The G.O.A.T

University life allows for many things. There's the independence, the new opportunities and the fundamental joy of learning. There's also the time spent re- watching TV series.

In the case of The Office its actually a re-re watching. I generally immerse myself in the world of Wernham- Hogg at least once every six months. Regardless of how often I actually watch the show its influence is never far away, its quotes and awkward gestures so easily applicable to everyday life. Looking back on the achievement of Gervais and Merchant it is really quite astounding. They were a duo of untried writers and directors who managed to craft a near perfect piece of television. The main characters are perfectly drawn and nervelessly brought to life by an ensemble of near rookies. Gervais in the main role managed to create a character that has now become imitated in some form by nearly every comedy series of the last five years. (see the BBC's new dire comedy The Persuasionists for the prime example of the influence put to terrible use)

Many point to the cringe inducing laughs of "I'm Alan Partridge" as the direct forebear to The Office. In some senses that influence is palpable. However Coogan's character (who is also amazing) still employs jokes in the traditional sense. As awkward and bumbling as he may be there are still traditional jokes with set up and punchlines ( e.g. "I'm a big Beatles fan" "Yeah whats your favourite album?" "I'd have to say the best of the Beatles") Just as there are non second acts in American lives there are simply no jokes in Brents. There is just staggering, incredible absurd hubris and awkwardness. And that is why the Office is the greatest of all time.

*The above is still my favourite scene from the show. The mix of downright fiction and Brent's utter lack of self awareness is magic. And theres also the immortal line of "Big Boy Shit"

The G.O.A.T

University life allows for many things. There's the independence, the new opportunities and the fundamental joy of learning. There's also the time spent re- watching TV series.

In the case of The Office its actually a re-re watching. I generally immerse myself in the world of Wernham- Hogg at least once every six months. Regardless of how often I actually watch the show its influence is never far away, its quotes and awkward gestures so easily applicable to everyday life. Looking back on the achievement of Gervais and Merchant it is really quite astounding. They were a duo of untried writers and directors who managed to craft a near perfect piece of television. The main characters are perfectly drawn and nervelessly brought to life by an ensemble of near rookies. Gervais in the main role managed to create a character that has now become imitated in some form by nearly every comedy series of the last five years. (see the BBC's new dire comedy The Persuasionists for the prime example of the influence put to terrible use)

Many point to the cringe inducing laughs of "I'm Alan Partridge" as the direct forebear to The Office. In some senses that influence is palpable. However Coogan's character (who is also amazing) still employs jokes in the traditional sense. As awkward and bumbling as he may be there are still traditional jokes with set up and punchlines ( e.g. "I'm a big Beatles fan" "Yeah whats your favourite album?" "I'd have to say the best of the Beatles") Just as there are non second acts in American lives there are simply no jokes in Brents. There is just staggering, incredible absurd hubris and awkwardness. And that is why the Office is the greatest of all time.

*The above is still my favourite scene from the show. The mix of downright fiction and Brent's utter lack of self awareness is magic. And theres also the immortal line of "Big Boy Shit"

Tour de Force

"A Cylclist! Even cyclists hate f****** cyclists!" So says The Thick of It's Malcolm Tucker in response Chris Boardman's name being mentioned in connection to a government campaign. Maybe he's right. Cycling's reputation has been dragged through mud so many times in recent years that the entire cycling community look as though they have been playing college football at the 22 acres. As riders are consistently exposed as drugs cheats at the highest level the fundamental validity of professional cyclists achievements have been undermined. The lack of confidence and trust invested in the sport by the public would make MP's feel positively valued. Hopefully all that is about to change.

Yesterday the recently formed Team Sky, lead by British Cycling's legendary performance director Dave Brailsford, announced that they had signed Bradley Wiggins. Wiggins, who is also a gold winning Olympian on the track, burst onto the world road racing stage at last year's Tour de France, unexpectedly leaping from the peloton to match the world's best in the mountains and finish fourth overall. Since then much anticipation has surrounded Brailsford's attempts to lure the darling of the British cycling world away from his American contract holders, Team Garmin Slipstream. With the addition of Wiggins it's clear that he wants a team which can challenge for the ultimate prize in cycling in France next year. Wiggins is now a serious contender. Last year he was hindered during the first week of the tour by his duty to Garmin team leader Christian Van de Velde, before the American graciously offered his services to a rapidly improving Wiggins. This year he can train as the undoubted focal point of his team, a team that will be devoted to making his passage through the flat early stages easy, before turning him loose in the mountains. Wiggins also has important advantage of being a time trial rider of some repute, a factor which will help to seperate him from more mountain orientated rivals.

