The case for leaving Goodison Park....

I think the strength of feeling on this issue depends greatly on whether or not you live in Liverpool. So, at the risk of putting my head in the Lion’s mouth, here’s my opinion.

I don't live in Liverpool. I don't have any romantic attachment with the City. I face a round trip of 6 hours just for home games. But I travel to watch Everton Football club, I don't travel to see Goodison Park.

For those who live in the City, it must be heartbreaking to see the club moving (and I think it’s clear now that they ARE moving) outside of the boundaries.

But for a lot of fans (and judging by the number of cars parked in Stanley Park on matchdays, I'm not the only fan to travel long distances to get to the ground) it isn't about WHERE we play. If it was, we'd support our local teams. I love Everton Football Club, no matter where they play.

Everton is a huge club. We regularly attract over 35,000 fans for home games which is almost twice as much at the attendances at clubs such as Blackburn, Fulham, Wigan etc. And yet we seem to be falling behind these clubs in terms of spending power. Those clubs have sugar daddy’s capable of investment, whereas we have Bill, who loves the club but is clearly skint. So we need to try something different.

In my opinion, this deal is too good to turn down. We are being given £50m to buy our own stadium. That’s free money!!! And £50m of it! And the land is willingly being offerred to us by Knowsley Council. That’s free land!! How many other clubs in the world, not just the Premiership, would bite Tesco’s hand off for this kind of offer?

And on top of this we could make money from the sale of Goodison, and the potentially lucrative naming rights (although I cringe at the idea of the “Tesco Value Stadium”).

Goodison was magical. It's hosted wonderful night games, and produces an incredible atmosphere. I’ve seen the highlights and the lowlights - Villareal was fantastic night, despite the result. The last home game against Portsmouth was magnificent. I wasn’t able to experience the famous Bayern Munich game of 85, but I did see them thrash Newport County in 86!!

One of my favourites was a bruising 1-0 victory over Spurs in 97. Dave Watson was in charge, and it was Rideout’s last game for us. Nobody else remembers it except me, but the way that Everton bullied Spurs into submission was an awesome sight. I’ve endured goalless draws against Birmingham and home defeats to Chelsea. But all the time the thrill was in seeing the team, not the stadium.

Goodison is old, with too many restricted views. Even if you have a good view, watching the match can be uncomfortable on wooden seats with cramped leg and arse room. And the obvious lack of corporate facilities (where the real money is to be made) is strangling the club.

I want Everton to move forward, and I just don't see that happenning at Goodison. In 10 or 20 years time, we would be kicking ourselves for not being brave and moving to Kirkby.

We’re part of history, right now. These are important times in the future of Everton Football club. We can take the easy path, stay at Goodison and moan about the lack of money coming into the club and how Kenwright is lying to us all.

Or we can stand up and admit that times change, and a new stadium will provide better facilities and encourage fresh investment. The longer we stay where we are, the faster we’ll go backwards.

Hey Diddly dee.....

Well, my 5 minutes of fame have come and gone. The star that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and I have burnt so very very brightly.

On the 1st July, I fulfilled my destiny - I was a movie star!! Well, I say “star”, I was actually an Extra for the filming of a Jack the Ripper movie. Well, I say “movie”, it was actually a short “teaser” film designed to be shown at Film Festivals across the globe.

So there we were in the Square Mile of London at 8am on a Sunday morning. There was a small crew including Producer, Director, Writer, Director of Photography and principal cast. I was there to help out, in whatever capacity I could, but I imagined this to be making coffee and holding umbrella’s.

The Producer had left posters all around Spitalfields and Liverpool Street, asking for Extra’s to come down to Mitre Square on Sunday morning. And some turned up, but not quite what we had expected. Six “extra’s” who had been out drinking HEAVILY all night saw our poster and decided it was more fun than wandering the streets of London until their coach took them back to Bristol at 4pm.

A few others turned up, including my mate (and part time Bruce Willis look-a-like) Dan and some guy who looked (and behaved) like the Tim Robbins character in War of the Worlds. Creepy.

