Big Foul at Little Spurs

Fleet Spurs is a local football club formed in 1948 in homage to the Tottenham Hotspur by a group of young footballers playing friendly matches in the Fleet and Aldershot area.

They were admitted into the Aldershot and District League in 1951. They currently play in the Wessex League Division 1.


As well as a senior team and reserve side Fleet Spurs run more than 20 boys and girls teams.


My son-in-law, many of my friends and our grandson Ryan, pictured here proudly wearing his club jacket, play or have played for Fleet Spurs.

They are a true community grass roots club encouraging youngsters to play the game from the age of 5 years and upwards and many of the first team players have graduated through from the youth set up.

They have an excellent ground and facilites at Kennels Lane in Southwood with one full side pitch and 7 junior, 5-a-side and training pitches.



The club badge has always featured a cockerel on a ball, the same as the North London side, the rising stars of English football at the time of Fleet Spurs formation.

And that my friends is where the trouble begins.

Europa League giants Tottenham Rotspurs , who only registered their logo in 2006, have called in top lawers in order to bully Fleet Spurs into changing their badge and signage or risk being sued for copyright infringement:

http://www.gethampshire.co.uk/sport/football/news/fleet-spurs-fc-plea-premier-6327857
The club will now hold a competition among their supporters to find a new logo.

My entry also includes changing the name of the club!

What a load of old cockerel!  Lighten up Rotspurs.

Heres Boris doing what comes naturally to him:



NICE ONE CYRIL!

They should have asked Evans!

With nothing much of note happening since our return from Spain, no activity at "The Plot" other than the harvesting of leeks, parsnips and carrots, (including this mutant specimen pictured below comprising 17 individual roots joined at the hip which so far has accompanied 6 in-house roast dinners!) and the impending closure of our caravan at Lesley, I have little or no material to transform into a blog entry.

I have therefore decided to take the opportunity to feature the poetic genius of my good friend Paul Evans, AKA The Welsh Bard, if nothing other than to cheer him up after a weekend that saw England cruise home against Argentina and Whales turning out to be full of blubber against South Africa.

The first offering was included in a letter to First Great Western following a long delayed journey back to Cardiff and the way his compensation claim was handled:

Dear Ms Thomas,

You may be too young to recall the Dvorak melody I’ve rewritten here:

Passengers who dare complain about the lateness of the train
Will find that First Great Western’s not so great:
Claim procedures now employed will make complainants more annoyed
Than broken loos, or being two hours late.

The 8.15 was just a joke – it crept as far as Royal Oak,
And limped back in to Paddington again;
Then, just before the midnight chime, we got to Cardiff, way past time…
I set my compensation claim in train.

This was, I found, a total con: at first they tried to try it on
By telling me the train was not so late.
A month went by, and I could tell the ghost of Isambard Brunel
Had long since left the system he made Great!

In future I will use the bus – it’s slower but a lot less fuss…
But now I think I’ll use the train again.
The voucher came and changed my thoughts: the sum contains a lot more noughts,
And now I’d be an idiot to complain!

On Cardiff Citys famous win over Manchester City:

Promotion’s a pain in the neck:
It brings this reality check.
They said City’d lose
To the Manchester Blues,
That Sky would be screening a wreck!

Pundits smiled as the Blues went ahead;
The Bluebirds would crumble, they said.
But Malky just skipped
The rest of that script…
Now they’re painting the capital Red!

With a mix of good fortune and skill
Cardiff have climbed a big hill…
Man City were stuffed,
But they’re even more chuffed
As the Jacks are still bottom, on nil!

Next an offering commemorating my fishing exploits at Lesley:

So Baltzer’s been angling – what larks,
Out, so he says, hunting sharks…
But Chris must be thic:
What he holds in that pic
Is a dogfish – he’ll know when it barks!

Some others were massive, I bet
And gave him a tussle, and yet
His friends are agreed
What he caught had a lead,
And used to be somebody’s pet!

Now fans of his stories all wish
That he’d stick to his regular dish:
For once, Baltzer’s blog’s
Gone to the dogs,
So Chris, give us veggies, not fish!