Saying that Wiggins attempt to scale the peak of his sport will not be without difficulty. Last year's Tour Winner Alberto Contador outclassed his competition in the most important stages, showing an acceleration and fluidity in the mountains that no one could answer. He will be back in 2010 with his Astana team mates and will not be keen to give up his title. Cycling legend Lance Armstrong will also be certain to be in the mix and may have stolen a march on his former Astana team mate by taking the strongest members of his team to his newly formed Team Radio Shack. Armstrong, like Wiggins, will be free from the distractions of a leadership battle with Contador that dogged his campaign last year. The now 40 year old Texan, and 7 times Tour winner, does not usually compete to come second and proved that he does not go to France for a holiday, finishing third last year. Wiggins will also have to contend with the dual power of Franck and Andy Schleck, the brothers from Luxembourg who echo the talents of the late Marco Pantani with their vicious accelerations in the mountains.

If Wiggins manages to surpass his illustrious rivals he could go along way to restoring cycling's standing as a sport. The British public have shown their willingness to get behind successful, and most importantly clean, cyclists by voting Chris Hoy as Sports Personality of the year for 2008. Bradley Wiggins is a formidable athlete who has consistently succeeded at the highest level ,without the aid of the doping products that have become synonymous with cycling. Should he win next year's Tour de France he will rightly be acknowledged as one of Britain's greatest ever sportsmen.

FFT Radio - Episode 1

The first university radio show of my career was this week. Prospectively it could be a very short career given the shoddy transititions and copius swearing that we forgot our music contained. Either way it was jolly good fun and me and my mate Ed managed to chat and play music for an hour without any out and out horror show moments. This week we have to do it all again but for the longer time of two hours. Let's hope we cope.

If you fancy listening to the podcast of our endeavours you can get it here.

Question Time sequence cut out of Yesterdays Broadcast

Episode Transcript - Edition 4,921 - 22/10/09

DD: Hello My name is David Dimbleby and welcome to question time. As always the panellists have not seen any of the lengths of rope which they will be given to hang themselves with. Let's have the first question from Mr Underdressed Student...

A: Thankyou David. Nick Griffin in relation to your parties attempt to hijack Winston Churchill's legacy I would like to ask - are you a tosser?

NG: There is no definite evidence that I have seen to suggest that I am a tosser. I realise the common view is that I am a massive penis but until recently I was unwilling to accept that I am indeed a tosser. However I cannot explain why but I have changed my mind. I did actually hear some radio intercepts from the Eastern front, the general gist of which was "Nick Griffin is an odious dicksplash who looks like the bride of chucky". This somewhat reinforced the general feeling for me and my party that I am indeed a tosser.

Jack Straw: You do not need radio intercepts to know that you are a tosser! I as justice secretary of this country personally assure you that the laws regarding Tosser Denial make it very easy for you to explain how you came to this view point

DD: Pipe down Jack. Bonnie Greer, why is it that so many people thought Nick Griffin's appearance on question time would be a triumphant one for the BNP?

BG: I have no clue David. Certainly aesthetically Mr Griffin will not appeal to floating voters. If I were and image consultant for the BNP my first move would be to remove the entirety of Mr Griffin's face and perhaps replace it with that of a horse. It would be more attractive, appear more studious and would give a a greater sense of assurance than Mr Griffins current face to this country that he is ready for the serious business of government

(loud applause)

DD: Lady Warsi what do you make of these proposals to replace Mr Griffin's face with that of a horse?

LW: I completely agree David, although I would be worried about the positive impact that this could have on the BNP's electoral fortunes. However, much though that I disagree with their policies I feel there should always be an outlet in a representative democracy for idiot minority parties. I believe that the democratic system has in this respect been let down by 12 years of wasteful Labour government - why haven't Labour ensured that Mr Griffin is walking around with an equine head? I think his current hideous visage and the lack of a Shergar-esque replacement highlights once again the terrible oversights of this Labour government.

JS: This is a totally ridiculous statement. We, as a government, mounted a review of minority party politics as far back as 2007 which recommended the drastic measures of taking Mr Griffin's face away entirely to help representative democracy for even the coarsest nutters amongst us. This fact in conjunction with the economic shit heap we've created and the expenses scandal mean that it is we the Labour party who have been looking out for the BNP from the very begining.

DD: Chris Huhne what is your view on the issue?

CH: Well David I would like to once again reiterate the support of myself and that of my party for the plans to end the ceaseless torment that is Nick Griffin's face. Churchill was mentioned earlier and I believe that that great man, who was first a Liberal, fought so that we had the freedom from oppression and fascism that would allow us to decide whether to replace a mans head with that of a horse. Churchill, who I hasten to add was first a Liberal, tirelessly stood against the forces of evil to secure the basic freedoms that we take granted for today.It was Winston, who I'm not sure if I mentioned was first a Liberal, who once said "we shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this Island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving we would still have the sense to replace the head of any pug faced facist twats with one resembling Black Beauty"

(loud applause)

END OF SEQUENCE

Reality?

I am going to university. Naturally everyone that I know has assumed I will live the next three years in squalor whilst only eating gone off beans and the dead rats that infest my room. Family friends especially are keen to save me from this fate and as a result I have been plied with "student cook books".