The film centred on a Jack the Ripper tour guide, played by Dynasty’s own Christopher Cazenove, and the young woman (played by Melanie Gutteridge, from The Bill) who takes an unhealthy interest in his tales.

I was placed in charge of “wrangling” the Extra’s into some form of sense. Which required a great deal of coffee, muffins and croissants to sober them up and pacify them. Their job as Extra’s was to portray the Tour group, being led around London by Mr Cazenove, and responding with appropriate groans of shock and disgust at his graphic tales of Jack’s ripping exploits. I just stood on the sidelines and pointed at where they needed to stand.

However, right at the last minute, I was flung centre screen as Extra number 1. Wow, look at me Mum, acceptance at last! A lesser man than myself would have been nervous, stagestruck even. But I was confident in my own abilities as a thespian, and knew that when the Director called for action, a little magic would happen. I grimaced, I groaned and I howled with such vigour that wouldn’t have been out of place in Holby City’s waiting room.

“Is there no end to this boys talents?” cried the director. Well, he might have thought it at any rate, but didn’t want to make all the other Extra’s feel bad. They did the best they could, but with obvious limits.

Once my Extra scenes were over, I returned to Assistant Director mode, which basically meant that I was a runner. To-ing and fro-ing from one place to another, fetching drinks and equipment, blocking off streets to avoid passers-by interrupting filming. It was non-stop and completely exhausting but it was so much fun!!

Twelve hours of filming around the creepiest parts of London might not appeal to some people. The idea of not sitting down all day might be seem the best way to spend a Sunday. Carrying two carrier bags full of 15 cups of Starbucks’ finest through crowded streets, before standing in the middle of the road to stop pedestrians walking across the middle of a shot. It all might seem a little tedious. But not to me. Even the 3 hour drive home across London and down the M4 was enjoyable. Because as I drove home I just smiled to myself and considered how lucky I’d been to be part of something so great as movie making.

Allright, it was small scale and low budget. I mean, any film with more than two farthings to rub together would have hired someone far more handsome than myself to be lead Extra. And yes, it was incredibly hard work for no pay, but it was far more rewarding than sitting at a desk all day pretending to look busy whilst writing an article about the previous weekend’s experience of making a film.

See what I mean?

The modern malaise

The legendary Astronomer Patrick Moore has recently caused a stir by claiming “television is rubbish, and it’s the fault of women”.

That’s summarising his point dreadfully, but I think he meant that a lot of the television market is now, more than ever, aimed at women. Mr Moore, or is it Sir Moore or Lord Moore, suggests that “banal television” such as Cookery shows, the Soaps and Make-over programmes are dumbing down the standards of British tv to a point when men don’t need to watch the box at all.

This prompted a little light-hearted conversation amongst my colleagues, about the impact of females on our society which rapidly developed into an argument over “who’s the stupidest, men or women?”. Real mature, eh?

Patrick Moore’s comments have been dismissed by the higher Exec’s at the BBC (probably all women) as being the thoughts of a man who refuses to acknowledge that times have changed. However, at the risk of exposing myself as a sexist misogynist, I kind of see his point, and lot of it comes down to the following questions.

When did style replace substance? Why are politics and television now aimed at the lowest common denominator?

The ideal women’s night of television seems to be thus - sitting for an entire evening watching Northerners sit in a pub and moan, then switch over to watch a bunch of Cockneys do the same, before letting two obnoxious women tell me what to wear just before a scary old woman looks through some poo.

I will hold my hands up and say that, like most red blooded males, my first loves are Sky Sports and Sky Movies. But credit where its due, watching these channels will require an attention span of over 2 hours sometimes. 2 whole hours!!!

Female-based television is aimed at viewers with short attention spans who want to see quick programmes about celebrities in shiny colours. Big Brother is addictive, because it doesn’t require any viewer involvement. We can just sit there and gawp at a bunch of nobodies doing nothing. It’s like going to the zoo, but with less interaction.

It’s not just television that is letting us down. Music as a commercial industry has been going strong for around fifty years, and yet we already seem to have run out of ideas. Most dance tracks on Radio 1 are purely samples of 1980 disco classics. The health of the Movie industry is judged more and more on the strength of the “summer blockbusters” which 9 times out of 10 will be the second or third sequel in an already successful brand. So nothing new, no risks, no minds being opened.

