Christmas cheer? Not in Stoke-on-Trent

I'm all for surprise gifts at Christmas. They can lift the mood when unwrapping socks, pants and car-cleaning kits gets a trifle tedious.
But I'm not sure I'd want the kind of festive present left by the good old traffic wardens of Stoke-on-Trent on Christmas Eve.
You see, church-goers who had attended mass at Sacred Heart Church in Hanley came outside at the end of the service to discover they'd been ticketed by said wardens, who work for oh-so-popular Stoke-on-Trent City Council.
According to my local paper, The Sentinel, up to 50 worshippers discovered they'd been fined at the end of mass. And I bet they wanted to give the traffic wardens more than a glass of sherry in return for their stunning display of festive cheer.
A mate of mine reckons traffic wardens get a hard time. "It must be a joyless job," he whines on. "Imagine how much grief they must get in the line of duty."
Well if behaviour like this is anything to go by, I'm not surprised. Utter jobsworths, the lot of them.
What happened to Christmas cheer? What happened to good will to all men? What happened to making allowances because it's bloody Christmas?
The parish priest, Father Peter Weatherby, is fuming about the fines and has vowed to fight tooth and nail on behalf of his parishioners.
A city council spokesman had nothing unusual to say... just the usual town hall claptrap which will do nothing to boost the authority's appalling PR rating.
"Penalties are issued when vehicles are parked in violation of the restrictions," said a town hall spin doctor. "On-street parking restrictions apply until 6pm. Motorists who are issued a penalty are welcome to appeal the decision and details of how to appeal are on the back of the ticket."
Great.
I wonder whether the target-setting chief who runs traffic wardens in Hanley, Stoke, Burslem, Longton, Tunstall and Fenton goes by the name of Ebeneezer?

Ricardo Fuller v Andy Griffin: Stoke City's own goal

I hope for his sake that Stoke City striker Ricardo Fuller isn't spotted doing his shopping up Hanley any time soon.
The bargains first revealed in the Boxing Day sales might be tempting, Ric, but I'd keep a low profile if I were you.
For all hell broke loose at Upton Park when Stoke City took on West Ham today. And Fuller was in the thick of it.
Now I know about as much about football as the chiefs in charge at Woolworths apparently know about steering a high street favourite through the choppy waters of a credit crunch.
But I know that Fuller has landed himself in hot water for hitting his team-mate (and captain) Andy Griffin at a time when every point counts for Premier League new boys Stoke City.
And as somebody who knows so little about football, and until recently cared very little about it too, I have to say I'm gutted.
Because some so-called pundits apparently reckon Stoke City shouldn't be in the Premier League. They don't have the skill or the panache of the big boys like Manchester United and Liverpool, these know-it-alls claim.
Well I say balls to that. Stoke getting into football's top-flight is one of the best (and relatively few) positive things ever to happen in the history of the city of Stoke-on-Trent. And the city's people (whether they're football fans or not) need it to continue.
It's good for our name. It should be good for the regeneration of the city. And that has to be good for everyone.
So I'm gutted at Fuller's outburst. You can't deny that passion is to be applauded, but when it spills over into violence, things have gone too far. And besides denying Stoke vital points in their struggle to succeed in the Premier League, I can't help feeling Fuller has committed a PR own goal for the whole city.
He's now facing disciplinary action, a three-match ban, and he'll have his wages docked.
But should he be allowed to pull on a Stoke City shirt again? The fans are raging and many of them say he shouldn't. They're calling on Tony Pulis to get tough and show Fuller the door. They're all kicking off on the website of my local paper, The Sentinel.
With the January transfer window about to open, who knows whether Fuller will be on his way.
And whatever happens, Pulis has got to leave his players in little doubt that this kind of behaviour is bang out of order.
It'll do Stoke City no good in their current campaign, and it'll play straight into the hands of those stuck-up pundits who barely travel past the North Circular and reckon Stoke has no place in football's top league.

Mind over matter for Stoke City

He's the man who can help you overcome the fear of everything from spiders to flying.
Now Jamil Qureshi is a man on a mission close to the hearts of every Stoke City fan.
Yep, it might sound like the Bovril's gone to their heads, but the powers-that-be down the Britannia Stadium have hired Jamil to help the club's fear of (not) flying (high) in the Premier League.
So if the now-legendary Rory Delap is struck by a bout of nerves when it comes to his next long-throw, or Dave Kitson suddenly decides he can't face leaving the dressing room with THAT hair on show, I hope sport psychologist Jamil manages to work his magic.
He's apparently already helped Bolton and has had a call from Nottingham Forest. And if ever there was a recommendation not to be taken lightly, he's said to be a regular on Five's Trisha Goddard show. (Whatever next? Jeremy Kyle?)
Anyway, according to www.whydelilah.co.uk, the online bible for Stoke City fans and readers of my local paper, The Sentinel, he will be on hand at Stoke City training sessions. And he will be helping the Potters deal with all manner of problems, be they professional or personal.
I'm becoming something of a Stoke City fan myself of late. Maybe it's because Stoke are now in the Premier League, which means the biggest clubs in the business parking up for a showdown at The Britannia Stadium.
I've even been to a game. It was all right (the experts tell me it was boring) but I saw Mama Sidibe put one away. That said, the pies were extortionately priced.
But I hope self-styled mind guru Jamil will succeed in working his magic on Stoke City. And despite what some of the whining, whinging, negative 'fans' have to say, I reckon the people of Stoke-on-Trent - whether they're from Burslem, Tunstall, Longton, Fenton, Stoke or Hanley - will too.
Even the Port Vale fans.