As all teenagers know there is nothing worse than writers trying to be "down with the kids", especially when these writers themselves claim to be "one of the kids". This is sadly the case with my student cook book. It's called "SORTED!" which I assume is meant to reflect how young people only have the attention span for words of 2 syllables or less. It details recipes within of varying complexity all of which lean toward saving money. Now this is undoubtedly handy given that I am going to be in more debt than sub Saharan Africa within three years but the terms that these money saving tips are couched in rankles somewhat. In case I didn't realise that having money was good they continually remind me - the less money you spend on food the more you've got for beer! the more you've got for watching footie! the more you've got for buying condoms to shag fit birds with! ( It doesn't say exactly that but you get the drift)

By all accounts this book has been written "for students by students". I've never understood the whole idea of advice from a person similar to yourself. Sure it may be easier to relate to but I wouldn't want heart surgery from a medicine student who bounds into the operating theatre shouting "wicked!" and "quality!" , as the writers of "SORTED!" do on a regular basis. Rather than being "for students by students" it seems that "SORTED!" is "for students by idiots who think they know what students are like but in fact have just lived their whole lives as walking cliches". Not only do they not know their market but they also horrifically underestimate them. There are recipes which detail the difficult art of making fillings for sandwiches. Now I have always thought I knew how to make sandwiches but it seems that I missed out on a lot of the requisite culinary education. After deciding that students can't simply decide that they want cheese and ham in their sandwiches they provide a recipe which is so ridiculously complicated that it totally defies practicality. The intoduction states that making your own "delicious alternative" to Subway sandwiches saves money. They then go on to tell you to toast some pine nuts and take the flesh from an avacado have in your "sarnie". Maybe it's just easier to make a ham or buy one?

What I don't think the authors of "SORTED!" understand is that although I don't mind drinking alchohol the reason I will cook their recipe for beef and mint curry is so I can have dinner. It will not be to "absorb the alcohol after that 'quiet drink' down the union that became a marathon session! This is the perfect end to any night - a perfect Ruby Murray!". Really?

Important?

The Sun are now officially a conservative paper. It hasn't exactly been a secret what with John Gaunt and his other twat columnist stable mates refering to David Cameron as "our next PM " for the last six months, but at least it's official now.

Labour have imploded as a party ripping up copies of the Sun mid-conference and generally acting like a jilted lover screaming "We never loved you anyway!" whilst weeping as they stare into the void of free publicity and vote collecting that Britian's most bought daily guarantees. Is it really that important? Does the Sun hold the key to the election? You would think that it is the policies of the parties that command peoples votes, not the papers they read but perhaps this isn't the case.

A major turning point in the modernisation of the Labour party was gaining the Sun's support. It was Peter Mandelson and Alastair Campbell's primary concern in the spin war before the landmark 1997 election. For the first time they had the complete support of the most read British paper and most importantly the paper with the broadest cross section of readers. It was from there that they disseminated the spin and propaganda that helped attract the vital floating voters. It is listed as one of the turning points that brought them such a convincing win in 1997 and something that they have relied on heavily ever since. Where else can they turn? The Express and The Mail want nothing more than a Tory return to office (apart from maybe Diana's death to be proven as a MI5 conspiracy), The Telegraph has more chance of supporting the BNP than Labour, everyone knows that the Guardian are left leaning so it's pretty inevitable and know one gives a fuck what the Star, the Sport or the Mirror think.

So perhaps it is important, perhaps it signals a final nail in the coffin for New Labour and Gordon Brown. Or perhaps the people of Britain still prefer to make their own minds up, perhaps they rather making informed opinions based on their moral codes and values. Worryingly I suspect it could be the former.

In the Cast

I am pretty busy at the minute. I don't live a stressful life by any means but there are certain things that my current situation requires me to do. Prepare to move out, earn some money, watch as a many Bo Burnham videos on Youtube as is humanly possible during one earth day.

Another mammoth demand on my time are podcasts. Such is my addiction to the brilliant (and free) audio downloads I often find myself listening to my Ipod in bed thinking that I can't go sleep as I have such a backlog of quality to catch up on. My profound love of the Hamish and Andy podcast has been documented on this blog before and probably forms the bulk of my listening duties. They churn forty five minutes of gold everyday from down under giving me a considerable workload from the kick off.

Then factor in Mark Kermode's weekly film reviews (it's practically obligatory to listen if you ever fancy seeing a film again) and you are up to a running total of 3 hours a week. But the madness doesn't stop there (I'm beginning to scare myself totaling all this up). I have recently become addicted to the Times Online podcast "The Bugle" which is a self proclaimed "audio newspaper for a visual world" and is hosted by two of Britain's finest comedy talents Andy Salzman and John Oliver. The latter is currently making it big in America as a prominent writer and correspondent on the excellent "Daily Show with John Stewart", which garnered an Emmy last week for it's the continued high standard of it's writing. Another 50 minutes is thrown on to the bonfire of lost time in the shape of Adam and Joe's six music show. The 3 hour Saturday morning broadcast is honed down to a consistently funny highlight's package which captures the DIY ethos perpetuated by the pair. Search "Song Wars Quantum of Solace" on youtube to see the best of their home made offerings.