Our local radio newsreader, Amy Garner, steadfastly refuses to pronounce her words properly, because it’s “cool”. So “getting” becomes gettin’ and “going to” becomes “gonna”. She went for an interview, got through auditions and got the job. Her bosses must hear her broadcasts every day, and yet she is still there every morning. So somebody thinks that for a newsreader to lack basic pronunciation skills is perfectly acceptable, because anything else would seem “stuffy”. The lowest common denominator wins again.

These factors have created a state of apathy throughout Britain, a slumber from which we shall struggle to awake.

I’m not sure how all these threads blend together. But writing this is good therapy and my soul feels lighter already.

An Everton fan's day out

Not so much a day out, more of an experience. A 7-hour round trip courtesy of Arriva and Virgin Trains — all for 90 minutes worth of football. Oh, and We’re All Going on a European tour.

The good lady dropped me at Abergavenny station with 30 seconds to spare. The train rolled in and I found a good seat to admire the scenery along the Wales-England border, whilst tuning in to Bolton’s second-favourite son with Kay as his surname, and relax. I didn’t really want, or need any refreshments, but the trolley is so magical with all its Jaffa Cakes and crisps, that I became mesmerised and, before I knew it, I was buying the most expensive cup of tea in the world. All change at Crewe, where a couple of scallies buy two ciggies off me and I’m reminded that the smoking ban hasn’t come into force yet in England, so I have a sneaky one in the bar.

Then onward to Merseyside. You know that moment when the stewards pile around the ground as we approach injury time. Well the number of Bluenoses boarding the train between Crewe and Lime Street provided that same sensation — we’re getting close!!
A quick stroll through Liverpool and a fiver spent in the Wimpy (I swear this is the only Wimpy still open in Britain) and I’m on the bus to Goodison. The customary walk around the ground, a sniff around the players’ cars and then I buy my programme and go into the ground to watch the Manchester derby. Strange that all this furore has been caused by a Manchester City left back, who wasn’t Ben Thatcher and it’s not like Michael Ball has any previous. Still it was the only interesting moment in an awful game.

Then I find my seat, in the Park End, and watch David James practising his goalkicking. Make no bones about it, he is massive, and I began to panic about how little James and little Victor would face up to him. I needn’t have worried. The team is announced and I’m probably going against the grain by admitting that I was pleased to see Neville at right back. He was excellent there earlier in the season, and his second half performance vindicated his selection over the limited Hibbert. I had hoped to see a bit more from Fernandes and was just praying that Ossie doesn’t do his normal trick of carrying the ball 20 yards before falling over.

The first half was dreadful, although we in the Park End were unaware quite how horrific Vaughan’s slice was when through on goal. Primus came forward for a corner which he knocked harmlessly over the bar... Thank god for half time, when the announcement that Bolton were getting webbed at West Ham drew the biggest cheer so far.

Straight from the kick-off in the second half, a strange thing happened. The Everton players started to put their foot on the ball, and play it around on the deck. The magical, mercurial Arteta was always hungry for the ball, jinking around fullbacks, splitting the Portsmouth backline, whilst wee Leon Osman was a menace to the giant defenders, especially the gangly Traore who seemed to lose Osman in-between his legs.

Ironically, the first goal was a result of a long ball forward from Howard, which Anichebe flicked on to Vaughan, who in turn flicked it around the otherwise outstanding Primus. Cue Glen Johnson... and the rest is history. Arteta held his nerve, and within a few minutes Yobo found himself unmarked to make it 2-0. The third goal was particularly sweet, as Beattie flicked on to Naysmith who, in the words of Motty, “buried it”. 3-0, and then Bolton and Reading had lost, so Everton are all-but guaranteed Europe.

Fernandes was a disappointment, with a few flashes of skill and the odd drag-back, but he went missing far too often. Carsley and Stubbs blocked everything that came their way, whilst Yobo and Lescott tidied up anything else. Neville was excellent at right back, bombing forward to overlap and providing some deadly crosses. And the two boys up front were excellent, constantly closing down the defenders, winning headers, skipping over tackles, orchestrating the crowd, and generally having a good time playing football whilst getting paid for it.