Let's make Stoke-on-Trent the Amsterdam of the Midlands

Those bright sparks at Stoke-on-Trent City Council are at it again.
First they want to ban takeaways because they make the people of the Potteries fat.
Now they want to ban "downmarket" sex shops, arcades and bookies' because they're worried that plans for the regeneration of Hanley will be undermined by such tawdry "outlets".
They reckon the North Staffordshire Regeneration Partnership (NSRP) has some great ideas for the Piccadilly area, and giving visitors the chance to play the slot machines before purchasing a bit of porn and a marital aid sends out the wrong impression.
In principle, I suppose I can see where they're coming from. If Realis Estates' proposed East West Shopping Centre comes off, there's the potential for Hanley to become a city centre worth visiting.
But are the minds at the Civic Centre in Stoke thinking about the people who actually live in the city? (They're the very same taxpayers who pay their wages, after all.)
Because, from a PR point of view, it all just sounds snotty, snobby and out of touch.
People in Stoke-on-Trent like to visit takeaways. They evidently like a flutter on the horses and a fair few probably have Debbie Does Dallas in their DVD collections. If they didn't, such "downmarket" businesses wouldn't exist in the city.
OK, they might be fat, broke and have repetitive strain injury, but it's their personal choice.
And if those taxpayers got the feeling that the city council and its regeneration partners knew what they were doing, perhaps grand declarations like this one would be a bit easier to accept.
No, I've decided we need to innovate and be bold. We need the powers-that-be to come up with a different plan to put Stoke-on-Trent on the map.
So I will be writing to the town hall immediately with my suggestion. (Actually, I'll email because Stoke Royal Mail postal workers are going on strike. My dossier might never get there.)
And my suggestion? We should create a Sex-And-Betting Quarter in the Potteries. We could become the Amsterdam of the Midlands (we've already got the canals).
Now that's the kind of vision needed to transform North Staffordshire's fortunes.
And I reckon the good folk of Burslem, Longton, Hanley, Fenton, Tunstall and Stoke might agree.

Takeaway ban? Just call the food police

Well I've heard it all now.
First they ignore the views of the public over issues like secondary school re-organisation in Stoke-on-Trent. (If you don't believe me, have a chat with the families campaigning to save Trentham High School).
Now, they're sticking their noses in to people's lives and trying to tell them what they shouldn't eat.
To whom do I refer? The town hall bureaucrats at Stoke-on-Trent City Council.
Or, as they shall now be known, the food police.
For the council's health overview and scrutiny committee (snappy title, I think you'll agree) wants to limit the number of takeaways allowed within a certain area. They also want to meddle with the type of food these takeaways are offering, and only allow them within a certain distance of schools.
Why? Because we're an obese city, apparently.
Now I'm all for encouraging people to be healthy. But what happened to personal choice? What happened to entrepreneurship and businesses doing business?
If people want to eat takeaways, they should be allowed to eat takeaways. Try telling somebody in Hanley, Burslem, Tunstall or Stoke that their local chippy's licence is being revoked because it's too near a school.
What's going to happen? Black market kebabs? Illegal pies and pasties sold under the counter?
If the ordinary people of Stoke-on-Trent felt their council served them well, and had its own house in order, perhaps this wouldn't be such a bitter pill to swallow.

Royal Mail? Simply second class

Well it looks like the poor old people of Stoke-on-Trent have been shafted again.
But forget failing schools like Sandon Business and Enterprise College in Meir. Forget waste-of-space politicians at Stoke-on-Trent City Council. Forget Third World conditions (queuing for hours on trolleys) at the University Hospital of North Staffordshire.
Forget them all.
Because there was more great news today... the poor old peeps with an ST postcode officially get the worst postal service from the Royal Mail in mainland Britain.
Personally speaking, I'd love to say I'm surprised. But the last time I was at home on a weekday, I didn't get my gas bill on the doormat until gone 1pm.
1pm? What kind of postal service is that? Evidently a very late and not very good one. I'm just grateful I'm not a struggling North Staffordshire business. How they're supposed to make any money with a postal service so poor, especially during a credit crunch (I had to mention it somewhere), is beyond me.
And it gets worse. Because not only is the Royal Mail second class and completely useless in North Staffordshire. My local paper, The Sentinel, reckons postal drivers might go out on strike over Christmas. Oh behold the festive joy. Let's all lick a stamp in celebration.
You might be unsurprised to know that the public are not being too sympathetic up to now, while Royal Mail big noises reckon the customer deserves better.
Well at least they've got that bit right... though I'm not sure that shipping a load of delivery staff from Stoke to Wolverhampton will help much on that front.