I haven't even begun to examine the "sports" facet of my podcasting addiction. Sport is the topic that perhaps most lends itself to podcasting as all you need is a couple of mics and some passion to debate in much the same way people do down the pub after watching a game.The Football Ramble is a podcast that does just that and is a podcast to which, after being directed to it a month a go, I have frequently been compelled to listen to before other more stalwart members of my ipod lineup. The four guys that do it managed to top the Itunes sports charts without any backing from sponsors and continue to create intelligent, hilarious editions week in week out. The Guardian's football weekly podcast manages to often crow bar two podcasts a week in with their somewhat superior resources. Just as enjoyable as the Ramble in a different way James Richardson and Co. are the place to go especially for informed analysis of the game on the continent and in South America, something that is hard to come by elsewhere.

The Jake and Tiarnan Podcast - Episode 12

This is the last goodbye. I hate to feel the Podcast between us die. These words of Jeff Buckley are all I have left to describe the Jake and Tiarnan Podcast, Episode 12 of which is the last one for the forseeable future. In it we compare ourselves to Mother Theresa and express our hate for Jeremy Paxman. It's not great but then has it ever been? Get it now here.

Class is Permanent

I have never liked Manchester United. Perhaps it was their perpetual success or the gum chewing smugness of Alex Ferguson that initially ignited my loathing. Either way it is fair to say that my distaste for all things red is tempered with a grudging respect.

It's a respect I'm sure that Manchester City's fans will find difficult to unearth given their unfortunate loss on Sunday afternoon in the Old Trafford leg of the derby. Admittedly Glazer Bros Incorporated were helped by the poor timekeeping abilities of the referee but, in the larger scheme of things, there was something at least partially worthy in their victory.

Although United are by no means the poor man of Manchester it has been a tough summer for the usually dominant force of the Northwest. As they watched their rivals buy up the cream of (wantaway) talent in British football they were left to contend with a hole in their team in the shape of a preening, but otherwise supremely talented, Portuguese tit by the name of Cristiano Ronaldo. In this sense their victory on Saturday is validation that they are still the big wolves on the Manchester campus, a sign that by sheer force of will (and the names that they managed to hold on too) they will reassert the dominance they have built throughout the decades over their now more monied rivals.

Sir Alex Ferguson jokingly declared in his pre- match press conference that Manchester City would never be better than his own team while he was alive. Although they are getting closer maybe he's right; are City fated to be forever in the shadows of their local rivals? Whilst they spend millions on a central defensive partnership that seems adverse to heading footballs Ferguson shrewdly invests in Michael Owen and nurtures Darren Fletcher into one of the finest midfielders in the world, quietly restoring the the natural order of things in the North West. How apt was it that Owen should score a late, poached winner? It was perhaps not what his team deserved but it underlined Ferguson's managerial acumen and showed that the tide has not quite turned for Mark Hughes and Manchester City. He has built an impressive team, one which has managed to gel and which gave an sterling (albeit defensively shaky) account of itself on Sunday but as yet for all the sense that they were beleaguered and weakened coming into this season it is United rather than City that are still on top in Manchester.

Traffic

It seems that there has been some unexpected traffic to this here blog over recent days. September 14th especially was off charts, I'm not entirely sure how the google servers coped. Unless it is just the same person visiting numerous times a day (which is likely) then it appears some people need to make themselves known with a comment or two. The Leader is watching.

Reading 2009

I wish there was a better way than words to try and recall everything that some fields just outside a town in Berkshire mean but as yet this is the best I can do. My memories are blurred by the sun, a lack of sleep and the blistering pace of life in a festival bubble, but hopefully one day these comparatively fresh ramblings will act as a aid memoir for a weekend that I wouldn't mind remembering.

Day 1

After two days of mainly sitting around getting sunburnt it was strange actually going to see some bands on the Friday of the Reading weekend. Until that point it feels as though you are part of a mental camping trip devised to see at which point tens of thousands of young people will forget that they are all normal, law abiding humans and start burning things and running amok, Lord of the Flies style. Jack Penate was the first person I actually managed to see in a packed NME tent and it proved a good choice. Unlike many other acts Penate played a set that was the perfect mix of old and new with a maturity and charisma that his first album suggested he never would be able to muster. He was followed by Florence and the Machine used the lack of competition on other stages, word of mouth positivity and an insane outfit to attract a massive crowd . The energy that her somewhat pretentious pop created is perhaps a testament to her incredible voice and her sincerity and passion even swept me up in a moment that I expected to be as bland as her recorded music. Despite climbing a lighting rig and generally running around like a nutter even she was made to look static by the sheer bombast of Friendly Fires, who grew up in St Albans but sound like they were born in Sau Paulo. They have received deserved plaudits this year for their innovative album, the urgency and fun from which translates into a engrossing live sound. Couple that with the fact that their lead singer has got some dance moves that make Freddy Mercury look serious and restrained and you have a live act of some heft.