I don’t think a single fan left before the lap of honour and it was a privilege to be there and have the team thank the crowd for our support. “We’re all going on a European tour”. Barring an eleven-goal swing, of course, but that doesn’t rhyme.
So then we filtered out into the street, all singing, all smiling. I got a bit lost once I’d got clear of Goodison and ended up walking the whole way back to Lime Street, again just making my train. Happily, it was the train to Euston which was packed with fans of relegated Brentford, fresh from another spanking at Tranmere. “We’re going down like a hairy Lesbian” they sang, before apologising to all Hairy Lesbians on the train. I got chatting to a number of ESCLA members, and they were very generous in sharing their lagers around. Thanks guys, you know who you are.

I left them at Crewe and found my little train to carry me back to Welsh Wales. Listening to Greeny on 5LIVE! just made my blood boil, but I heard that Bristol City had been promoted so I rang my best mate to congratulate him. A great day all round. The good lady met me at the station and we picked up a Chinese just in time to watch Match of the Day. We won 3-0, by the way.

Joe Wightman

The Celtic Games

The Celtic Games are an annual event which pits the strongest against the fittest. But the competitors aren't Olympians, Wrestlers or Boxers. Oh no, they're Civil Servants. On the 22nd March, Rhys "wee man" Dalgleish assembled a mottley bunch of footballers to represent ONS in the Welsh Regional 5-a-side Football qualifiers in Cardiff. The winner of the tournament would represent their office at the finals in Belfast, so there was a lot of pride to play for.

Keith "The Cat" Barnes, our invincible goalkeeper, kept more clean sheets than a pair of incontinence pants. Nick "Nobbler" Hughes kept biting away a the opposition's ankles. Huw "I'm not really Gary Speed" Wilcox watched the back door like a Presidential bodyguard. Nick "Marathon Man" Barford covered more ground than Steven Gerrard on a good day. Ross "The Good" Shepherd was our star utility man, and Joe "Supersub" Wightman just got kicked a lot.

All 17 teams assembled at the University Sports Centre. You could smell the tension, and a lot of deep heat. Like caged tigers, we prowled around the court, marking out our territory, as we chanted our team mantra. "None shall pass!!" "None shall score!!". "What time does MacDonald's open?"

The first game was a tight affair, but we taught the DVLA a thing or two about controlled football, before unleashing our secret weapon. The "wee man" popped up at the edge of the box to rifle home the winner. In the second game against Kaiserslautern, more measured football and some unbelievable gymnastic efforts by Keith Barnes meant that a hard fought draw was probably the right result. The third game was marred by a needless stamp on chirpy goalpoacher Joe Wightman, and on his birthday of all days. He bravely fought on, as his assailant received a deserved red card. Once again, Rhys Dalgleish buried the winner.

So three games gone, two wins and a draw. Confidence was high, surely we were through? But the mood swiftly changed, as news of a high scoring win for Kaiserslautern filtered through, meaning that we were behind on goal difference. Only a win would do against the mighty Cardiff Contact Centre. The opposition marched into the arena, cloaked in the Royal Blue of Everton football club. The crowd in the viewing gallery bayed for blood, sensing the importance of a match which neither team could afford to lose.

One minute gone, and disaster struck. A shot from the oposition cruelly bounced back off the post onto the back of Keith, who could do nothing to stop the shot trickling into the net. The stakes got higher, and the intensity doubled. Suddenly, Rhys Dalgleish nipped in to score a crucial equaliser and the game was there for the taking. The opposition looked tired, and made numerous subsitutions as they attempted to regain their composure. Then, completely out of the blue, they unleashed a stunning effort which flew into the net. 1-2 down and only seconds remaining.

The crowd noise was deafening, and the ONS team couldn't hear their own substitutes desperately clamouring to come on and help. With the referee about to blow for full time, and Contact Centre looking confident, Rhys popped up again to equalise and send ONS through to the knock out stages. All around a sea of gold as the crowd cheered his name. A shame that the referee disallowed it for being inside the box, really. The game finished and we were out, on goal difference only.

