy Wotsits down their glutenous maws. They've even roped in Nottingham's top athlete, the lithe, muscular, er, Lee Westwood. Hey, I'm not slagging it; anyone who's been to Jumpin' Jaks on a Friday night will know that certain people in the City of Snot aren't wearing a bra top as well as they might. The author included.

But you only have to read today's issue and clock the tale of Paul Appleby, and the rank stench of humbug and cant positively fills the nostrils, rather like when you take a short cut down Hurts Yard on a Friday night and that minging chicken place at the bottom have left their doors open. This feel-good tale of a man who overcame a back injury by joining an athletics club and running in marathons not only gives you a Chariots Of Fire earworm, it also displays the kind of spirit that the Post should be championing. Yet, due to the small matter of him claiming the sick and telling benefit officers that he needed walking sticks, a frame and wheelchair, our local newspaper choose to vilify him. For shame!

(Oh, and next time, mate, better wear the rhino costume)

Monday, January 08, 2007

News and Ting, 8/1/07

* Terrifying news from Mansfield, where it appears they've bypassed crossbows and entered the age of gunpowder. It transpires that Mouth-Breather 1, Mouth-Breather 2, Mouth-Breather 3 and Mouth-Breather 4 were caught on CCTV waving a ball-bearing gun out of a teefed I'm-Scared-Of-People-Carrier in the middle of the village - either on a revenge mission on some other youths who'd done 'em over in a club, or because they were starting a Rollerball team. According to a copper interviewed by Eeev-nin Poh-werst;
They had no idea the high quality of the CCTV images meant detectives would be able to identify them.
Presumably, they assumed that CCTV boxes contained a really little man with a sketchpad and some pencils. And to think that a mere five years ago, this was the more common way of settling differences in that part of the world.

* A junior school in Sherwood is getting its own in-house police officer, the jammy little fuckers. When I was at junior school, the third most exciting thing ever (after the Goodyear blimp going over the playground and a three hour scrap between the first and second-best fighters in the school) was when a copper came over and let a kid whose birthday it was have a go on his horse. Now some ungrateful little bastard is going to get a shot on some serious riot gear and a helicopter. It's not fair.

* For the first time ever, the police will be using forensic evidence to nail cowboy builders who conned a pensioner out of twenty grand. I dunno how they propose to do this, but the words 'swab test' and 'arse crack' are flashing in my mind.

I've Always Hated Chelsea.

No, I have. Ever since 1973, when I spent weekends at me Nana's on the old Arkwright Street (above the TSB, where the playground opposite the Poet's Corner is), and one of the bastards threw a brick through the window. narrowly missing me when I was playing Haunted House on the dining room table. I hated them then, I hate them now, and I'll even keep hating them when Roman Abramovich either gets bored or toppled and they end up with the kind of debts that make Forest's look like a lottery win. I lived in London for 13 years, and in all that time I only met one Chelsea supporter who wasn't a glory-hunting bandwagon-jumping ponce or the type of neanderthal who should have been experimented on by Boots. Just one.

Forest, do this one thing for me; either beat those bastards or crop some of them out of the season. Do this, and you can hold full-on IRA-style dirty protests in any pub in town you like.

Return of the LeftLion Pub Quiz

After an extended break over Xmas, our very own pub quiz (more often than not hosted by my good sen) comes back to the Golden Fleece on Mansfield Road this Wednesday, January 10th at 9pm-ish. You can read further details about it here, but suffice to say that it's an extremely good doss and the opportunity to get caylide on a school night with the lovely people who put LeftLion together. Two quid per team, first prize a gallon o' beer -so are you chipping out or what?

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Non-football stories of the day...

* It's bad enough that Notts is intent on turning itself into a call-centre hell-hole, but this story takes the biscuit, if not the whole packet; a new scheme proposes to have people on the Broxtowe estate doing call-centre work at home. Alright, there's absolutely nowt wrong with giving single mums and people on incapacity benefit the chance to turn a pound, but damn - where the proper jobs at, Nottingham? And I dunno about you, but I work from home quite a bit, and I know only too well what I get up to. And I'm not sure I want to discuss my financial situation with someone sitting at home in their pants whilst caning a packet of Ginger Nuts with Jeremy Kyle in the background.