After a trip back to the campsite and an opportunity to drink something other than expensive arena cider it was time for Jamie T. Despite the speed and accuracy of his vocal delivery the Wimbledon bass-meister general managed to run over his allotted time slot, meaning that new single Sticks and Stones was absent from an otherwise crowd pleasing set. Calm Down Dearest and If You got the Money caused mass sing alongs and new material, including the quality Chaka Demus, give grounds for promise and the hope that Mr T may be around for a while to come.

Watching Jamie T meant sacrificing a spot near the main stage for headliners Kings of Leon. This led to some creative crowd pushing tactics being employed which weren't entirely convincing but got the job done (why would the friends of an unconscious boy be taking his slumped form on their backs towards the front?). We ended up five rows from barriers for what was possibly the strangest gig experience I have ever had. Despite one hundred thousand people turning up to see them the newly crowned biggest band in the world were annoyed. It seems that a lukewarm reaction to some earlier songs (which were greeted with enthusiasm where we were standing) and a poor sound quality caused by the wind were enough to induce a mid set speech from lead singer Caleb, the gist of which was: "Fuck You". Maybe the slow realisation that with mass popularity comes a more part time fan base, content to sing along to Sex on fire for instance but not too the seven minute opus of Knocked Up, is grating on the notoriously cool, publicity shy foursome. Maybe they were just pissed. Either way their sulky performance put a sour tinge on an otherwise faultless musical display.

Day 2

After long discussion as to the cause of KOL's anger , Fosters and very little sleep it was time to embark on day 2 widely held to be the weakest line up of the three. As the day wore on the time which we planned to go the arena was pushed back and back as none of the acts managed to tempt us out of out rapidly disintegrating camping chairs and toward the stages. In the end we made it through a packed arena intake area to see The White Lies. They have had a pretty good year by anyones standards and a number one album for a dark, post punk-esque guitar band is a result I'm sure they didn't expect. I personally loved the album but wasn't convinced that it would translate live. It did. The draw of the Prodigy on the main stage somewhat emptied the NME tent but it did little to lessen the atmosphere of a brilliant performance. Everyone raved about the Prodigy the next morning, and I'm sure they were good, but I was more than happy with my little space in a tent that looked like a circus to watch a band dressed almost entirely in black sing songs about haunted fairgrounds and dieing on aeroplanes. You don't need pills to improve that experience.

The choice of NME tent rather than main stage late in the day again meant there was a half-drunk sprint over empty noodle containers and tired festival goers to catch the Arctic Monkeys. I have always loved the Arctic Monkeys for their sense of fun, lyrical panache and the fact the what ever the occasion they rarely looked arsed. However when it gets to headlining the main stage at Reading perhaps you need a bit of urgency. You also need a bit of acumen to plan your set, something which was woefully absent from a lack lustre set. Anytime an old classic threatened to whip up any kind of atmosphere the crowd were returned to earth by a slower track or a new song (their album was only five days old that Saturday). Despite all this songs like I bet you look Good on the Dance floor still resonate live like no other songs I've heard and remind everyone why they've come along. It's not to say Humbug isn't up to scratch it's just that the songs were to fresh to inspire any real fervour.

Day 3

After the somewhat sparse line up of day 2 Sunday seemed to promise a lot more. Lethal Bizzle's particular brand of balls out lyrical wizardry kicked off my day at the NME tent. "Bizzle" received a rapturous reception from the middle class indie kids of southern England in return for a flawless set the only fault of which was his imploring of the distinctly suburban crowd to shout "FUCK THE POLICE!". It left a cliched, sour taste in the mouth - I very much doubt that people get routinely checked on the basis of their race in St Albans.

Frank Turner followed the big B and proved that he is a live performer of some repute. After inducing the crowd to form a hardcore gig esque "circle pit" in which everyone jigged rather than caved skulls in Turner played a set of razor sharp tunes, belted out with real tenacity. Final song "The Ballad of Me and my friends" was a singularly brilliant experience - being in a crowd of young people repeating the final verse refrain of "and we are defiantly going to hell!" is something not easily forgotten.

My solitary adventure outside the world of the "Big Two" stages came after Frank Turner as I made a visit to the Festival Republic stage to see the purveyors of perfect disco pop the Magistrates. They had attracted a respectable crowd for a Sunday afternoon slot and they delivered a solid, energetic performance dominated by their lead singers pitch perfect, piercing falsetto. I am convinced bigger things await.

A band that can already claim to have "made it" are the Gaslight Anthem. They sound like Bruce Springsteen's and Brandon Flower's love child conceived during a desert storm. They are, in short, amazing. They absolutely chewed up the NME tent during a late Sunday afternoon slot with a sound that could easily grace the main stage. Their confidence was palpable, their songwriting and melodic power inspired - they are the next (but better) Kings of Leon and they will headline a main stage somewhere within five years. Or I will eat my face.

A band that must be desperate to do just that (headline a main stage not eat my face) are Bloc Party. Serial Reading support act though they are they tore the main stage field apart before the more introspective Radiohead Sunday night set, proving without doubt that they have the songs and the capabilities to dominate the top of a bill. New single One more chance induced hysteria, Flux pandemonium and Helicopter scenes akin to that of the Somme. Are you watching Kings of Leon?

