Edding Barwards to the Students' Union in the Sky

I was sad to hear today of the recent death of a friend of mine from student days at UWIST, Cardiff. When I arrived in 1977, Tim Edwards was President of the Students Union and as such the Big Cheese of the student world. At UWIST, student politics weren't really about Left or Right, so much as an anarchistic approach to relaxing and getting wrecked. Tim excelled in this area. Despite being exiled in Cardiff, carrying out missionary work as he saw it, Tim left no one in any doubt that he hailed from Leatherhead, and that Leatherhead FC was the the only football team worth following. In later years, it transpires that Tim went on to become chairman of Leatherhead FC, to the extent that he coordinated efforts to save the club from closure.

Tim's dry sense of humour was legendary, and all-inclusive. As editor of Impact, the union magazine, he wrote about the imaginary Splott Polytechnic, a spoof on the neighbouring University College, Cardiff, whose union took itself far more seriously than did UWIST. Even when he was succeeded by Dave Gerrard, Tim took an intense interest in Splott Polytechnic. No longer writing the article, he took matters a step further by setting up 396421 Squadron Conga Commando, and promptly led a lengthy conga line across the platform at the NUS national conference, to the bemusement of Trevor Phillips who was national chair at the time.

Tim's girlfriend at the time was occasionally on the receiving end of his humour. Seeing Tim in his office in a meeting, she rang him from his secretary's desk. Tim answered and told her 'I'm on the phone', at which she apologised and replaced the handset.

The chairman of the mythical Splott Poly Students Union, modelled by Tim on himself, was a beer-swilling character called Ed Barwards. In fact Tim lampooned his entire executive in typically unsubtle fashion, but in such a manner that to feature as a Splott Poly character was a sign of having 'arrived' on the union scene.

I personally owe Tim a lot more than he realises. He asked me to take over as editor of Impact when Dave Gerrard stepped down to concentrate on his exams. I modelled my own style on Tim's own, and have never regretted it.

Tim would not shuffle off this mortal coil; in spirit at least he will have announced to anyone standing around 'Right, the bar's open. Follow me!!'

Tim, thanks for everything mate. You'll be missed.

Heppy's Rough and Ready Guide to Gardening

Many of us have gardens but are a bit too busy to really do them justice. You work all week then, at the weekend have family matters to deal with, or if you are young and single you are generally too hung over to get out of bed. So meanwhile your garden swiftly returns to its natural state. There comes a point where you realise something has to be done. Usually this is about the time that you can't see out of the front window because of the dense foliage. Alternatively you get home and wonder where your house has gone.

There are several ways of avoiding this state of affairs:

• Retirement: you will suddenly find that you have an immaculate garden with fine, close-cropped grass lined with white bricks. You will also discover that a greenhouse has materialised in the middle of your lawn and that you have become an expert on begonias or dahlias. The drawback with retirement is that you have to stop earning money and start living off your pension so you might not actually be able to afford a lawn mower.
• Hire a gardener: This might lead some people to think of romantic trysts as in Lady Chatterley's Lover (I don't know if her lover was a gardener but I seem to remember that there was a potting shed in there somewhere). The reality, however, is that you will get some chav who's just been kicked off the dole or else a banjo-playing yokel who will speak incomprehensible rustic drivel about ripping out the chrysanthemums and planting mangel-wurzels.
• Pave over your garden: This has often occurred to me as an ideal solution, and would appear to get round the upkeep and maintenance problems. For the same reason, it occurred to me to ask my dentist about pulling all my teeth out and replacing them with false ones, so that I wouldn't have to have any more fillings. He talked me out of this course of action, probably because it would ultimately be less of an earner for the dental industry. The good thing about lawns is that your seven-year-old son can fall over all day without coming to grief, which cannot be said for playing football on tarmac.

So I have written a guide to gardening for those of you who don't have a horticultural bent, the money to employ gardening staff or the inclination to take early retirement..

