Who You Poggin' Chav?

People often say to me "Redvers, you're from Kent, is it true that the word Chav is derived from that neck of the woods?".

Surprisingly the answer is "pretty darn right it does". If you happened to be growing up in the Medway towns of Rochester, Chatham, Gillingham, Strood and Rainham in the 1960's, it was a word you used all the time. Today its meaning has changed.

Originally, "a Chav" was definitely a bloke, but you could apply it in different ways. For example, you're in the pub loo, someone comes and stands next to you. Potentially a tricky situation but then an "Alright Chav" might then be exchanged. This could confer respect as in "You OK there Geezer".

But if you happened to be waiting for the bus home in Military Road, you might glance at someone at an adjacent bus stop who is not happy with your glancing technique. A "Who you poggin' Chav?" levelled in your direction was more of a "Who do you think you're looking at pal?" and your answer and ability to "look 'ard" would certainly have a bearing on whether you might need to call in at the A&E on your way home.

Is there a definitive word for Chav? I like to think "Mate". Just because someone calls you Mate, it doesn't necessarily mean he is one.

*Poggin" verb, pog, to look at.

A True Genius

Of all the guitarists I have had the privilege to see, few can have been so talented and deserving of the label "genius' than Rory Gallagher. Maybe I like him that much more because back in 1970, he took to the stage at the Village of the Damned Blues Club in Gillingham leading his band Taste. It was the first live music I ever saw.

Then and later he played the blues with such passion. According to fan memories on the website of Sinnerboy (a band who keep his name alive), he was also a thoroughly nice bloke.

The last time I saw him was at the Electric Ballroom in Camden Town. Pint in hand, he stood in the audience almost next to me, watching Albert King then George Thorogood and the Destroyers.

He later died of liver failure. Such a waste of a true talent.

It's Not Cricket

On a cricket tour of Devon some years ago, one of our batsmen survived an appeal for caught behind. The snick could have been heard in neighbouring Cornwall but as I was the Umpire and I have a hearing impediment, I didn't hear it and therefore gave it "Not out".

I know. I shouldn't have been out there in the first place, but village cricket often survives on the rule that if you can stand unaided, you can play (and Umpire).

The bad feeling this decision caused could have been avoided had the batsman decided to walk. But he didn't. Nor could he understand why I told him he was a cheat.

"If the Umpire doesn't raise his finger, I'm not out." Well that just about sums up what is wrong with the game today. Too many people believe that it's OK to win at all costs.

On a happier note, our batsman was later pushed into a red telephone box, rope was tied around the outside and he was left to repent for the entire evening. No food, no drink. He deserved far far worse.

Before and After the Commercials

Can there be anything more aggravating than watching a documentary on TV than the nonsense that happens before and after a Commercial break. A voice announces ""After the break..." and proceeds to tell us what's about to follow. Really! Well if I stay tuned I'll be watching so I don't actually need to know. Worse follows. As soon as the commercials are over, a voice tells us what we've just seen as in "Previously we saw..."

If I wasn't a cynic I'd say that it was done to stop us switching to another channel or to inform us if we've joined half way through the programme.

But I am a cynic. Surely this is done because it eats up time before and after each segment. So programme makers can get away with around 5 minutes less footage per hour long programme. Think of the money that can save on the production budget. Shameful I call it.

The Man on the Clapham Omnibus

When I used to work in advertising, there was an often used phrase bandied about. "What does the man on the Clapham Omnibus think?" In other words, what's the opinion of your average member of the public?

I offer this thought to the leader of whichever political party wins the forthcoming general election. Maybe David or Gordon (that's alphabetical not assumptive) would like to amass a busload of normal people and ask them for their thoughts from time to time. They'd get some forceful suggestions from those who actually know what is going on in Britain today.

I'd better stop there. The idea is quite ridiculous!

Shame on You: The O2

On Saturday I had a ticket to see Eric Clapton and Jeff Back at the O2. And awfully good it was too.

Luckily I got to see the whole concert which is more than many who were relying on public transport to get them home. The concert finished around 11.10 and with a 30 minute walk and wait to get into the unsurprisingly busy tube station and around another 25 minutes journey time into Central London, it should have been obvious to the O2 that catching your last mainline train home might be a touch tricky.

So why, yes why indeed, start the concert at 8pm? It was a Saturday and an earlier start might have meant far fewer people rushing for the doors during the latter part of the event. When you've paid £75 or more for a ticket (I kid you not), you deserve better organisation.

As it was, I thought the timing might work against me, so I went through the bizarre scenario of driving into Central London, parking the car and catching the tube out again to the O2. I returned to my car at 10 minutes after midnight.

Am I alone in thinking that such lax organisation is an absolute disgrace?

A Nice Warm Pair of Gloves

I'm off on one now. Footie does rather aggravate me these days. Especially when I see grown men taking to the field of play wearing a pair of gloves.

Perhaps like me you view this with a high degree of how shall I put it...distaste. Football is a man's game and we don't want to see a big girl fashion statement in the millinery department dancing down the left wing. That's why I've come up with a fans chant to the tune of "Who let the dogs out". "Who put their gloves on...wuss, wuss."

That should solve the problem.

Why Can't Gillingham Win Away?

Sorry to start off with a few words about football. It won't all be like this. But as a Gillingham supporter, there is one question that simply won't go away. Why do they have the most lamentable away record? At the moment it's as bad as it's ever been.

I think I have the answer. All it needs from the manager is a little motivation. Not the sort where you tell your star striker that if he pops one in away from home he'll also get a night of unbridled passion with Gladys behind the counter of the local chippie.

No. You need to mix motivation with fear. So it's, quite simple. You tell the players that if they lose, when they trot off the pitch, their clothes will have been removed from the dressing room and will in fact be on the team coach which in turn has been removed from the stadium. A 1 goal defeat, the coach is parked a mile away, a 2 goal defeat it's two miles away and so on.

Trust me. it's sound psychology and it will work. You don't need to be a genius to realise that having to leave the ground, still in kit, map in hand, and weaving your way through the crowds along the back streets of Stockport or Oldham, isn't the best way of ending a Saturday afternoon.

Mark my word, Gillingham will be banging in the away goals before you know it.