Before this display of raw power the more mellow sounds of Vampire Weekend rang out across Berkshire. Third on the bill after just one album is some achievement and as they played the majority of their first record you realised just how many weapons grade tunes it contains. Frontman Ezra Koenig dominated the main stage from behind darkened wayfarers as A Punk and Walcott send people at the front so mental they begin to hoist their friends on to inflatable sofas (fuck knows how they got them in).

After all the youthful abandon of their two predecessors I expected Radiohead to bring the mood down somewhat. They didn't. After arriving on the main stage with an uncharacteristic cry of "Whazzzzaaaaaa?" Thom Yorke and friends play some old favorites seen less often that Bengal tigers. Even 14 year old Bloc Party fans sang along to Creep and (maybe down to Mark Ronson) literally everyone sang along to Just. A mammoth set of these classics and the cream of their recent album In Rainbows made for a legendary headline set. The young pretenders to their throne as best British band still have a long way to go before they can say they are as good as Radiohead.

These are my bare memories of Reading musically. It is a lot harder to describe the actual festival itself. The chronic insanity of the whole experience is harder to pin down. Who thought it was a good idea to put 100,000 people in a field with ready access to alcohol and little access to appropriate sanitation? Whoever they were they are incredible because it shouldn't ever work - but it does.

The Greatest Show on Earth

In Simon Barne's book The Meaning of Sport he eloquently argues that the Olympics is the "Greatest Sporting Event in the World". True such a bringing together of nations, sexes and sports is incredible but on this occasion I think I may have to disagree with his assessment. For me the greatest sporting event is the Tour de France.

Every year I am entirely engrossed by the Tour mixture of spectacle and substance and have even had the pleasure of seeing 2 stages first hand. In 2005 I witnessed one of the most remarkable achievements in sporting history as Lance Armstrong rode to his 7th Tour victory after recovering from cancer. I was hooked. Ever since I have feverishly watched the tour each year, praying that another doping scandal won't erode the public respect for a body of phenomenal athletes

This years tour is the best for some time. Brit Mark Cavendish simply can't be beaten in the bunch sprint finishes that inevitably occur on flat stages where break away riders simply can't evade the might of the peleton. In terms of the general classification there is an almighty battle between Lance Armstrong and Alberto Contador, both of Team Astana, after the Texan made an unlikely return from retirement this year. Unknown Italian Rinaldo Nochentini holds the coveted yellow jersey currently although his stay looks to be temporary as the two favourites get ready to slug it out in the Alps.

Contador seems to be the favourite. He is perhaps the best climber currently in the world and his mercurial talents were highlighted when he accelerated away from the leaders in the last 2 kilometres of this years only mountain top finish to date. Despite this I would find it hard to bring myself to ever bet against Lance Armstrong to win in the Tour de France. He showed that his tactical acumen is still is a present as ever in the first week by sticking to the wheels of the Columbia HTC team when they forced a break on the run to a sprint finish in a challenging cross wind. Not only that but his climbing capacity seems undimmed as he rode with the leaders and looked comfortable on mammoth climbs like the Col d' Tourmalet. The Alps will be where the tour is won and lost but if Armstrong is actually as comfortable as he seems then I think he will win.

How romantic it would be to see Armstrong ride into Paris with the jersey on his shoulders. It would cement his place in cycling history as undoubtedly the greatest ever. Perhaps such a dramatic comeback would also cause something more important - the elevation of the Texan who fought cancer to his rightful place as the Greatest sportsman that ever lived.

Last Chance?

A few things this week have made me think of tipping points. Moments in peoples lives that are so close to being something amazing and then fall short. Such is the profundity of the moments it always makes me question; what could have been?

This question will be reverberating around Andy Roddick's head since late Sunday evening when he lost in a marathon final set to Roger Federer. The final will mainly be remembered as Federer broke Pete Sampras' record of 14 Grand Slams and earned his deserved place in the history of Sporting greatness. Despite this Andy Roddick pushed Federer so close when many, myself included, had haughtily predicted a win in 3 sets for the Swiss Maestro. How sweet it would have been for Roddick to finally win Wimbledon when his recent form in the Majors had been waning. How vindicated he would have felt after having the misfortune of being at his peak when the greatest player ever to have lived was at his. Roddick's huge serve, natural athleticism and competitiveness would have more than likely ensured him to be the best grass court player of most generations barring those containing Bjorn Borg and his eventual nemesis Roger Federer. Having been beaten pretty easily in the previous two finals that he reached it didn't take a lot of bottle to predict a similar result this time around. But Roddick proved the doubters wrong and took Federer all the way and matched him until the 30th game of the 5th set.

In the end it was probably Roddick's fitness that was his undoing. He suffered from contesting some epic five set matches against the likes of Hewitt and he was also taken to GB's Andy Murray. If he had just managed to drag himself across the line against Roger Federer maybe it would have signalled a last hurrah or even a late career Renaissance. Either way Sunday's match was a tipping point for any Roddick, a tipping point that he was just unable to roll over.