* More Notts-related mithering, this time from the hotel industry; Nottingham hotels suffer a 4.4% drop in profits due to our horrible image. Hm, now let's analyse that one. Why is there so much trouble in town at the weekend? Because it gets bloated with people out of town on stag and hen dos, mixing with the locals and not knowing which pubs to avoid like a bastard. And where do these people stay - under Trent Bridge? No, they go to one of the myriad of hotels that have spung up smack in the middle of town to cash in on the bar boom. Why are the rooms so cheap? Because there's too many of them. Why are there too many of them? Because there's so much trouble in town at the weekend. And round and round it goes.

* The council run a training exercise involving the Evening Post on the premise of a disaster befalling a secondary school in Bestwood. Now I dunno about you, but when I hear the words 'Bestwood' and 'disaster', I'm automatically thinking about something like this. this, or quite possibly even this. Not the Council though, oh no - their idea of a Bestwood disaster is a kid going missing on a skiing trip. Actually, the true disaster involving secondary schools in Bestwood is that there aren't any, and the kids have to go to schools in other estates.

A bad day to be a County, sorry, Notts fan

Not only did Forest pull an incredibly impressive performance out of their, ahem, arse today, but according to a survey by Littlewoods, Notts County have been crowned as the worst professional football team to support in England over the last 20 years. So as well as being the most violent, crime-ridden city in the known universe, we've supposedly got the most suicidal football supporters in the UK an'all. Ha ha! Stick that up your ringpiece, Hull!

Fans were asked to identify the factors that caused them the most anxiety when following their favourite's fortunes. A number of 'stress factors' are identified, including sacking managers, missing out on promotion, going into administration, losing in the play-offs, the 'yo-yo' effect of promotion and relegation, regular defeats at home, losing games from being in a winning position and losing in cup finals.
Hm. I dunno what Wimbledon fans will have to say about this, but I'm not so sure that the Maggies are the worst team to support in Notts, never mind anywhere else. It has to be said that out of the numerous 'Pie people I know, it takes a lot to piss them off (in fact, the only thing that really galls them is when you refer to their club as 'Caan-teh'). Although supporting a club that has been in the shadow of their rivals for the past 50 years takes a lot of stoicism, it's better to accept your lot than live on past glories and follow a team who has gone into chronic decline as Forest (rated as 47th worst) have, surely?

Although Notts have been prodded with the shitty end of a very pointy stick for ages, there are twentysomething Forest fans walking about today who know nothing of going into the Square to see the European Cup being waved off the balcony, or seeing Forest break Ajax and the like over their knee. It's them who I really feel sorry for.

And what about Mansfield (59th worst)?

Er, I'll be off to the shops, then...

Half time: Nottingham Forest 2, Charlton 0.

Tantragate II: You've Shit, And You Know You Have

It's not that often that LeftLion gets a bona fide scoop (for want of a better word, as you'll soon find out), but by deploying every erg of my highly-trained journalistic ability (alright, by walking into the right pub last night and being buttonholed by the bar staff) I can divulge that there's something about the 'Forest players getting pissed in town' story that the Evening Post and the national press are holding back, and there's more to the story than meets the eye. Or nose.

It turns out that the Forest party called into another, hitherto unmentioned bar in Hockley that night. I've been asked by the staff not to mention which one, due to the fact that a) they're still talking to the police, and b) they don't want it put about that Third Division footballers drink there - but rest assured that much badness a gwan.

45 minutes of CCTV footage have been passed on to Bobby Copper, and the misdemenours documented include;
  • The trashing of a very tasteful Hockley Xmas tree

  • Someone piling up assorted rubbish in an ashtray in an attempt to set fire to a table

  • Random cuntiness aimed at the good people who drink there.

All very minor, I'm sure you'll agree. But the coup de gras was when the Forest party assembled in the Gents (for whatever reason, I dunno), which was when some poor sod on the bar asked them to leave, and encountered one of the players already mentioned in previous reports with his trousers round his ankles. After the Forest party left, the same bar chap discovered that someone had shit on the floor of the Gents.