Gardening is actually very easy if you follow a few simple rules, most of which are common sense. It need not be difficult, or expensive

1. Lawns Grass grows everywhere, by itself. If you look at fields as you drive past them, you will notice that this is true. No one planted the grass, it has always been there. Just try leaving a flowerbed for a few months and you will see that it sprouts grass without any effort on your part. This is the secret to happy gardening. Leave it to its own devices and it will be fine. Lawns don't need any food or a complicated sprinkler system. They might go a bit brown occasionally, in which case you spend the summer pretending you have emigrated but come the rainy season (July to June) they will come back OK. So all you need is a lawn mower and a pair of edge cutters. Once a week is great for very short grass; if prefer the lusher look, give yourself every other weekend off. Other plants thrive on your lawn amongst the grass stalks but as they are green as well you won't notice them.
2. Weeding This is one of the most tedious parts of gardening but you can benefit from the decades of research into chemical warfare by buying selective weedkillers. Personally I don't recommend them as you never know what carnage they might wreak, especially as you will usually have too much, not want to waste it and wind up storing the surplus in a lemonade bottle, which your child will probably want to drink. So it's a case of falling back on physical effort and removing the herbaceous interlopers by hand. Once again the Rough and Ready Gardener will employ some basic decision making and act decisively. The golden rule is that it is your garden and you can leave or remove whatever you want. If you like the natural look, you can rest assured that you will soon play host to a wide range of native plants. Many of these will sprout colourful bits in summer and actually look quite pleasant. The exception to this is the dandelion, which is the pigeon or rat of the weed world and deserves no less than total extermination. You can recognise dandelions by the fact that they are yellow, and everywhere. They have deep roots as well, which means that you have to dig them out with a spade or similar implement. For everything else, just take a good look and remove anything that looks like it shouldn't be there. Remember, the choice is yours.

1. Plants The golden rule for plants is 'Keep It Simple, Stupid'. There are lots of decent native plants that evolved here over millions of years and these will survive your best efforst to kill them. These include things like roses, for example. Daffodils are quite straightforward, if somewhat transient whilst heather is also hard to get rid of. Problems usually start when you get adventurous and plant something exotic, such as anything from a garden centre in a little pot. The exception to this is the Nasturtium. I bought one of those at my old house and very shortly my garden was a vision of orange foliage. It is possible to have fun with some plants, especially if you are planning on moving house. Before you move, simply stick some crocus bulbs in your lawn to spell out a cheery message to the new owners! Especially if they drove a hard bargain when negotiating the purchase. Come Spring they will be delighted to read your good wishes in blue, yellow and orange as the crocusses wake up.
2. Trees A tree is for life, not just for Christmas. They are great, trees, and you can never have too many, except that as they grow their roots will make your house fall down. However by the time this happen, you will probably have moved so it won't be your problem. Of course, you can always warn the new owners through the medium of crocus. The other thing about trees and their smaller relatives, bushes, is that they need pruning from time to time. Again, it is possible to be too pedantic and worry unnecessarily about chopping the wrong bits off. Don't worry! It's not possible. I've spent years pruning trees and have never found one that didn't grow back all its missing bits. Just lop off anything you don't think should be there. A word of caution though; do this from ground level. Don't do what my neighbour once did and sit on the branch you are sawing off.

So there you are, an instant expert's guide to gardening. Next week I will explain everything you need to know about cookery. As long as I haven't poisoned myself by then. Happy pruning!!

Welcome Aboard Chavair!

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, and all you scallies and slappers on a stag and hen weekend. Welcome aboard this inaugural Chavair flight from Liverpool to Ibeeza. Your pilots today are Wayne and Daz, with their mate Baz leaning over from the jump seat urging them to go a bit faster. Your cabin staff are Shazza, Courtney and Kylie, who shouldn’t be flying as she’s up the duff again but wants her attendance bonus.

