Wilting England could learn from defiant posture of fictional gangster Harold Shand

“What I’m looking for is someone who can contribute to what England has given to the world: culture, sophistication, genius. A little bit more than an ‘ot dog, know what I mean?”

That is one of the many memorable quotes from Harold Shand, the quintessential London gangster as portrayed by Bob Hoskins in the classic 1980 film The Long Good Friday. At the moment, with further Ashes horrors lurking around the corner in the third Test at Edgbaston, it’s the only type of riposte I can think of to try to keep the ruthless yet impudent Aussies in their place.

Harold’s classic put-down line was directed towards some American mafia types but it could easily be used to pour scorn on our colonial cousins. Yes, evoke the cultural cringe. Remind the swaggering Aussies that they go all gooey and mushy in the wake of any proper class and culture being thrust their way. It’s small consolation, I s’pose. Both players and past players – now commentators – were, as per norm, in awe of the aura of Lord’s that never ceases to knock ém dead. Chuck a punnet of strawberries and cream in their direction on a tennis court and they turn into softies again. Royalty. That works too. We have to think of something. This was the line of attack that I think the Daily Mail sports writer Martin Samuel used during the 5-0 Ashes debacle of recent times. You might be good at cricket, he inferred, but you’ve got sod all else. Battle of the bands for instance, Martin went on. British rock history against Aussie plodders. No contest. As Jake Riviera, co-founder of Stiff Records and one-time manager of Elvis Costello, once said: “The Americans may have invented rock ‘n roll but only the British can play it.” No mention of Aussies. Meanwhile, Martin carried on with argument to say that a band like Midnight Oil could not mix it with true UK heavyweights and would even be laughed out of an Essex nightclub. A bit harsh, I thought. I saw Midnight Oil deliver a classic gig at Hammersmith Palais in the English summer of 1985. My Mancunian mate Robin Maurice knew nowt about the band. But he enjoyed them. However, he was bemused by the audience. “Who are all these people?” he asked. “Ah, they’re all Australians,” I nonchalantly replied. Robin was still puzzled. “But why do they all look so soddin ’healthy?” he blurted out. There was no answer to that. That is how it seems around the cricket arena at present. The Cardiff Test seems like a mirage already. So we’ll have to stick our tongues out and brag about better culture and all things UK. As if to prove the point, another Mancunian rolled into Adelaide last week and delivered the goods. Johnny Marr at the Gov was excellent entertainment, both when he blasted out his newer solo stuff or delved into the archives for some classic Smiths tunes. He had the audience eating out of his hand. Not that they minded. And he reminded them that, as one observer pointed out, those Smiths’ odes were his songs as much as Morrissey’s. It was bizarre to hear the whole crowd cheerily singing the words: “And if a double-decker bus crashes into us…” You know the rest. Johnny Marr made me proud to be English. And proud to be Northern. Only an Englishman could make such pathos sound so positively pleasurable. And he even rocked out with an encore rendition of the Depeche Mode anthem “I Feel You.” English again. A song by good ol’ Essex lads. So if Edgbaston becomes another rout, we English will just have to look for solace elsewhere via some tenuous point of order. Don’t get me wrong – I love Australia as a country. I live here and treat it as a sun-kissed retirement home. But once the cricket goes wrong in the Ashes – at either end of the globe – it all becomes a bit like a mental siege. Time to duck for cover. A bit like the English batsmen at the moment as both Mitches have ’em twitching. At least the Edgbaston crowd will be a bit more raucous than the rather genteel Lord’s contingent. Maybe that will lift our lot. As I say, in times of desperation it’s time to look anywhere for fresh hope. I wonder what Harold Shand’s team talk would be if he was around to address the English team?