The Jake and Tiarnan Podcast Episode 11

In this weeks Podcast we can only really talk about one thing; the death of a dancing peadophile. We also examine Uri Geller's reaction to the death of his "great friend" and wonder when aerial shots of a dead mans house became news. Not only that but there is also the new Podcast Campaign to become shit celebs in the wake of uber-cunt Arthur Kade. Download it and subscribe or listen from here now!

Big Week

I have been meaning to write a new blog entry for a while. There have been an array of stories in the press about which to opine for ages and each time I settled down to articulate my meaningless opinions something else arrived and other concerns would slide into the abyss of an old news cycle. Now there is only one thing I can really write about.

Michael Jackson has died. Although I can't say I'm his biggest fan it seems that the death of one of the most written about musicians in history is a momentous event. I happened to be at a local watering hole at the time the news began to filter through and the reaction was surreal. At first what was thought to be a rumour quickly became hard fact and the new communication revolution quickly sprang in to action. Blackberry's were pulled from pockets, Iphones examined feverishly for reasons other than the usual purpose (which is mainly to let everyone in the surrounding vicinity know that you have an Iphone). Michael Jackson was definitely dead.

Whatever is to be said about the man (and there is lot which is somewhat negative) his music was hugely important. Thriller is the greatest selling album of all time and contains an astounding 7 number ones, a respectable number for the career of most popstars over 3 albums. Jackson set the bar for music videos and attracted an audience of millions, at 2 in the morning, for what became the most iconic video in history, Thriller. Although his influence in this sense is unquestionable ( Justin Timberlake, Ne-Yo, Chris Brown or a plethora of similar artists simply wouldn't exist without him) his private life was dodgy to say the least. Although he was ultimately cleared of the unsavoury child-related allegations he was dogged by them throughout later life and his reputation was tarnished. It seems to have done little to dim his appeal worldwide but there will always be a pervading sense of strangeness attached to a man who was public property since the age of five.

The way that his death has dominated the news cycle is astounding. The cable news channels have played archive footage of the singer for hours on end and have a constant stream of twitter based tributes from various notables. Given the total concentration of "Jacko" it has to be asked - What else is going on in the world? One announcement will get buried today and it is a huge one. The Iranian Guardian council have declared that the recent election was "the healthiest in years" and although its a bit of a gutter that a celebrity has died I hope it does not take to the focus away from a populace deprived of democracy.

The Iranian population will be gutted but someone who may be a little happier is South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford. He announced in a fawning, apologetic press conference earlier this week (after being missing and having not contacted his staff for 5 days) that he had been in Argentina seeing a mistress that he has been keeping for over a year. The extremely Conservative Governor has been the standard bearer amongst the GOP for fighting against Barack Obama's stimulus package and was thereby anointed as probable Presidential Candidate for 2012, if he was proved right. Now, despite the fortune of his misdemeanours being buried under other stories, that goal seems unlikely especially because he has violated one of the fundamental "Divine Laws" that his conservative, gun toting, family values obsessed base are concerned with.

Either way let's hope that Micheal Jackson is appropriately mourned but that the public have long enough memories to make sure that what really matters is put front and centre.

The Jake and Tiarnan Podcast - Episode 10

After a poor showing last week on the Podcast front we come back with a bang and another top notch jingle. Tense music is employed to give gravitas to the new segment that is The News Quiz which replaces the terrible pooch. Listening back to this episode makes me think we should plan a tad more as we tend to start on one topic before just jumping off to something else. But if you like improvised, rambling bollocks then episode 10 is a doozy. You can listen to it and subscribe to it here .

Inevitable

I can now enjoy my summer in peace. Not because my exams are finished, not because my holiday plans are secure - because Cristiano Ronaldo has finally left Manchester United.

The preening Portugese theatrical master has finally confirmed what all but the most ardent of Manchester United fans has refused to beleive. His world record transfer to Real Madrid saves me having to hear, and the British press having to write, speculative nonsense about "Ronnys" future, the like of which has dogged the back pages for the past three years. It seemed obvious that Ronaldo wanted to go. His constant changes of heart and insincere pledges that he would be at Old Trafford for the forseeable future were tempered by his coy flirting with the notion of a big money move. He did not even rule out the possibility of going to Manchester City when the idea was touted perhaps cementing him as the most money hungry traitor in the history of football.

Would Puskas be happy to see such a man pull on the historic, pure white jersey? Regardless of the goals he will score and the shirts he will sell is this really the type of player you can rely on to end Barca's stranglehold on La Liga? In comparison Kaka has been the model proffesional. He stayed loyal to Milan the club, that just as United did for Ronaldo, gave him his chance and put him on the map until it became abundantly clear that they actually wanted him to go to reap the financal rewards. He made no fawning tributes to Real Madrid and had not been courting them with "come and get me pleas" (what a brilliant cliche) in tabloids throughout Europe. He said staunchly that he was happy to stay even up until the day that Milan asked him to leave.