You'll never be lonely (up Hanley, duck)

I love it when I'm right.
It seems the hand of fate has been at the controls of a computer keyboard somewhere, reading the purple prose of my blog yesterday.
For no sooner had I declared that Stoke-on-Trent is a dump but a wonderful place nevertheless, a bunch of academics from Sheffield University go and prove me right.
Yes folks, the view might not be too pretty, but when you're in the Potteries (be it Burslem, Longton, Hanley, Fenton, Tunstall or Stoke), you'll never be lonely.
Our shops might be shite, our buses late, our job prospects grim, and our Argos full of chavs. We might lack the cultural kudos of rivals like Birmingham, Manchester and Nottingham.
But you'll always get a warm welcome in Stoke-on-Trent, where it seems good old community spirit is alive and kicking.
The city is the least lonely in the UK, according to research commissioned by the BBC. At last, Aunty's making good use of all the money I've stumped up for that TV licence.
So if you're Christmas shopping this week, you won't find the kind of retail heaven that those bigger cities have to offer. True.
But when you realise you've spent up, you've got no money for the gas, and the credit crunch is biting AGAIN, don't worry. There'll be no need to sit sobbing alone on a bench outside the Potteries Shopping Centre. There'll be plenty of others sat there too. And they'll probably offer you a tissue.

Has Hanley got the X Factor? Nope!

I've heard some claptrap in my time, but this takes some beating.
Stoke-on-Trent is apparently "a beautiful place".
Who says? Laura White, who got booted off ITV's X Factor amid considerable controversy.
Now I consider myself a Stokie. I love the people and I love the place. There's bags of heritage, owing much to the city's former status as the centre of the pottery industry. Once-thriving companies like Wedgwood, Spode and Royal Doulton are to thank for that.
But they've gone - or what remains of them is going. And "beautiful" the city is not. There are some beautiful buildings, but it's largely a post-industrial ruin; a place where there's been plenty of talk about "Stoke-on-Trent regeneration"; plenty of public consultation; plenty of "vision" and artists' impressions.
But it's a dump. And until organisations like Stoke-on-Trent City Council, the North Staffordshire Regeneration Partnership and Renew North Staffordshire pull their fingers out, it will remain as such.
However, describing it truthfully probably wouldn't help Laura White flog any records. And the Lancashire lass will be desperate to do that, after being kicked off X Factor amid claims from her fans that it was a fix.
That said, she went down a storm at Liquid nightclub in Hanley last night. She did a turn as part of a tour, and she's now hoping to land a record contract and see her name in lights. (Personally, I preferred that Spanish sizzler, Ruth Lorenzo, but what do I know?)
Despite Laura's rather disingenous description of Stoke-on-Trent as "beautiful" (God knows how she'd describe the Taj Mahal or St Mark's Square), she is actually a rather likeable character.
She did a video interview with The Sentinel, my local newspaper, and she seems down-to-earth and more than pleasant.
I hope she does well... and has a look around Hanley in the daylight. She'd be groping for another word altogether to describe what she saw then.

First Choice? They'd be my last choice

First Choice? More like Last Choice, if one of the main stories in my local paper, The Sentinel, today is anything to go by.
Stoke-on-Trent newlyweds Claire and Michael Kirk tie the knot and book thier honeymoon to the Dominican Republic with the aforementioned tour operator.
They pay £220 extra for premium class seats on their flight to a fortnight of marital bliss. So far, so good.
They get on the plane at Manchester Airport and indeed are shown to thier swanky seats. Yet there's just one problem. They're told they can fly first class, but they can't sit together.
Is it me or is there a credit crunch on? I know I'm obsessed by the economic downturn, but are we Brits not feeling the pinch? Are we not cutting back? Are we not thinking twice before putting our hands in our pockets?
And are some of the biggest names in business not going bump? Are previously gargantuan commercial powerhouses not crashing to the ground as the recession takes hold?
Well it's no bloody wonder, when hard-working punters are treated as shoddily as this.
I loathe bad customer service. In fact, when I'm on the receiving end of it, I go out of my way to (a) complain; (b) complain again - loudly; and (c) never darken the offending business's door with my shopping list and wallet again.
It's about time companies like First Choice got a grip. For too long they've been able to treat customers badly and get away with it, not least because of their sheer size and market dominance.
Claire and Michael Kirk, from Sneyd Green, near Hanley, in Stoke-on-Trent, apparently complained when they got home. But they got nowhere.
It was only when The Sentinel contacted First Choice and its Holiday Hypermarket at Festival Park, in Etruria, that First Choice offered a refund.
It shouldn't take the local press to ensure that common sense prevails and these bungling big boys do the right thing.
And if companies like First Choice want to survive the economic downturn, they'd do well to realise that - as cliched as it sounds - it's the customer who should always come first.