This one following my post of the highlights of the long awaited opening game of the season for Farnborough in the Skrill Conference South:

Last night on the telly, nil-nil
Wasn’t exactly a thrill;
So I went back on line
Where the highlights are fine –
There’s much to enjoy in the Skrill!

A bit far to travel, I think,
But I’d certainly take to the drink
When each game was over
If I had to watch Dover,
Who really are shocking in pink!

On the power struggle at Cardiff City FC:

     The Beautiful Game – out on a Lim

It’s been this way since time began –
Means, not manners, maketh man;
And this applies to Vincent Tan,
Whose money made the City…

He does a thing because he can,
So, if he has some crazy plan
To put his mate from Kazakhstan
In charge, it may be shitty...

But power corrupts, and every fan
Believes that, by the end of Jan
His team will be an also-ran…
Life’s tough, and never pretty.

Now that Malky depends on the whim
Of Tanman, and Stanman and Lim,
His beautiful game
May not be the same…
In fact, it’s exceedingly grim!
The light in his tunnel is dim,
There can be no option for him:
His dream’s had its day –
He’ll have to give way
To Tanman and Stanman and Lim!

In celebration of my Allotment Gold:

Let us raise the loudest cheer
To Chris, the Gold Allotmenteer:
A man whose hopes began to wilt,
After years of Silver Gilt.

But here he is, a man supreme –
In Rushmooor, he has creamed the cream,
And now he’s made the title, let’s
(For now) forget the man’s courgettes…

Or, was it this ginormous crop
That made the panel place him top?
Let’s hope that Rushmoor judges are
Less venal, or a new Qatar
May rear its ugly head, and Chris
Will lose his gold because of this…
But Rushmoor judges, Baltzer claims,
Won’t take courgettes to boost his aims.

And, cynic that I am, I ask
How he achieved this epic task.
If he’s on hols so often, how
Did he achieve this honour now?

But let us raise the loudest cheer
To Chris, the Gold Allotmenteer.
And let us hope he’ll buy some drinks
To celebrate what Rushmoor thinks!

Following the latest expedition of the Gleesome Threesome, John, Paul and Chris, in their quest to find undiscovered side street pubs in Oxford came this:

From time to time we travel far
To join an Oxford seminar:
We see the handles in the bar
As signposts to our lives…

Though our research is popular,
We register the way we are
By analysing every jar –
Our comments cut like knives…

Then later, by the evening star,
And feeling slightly under par,
We travel home – by train, not car –
To understanding wives.

Baltzer, Evans, Garner, who
Will do whatever men must do
To find themselves another brew,
Discover, at their age that life’s confusing…

As there, on Oxford’s North Parade,
(Where BNP once plied their trade)
Their optimism starts to fade…
They find a brew that isn’t meant for boozing!

I’m sure that Brew will do ok,
But what they had in mind that day
Is not what Brew had on display…
But they admit the name is quite amusing!

And this, written for a young hopeful working behind the bar in the Plough in Whitchurch, off to Oxford to commence his studies:

It has no ancient dreaming spires,
And cynics say there are no books
Upon the shelves at Oxford Brookes…
But Oxford cynics can be liars.

The city harbours rare delights,
So use the bus, or buy a bike…
You’re bound to find a lot to like
To fill your ‘academic’ nights:
Beneath the bells of Barnabas
In Jericho, begin your tour.
You’ll find a tavern that’s Obscure,
And others more salubrious!

Just up the road two Gardeners stand,
And paradise, where town and gown
Combine to make the Rose and Crown
The finest boozer ever planned!
Go south towards the city now,
Past Lamb and Flag, and Royal Oak;
Across the street is where that bloke
Gave Bilbo Baggins his first bow.

Then, all at once, you’re on a High,
And dreaming spires are everywhere…
Locate the Turf, the Kings, the Bear,
And pray that none is running dry.

Next morning you may wake and think
That Oxford’s groves of academe
Provide the academic cream
With cracking spots to eat and drink.

But then, you’ll find one thought remains:
Though Oxford pubs are fine, somehow
You’d settle for the Whitchurch Plough…
And copious amounts of Brains!

Following a not entirely enjoyable long weekend stay in St Leornards:

Hastings and St Len’s could be
Rechristened DSS-on-Sea:
Their grandeur is a memory
That few retain, and even that has faded.