Although Ronaldo may bring some much needed silverware to Madrid will they really be able to beleive him when he says he wants to see out the rest of his career in the the Capital? Either way the new age of Galacticos has well and truly begun.

Gutted

I am not patriotic in any way to be honest but have always had a strange tempered pride for Britain. We are one of the oldest deomcracies in the world. We never bothered with facism and locked bad old Oswald Mosley up so he could think about what he'd done in the forties. When the economy was going tits up between the wars and there were communists and spartacists knocking about all over Europe we just shrugged out shoulders and carried on. Sure we wreaked a deathly havoc over vast swathes of the earth with the whole empire thing , are responsible for horrible poverty and such in africa after leaving our big colonial houses and letting any nutjob take over and we did starve half of Ireland to death once- but I've always thought we had something special. I was wrong.

We are in fact a nation of reactionary tossers. Just because the economy is in a mess and The Telegraph have shown that our MP's are a little bit crooked we have decided to vote for the BNP. Germany voted for the Nazis and obviously this was a horrific mistake but at the same time they had to go through a long and bloody war, near economic collapse in which their currency was meaningless and accept the humiliation of having to accept guilt and pay compensation for the first global conflict. We have started voting for Neanderthal wankers because some people used money that wasn't theirs to have their moat cleaned. The BNP gained two seats in the recent European elections which is two seats more than any party so open in their islamaphobic, anti-semitic sentiment should have. Despite numerous videos and articles exposing what the real message of the BNP is it seems that some people have been drawn in by their outward claims of wanting to preserve a "national identity". We are a nation of immigrants and ultimatley the entire human race stems from 200 hundred primitive humans that came from the "cradle of life" in Kenya, although I'm not sure how well this would sit with the BNP.

Their concerns are insane. A major one that Nick Griffin re-iterated again in his smug victory speech was councils banning St Georges day festivals but tax payers paying for ethnic minorities when they wish too have "their festivals". Why is this a problem? Are there not more pressing concerns about at the moment? (global economic meltdown and international terrorism are two that spring to mind). The other point that Griffin fails to understand is that St Georges day festivals are not banned by villanous ethnic minority groups who hate white English people, they are banned by councils who fear that they will be hijacked by far-right political groups using the oppurtunity to preach a hateful message of racial purity in Britain- which I suspect the BNP would at such a festival given the chance. I highly doubt that they would be using St Georges day festivals as a colourful mardi-gras with dragon floats and brown shirted children throwing Mein Kampf shaped bon-bons to an adoring public.

Despite all this I still take heart from the fact that the BNP gained fewer votes than in 2004 and have been allowed to sneak into the European parliament by a dodgy electoral system. It's just a bit disgusting that all it needs is a name change, from the National Front, and people to claim for chocolate bars on expenses for voters in Britain to start running to the far right when they get to a ballot box.

*I have opted to go for a more palletable picture than Nick Griffin's podgy, slack jawed face. Even writing about the BNP to say that you despise everything they stand for is too many references for one blog.

Justice

In a late, late reference to the Champions League I think it is fair to say: Justice Prevailed. Barcelona showed last wednesday in Rome that they are, by a considerable margin, the best team in Europe and perhaps one of the best attacking forces ever assembled in the domestic game. Chelsea fans laughably pointed to the fact that they had come relatively close to beating the Spaniards and therefore, by some proxy bereft of logic, would have beat Manchester United. The problem with that theory is that they only beat Barcelona because they were so keen not to score throughout the two legs. Apart from Mikel Essien's left foot shin-volley that acted as an unexpected bolt from a blue shirt Chelsea were content not to attack for two whole games. United's fate shows that unless you commit to such tactics the "Holy Trinity" will tear you apart.

I am not sure whether to respect or deride Fergie an United. They did come to Rome looking to play attacking football and win the game of their own accord but I'm not sure this attitude is correct. Although in some respects they should be lauded (they played far more football in the little time they had the ball than Chelsea did) perhaps they should also be ridiculed for having the temerity to try and beat Barcelona at their own game with a midfield of an aging Welshman, an inexperienced and inconsistent Brazilian, England's 4th or 5th best midfielder, a lightweight Korean and an Angry scouser being played way out of position. This left Iniesta and Xavi free to orchestrate the type of football that United don't usually have to contend with and their army of bruising robo athletes were made to look pedestrian by two men with the combined height of 4 and a half feet. Messi, although over shadowed by Man of the Match Iniesta, was superb and shut the mouths of every jingoistic tabloid journalist that was adamant he couldn't cut it against our vastly superior football teams (it may have been his first goal against an English club but a statistic that isn't as often repeated is that Ronaldo is yet to score against a Spanish team).

United were hammered. Ronaldo will leave. Fergie will get an even redder visage. Guardiola will plan for world domination. Iniesta will get sharper. Fletcher will get vengeful. Barcelona will get bet better and Barcelona will win - again.