Rhys tried to inspire his devastated team with Happy Meals all round at MacDonalds. We could hold our heads high, knowing that we had done ONS proud. We can't wait for Sports Day now!

Reasons to be cheerful.

Britain. What a crappy place, eh? Road pricing, dwindling pensions, crumbling schools, shambolic public transport. It all seems to be getting on top of us at the moment. So, in response to this nationwide epidemic of low morale, here are a number of reasons why Britain is Great.

1. Things we take for granted. Heat, light, clean water, uncensored media. We complain that our fuels bills are outrageous, and sometimes they are, but at the touch of a button we can be sitting in a warm, well lit house, watching 1000 channels on Sky. It's expensive, but it's all something which we take for granted, and which we would miss beyond measure if it wasn't there. Imagine getting home from a miserable day at work and finding you've no central heating, no running water, and the tv has packed in. Sometimes we forget how awfully lucky we are.

2. The history. Australia and the USA, or "The Colonies" as Stephen Fry calls them, look at us with envy because of the heritage which we have amassed. History is all around us, from Stonehenge to the Tower of London. And the best part of it is that, in the main, we have preserved our history rather than bulldozing it. The magnificent Natural History Museum in London is a shining light in what historians can achieve. But it's not just in the capital that we can find history. From the Black Country museum, which has a working tram, a mineshaft and a canal basin, to the Museum of Welsh Life outside Cardiff, where important historical buildings from all over Wales have been reassembled bit by bit and help to explain how we used to live. A society cannot progress without an appreciation of it's past.

3. The architecture. Just look up, look around you, next time you're in town. It's the best way of going back in time. The plastic shop fronts which we see everyday can conceal hundreds of years of architecture. And it varies so wildly across the country, from the magnificent Georgian Esplanade at Weymouth, to the gothic Castle and alleyways of Edinburgh. But sometimes it's not particularly tourist spots which can boast the finest architecture, sometimes you can find it in the last place you expect. For example, the exterior of St Pancras is almost Cathedral-like, but rarely seen as most of it's travellers head straight for the underground station.
And in London's financial district, the City, the "Gherkin" stands opposite the Lloyds Tower as wonderful examples that not all modern constructions are eyesores. Even football stadiums are great examples of what we can achieve, and the Millenium Stadium in Cardiff soars above the city skyline without scarring it.

4. The NHS. It gets pilloried everyday in the media for hospital closures, waiting lists and MRSA. But what people forget is that it's completely FREE. This is unheard of outside of the UK where medical insurance is imperative. And we have choice as well because if we don't want to wait for a free operation, we can go private and pay for it straightaway!

5. Greenery. Even in the centre of London there are St James's Park, Hyde Park and Regents Park, providing beauty spots and somewhere to unwind amongst the hustle of bustle of one of the busiest cities in the world, whilst simultaneously oxegenating the air for all its residents. But this green and pleasant land extends beyond this from the moors of Devon, to the Yorkshire dales and the Lake District. There is such natural beauty around; the mountains of Wales, the Jurassic coastline of Dorset and the canals of Norfolk.

6. The people. We live in one of the most cosmopolitan societies in the world, and we strive to be tolerant of one anothers cultures. Earlier this month London hosted four international football friendly matches, none of which included the home nation! South Korea, Greece, Denmark, Australia, Nigeria, Ghana, Portugal and Brazil were all supported by their colourful fans and the reason the games were played in London was because of the high prevalence of such nationalities in the capital, that it made more sense than to play the matches in their home countries. We can be so proud of ourselves for helping to create such a multi-national culture.

It can be Great in Britain. We just need reminding every so often.

"Pay as you drive" Road Tax

I'm not normally one to vent my spleen about Politics, as you're never quite sure who you're going to offend. But goddamnit, this proposed new Road Tax is making my blood boil I can't hold my tongue any longer.

I want to help the environment. I recycle, I turn off all the electrics at the wall, I car-share. I do my bit. And I realise that congestion is a growing problem within the UK, and that action must be taken. But the government's proposal to charge £1.28 per mile on the most congested roads in the UK is backwards.

