Parklife

Tracking comments on Twitter during Glastonbury last week, most people I follow seemed united in the view that the Blur set was just a bit too shouty.

Overall I agreed with them, so while I was looking forward to the day out, I wasn't filled with too much anticipation for what Blur would deliver on stage when I saw them at Hyde Park on Thursday.

Oh me of little faith. They were absolutely fantastic.

How times have changed. During the ridiculous Blur v Oasis set up in the 90s, I always thought the distinction was pretty clear. Blur were obviously better muso types but Noel Gallagher wrote all the best tunes.

I've got to revise that view now. Thursday had its punky, noisy, shouty moments for sure but the show was absolutely packed full of singalonga stuff, which the crowd lapped up. I'd forgotten just how many catchy songs they've actually done.

Highlights were too many to name individually. Best bit was probably a 10 minute crowd-led version of Tender, which I was still humming on the train journey home on Friday.

This reviewer from Uncut seemed to enjoy the show too.

Prom night

Last night I was treated to the quite surreal sight of the residential streets of Newton-le-willows snarled up by stretch limos, luxury hire cars and posh taxis.

It was quite a spectacle and, genuinely, the area around St Aelred's College came to an absolute standstill.

The occasion was the Year 11 prom, with all the GCSE-level young 'uns getting together one last time for a bash at Rivington Hall.

Our eldest was there. I won't embarrass her any more than to say she looked fab, but she did.

It's easy to be a sourpuss about this kind of thing, I know I personally lost the will to live many times in the build up to the event. My opinions on which shade of make up to choose and which shoes to wear are quite limited.

Some folk seem to have really pushed the boat out too, which will have come at no little cost - an issue itself for many onlookers I'm sure.

But I was talking about this to a mate of mine who is a teacher. He agreed that the vulgar amounts of money some parents throw at these events is an issue, but overall he was really positive about them.

In his view, the school prom is the one time that even the most horrible, disagreeable little tyke makes an effort to scrub up well, providing a rare opportunity for self-pride in some instances.

Hmmm. OK then.

Inside sport

One of the unexpected highlights of this week's trip to Center Parcs came on the way home.

We stopped off in Penrith for some lunch and to pick up some meat from Cranstons, a butcher's shop that comes highly recommended in Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's Book of Meat.

We parked up in a car park that adjoins Penrith FC's ground and, before we left for home, I thought it was worth taking a pic, given that someone had sprayed Penrith FC RIP on one of the exit gates. I presumed there was a tale to tell.

What I didn't expect though was for the caretaker/secretary/general man-about-the-ground to come bounding out of his office and invite me inside for a look around. What a treat.

It turns out that the 100-year-old ground is due to be demolished to make way as part of some kind of town centre improvement scheme and that Penrith Town (as they are now known) are being relocated to a 'state-of-the-art' 1,500 seater stadium elsewhere.

My new friend on the inside seemed less than enthusiastic about this state of affairs. Like me, he's sad that these creaking old stadiums have been almost eradicated from the map of British football. OK, they're virtually falling down of their own accord but you've got to say stadiums like this have a character that the Reebok and the Riverside and others like them will never possess.

Teacher's pet

You know the drill when you're planning for a day at the races. Racing Post over breakfast, top up with a bit of insight from one of the redtops during the day, fish around for a few tips on the internet, take a look at the horses yourself in the paddock and then watch the odds lengthen and shorten at the bookies on the course itself.

Only by exhausting all these routes can you rest assured that you've covered off all the angles and have enough information to place your 50 pence each way.

Alternatively of course, you could just follow the example of my good mate Des McDonough (he of the not so Crucial Three) during our trip to Haydock last night.

Diamond Des has never been to the races in his life. In fact, I don't think he's even placed a bet before, which was apparent in his approach to picking horses. In the second he plumped for Schoolboy Champ, a complete outsider with neither form nor hope, purely on the grounds that he himself is a schoolteacher. 20-1 in a six horse race. He didn't even back it each way. What a clown.

Yep, it won.

BBC interview with John Barnes

I picked up this interview with the new Tranmere manager today. I quote: "There are no bad footballers. I don't care what people say."

Oh dear, Barnsey. You're new round these parts aren't you?

Home grown

We braved angry bees for our first attempt at strawberry picking this weekend. When we arrived at Kenyon Hall Farm, Todd (the bloke who runs it) warned that six of the 12 people who had ventured into the fields that morning had come back with nasty stings.

Not be deterred, Sam and I headed on up to the top field. Sure enough the bees were out in force and whizzing around our heads but they let us pass unchallenged, mostly.

The bigger concern was that most of the strawbs are still a week or so away from being perfectly ripe. We had to root around a bit to get a decent punnet of big, red, juicy ones.

I was made up when we got back home though. We took one of the few strawberries from our own garden that was ready to eat, divided it four ways and carried out a quick taste test, comparing our own against the farm-grown version.

The result? Kenyon farm's are tasty for sure but the Hugreenie version got 4 votes out of four. Get in!

Paris Hilton's new best friend

So, is it goodbye or good riddance? The papers seem fairly united in their assessment of Ronaldo's move to Real. Yep, he's a first class prat on every conceivable front (Paris Hilton? What on earth is he doing?), but the boy can play football all right.

Personally I'm glad to see the back of him, standing as he does for everything I hate about modern day football and celebrity.

His departure does raise one mouthwatering prospect though. Keep your fingers crossed that Man Yoo draw Real in the Champions League at some point next season - and that Rooney is fit.

Shrek owes Ronaldo big time for getting him sent off in the infamous Winkgate match, but Alex Ferguson did a great job in getting Rooney to count to ten when the two met up for pre-season training a month later.

There'll be no such consideration if they line up on opposite sides for their clubs next year though and don't be surprised if, Taggart being Taggart, Ferguson ends up egging Rooney on to get his revenge once and for all.

I can't wait. Rooney will eat Ronaldo alive (perhaps literally) and, for once, even seasoned ManYoo haters will pat him on the back when he does.