MFI's demise is no loss

I'm not surprised that MFI has gone to the wall.
When I was a kid, it was the store of choice for my mum and dad when it came to kitting out my bedroom.
I know the 80s was the decade that style forgot, but the furniture from MFI (or MI5 as we called it) wasn't pretty. And within months it was usually leaning alarmingly to the left, or to the right. Then the handles would fall off.
Of late, the chain has gone more upmarket, no doubt forced out of the lower end of the game by Ikea, which manages to offer stylish furniture that's built to last - and it looks good too (well, most of it does).
Yet I bet the middle classes have once again found quality lacking at MFI, despite pretty hefty price tags. And if my recent trip to MFI at Basford, near Newcastle, Staffordshire, is anything to go by, the company could have done with brushing up on its customer service too.
So I won't be sorry to see MFI disappear, if that's what happens once the administrators have finished with it.
Of course it's a bitter blow for the staff, just weeks before Christmas. But there's no place for overpriced, poor-quality furniture from a company which has apparently never heard of 'service with a smile'.
On the other hand, I hope there's a future of some kind in store for Woolworths. The company has branches all over my neck of the woods. And there have been some serious bargains to be had when I've been shopping in Newcastle, Hanley, Stone and Stafford.
Woolies is an institution and would be sorely missed. I've been following the story on the website of my local paper, The Sentinel, and people seem pretty sad about the chain's demise.
One bloke from Hanley reckons that other high street 'W', Wilkinsons, is to blame. It is, he reckons, the new Woolworths.
I'm not so sure. And I hope the administrators, Deloitte, can pull something out of the bag.
In the meantime, I'll be popping in for some pick n mix this weekend.

Bungling burglar story's a real steal

You get a better class of plonker in Stoke-on-Trent.
And the evidence for this outrageous claim? Step forward, Mr Barry Munro.
Good old Bazza's a bit of a serial crim. He'd already done time for some unknown crime and when released on licence decided to go on another crime spree.
He popped into a North Staffordshire hairdresser's salon and half-inched some hair straighteners. Not exactly a bumper haul, but he probably thought they'd go for a few quid down the pub.
Anyway, poor old Bazza obviously hadn't read up on the latest forensic science tips, for the dozy burglar went and left a trace of his DNA... and promptly got nicked by Staffordshire Police.
Munro, from Smallthorne Crescent, in Bradwell, Newcastle, is now back behind bars. It's probably a blow to him, but it's cheered me up, and readers of my local paper, The Sentinel, have probably been having a titter too. It's just what the doctor ordered in these dismal, doom-laden times.

Robbie Williams: Grade A success story?

I remember those dark days of school when the teachers would have you believe that failing your GCSEs spelled the end of the world.

Being a bit of a swot, I fell for their scare-stories hook, line and sinker. But looking back (it's incredible how much a recent birthday ending in -0 can make you contemplate your life thus far), I wish I'd rebelled.

I wish I'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, got trolleyed on cider and popped a few pills in an act of adolescent rebellion.

After all, it didn't do popstar Robbie Williams any harm.

For the Stoke-on-Trent born songman has revealed much about his teenage years in the Potteries. Granted multi-millionaire Robert will make you pay £30 to listen in full on his website, but my local paper, The Sentinel, has done its bit for the credit crunch and spilled some of the beans for free on http://www.thisisstaffordshire.co.uk/

Yep, the Robster has relived the moment his disappointing GCSE results were revealed to his mum Jan at their home in Tunstall.

Yet just hours later, this young Stokie was jumping for joy after bagging himself a place in Take That.

The rest, as they say, is history. And didn't he do well for himself?

OK, so he appears to have gone a bit bonkers of late, doing BBC radio documentaries about aliens and sporting a haircut to be ashamed of.

But he's rolling in it, living a life of luxury in LA, indulging his passion for all things Port Vale - and all after flunking his exams.

His Robcast, as his confessional podcast has been called, also includes details of him taking LSD at Shelley's nightclub in Longton; trying to summon spirits with a Ouija board at Chuch Lawton Hall; and buying his first pair of Versace jeans in Hanley.

Now all he needs to do is get himself back to Stoke-on-Trent, settle down with a good Potteries woman, and launch his own Fame Academy to put the city on the map.

That way he can really prove to others growing up in his neck of the woods that there is hope after all...

The lucky Livesleys are quids in

Well lucky old Jackie and John Livesley from Longton in Stoke-on-Trent.
They probably won't be worrying too much tonight about their credit being crunched.
Nope, the lucky couple of die-hard Stoke City fans have scooped £2.6million on the National Lottery.
They bought their ticket at Morrisons supermarket in Leek, though they nearly didn't because Jackie apparently wanted to avoid the bad weather and stay in, rather than going shopping.
She's doubtless pleased that she pulled on her waterproof now.
I could sit here getting all jealous. But I'm chuffed for this pair of Stokies, whom I've never met.
So too are the general public, if The Sentinel's website is anything to go by.
Why, you might ask? Well I'm no sociologist, but I reckon it's great to see some good news for a change.
Rising bills, job losses, downturn this, slump that. It's almost too grim to get out of bed these days.
So it's nice to know that somebody in Stoke-on-Trent is enjoying some good luck for a change.
I hope they have a fun time splashing all that cash!