Implementing road tax will not disincentivise road users as we have to use the roads to get to work. It's as simple as that. However, I have some suggestions which do not involve taxing the poorer drivers off the road.

1. Car share lanes. Especially around the urban bottlenecks. Encourage more and more people to travel together, and leave at least one car at home.

2. Park and Ride schemes on the outskirts of town. Free parking and £1 for the bus to work everyday, along pre-designated bus lanes. That would be a huge success around most towns!

3. A subsidised commute. It's so expensive for people to commute to work, and the idea of sitting in cramped conditions on run-down trains and buses is one of the main reasons that people learn to drive. So a government subsidy for Employer-sponsored travelcards used by people getting to work would be an excellent incentive to not use their car.

4. Some restriction on shorter journey's i.e. the school run. Within half an hour an average comprehensive school can see 500 cars come and go in the morning and afternoon. Let the children walk home. Let the parents walk them home. A little bit of exercise never hurt anyone, and if the recent statistics on child obesity are to be believed then it kills two birds with one stone.

5. Lorry lanes. Far too much congestion is caused by HGV's overtaking each other and using up two lanes. A system of lorry lanes, as used outside the UK, would keep the traffic flowing better and reduce congestion.

6. A higher tax for the 2nd car registered at a particular address. Two car families are one of the main causes of congestion. It would also encourage people to car share (see point 1).

These are only suggestions, but the government is claiming that until they are offerred alternatives, they can do nothing but press ahead with Road Pricing. Well, this proves that there are some alternatives, if only the government would listen.

There are other issues here. The £200 "tracker" box which you will be FORCED to buy and fit, and which will tell tales on you when you enter a congestion zone. It will also deny your civil liberties by informing the government of your daily movements. It only takes one bad egg at the end of your tracker signal to take advantage of the fact that they know you're not home.

They 'spin' it by claiming it will encourage people to use public transport. Which is all very well in theory, but most MP's live in or around London, and seem to believe that the whole country has access to safe and reliable public transport, just like them. London has at least 10 main line railway stations, the Docklands Light Railway, The Croydon Tram system, a comprehensive London Underground network and a massive fleet of buses.

The town in which I live doesn't even have ONE railway station. It has a few buses, which are always packed with school children, and there is no direct service to the town in which I work. So a 20 minute car journey would become an hour long bus journey. And even if I wanted to work nearer home, to avoid travelling through areas of congestion, I couldn't. Because there is NO employment in the South Wales valleys.

And it is precisely for this reason that a large percentage of the Valley's population make the long journey down to Newport and Cardiff. Because that is where the jobs are and we all need to work to be able to buy things! The government must presume that we enjoy sitting in traffic jams, or that we congest the roads simply to inconvenience others. I sit in traffic on the same road every day for no other reason other than it heads in the direction of my office.

If Welsh Assembly rumours are to be believed, then Gwent and the rest of South East wales are being considered for a pilot scheme of this proposed Road Tax. Because the M4 and the A470 and the A467 are so congested with people going to and from the places or work that they can't afford to live near!!

So my question to Mr Blair, and Transport Minister Dr Stephen Ladyman is this.

Why are we being punished for living in a poor area?

What's all the Fuzz about?

"It's like Lethal Weapon meets Midsomer Murders"

When a film is decribed thus, you know not to take it seriously. Hot Fuzz is a doff of the cap to all-action, gun-toting, "Cop-on-the-edge" films of the 1980's and 90's, but with a twist. It's set in the West Country.

Simon Pegg and director Edgar Wright first collaborated on the cult Channel 4 comedy "Spaced", which rapidly became a hit due to it's frequent references to Star Wars and other classic movies. The cinematic feel which Wright gave to the show, using only one camera to film it, also gave it an other-worldly edge.

This success led to 2004's Rom-Zom-Com "Shaun of the Dead" which was a smash hit and made Simon Pegg a household name. As the success built, Pegg was asked if he would throw off the UK and make a career in Hollywood. He replied "I'm not exactly going to run off and film Mission;Impossible 3 am I?" Which, of course, he did.