Now half the town’s on benefits,
Resembling London in the Blitz,
Most locals will confirm that it’s
Much worse than when the town was first invaded.

The borough may be put upon,
But Hastings people battle on,
And one oasis hasn’t gone –
The FILO is a jewel that is un-jaded

In the warm up for the long awaited Premiership derby clash of Welsh Giants came this:

As derby day looms, in seedy back rooms
They’re plotting behind guarded doors -
Belligerent fans making tactical plans
To settle historical scores.

As the chiefs of police, while praying for peace,
Count empty cells in the jails,
The press fan the flames for the first of two games
They hope will bring shame onto Wales…

Oiled your rattle? Pressed your scarf?
Planned your pre-match Canton half?
Got your Kevlar from the shelf?
Off you go, enjoy yourself!

Got your coat? There may be hail.
Got your credit cards for bail?
Balaclava? Hard-hat? Gun?
Derby days can be such fun!

Finally following our epic return from Spain where I falsely claimed a new personal best time for the journey, forgetting the fact that the clocks had gone back an hour:

Just like Chris Baltzer, Phileas Fogg
Sent all his mates a travel blog:
Though while he might have been less real than Chris -
Some days I really can’t resist
The thought that Chris does not exist -
And what could be more fictional than this…

For, whereas Phileas gained a day,
By travelling a certain way,
The opposite applies to those who miss
The difference in BST
That overrules a claimed PB…
Yes time keeps finding ways to take the piss!

I could only leave you with this:

Hey Ho!

A curious incident with a seat

Knowing what to expect, the journey back from Malgrat was relatively uneventful except for one rather unfortunate incident.

We boarded our bus at The Maplins Solano at 6.35 pm on Saturday and set-off on our route across Spain and France. 

Around midnight I decided to try and get some sleep and pushed the button to recline the seat. The seat shot back to a horizontal position, emptying the contents of the tray on the back of the seat onto the lap of the poor unsuspecting, half asleep elderly chap behind me. The tray, still in the open position pinned him to his seat on his thighs with the headrest trapping him in the throat.

Worse was to follow.

Apologising profusely to the poor old guy, as he gurgled out his protests, I tried to raise the back of the seat but it was well and truly locked. After much tugging and banging the seat returned to its normal position and order was restored but not before everyone on the coach was wide awake!

Fortunately we were approaching a service station and the driver pulled off for a 30 minute stop and the incident was forgotten. Well forgotten by almost everyone. I don't think the guy behind me dare close his eyes for the rest of the journey and every time I made the slightest movement he raised his arms in self defence in case my seat attacked him again.

The rest of the journey was comparatively uneventful and we arrived at Calais late Sunday morning in plenty of time to board the 12.35 pm ferry to Dover.

We were lucky as we were on the P & O flagship, The Spirit of France, which is relatively well stabilised and although the crossing could only be described as "lively", only a few more ferries braved the journey that afternoon before the service was suspended until Monday morning.

What I did find interesting was that whereas most people, Janice included, had difficulty walking in a straight line, I seemed to manage without difficulty. No doubt my years of experience of walking home over-served at the Fox on "terra firma" without falling over held me in good stead when walking sober on "terra wobbly"! 

All in all we had one of our best value and enjoyable short holidays. 

The weather was unseasonably hot and we took excursions to Blanes, Girona, Tossa del Sol via the rugged coastal road,the Santa Maria de Montserrat Abbey where we saw the Black Madonna and watched the Escolania, Montserrat’s Boys’ Choir singing, and Barcelona (twice) to La Sagrada Familia and The Magic Fountain of Montjuic .

Without boring you with the detail, here are the highlights:

I could possibly get used to overnight coach travel. It certainly avoids the trauma of getting to an airport 2 hours early and queueing to check in, queueing to get through customs, queueing to get on the plane, queueing to get through customs when you arrive, hanging about for your luggage and getting transport to your final destination.

In fact Lake Como in March is already being rumoured in Cotswold Towers!!!!!

I must close now and start my preparations for the big match between England and Australia but before I leave you here's a couple of videos in memory of Lou Reed who sadly passed away this week aged 71:

Hey Ho!