Staffordshire University frisbee team ruling is plain mental

When, oh when, will the PC brigade get it? When will they realise that by being so damn right-on and over-sensitive they might as well reach for a rifle and blast themselves in the foot?
No, I've not spent the morning on the BNP website, devouring the Daily Mail and having my head shaved.
But even a leftie like me can't quite believe that a Staffordshire University frisbee team called Mental Discs has been ordered to change its name, because it could "potentially" offend people with mental health problems.
I know who's mental here. The hard-left loons at the Students' Union, that's who.
According to The Sentinel, my local paper in Stoke-on-Trent, the name Mental Discs has been used by the team since it was founded in 2002.
Only now, six years on, the union is calling for the name to be changed to "avoid distress" to other students with mental health problems.
Students' Union president Fiona Wood reckons "mental is a derogatory word in many contexts". And what's behind this over-reaction? Good old "equal opportunities".
"As a union we have equal opportunities, a number of students do have issues in this area and it only takes one complaint and it would be out of hand," she says. "When the nickname went on the team's official papers this year alarm bells rang and we agreed the name was not suitable."
Give me a break. The word mental is no more offensive than "Discs".
These days it can mean anything... off-the-wall... really enjoyable... fantastic. Just ask your average 14-year-old to stop texting for a minute and they'll tell you.
You'll note there have been no complaints from anybody unfortunate enough to be afflicted with mental ill-health. And it'd be nonsense for them to complain anyway.
Staffordshire University are playing into the hands of the idiots who may think it funny to have a laugh about the mentally-ill.
And they also play straight into the hands of those with more extreme views. "What's the world coming to?", they'll declare. And who could blame them?
That the university could over-react in such a way is enough to leave any right-thinking person feeling depressed. They should agree an about-turn immediately.

Anthea Turner's foreign pots gig? Just smashing!

It looks like the fragrant Anthea Turner - she of 'Yeah, I'll promote a chocolate bar on my wedding day' fame - has been rumbled by an eagle-eyed resident of Stoke-on-Trent.
For the former Blue Peter beauty, who is said to be fiercely proud of her Potteries roots, has been busy earning some dosh... promoting pottery from nowhere near Stoke-on-Trent. Allegedly.
According to a correspondent who wrote to my local paper, The Sentinel, it seems "our" Anth has been plugging ceramics made abroad for Matalan.
Which is a cracking way of showing loyalty to your home city in these credit-crunched times. Spode? Remember them? Well they've gone under after hundreds of years at the heart of life in Stoke.
Wedgwood, one of the region's other big names, are making more people redundant. And Royal Doulton... Royal who? Yep, they're just a distant memory in the town of Burslem, which they once so proudly called home.
So I imagine there might be plenty of former potbank workers who'd like to throw more than a pot in Anthea's direction, given her Matalan gig.
And who could blame them?

JCB redundancies mean more doom and gloom

When, oh when, will the doom and gloom of the credit crunch end?
It just seems to be one round of redundancies after the other, and my neck of the woods is feeling it as much as anywhere.
JCB has announced tonight that it is making even more redundancies - another 398 to be precise. It's a bitter blow for the company's staff, after a deal struck between management and union members seemed to have limited the number of job losses.
However, it seems sales continue to slide and things just get worse and worse. You have to feel for these people and their families, who have been commenting furiously on the website of my local paper, The Sentinel in Stoke-on-Trent.
As one woman put it: "There are mortgages to pay and children to feed."
Mind you, there has at least been some relief with the Government's decision to again award the Post Office Card Account(POCA) contract to the post office.
Many post office workers in Staffordshire feared it'd be the end of their businesses if the contract went to a private firm. At least Whitehall has seen sense, hopefully meaning that the post offices which provide such a vital service in many communities will stay open - for now.
It's good (in a way) to see that some people can find humour in these desperate times, though. The Sentinel has found a cracking credit crunch song, which was posted on YouTube. It's definitely worth a look if you need cheering up.

Whining Wenger's talking a load of balls

What a whinger that Arsene Wenger is.
I'll admit I know nowt about football, but I know that if a team like Stoke City wins fair and square, they win fair and square - even if it means defeating a 'superior' team like Arsenal in the process.
But it seems Arsenal manager Wenger knows better. He's moaning tonight that when his team lost 2-1 to Stoke at the Britannia Stadium on Saturday, it was far from fair and square.
City's Rory Delap and Ryan Shawcross deliberately injured his players Theo Walcott and Emmanuel Adebayor, he reckons.
What a load of old balls. It all smacks of sour grapes, if you ask me. What's his problem? Perhaps he doesn't like to see a side like Stoke climbing their way up the Premier League.
Well the people of Stoke-on-Trent certainly do. And the fans are going mad at Wenger's whining.
On the website of The Sentinel, my local paper, they're kicking off big time.
So balls to you Arsene. And according to some of Stoke City's fans, it's about time you changed your name to Ars.....