It's not often in one's life that you get to see photographic evidence of a Forest player's excrement. I had that 'pleasure' tonight, and were it not for the fact that my Bluetooth is shagged up on my laptop, you could have had it too. This, my friends, is the real reason for the police involvement. Yes, I've been given the name of the accused player, but at this moment in time I feel the need to keep me mouth shut and cover my arse - which is what said player should have done.

Oh, and they're playing Charlton in the Cup today. If they pull off the impossible and actually beat them, every member of the Forest squad is invited to come into my house and curl one off on the living room carpet while I'm having me tea.

Friday, January 05, 2007


The usual stories that dominate our local media were blown off the table yesterday by the shocking revelation that some men in their early 20s with more money than most sometimes act like twats in pubs.

We've had this story many times before, but it usually happens in relegation seasons (you might remember the story of the 1992 Forest Xmas do when various players in Panto costumes ended up tired and emotional whilst being so rooted to the bottom of the Premiership you had to send a search party out to find them in the newspaper tables). The main differences between then and now is that Forest aren't going to get relegated, and wasn't an internet in those medieval days, and a pissed-off bloke on a forum didn't have the means to start what is, in the main, a massive non-story (but a very entertaining one).
Let's have a pick at it, shall we?
Me and my friends were in old revolution
Oh dear. Bad start.
at about 7 o'clock when in walked John Thompson, Jack Lester, John Curtis, Neil Harris, Scott Dobie, Barry Roche and Ross Gardner. Junior Agogo was not far behind. I initially thought what cheek you have to be out after an absolute hammering but realised they were mainly young lads and deserved an occasional drink.
No argument there. When you're had a shit day at work, the natural inclination is to go straight out on the mash. Problem is, I can't think of a workplace equivilent of a 5-0 battering by Oldham that doesn't involve accidentally burning your factory down, or being caught masturbating on your bosses desk.

It was after about three minutes of them being there that I realised how rude, dissrespectful, and arrogant they were - John Thompson just smashed a glass on the table, totally deliberately, and made a girl working there clean up his mess.

I think he's refering to the bloken glass, and not casting aspersions on John Thompson's toilet-training abilities.

John Curtis had his feet on the table, Jack Lester and others all threw drinks on Neil Harris as a "joke" before Harris decided it would be funny to slide tackle two stools
Oh my God, I've heard about videos like this...

...n take out John Curtis, resulting in 3 players on the floor and 2 chairs. After this massive show of disrespect, all players were happily laughing their heads off, obviously already battered at about 7 o clock.
So far, so Lloyds No.1 on a Friday evening. But later that night...
We left to go bowling and didn't see them again until it was about 11 o'clock in Tantra.
Oh dear. The Happy Shopper Geisha.
At first only John Curtis and Neil Harris were there, chatting
up women.

"Ayup, duck...I'm in a third division football team, so unless you've spunked 400 quid or so on a season ticket, you wouldn't know who the fuck I am. Oh, and we're not very good - in fact, we got beaten like a Chipperfield chimp by Oldham Athletic the other day. Er, fancy a shag?"

before we left I went to say hello to the lads and told Harris I was there at Oldham. His reply was "I don't give a f"uck". I was surprised but said "Well surely you care a little, You play for Forest", and he replied "I don't care, I Wasn't involved so don't give a ****!"
I see Mr Rubbish Footballer's point, here. If I was on the bench watching my team getting crushed like flies, I'd be rubbing me cakey little hands together and waiting for the call-up to the first XI.

I was angered by this and made it clear that I, and many more had been there and were paying his wages and I didn't think it was right that he "didn't give a f*ck".
No, mate, let's clear this up right away. Nigel Daugherty pays his wages. You, as a Forest fan, are paying off the massive, crippling, Oh-my God-I-want-to-jump-off-the-top-of Viccy-Flats debt incurred by David Platt a decade ago.