Lord’s looms as crossroads Test with Ashes contest taking a strange turn

Episode two. Lord’s. After my initial indifference to the start of an overkill of Ashes collision, England’s surprise success at Cardiff has got me anticipating the follow-up event like a better-than-usual Doctor Who series. I really didn’t see the England landslide win coming. It was as overwhelming as David Cameron’s Conservatives majority verdict at the last UK election just a few months ago. Except a bit more welcome. Now that the unexpected has happened what can we expect next? The Aussies surely can’t play as badly. And everything that can go right for England, surely can’t just fall into place again. Or can it? If Australia do decide to jettison the much maligned Shane Watson, it will mean they will be without him, Brad Haddin and Ryan Harris after just one Test since they chose their touring party back in Oz. It suddenly leaves a lower order batting line-up of Adam Voges, Mitch Marsh and out-and-out new keeper Peter Nevill. If the upper order continues their recent uncertain traits, that could suddenly be viewed as a potential soft underbelly. For all the feisty rhetoric that Michael Clarke is naturally coming out with, Cardiff must have been a stunner to the usually swaggering Aussies. Their supposed speed attack that was meant have England running scared served up total drivel on day one at Cardiff. It seemed only England’s rush of over-enthusiasm was getting them out. And a repeat at Lord’s would really hurt Aussie spirits. Remember this is the ground where Mitchell Johnson totally unravelled in the 2009 series and became a figure of fun for the English fans. He wasn’t even around last time here. That memory must be bouncing around in his head somewhere as he approaches the scene of his humiliation once more. The fans may be a bit more genteel at Lord’s than elsewhere on the UK circuit, but they will surely be swift to doll out the stick if ol’ Mitch reverts to his bad old days and starts spraying the ball around again. And the strange slope at the home of cricket could provide a few headaches for the new wicketkeeper Nevill. Haddin may have spilled the catch that no-one is letting him forget at Cardiff but he does know his way around this quirky acre of green in St John’s Wood. He isn’t playing due to unforeseen circumstances but if things go awry, the Aussies will be wishing he was still there. This Test could be the crossroads. England could inflict further pain on a suddenly frail-looking Aussie outfit. Or normal service could be resumed with Clarke’s colonials rediscovering the mental muscle that made them Ashes favourites in the first place. It promises to be compulsive viewing.

A case of Ashes overkill, but we will all soon be in the mood for a contest

Here we go again. The Ashes. And despite the cricketing collision being one of sport’s truly volatile rivalries, isn’t this overdoing things a little bit? I look forward to watching England take on the Aussies, but these days the combatants seem to be at their opponents’ throats almost permanently. I also enjoy a temporary abatement so that I can truly relish the action starting, particularly at Test level. But as the captains toss the coin at Cardiff, it will have been only two years since we last went through this contest on UK soil. The traditional gap has always been four years between respective series in the two counties. Nobody that I can find has come up with a reason why it’s suddenly all been hurried along again. In 2013 England were fortunate, in my view, to earn a 3-0 series success. But straight away it was back down under to have the return series concertinaed in so that the Aussies enjoyed a swift ruthless 5-0 whitewash revenge. Granted, that series, we were told was brought forward by 12 months so as to allow a clear playing field for the recent cricket World Cup. But it seems like cricket’s rulers want too much of a good thing. I need a break from watching boors like Dave Warner and Brad Haddin mouthing off incessantly. The caricature style of the ugly Aussie cricketer was seemingly bestowed with intellectual status when Steve Waugh dubbed such goings-on as “mental disintegration’’ of the opposition. I’m just a humble spectator but it’s always looked the work of over-the-top braggarts to me. I still can’t see how Michael Clarke’s warning to Jimmy Anderson in the first Test of the last series to “get ready for a broken fucking arm’’ when facing Mitchell Johnson, approaches anything like supposed sophisticated mind games. Maybe it’s me actually over-reacting to off the cuff banter. But familiarity breeds contempt, as the saying goes. I would have been quite happy to see how the evolving and see-sawing series between England and New Zealand would have panned out. Instead, it was all over after just two Tests with one victory apiece and some high-scoring one-dayers. Both were much needed after England’s lamentable World Cup campaign. Yet there was a feeling of unfinished business. Now we have Clarke and his lippy larrikins back again, promising to play “hard, competitive cricket.” It’s not meant to be all smiles, cucumber butties and high tea, cos it’s the Ashes so I don’t suppose we will have to wait long for the first blow-up. And once play gets underway in Cardiff, I’m sure I will be in the mood and can push to one side any misgivings about Ashes overkill. Especially if Warner exits in the opening over should Australia bat first. Wishful thinking but I’m warming to the thought already. This will be my first series watching a UK-based series on the telly in Oz for a while. It was good to be working in London for the 2013 version. And it will certainly put things in a different perspective for my viewing this time. So we may as well get on with it…