Please ensure that all your Kwik Save carrier bags are safely stowed in the overhead lockers or shoved under the seat in front of you.  Those passengers who have sat in the emergency exit rows thinking you will be able to get off of the plane first or who want the extra legroom so you can sprawl out admiring your white Kappa trainers will need to ensure that all items of hand baggage and spare trackies are stowed in the overhead lockers for take off and again for landing, including when we divert to Barcelona to kick off the drunk ASBO-holder in Row 6.

Please ensure that items you try to place in the overhead lockers such as baby buggies, bottles of Duty Free White Lightning, tamazipan and ghetto blasters are stowed securely as they could fall out and injure yourself or someone else. If you require any assistance at this time please do not hesitate to contact a member of Injury Lawyers 4 U who will shortly pass through the cabin to hand out claim forms and business cards.

You should now make sure that your seatbelt is fastened in preparation for departure. In the interest of safety and good taste your I-pod should be turned down to less than 120 decibels whilst the aircraft is on the ground. The use of electronic equipment (that’s anything that requires batteries) is not permitted whilst the fasten seatbelt signs are illuminated so please take off your Securicor tags now.  Mobile phones must now be switched off and remain switched off for the duration of the flight, even if you have only just lifted them from the Carphone Warehouse shop in the terminal building.

We shall now take you through our safety procedures and equipment onboard this Boeing 737-300GTi aircraft what Wayne has Twocked off the apron.  In the seat pocket in front of you, you will find a safety instruction card, unless the last passenger nicked it to flog on E-bay. Please take time to look at the pictures and avoid dribbling as you move your lips while trying to read the words on it. It highlights important safety information such as escape routes, lifejackets and the sprinkler system that will hose you down if you try to have a crafty smoke in the toilets. It also shows the bracing position which must be adopted in an emergency landing to protect your medallions, sovs, and unnecessarily large hoop earrings.

Emergency exits are located on both sides of the aircraft; they are clearly marked and are being pointed out to you now. Unlike other emergency situations that you might be more used to, you will not be able to do one out of the window.  There are two doors at the rear of the cabin, (please note, these are not the ones marked ‘Toilet’), two over-wing exits for those of you weighing less than twenty stone, and two doors at the front.

Please take a moment now to locate your nearest exit, which might be behind you. To help you find your way, additional lighting is provided in the aisle at floor level so you can crawl out on your hands and knees, bit like going home on Saturday night.

If the cabin air supply fails, cans like these will automatically be presented from the panel above your head. When the can appears, extinguish your cigarette (shame though it is to waste your last one), place it over your mouth and drink normally. Do make sure your own can is empty before helping yourself to others.  A designer lifejacket is located in a pocket beneath your seat. For those of you who are unable to swim, you have left it a bit late to learn. Place the lifejacket over your head and secure it to your shellsuit by means of this tape. Do not inflate your lifejacket until you are well outside the aircraft. You will know you are outside the aircraft as you will be very wet, especially those of you weighed down by too much fake gold jewellery from Argos.  At this time your seatbelts should be fastened. Extension belts are available for those who are in possession of loyalty cards from Burger King.

We will shortly be commencing your inflight service. This evening we will be giving you an opportunity to choose from our wide selection of bling, tax-free Lambrini and a range of snide Liverpool, Man U and England shirts. By the way we have anti-tampering alarms on all our trolleys that spray you with Burberry check dye should you try to rob from it!  Onboard today we have on offer a choice of Super-sized Big Mac meals, chicken tikka masala or kebabs. We accept UK sterling or Euros as well as major credit cards which must be in your own name. You will find in the seat pocket a price list and full details of outlets and fences for your tax-free goods.

Finally, on behalf of all of us at Chavair, may we thank you for flying with us today. We hope that you enjoy your flight and we look forward to seeing you when your licence is revoked and you are recalled to prison in a few days time".

Author's note:  This was written and performed as a sketch for a 'Wings' ceremony for cabin crew of a leading low cost airline.  No one thought it was unduly ironic.