Hot Fuzz had a much bigger budget than S.O.T.D., but still retains the small town feel, to which Sgt Nicholas Angel must adapt to following his reassignment from London. The story is simple enough - Sgt Angel is making too many arrests for the Met. police and making his colleagues look bad. So he is reassigned to Sandford and becomes shocked at the relaxed attitude to law enforcement. But soon enough, a number of locals meet grisly ends and Sgt Angel and his new colleague, Danny, investigate.

The friendship he strikes up with his partner, played by Nick Frost, is a real treat. Frost stood out in his role of "Mike" in Spaced, playing a gun-loving simpleton, but the character of "Ed" in Shaun of the Dead was thoroughly dislikeable from the first scene, and left staunch fans of Spaced a little flat.

However, in Hot Fuzz, Nick Frost again steals the show. His amiable character, whose life revolves around American Cop films and frequent visits to the pub, coupled with his morbid fascination with Sgt Angel's previous assignments, help the film rumble along to it's hilariously violent climax.

The assembled cast is outstanding, including legends such as Edward Woodward, Billie Whitelaw, Lethal Weapon 3 'baddie' Stuart Wilson, and the fantastic Timothy Dalton as the sneering, conniving Somerfield manager. There are also cameo's from Steve Coogan, Martin Freeman and Bill Nighy.

There are a number of stand out moments, including a gun-wielding Grannie being drop kicked over a wall, a gruesome murder of a pesky reporter and the climactic "battle of Somerfield".

Go see it, it's superb.

Prague

The City of a thousand spires is simply breathtaking. Prague, and the whole Czech Republic has seen many changes since the Velvet Revolution and subsequent collapse of Communism. For history buffs, the very idea of travelling beyond the old iron curtain into Eastern Europe is a thrill, and to see the buildings and bridges made famous in the first Mission:Impossible film was an added bonus!

A comfortable two hour flight from Cardiff Airport found us in the heart of the Czech Republic, admiring the abundant history and architecture. Quite how Prague attained it’s reputation as a Stag party venue is a puzzle. Although the beer is considerably cheaper than in the UK, there isn’t a seedy, party-going atmosphere which you would associate with, for example, Amsterdam and Bratislava.

There is so much culture to absorb, as the centre has been carefully preserved. The former Czechoslavakia decided not to fight against the invading German army in 1939, and thus avoided any bloodshed or destruction of property. The city is now protected by UNESCO, and there is much to admire.

The city is over 800 years old, dating back to the time of Prague’s celebrated King, Charles IV. In fact, the town is so old that it is often used as a “stand-in” for movies which are supposedly set in Victorian London. Many of the original buildings still exist, including the Astronomical clock tower, Powder tower, the beautiful church of St Nicholas, St Vitus’ Cathedral and the magnificent Prague Castle, which sits on the hillside watching over the inhabitants of it's bustling capital.

The Old Town Square is the central tourist spot and the many restaurants which line the perimeter are the perfect place to sit back, soak up the culture and watch the world go by. There are many guided tours which don’t cost much and these are the best way to get your bearings amongst the narrow, cobbled streets.

There is so much to see and do that we felt disappointed that we only had the 2 nights. The broad expanse of Wenceslas Square, the site from which Vaclav Havel gave the first free speech to half a million jubilant people in 1989, is filled with bars and shops, overlooked by the gothic National Museum.

As the old trams rattled past, carrying their passengers along the cobbled streets, it inevitably evoked images of 1960's spy thrillers and John Le Carre novels. Fittingly, the icy temperatures saw the need for hats, scarves and gloves to add authenticity to the Cold war romance.

The food and drink is very good value, and the people are very friendly. We were warned in advance to be wary of pick-pockets, but the situation is no worse than around Oxford Circus around 12pm on a Saturday. As long as you’re careful, you’ll be fine.

The flight, with BMI Baby cost around £50 in total for 2 people and the hotel cost £100 for two nights. We bought 2 tickets for the incredible Prague Symphony Orchestra which cost £17 each and took £100 spending money between us which was ample.

It’s surprisingly close to the UK, and is a hidden gem in the centre of Europe. It’s just waiting to be explored.