We then had a 5 minute talk where I made it sure that I didn't blame him at all for the recent drop in form, despite his terrible attitude, and I just thought it was a little out of order of the lads to be so battered so early, especially after they had been hammered 5-0.We left on good terms, shook hands and wished each other the best for the new year.
Isn't being pissed great? When else can you have a conversation that goes;

"You and your mates at work are shit"
"I don't give a fuck that me and my mates at work are shit"
"Ah well, Happy New Year, mate"
"Yeah, same to you, duck"

About half an hour later, after a trip to market bar which was closed


we returned to Tantra.


Harris and Curtis got up and were on their way up the stairs when me and a friend started singing, after their disgraceful behaviour earlier in the night, "You're not fit to wear the shirt!"

Now this is a bit unfair. For one, would you like to leave a pub and hear people shouting "You're not fit to work a till!" or "Your sales targets are SHIIIT and you know they are!" Secondly, you can go into town on a Saturday dinnertime and see thousands of people not fit to wear a Forest shirt. Those things are clingy.

They both turned round and stormed towards us saying things like "What the f*ck are you saying" and "Who the f*ck are you to say that". This quickly moved on to "Lets go outside and I'll batter you". They were obviously drunk but I still couldn't believe the reaction. So aggressive.

Ooh, I think I can believe it, readers - can you?

The bouncers quickly got in between and Harris said "I wasn't even playing you Prick" and my mate said "theres a reason you weren't playing!" At this point, Neil Harris slapped my friend, straight in the face, a man that has supported Forest all his life and cares so so much about the club. The bouncers promptly threw both Curtis and Harris out. We were just shocked.

"...that he actually made contact, and didn't balloon his slap into the Hogshead across the road"

In a nutshell, a load o' fanny about nothing. Someone having a go at someone else happens a hundred times a night in town, footballers are more likely to go to horrible ponce-bars and be arseholes than not, and the people who follow them are always up for having a go when the team is playing like shit.

There's only one interesting question to come out of this - why do you never hear of Notts County players out on the batter? Do they stop at home and have piano lessons or go to drama groups or something?

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

...And the main points today are...

* The Variety gets its third mention on the bounce, with its doorstaff being forced to keep punters in the building while they tended to a victim of a triple-stabbing on New Years Eve that happened in a pub up the road. Jesus in a jumpsuit, whoever gets that pissed off on NYE? Christmas Eve, I'd understand.

* A bloke from Chilwell is on trial for swapping home-made images of teenage smut in exchange for fags - presumably in preperation for his stint in the Big House

* The annual moan about rail fare increases kicks off anew, even though you can still get dirt-cheap advance tickets and you can run your laptop off the mains

* Absolutely no transfer window-related activity by Forest or County whatsoever.

10 people that need to be interviewed for LeftLion in 2007


With the departure of Xylophone Man still hanging over us, this man is the reigning champ of local heroes, no question. I first met him in 1980, where he used to terrify teeny-Mods outside Pendulum Records in Viccy Market with tales of his Hells Angels chapter and what they got up to at the Sal on Friday nights (Obviously, if we hadn't been such thick twats, we would have wondered what a Hells Angel was doing outside Pendulum Records on a Saturday afternoon, instead of drinking blood and raping goats for Satan, but there you go). 27 years later and he's still got that Wonder Woman headband on, even though he's got a gammy leg these days and needs a stick.

*I never call him 'Axeman', because I know him as 'Machete Max' - because that's what he said his name was in 1980. But I'm prepared to go with the majority on this one.


Obvious choice, because she's Mother Nottingham, she's always kept her accent and she's always kept it real. Problem is, even though she seems to be at the Theatre Royal every other month I'm scared to interview her, due to the constant insistence by the LL Editor that I have to try and cop off with her afterwards. If you still have a copy of the Summer '05 issue of the 'Lion, you see that somewhere in the corner is a image of me having sex with her in the Market Square, which got us banned from Capital One for the month.


Question One: Why did you disband the drug squad in Notts so you could spent the money on combating burglaries, when everyone knows that a scary percentage of kids break into houses to feed addictions? Question Two: Why were you always on telly two years ago banging on about how horrible Nottingham was? Question Three: Who told you to shut up?