Robbie Williams won't give us the time of day

I'm going to have to have words with Robbie Williams.
Yes, he's the undisputed king of pop in my home city of Stoke-on-Trent and around the world.
He's got millions of adoring fans, so when he dropped in on the Potteries unannounced, you'd have thought he might have let said fans know about it.
They've bought his records, they've bought his merchandise, and they've bought tickets to see him in concert. Yep, they've helped him achieve the multi-millionaire status he now enjoys.
But he didn't want to see any of those fans whose hard-earned has gone his way. Or so says my local paper, The Sentinel. He crept inside Port Vale Football Club - where he's majority shareholder - and met staff and players. Then he crept out again and nobody else was any the wiser.
The next time he's in town - be it Burslem or Tunstall, where he grew up - I hope to see him. And if I do, I'll tell him that he ought to give those loyal fans the chance to see him.
Robbie Williams is like plenty of other celebs who talk about their heart belonging to their home city and all that. So perhaps he should remember the rhetoric when he's here.
A quick public appearance and a word or two with us ordinary folk would have done much to lift the current doom and gloom.
Come on, Rob. Sort it out.

Stoke-on-Trent City Council? Clearly clueless!

I'm not surprised a mere 19 per cent of voters in Stoke-on-Trent turned out to make their mark in the recent mayoral referendum.
For it seems that the council hasn't got a clue what it's doing.
First there was the story of the town hall workmen who gutted the wrong house in Hanley, forcing their way inside while the new owner was on her jolly hols.
Now council painters have excelled themselves. Yep, it seems there's little holding back the Potteries more than the clueless council.
For said painters have gone and given some garages a new lick of paint... before they bulldoze them.
It seems residents got letters from the council, telling them the garages in Greendock Street, Longton, will be knocked down by the end of the month.
So you can imagine their surprise when the same council turned up the other day to give the garages a spruce-up.
You just couldn't make it up...

To vote or not to vote?

Correct me if I'm wrong, and I've yet to leave the house, so there's a possibility I could be.
But I can't imagine the heart of Stoke-on-Trent has ground to a halt today as thousands of determined residents vote in the mayoral referendum.
I would be surprised if Hanley bus station has been abandoned, and the Potteries Shopping Centre has been cleared (unless another dozy cleaner's spilt bleach all over the floor) as voters rush to their nearest polling station.
Call me Mystic Meg, but I reckon the turnout in this 'historic' poll we be pitifully low. I know I won't be voting, but that's because I live across the divide in the loyal and ancient borough of Newcastle-under-Lyme.
Yet if I were a city resident, I don't know whether I'd make my mark on the ballot paper today. Don't get me wrong, I think anybody with the right to vote should use it. And I think anybody with half a brain should do all they can to keep the BNP away from running the Potteries.
But I think your average Stokie is completely confused by what the yes/no choice today really means. And it's no wonder the BNP seems to be an option worth considering when the elected mayor and the Lib/Lab/Con lot seem to spend their time wasting tax payers' money on trips abroad, and doing what they want.
I hope the position of elected mayor remains after today's poll. And I hope somebody with brains and scruples goes for the job and wins over the people of the Potteries.
It's what we need to shed that image of being a backward, depressed and depressing city. And it's what we need to send the hateful BNP packing. Then, perhaps, we can enjoy some of the 'regeneration of Stoke-on-Trent' that everybody's been talking about for so long.

Life in the slow lane...

Don't you just love the powers-that-be at Morrisons? No really. Don't you?
Today's news that they've cut the price of petrol to 97.9p for a litre of unleaded will no doubt have motorists revving their engines in delight.
I too would be celebrating. If I still had a car. You see, I ditched mine more than a month ago in an attempt to save money. I also wanted to protest at being ripped off every time I tried to get from A to Z (there always seems to be roadworks in Stoke-on-Trent, so A to B's not so easy).
It also signalled the start of a new fitness regime. Walking to and from work, I thought, would be an ideal way to keep trim and de-stress after a busy day at the office.
But today I find myself longing to see the keys to my car on the dining room table. 1. I'm fed up of walking to work. 2. I could be cashing in on bargain petrol if only I'd have kept hold of the motor.
I reckon I'll have to turn to pedal power instead. And it seems there'll soon be no better place to live than Stoke-on-Trent if I want to beat the crowd on my push bike.
Stoke-on-Trent City Council is apparently planning a £4.8 million spending spree on new cycle routes, bike hire centres and training courses to get the Potteries on their bikes.
A 'Cycle City' - that's what we're set to become.
So perhaps I'll learn to live without my car, after all. I just hope I can find a crash helmet to complement my oh-so-trendy waterproofs.

Turn-er off!