The 7.20 to King's Cross (Part One)

I am new to blogging and arrived here more or less by accident. My urge to blog was born of the urge to avoid driving to work. If you live in West Yorkshire, you will know that our road system is appreciated by everybody else, mainly because they don't live here. So when I started work in Wakefield I decided to commute by train. The comedy potential of British Rail was legendary, on the basis that if you didn't laugh the only alternative was losing the will to live. British Rail, as a national entity, was known to everybody so the jokes travelled even if the trains didn't. Somehow poking fun at Northern Trains or GNER would not work as well if you live in Guildford or Basingstoke. Admittedly GNER has disappeared and its trains have mysteriously switched allegiance to National Express, which I always thought was a bus company but it's so easy to lose touch.

But if the operators are not particulary amusing in themselves, the system certainly is. Forty minutes commuting in each direction, five days a week, gives rise to familiarity and familiarity breeds a certain degree of contempt. Shoehorning a couple of hundred people into a sealed compartment when they don't particularly want to be there is always bound to generate a certain amount of irritability. It's human nature after all. And humans are territorial and don't like anybody else invading their space, which explains the urge to plonk a bag on the seat next to you and stand by to repel boarders. Having become fed up with asking people to move their bags so I could sit down, I succumbed to the inevitable and went to sit on the suitcase rack instead. At this, a woman promptly came up to me and told me that I shouldn't sit there as she wanted to put her bag on it. This demonstrated that I had fewer rights than a piece of luggage, which seemed grossly unfair as you don't actually have to pay to take a bag with you. Though if Ryanair ever follow Virgin and start a train company, watch this space.

Everyday I change trains at Leeds City station. I don't often go to other major stations so I can't say whether the Health and Safety neurotics have taken over all transport hubs. However there is an unremitting cacophony of safety messages, which seem to play on a constant loop, interspersed only by announcements that the train to Manchester has been delayed, usually by criminal activity involving signalling cable theft or having been left on bricks when the wheels were removed as it paused at Rochdale to let people on and off. We are constantly told that we can't skateboard, cycle or rollerblade along the platforms. I would have thought that was self-evident but it does appear that some people need to have it pointed out to them that if they disobey they are likely to die horribly under the remaining wheels of the delayed train from Manchester Victoria. At least they haven't yet seen fit to warn us not to try hang-gliding or tightrope-walking along the 25 kV overhead wires but once someone is daft enough to try that, someone will have to squeeze in that particular piece of advice.

The weather is also a topic of great concern to the Passenger Safety Manager. At the merest hint of precipitation there is a degree of panic worthy of Peter Kay's dinner lady shouting "It's spitting! Everybody inside!" We are warned not to slip on the platforms, fall under a train or drown. However, bearing in mind that Leeds City Station is almost entirely under cover this appears to be superfluous. Unless of course they know something that we don't, and the roof is about to spring a major leak.......

Part Two to follow as I haven't actually got onto the 7.20 to King's Cross yet......

The Cat's Out of the Bag

Molly shamelessly steals a tuna sandwich carelessly left on the wheely bin by my son William (7)

"She'll be around here somewhere..." Abi wondering where the next attack is coming from. Here's a clue: she's on the wheely bin eating William's tea, Abi.

I'm not the world's biggest cat lover, it has to be said. I feel that felines are somewhat neglectful of social niceties, such as the convention that you should not sit on the floor licking your own bottom whilst the rest of us are having our tea. Despite this, we have two moggies. Abi, your classic black 'witch's familiar', has been with us for four years now. She and I have reached something of a truce, especially since Molly, the other one, came along. Molly started off by demonstrating a cavalier disregard for Abi's tenure as House Cat by making her life a misery. So much so that Abi now requires a security escort when moving round the house, as Molly generally lies up waiting to ambush her. I therefore feel a sense of duty to protect Abi, so usually help her by carrying out a forward reconnaissance. If contact is made, that gives me the chance to chase Molly out of the house so that Abi can get stuck in to the cat food.