A legend, whose only crime was managing the other club in town in the same era as the God-Like Brian. The brilliant Steak...Diana Ross by David McVay paints him as a wizened, foul-mouthed gnomic sage who would always lick the top of the tomato ketchup bottle during pre-match meals in hotels. Amazingly, still alive.

5. KWS

I've already interviewed Philip Wright of Paper Lace for the 'Lion - now I want the only other Nottingham band to make it to Number One.


I've mentioned him earlier, but it bears repeating; German accountant from Dusseldorf decides to borrow cash off his Dad to see Liverpool v Forest at Anfield in 1978, pays a Scouse tout £120(!) for a ticket, falls in love with Forest, and commutes to England every weekend during the season since. He goes to all the games - home and away - and then has his Sunday dinner at the Variety, does the strippers-and-bingo thing, and then flies home. If you're a Forest fan, you either love him or hate him. That's a story, people.


Yeah, more Forestness, but I don't care; for people of a certain age, the man is a bigger hero than Psycho. When I was 12 and spent the six-week holiday at me Grandpa's in the Meadows, I used to spend every day at the City Ground following the players about. Robbo would always arrive late, hungover as fuck, bellowing out whatever Radio Trent was playing on his car radio. When they went for their mid-morning jog, he would be miles behind, and more often than not, could be seen having a piss under Trent Bridge, looking like shit on a stick. And he was still one of the best players we've ever had, and (playing the Peter Taylor role with Martin O'Neill) is one of the few Clough disciples who have made a successful go at management.


The Vice issue on poverty in Nottingham was absolute shit-stirring, Nathan-Barleyesque rammell, but I was so fucked off that they got to The Variety before we did. Gordon is sadly retired now, but as a former bingo caller myself I would love to commune with him. PS: Variety Club Fanny Fest?!


I've heard about this bloke, but am convinced that someone is taking the piss. Can anyone help?


Honestly, it's a bleeder trying to follow the music scene in Notts; you think you have a list of the 12 top bands in the city, and then some other mag will come out with 12 you haven't even heard of.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Yeah, so I'm a lazy get.


2007 promises to be a right interesting year for our dear home town, as it tries to shake off its reputation as The Most Dangerous, Gun-Infested City In The Entire World whilst at the same time ramming in as many shops, bars and students as possible (when everyone can see that there's got be a recession sooner or later, there's far too many shops and pubs in town as it is, God knows why they're expanding the Broado when everyone knows it ought to be reduced to the size of a Rubik Cube, and a university education is now an unaffordable luxury to huge swathes of kids).

Highlights this year will include;

The Square Reopening

Or will it? This should have happened months ago, and Goths, people who like falling off skateboards in public and pigeons are all tapping their feet and whining softly to themselves in barely-disguised frustration. Like I said before - if they had listened to me and just put down one massive slab, it would have been done by now.

The Tory Spring Party Conference Comes To Nottingham

Oh God, kill me now. If you think it's bad enough when one media twat comes up to Notts to sniff around for disaffected youth injecting heroin into their eyeballs and shooting each other, you're advised to spend the week in the caves under the castle, because this is going to be horrible. Expect David Cameron to lay hands on black kids in St Anns and the Meadows, quite possibly with a bandana on.

Forest To Finally Escape The Misery Of Division Three

Yes, they're having a mid-season wobble, but fret not; they are too good for this division and will make it out by April at the very latest. Trust me. And let's not discount Notts' chances either - it's a right lucky bag of a division and they're due a bit of good fortune.

The Clough Statue To Go Up

The money's been raised, and they're looking to commission an artist. Well looking forward to seeing this in town.

Nottingham To Look Less Like A Building Site


LeftLion To Raise Its Game Even Further

At long last, we're getting office space and will no longer have to run things from a living room in Sherwood. Expect a significant rise in quality this year.

Normal service resumes tomorrow. Until then, enjoy this delightful clip passed on by the rather wonderful NFFC Blog featuring Ebby (the mad German bloke who used to commute from Dusseldorf to Forest's home and away games), being chased round the stage of the Variety in Radford by Gordon the Bingo Caller, a naked gimp, and Jesus.