One last rant before I call it a night. Is Anthea Turner not one of the most irritating "celebrities" to come out of North Staffordshire?
I'm all for girl-next-door types (no, really, I am) but I cannot bear that cheesy grin and the 'I might be minted, have several acres, and a life's supply of Cadbury's in the north wing, but I'm still a Stokie' balls.
It's Blue Peter what's wound me up. The BBC children's TV show is celebrating its 50th anniversary, and La Turner's been back on breakfast telly doing her Tracey Island bit all over again.
And don't mention her preaching about being a perfect housewife. You know the routine... 'I always dress the table with freshly-laundered linen. I find it complements the baked beans perfectly'.
She's been on the telly doing it, and now she's got ANOTHER book out, with her top tips for a perfect Christmas, or so I'm told.
I'm sure there's many a housewife who'd be perfect with a retinue of staff on hand to do the dishes and vacuum the airing cupboard. And I reckon a multi-millionaire husband probably helps too.
Yet somehow, I don't believe your average resident in her native Norton, Stoke-on-Trent, finds it quite so easy to follow in the pedicured, well-heeled footsteps of angelic Anth.

Doom and gloom at JCB

You know the credit crunch is truly biting when a company as big and iconically British as JCB stars to massacre its workforce.
I reckon most casual observers might have thought the 400-odd redundancies announced by the digger manufacturer earlier this week would have been enough.
But it seems the future looks grim for those left behind. According to my local paper, The Sentinel, JCB, based at Rocester, near Uttoxeter, Staffordshire, are now giving their workers an ubearable ultimatum: choose to reduce the number of hours you work (and brass you take home) or risk many more job cuts.
The economic gloom being experienced across the board already feels like it has lasted a lifetime. Soaring shopping bills (bad news when you can eat for Britain like me); a collapsing housing market; rocketing gas and electricity bills; and banking chaos.
You'd like to think that companies with as robust an image as JCB were equipped to weather the storm better than most. After all, the firm has enjoyed such phenomenal success from humble beginnings in a garage in Uttoxeter.
Yet there's no escaping it. The future's looking grim, and if firms like JCB are to slash their workforce, what hope is there for less mighty businesses out there?

Muggers, your time is up!

Stoke-on-Trent might have a reputation as a backward place... an industrial wasteland where residents have never travelled more than five miles down the road; a city where the tracksuit bottom and hair scrunchie remain de rigeur.
Then there's that oft-trotted-out gem... "It might be a dump but the people are ever so friendly. You won't find friendliness like it. And the pies are dead cheap an' all."
Now though, our national profile could be about to get a boost. 'Why?' I hear you cry.
Because of the good old boys (and girls) in blue at Staffordshire Police. Yep, if you want a city that innovates and brings ground-breaking, forward-thinking solutions to old problems, you want to be in Hanley.
You see the city's Central Forest Park has apparently become a bit of a hotbed for muggers and mobile phone thieves. They've been targeting kids at an award-winning skate plaza, cunningly asking them for the time.
When these nippers on four wheels get their mobile phones out to check the hour (watches, unlike the tracksuit bottom, are SO last season), the strangers with a passion for punctuality half-inch their phones.
And, bang! The cops are left with another crime stat to add to the databse.
So what's the answer? More bobbies on the beat? Hauling some of these muggers before the courts and making an example of them in The Sentinel?
Come, come... what an old-fashioned approach to fighting crime you have.
The answer (stupid!) is to stick a big clock on a lamp-post in the park. Then, when those cunning crooks ask their victims for the time, they'll simply reply: "Look, dude, there's like a big clock on that lamp-post, like. Are you blind?"
At which point the would-be phone thief will be thwarted and, through sheer frustration, chin the skater in question instead. Adding nicely to the crime stats for assault.
It's genius.

What would Fanny say?

Those poncey foodies at the Stone Food and Drink Festival have done it again.
Not content with bastardising the beautiful North Staffordshire oatcake with a ridiculous jam and custard filling, the festival's patrons are now said to be fuelling demand for beer-flavoured ice-cream.
I'm all for creativity in the kitchen, but how's a glutton supposed to know what's normal any more?
And what'll be next? Baked bean and banana panninis? Marmite and marmalade focaccias?
I suggest these people jump in their 4x4s, sod off back to the Waitrose coffee bar and stop giving the news editor at my local paper, The Sentinel, such food for thought.
For, after the oatcake saga made headlines the other day, I see the alcoholic ice-cream is now worthy of column inches.
According to the paper tonight, sales of Titanic beer, which is the produce of Stoke-on-Trent's Mother Town, Burslem, have been boosted by the unusual ice-cream recipe.
Some Delia wannabe on daytime telly has used it in her 'chocolate and stout ice-cream' recipe, boosting sales. Then the Stone lot have been clamouring for Titanic so they too can rustle up the dessert.
At least it's good news for Titanic in these troubled financial times. But I reckon Fanny Craddock will be turning in her grave.

Just? Just not good enough...

