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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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...