Triple J spans the years to prove music makes the world go around

Time flies by… My blog has been off the air recently because the computer has decided to take charge again. Sometimes, I hate technology. It’s rather like the days of yesteryear when the old pirate radio ship, Radio Caroline, had to stop transmitting because of a broken mast or similar ailment. You need to be of a certain vintage to appreciate that but I believe the former pirates of the high seas of the 1960s have joined the mainstream of broadcasting and still exist in a modern form. It’s fitting to be nattering about music because I have enjoyed radio station Triple J’s forays back in time to celebrate its 40 years of existence. Two separate hours per day were allotted to each year with various tunes given an airing. I managed random listenings across the 20 days. With 1975 the starting point as ground zero, it was fascinating to reflect on which tunes had stood the test of time. Also some numbers were like a slice of time travel, transporting you right into the very epoch of when they were first heard. And the selections were quite eclectic. The supposed alternative station was not afraid to throw in some seemingly well-worn standards as well as some radical rants and raves which are best left where they were. For instance Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody will always take me back to my first term at Birmingham University. The song was the number one single in the UK for what seemed forever. Time passes slower in your youth. That same year the Sensational Alex Harvey Band was riding roughshod along the UK live circuit. And Pink Floyd played Knebworth – one of those legendary festivals, where everyone of a certain age claims to have been there. But I still remember the spitfires swooping low as the band were spaced out somewhere amid Dark Side of The Moon. I also remember watching proceedings as part of a vast expanse of humanity. But that didn’t stop one of our throng, the legendary Steve Duckworth, known to all as Nags, announcing in the middle of the afternoon he was “going to the pub.” Nags disappeared to Gawd knows where for some time. I had almost forgotten about him til the crowd near us all started turning around to see what was going on in the opposite direction to the stage. There, staggering along though the endless groups of cross-legged and flaked-out music fans, was Nags. His mission had not been in vain, because despite struggling to keep his balance in his arms he was carrying a huge stack of tottering beer cans. I can’t remember what kind of ale. In those days it would probably have been the ever dangerous, new-to-the-market Breaker. It was a form of malt liquor that sent most folk deranged. Nags had a liking for Breakers, I recall. The cans were dutifully shared round as the bands – Captain Beefheart, Roy Harper and more ‑ played on. Floyd melancholia surfaced in another remembered trip from late 1975. This time myself, Ian ‘Nev’ Drummond, Al Denby, Alex Carlos, Phil Poole and Mick Edmondson were heading towards the West Country under dark, brooding November skies as the gloom of an English autumn took a firm grip. Big Al was behind the wheel after a raucous night on the Birmingham pub circuit as the Floyd tape provided fitting road trip music. Destination Bristol. To see our beloved Blackburn play the other Rovers. It ended as a 1-1 draw. Dunno why, but the Floyd’s album Wish You Were Here always takes me back to those days – just after its release. The reflective and atmospheric Shine on You Crazy Diamond is an instant throwback to that Brum Univ era and that weekend in particular. And it even got a look in on Triple J’s countdown. Or maybe I imagined it. These days the years all seem to merge into one as listening habits change and old age kicks in. But for a while, Triple J made each time slot a journey to where your mind wanted to go. It just shows the highs and emotions that music can stir. Then last weekend, those ol’ troupers, The Who, played a monster double bill back home at Hyde Park and Glastonbury. They never seem to tire. Was it really way back in 1976 when I saw ’em at the big Charlton Athletic festival? Amazingly, it was. It’s seems like sommat off a Doctor Who episode but it really happened. And it is still happening. I don’t get to as many gigs these days, but I’ll be checking out a refugee from The Smiths, Electronic and The The among others – Johnny Marr ‑ when he and his band touch down for a night out at the Gov in Adelaide on July 21. The past may have been fun but there’s no time like the future.