My mates tell me I'm a loony, leftie, liberal type who'd do well to read The Daily Mail a little more closely and see the world as it really is.
But there are occasions when even I read something that takes my breath away.
In The Sentinel tonight, there's a report about paedophile Tristan Myatt, who has been jailed for five years after raping a child and sexually abusing young children.
The 20-year-old, from Waterloo Road, in Cobridge, Hanley, admitted one charge of rape and a string of sexual assaults.
Unsurprisingly, his five-year jail term has provoked a storm of protest on The Sentinel's website. People, some of them parents, are staggered that such a vile catalogue of crime can lead to such a pathetically short sentence.
The judge says he was considering jailing this man for life, but decided to give Myatt five years before he tries to convince the parole board he no longer poses a risk of re-offending.
I'm not sure that jail will do anything to address this bloke's sick behaviour, but he has to be punished. Some will say he's ill and needs help, not punishment, but that's just nonsense.
A sentence of five years is a joke, and a very sick one at that. And what happens when this man is released? How many times have you read about criminals with mental health problems being allowed back into society, only to slip through the net and murder or maim? How many times have 'agencies' (as the bureaucrats so fondly call them) failed to 'join up' and share records, allowing crims to commit yet more crime?
The big worry with a case like this is that this bloke will indeed 'convince' the parole board that he's no longer a danger and go on to reoffend.
And I can't help feeling the parents of his victims will have a problem with the copper who describes the sentence as 'just'. Five years behind bars in return for doing unspeakable things to children? That hardly sounds just to me.

Oat so wrong!

I'm not fussy when it comes to food. I'll eat anything. Well, almost anything.
And being a proud North Staffordshire type, I love nothing more than a freshly-made oatcake from the shop round the corner on a Sunday morning - complete with crispy bacon, sausage, egg and tomatoes.
So imagine my horror when I discover that a lot of poncey foodies at the Stone Food and Drink Festival have named vanilla custard and jam as the number filling for the humble North Staffs Oatcake.
I am shocked, nay, stunned. And I'm almost ashamed to say that I come from Stone. The people concerned have obviously had too many aduki beans, have spent too much time sipping cappucinos and reading the Telegraaaff, or have simply taken leave of their senses.
I want never to read of sweet fillings like these being lauded as perfect bedfellows for the lovely, savoury oatcake. So there.

The mother of all controversies...

I'm ashamed to admit that I smoke, though I object to the way in which smokers have become social pariahs since the ban on lighting up in public was introduced last year.
By this time next year I hope to have given up, if only to save myself a few bob. In the mean time, I reserve the right to have a fag or two if it helps me get through the stresses and strains of the day.
However, I can't for the life of me understand why anybody who is pregnant would continue to smoke. I remember the hoo-hah when that Kate Garraway off GMTV was spotted smoking while she was expecting. Forgive me for coming over all Mary Whitehouse, but she should have known better.
Now I've been reading about a pregnant woman from Newcastle-under-Lyme who is complaining that she was fined by the council for dropping a fag end in the street.
As a smoker I'd like to sympathise, but I can't. Though I dread the thought of unintentionally torching litter bins and being had up for arson, I always stub my fag ends out and dispose of them like I would any other rubbish.
And there's just something unforgivable about a woman who is heavily pregnant continuing to smoke. We live in englightened times and everybody knows the risks, don't they?
It seems I'm not the only one who is appalled by this situation. Limara Muncey, the woman in question, presumably thought she'd win sympathy by telling her story to The Sentinel newspaper.
But it appears she didn't reckon on the outpouring of scorn that would follow on the paper's website. I'm not sure that some of the criticism is fair, but she'll no doubt be held up as a national example of all that's wrong with Britain today. There have been 37 posts from angry people so far. Take a look at Limara Muncey and her story and see what you reckon...

Walk this way...

I feel like the invisible man. First a dog walks into me. Then a man almost runs me down in his Fiat Panda.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. When I ditched my car three weeks ago, it was supposed to be the start of something special; an end to the daily stresses of commuting; a chance to swap the open road for a power walk to work.
But it's not been the life-changing, joyous experience I'd hoped for. Drivers are, by and large, an unpleasant bunch. They've got to go where they've got to go, and if you don't move, they'll take you with them (probably attached to their bumper).
Some of the roads in Stoke-on-Trent are far from a pedestrian paradise. Try crossing the A500 at 7.30am on a Monday and see who stops for you. I feel a strongly-worded letter of complaint to the council coming on... Maybe a petition... "We, the undersigned, call for a reduction in the 70mph speed limit on the A500 to allow for the installation of a Pelican crossing."
It could be much more effective than congestion charging. Bang in a Pelican every few hundreds metres and 1. drivers will get so fed up of stop-starting that they'll leave their cars at home; 2. Everybody will walk to work because they won't have to risk life and limb trying to cross the road just to get there.
No a walker's lot is not such a happy one. There's also the dog poo. And the lack of street lighting. And the bloody cyclists.
Jesus, I was a chain-smoking roadhog who needed surgically removing from my Fiat a month ago. Now I'm national spokesman of the Society For Pissed Off Pedestrians Who Have To Walk To Work Because They Can't Afford To Run A Car anymore.
Anyway, at least I can revel in somebody else's misery tonight. At the risk of burning in hell, I've just had a right laugh at a story about a Stoke City player who reckons he'll miss some big game at the weekend because he's tried to avoid tripping over his dog at home and hurt his ankle! Liam Lawrence is his name and it's all highly amusing. I wonder if it was the same bloody mutt that walked into me as I made my way home this evening...