When we got Abi, from the local Cat Rescue people, we were told that she would insist on fresh tuna every day and settle for nothing less. As a moggie born and bred in Leeds, I don't even know where Abi got her taste for tuna. Living in Leeds it is a bit inconvenient nipping to the dockside everyday to buy some straight off the trawler, or whatever you use to catch tuna, even supposing that tuna are regularly landed in Hull or Grimsby. So we weaned Abi on to tuna-flavoured Go-Cat (this is not a sponsored blog by the way, I'm simply stating fact). I think it's got some other expensive fish mixed in as well: Pacific Salmon and Angel Fish or something. That's another thing; why do the cat food people flavour the stuff with animals that cats never eat in reality? I bet if you asked them, 9 out of 10 cats would prefer hamster, budgie or goldfish-flavoured kitty nibble.

Over the past few years I've managed to get Abi to accept Asda's Tiger cat food. Strangely this does not include the sort of flavours that 90% of tigers might prefer; goat, donkey or careless tourist for example. We have the odd tantrum of course, such as when we run out of Tiger and I can only be bothered to nip to the local Late Shop, so she has to put up with the late shop's own brand stuff. This causes the cats to go on hunger strike until I feel sufficiently guilty to pander to their foibles. The two of them can't even agree on this however; one will eat a particular brand so the other promptly boycotts it.

What they are both particularly partial to, though, is the local wildlife. Abi started it, at our old house, when her food was temporarily being supplied by Morrisons. Having decided that nipping up to the shops herself would not be an option, Abi taught herself to hunt. Of course, she might have learnt this as part of her vocational training at Leeds Cat Rescue, though I expect they only bothered to take her big game fishing. Even though we lived near some trees, which is what passes for countryside round here, I hadn't noticed any signs of rodent infestation. So it was a surprise when one day Abi brought home a baby mouse. Having relieved her of it, and given it a decent send off in the wheelie bin, I thought little more of the matter. Unfortunately it would appear that Abi had murdered the offspring of an influential rodent fundamentalist. We suddenly became the focus of a sustained onslaught of mouse-generated terrorism. Mice would appear all over the place, nibbling at anything they came across, including plastic plates and electric wiring. Fortunately they weren't able to lay their paws on any explosives otherwise I am sure that the house would no longer be standing. In the end we moved, having been driven out by the cheese-loving midget freedom fighters.

Since Molly arrived, both cats are now trying to outdo each other in the rodenticide stakes. One of them left an impressively-sized rat on the doorstep the other day, which I think is asking for it. So when this morning my wife told me that she had fed the pets but Molly was sitting outside chomping on a mouse, you can understand my sense of foreboding......

This afternoon I have been fighting a War on Weeds. I found a dodgy dossier saying that the weeds in the flowerbed could overwhelm the lawn in 45 minutes, so I have invaded the shrubbery. My richer neighbour who has lots of garden equipment encouraged me to do this, offering to help. Unfortunately he has sprayed friendly weedkiller over my flowers, who have sustained casualties. I plan to withdraw from the flowerbed by 2012. After I withdraw I will be holding a public enquiry in a locked cupboard so that the public don't get to know what I have done.

When I had finished, I hadn't actually found any Weeds of Mass Destruction, but by then I had uprooted several plants and arrested all the garden gnomes left there by the previous owners. These have been shipped off to a special fenced-off part of my neighbour's garden where they have all been painted orange. Meanwhile, what to do with the weeds? Waterboarding having been deemed unacceptable I decided to ship them off somewhere else. Luckily Leeds City Council have given us all a special brown wheelie bin so we can practice Horticultural Rendition. I have proof that the council is complicit in all this, as I have seen their staff emptying wheelie bins full of weeds into council wagons and taking them away.

I tried to contact my MP about this but he was too busy supervising the weeding of his moat to get back to me.